#the thing is i want better for the players

[nadvs]

the power play (part six)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

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Rafe drives down the dark street, silent while his mind races and whirls with regret.

He shouldn’t have offered to come with you tonight. He shouldn’t have let himself see you like that, with all your friends, with the guy who’s blind to how lucky he is that you love him.

Envy courses through him, burning and vicious. Who would he be if he had a life like Beck, surrounded by people who loved him? Why couldn’t he have that? Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone you’d want?

“You might be right,” you say happily. “Maybe Beck is jealous. He wouldn’t stop looking at me tonight.”

Rafe is still in his head. He hated that your eyes wouldn’t stay on his at that party. That other eyes were on you.

“Neither would that guy who plays for Hatfield,” he mutters.

“Marcus?” You sink further into the passenger seat, settling in for the hour-long drive back to campus. “What do you mean?”

He rubs his jaw, reminded of how warm your cheek felt on his when you whispered to him during that stupid game of truth or dare.

“He likes you, too,” he says.

You have to laugh.

“No way.”

“So, he’s never tried anything,” Rafe states, unconvinced.

You look out your window as he turns onto a busier street. Through your high school days, Lyla had implied that Marcus had a crush on you, but you refuted it every time.

“Well…” You sigh. “Lyla thinks because he asked me to a dance one time, it meant something, but he told me himself he was asking me as a friend.”

“He said that to not look like a loser if you shot him down,” Rafe huffs.

“I’m not so sure,” you say.

His pain weighs even heavier. It’s messing with him how you imply that guys don’t look at you like that. It took you this long to say that maybe Beck’s jealous.

You’re oblivious to the effect you have on people. On him.

Frustration wrenches in his chest and his words come out unfiltered.

“You really are clueless about this shit,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

It’s the first time Rafe’s words truly cut into you. You’re used to his brashness, to how he doesn’t hesitate to let you know when you’re irritating him, and normally it makes you laugh or roll your eyes.

But this stings. And it throws away the joy you’d felt seconds ago. You’re already painfully aware that you’re inexperienced, having spent so much time stuck on one guy who kept you trapped in a confusing loop.

Despite the pang in your heart, it’s comforting to know, to really know, that you could never like Rafe like that.

You’ve seen bits of tenderness in him, but he’s more hard, icy edges than anything else, and he’s not the type of person you’d ever feel safe giving your heart to.

At least you know you’ll be able to avoid Rafe hurting you the way Beck has.

Rafe glances over to see you turned away, your dejected pout reflected in the window. He hates himself for being such a dick, but fuck, it kills him that you act like it’s ridiculous that someone could have feelings for you.

He’s falling off the edge right in front of you and you don’t see it. And it dawns on him that it’s a good thing you don’t, because you wouldn’t fall with him.

“That was mean,” you say quietly. You look over and catch glimpses of the writing you left on the inside of his wrist as the streetlights flood in and out of the car. “Even for you.”

The thinness of your voice is a razor that slices into him.

“You’re not always right about everything, okay?” Rafe says stiffly.

“I never said I was,” you reply. You look out the window again and take a moment before you continue speaking. “But what happened with Beck did mess with my confidence, if that’s what you’re getting at. And you’re not making it any better.”

Knowing he’s only adding to your baseless insecurities cuts him deeper.

“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbles. He stares ahead as he pulls onto the freeway. “All I’m tryin’ to say is that you don’t need to be so jaded just because one asshole strung you along.”

Your ache numbs a little. In his own, tactless way, he’s attempting to help.

“Your approach needs work,” you say flatly, “but I see your point.”

Tension sinks between you, every sense of camaraderie gone. And Rafe is desperate to undo it, to make you feel better.

“You can tell you’re getting to him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say in a hush, although the high of witnessing Beck’s jealousy is gone now.

It’s satisfying to know he’s seeing what he’s missing, but it hurts that you had to go to these lengths for it to happen. It hurts that you still care.

“Good,” he says.

Rafe’s met with no response. And he wants to beg you to speak. His lips part, heart hammering.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice fractures the silence.

You bite your lip, remembering the first time you were in this car, when Rafe suggested he drive you back home because you wouldn’t stop talking.

Now, he wants you to talk, and if he didn’t ask, you wouldn’t offer up your thoughts like you usually do. Not after that dig.

“You ever wish you could make yourself not care about something?” you eventually say.

“All the time,” he admits within an exhale of relief that you answered him.

“Really?” you ask, your brows lifted in surprise.

He knows he manages to seem like he doesn’t give a shit about most things. It’s a defense mechanism that works until his anger gets so heavy that he cracks.

He refuses to crack in front of you again. Right now, he’s okay with giving you the vulnerability you’re always trying to coax out of him if it means you’ll be you again.

“She told you I wouldn’t move on, right?” he says sardonically.

You gaze at him, reminded of the way his ex had laughed when she told you he wouldn’t stop bothering her.

“I kept trying to work things out and I – I wish I didn’t.” He shakes his head, embarrassed. “And I don’t even want to be with her now, but I care enough to want to piss her off. I know that’s not normal.”

You eyes are fixed on the license plate of the car ahead of you. The things you know about his past relationship, things that Emma said, things that he said, come together to paint an ugly picture.

“I think it’s how a lot of people would feel,” you say. “It doesn’t sound like she was very nice to you.”

Rafe knows he could be just as poisonous, raising his voice and escalating fights, but Emma made him feel like he was insane for being human.

Any time he was hurt, she said he was overreacting. He wasn’t allowed to be angry. To be sad. To be anything.

And he always feared she was right. He was too much, felt too much. He’d heard it from so many people, the first and loudest voice being his father’s.

“She wasn’t,” he answers. “I wasn’t, either.”

You don’t doubt it. You can only imagine how vicious their arguments were.

“Can I tell you something?” you say.

He’s upset, but he takes a page out of your book, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he mumbles.

Despite yourself, you chuckle.

“You already very kindly established that I’m no expert on relationships,” you say, your joke splitting the tension, “but do you ever think that maybe things were toxic between you?”

You’re prying again, but Rafe’s relieved you are, because it means you’re okay.

Maybe his relationship was toxic, but he doesn’t know otherwise. It’s how he operates, always on the cusp of chaos, always on the edge of imploding.

“What?” he asks, just to stall.

“You said you wanted to hurt each other when you fought, right?”

The tires continue to rapidly roll over the asphalt with rhythmic pats, the wind whooshing over the windows.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you fight about?”

“Everything,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I have a short fuse and I – I say shit I don’t mean, but she acted like she never did anything wrong.”

“That’s hard to deal with,” you sympathize. “What’d she do wrong?”

He grits his teeth. The memory of how Emma would shut him down whenever he had a problem with something she did flashes through his mind like a bad dream he wants to forget.

“She acted like she only liked me when I was happy,” he tells you, on edge, in disbelief that he’s hearing his voice admit these things.

“What would she do when you weren’t?” you ask.

His jaw tenses, the memories of Emma’s shouted words a punch to the gut.

“She’d tell me to grow up,” he says dryly.

Rafe is sure you’d never say something like that to him, but there’s still an alarm going off in his head that he’s opening up too much, giving you what you need to hurt him, sharing criticism that you might silently agree with.

Every piece that he shares with you could serve as proof that he’s a catastrophe of a man that you’d be better off staying away from.

You look down at your lap, your heart pinching. The space between you is delicate, fragile, a bond you never could have imagined growing between you.

You’re upset to think about how Rafe clearly already doesn’t really do feelings and was made to feel bad for showing his to his girlfriend.

Emma had called him pathetic, but you feel that the word describes her instead.

“That’s not fair,” you say. “Nobody deserves to hear that from someone who’s supposed to care about them.”

He only offers a rigid shrug.

You’re still curious about what he told you when you asked him why he liked her. He’d said things were simple with her, that she made him feel uncomplicated, but it sounds like all they did was bicker.

You want to know why he tried to get back together after they’d had such a rocky relationship, why he’d called her crying.

“You said she made things easy?” you say.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not sure how much more of this conversation he can take.

“When we weren’t fighting, we had fun,” he explains. “I didn’t have to think about anything, you know?”

And she never pushed to see the pieces of himself that he hides. And all you do is push, so why the hell is he losing his mind over a girl who’s done nothing but try to make him face what he runs from?

But when he looks at you again through the darkness, it’s like he can see how good you are.

And that’s why.

That’s why you’ve taken him captive. You’re warm, the way you find joy in almost everything, the way you’re unabashedly yourself, the way you want to understand people for who they really are.

You take in his awestruck expression, looking like he can’t believe he just told you all that.

You get it now. Emma didn’t want to deal with the heavy stuff. And it worked for him. Until it didn’t. It doesn’t sound like they had that deep of a connection if she punished him for having feelings.

“I really don’t like her,” you say quietly.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “Brutal coming from you.”

You chuckle. Rafe takes a few breaths before he speaks again, hating that he actually feels shy right now.

“Sorry I said…” He trails off, not wanting to repeat the word clueless. He went too far. “You’re smart, okay?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times,” you laugh.

“We friends again?”

You smirk.

“Maybe if you say please,” you say.

“Shut up,” he laughs.

“Hmm.” You squint. “Try again.”

You watch him with an expectant expression, a playful smile on your face.

“Please,” he mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alright, you don’t have to beg,” you chuckle.

Rafe groans in annoyance and you laugh again, picked back up out of your low mood.

You get the feeling of being linked to him again, the one you had when you watched him from the stands before you even spoke.

He’s wading through the pieces of a broken relationship, and you’re trying to shake yourself out of infatuation, and they’re different circumstances, but you both need the same thing. To not care anymore.

“I read something about how the opposite of love isn’t hate,” you say. “It’s indifference. Eventually, you won’t care about what she thinks. And you’ll find the girl you need when the time’s right.”

Rafe stares ahead.

“Yeah,” is all he can say. Because he’s already found the girl he needs. She just doesn’t need him back.

���═══════

In the span of almost five days, Rafe has gone from bad to worse.

On Sunday, the team just barely won the first game of the tournament. He watched from the bench, pissed off beyond belief watching the gameplay. They were lucky the opponents’ offense was so choppy.

It was both frustrating and validating when his coach told him that he hopes Rafe can play game two, because defense is suffering without him.

Yesterday, he saw the team’s physical therapist. He managed to move his arm with full mobility, but still felt a minor, stubborn pinch. He was cleared for game two, so long as he saw a doctor to get imaging done and make sure he wasn’t putting himself at risk.

He had the appointment this morning and he’s already dreading the call with the results. He can’t lose hockey. It’s the one thing keeping him sane.

Now, he’s walking under the hot afternoon sun, on his way to an off-campus uptown cafe you’d suggested for your tutoring session. He had to park two blocks away after looking for a spot for ages.

He’s in a foul mood, rereading your text just so he doesn’t take it out on you. You gave him the head’s up that this place is usually busy and parking could be tough, offering to stick with the library if he preferred.

He went along with what you wanted, because he’d rather not let you down. At this point, it hurts seeing any hint of sadness on your face. He’s still pissed off at himself for what he said to you in his car last weekend.

He steps into the small cafe, the air smelling of coffee, the machines whirring over overlapping conversations. He finds you in the corner, your head adorably tilted in thought as you type on your laptop.

The knot in his stomach loosens once you look up and smile at him.

Every morning, every afternoon, every night, you’re on his mind. You’ve thrown him completely off center, dominating every second of his day, the longing to see you when he’s not with you insatiable.

Rafe strides towards you between full tables, and you take a moment to drink him in, the strong, self-assured way he walks, never the type to act like he thinks he doesn’t belong wherever he is.

“Hey,” you say. “Was parking okay?”

“You warned me.” He pulls out the chair across from you, dragging it across the hardwood. You shut your laptop. “Why are we here? I got that tattoo for nothing?”

You glance at his wrist to see that the marker has washed off.

“It’s gone anyway,” you giggle. “I thought we could use a change of scenery. Plus, this place has the best treats.”

You slide a small brown paper bag towards him.

“I’ll trade you for your laptop,” you say.

Minutes later, you’re checking in on his grades. Your stomach drops when you see a warning in red text next to last week’s submission link.

7 days late.

“Rafe,” you say soberly. “You forgot to send it in.”

You look up at him from across the table, confusion creased into his features as he finishes chewing.

“Remember, last week?” you say. “Your laptop died and I told you to submit the essay before midnight?”

He readjusts his posture.

“It’s not a big deal,” he sighs defensively.

“It’s 5% lost every day,” you reply. “I’ll submit it now.”

He scowls, agitation rippling over his features. It discredits the text that Lyla sent you the morning after her birthday party, not that you believed it anyway.

My mom said it’s cute how obviously in love Rafe is with you.

The way he’s looking at you right now is the farthest thing from love. Like he said, he’s a great liar.

“This matters,” you reiterate. Rafe glances away. It’s hurtful to witness how disinterested he is.

You submit the assignment, displeased by his apathy, reminded of how much his bad attitude and moodiness can get to you, but try to remain positive.

“Let’s see what you have so far,” you say, opening his draft document. “This week’s discussion question is about the significance of time in the novel. Did you notice it was sometimes spelled with a capital T?”

Your brows pinch in concentration as you lean forward, reading what he’s put together. It’s sparse, disjointed, just like his work when you first started tutoring him. It’s like he’s gone backwards.

You look up at him, but his eyes are downcast, lips turned down. Something’s wrong.

“You didn’t get much time to work on it?” you say, keeping a kind tone to your voice.

“This book made no sense,” he mutters.

“It is pretty convoluted,” you say. “But there’s substance to it. I like how it explores the idea of friendship. Speaking of, friends tell each other when something’s wrong, so get to talking.”

If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d think you're trying to hurt him.

Disappointing you was painful enough. It’s why his instinct was to act like that late assignment wasn’t a big deal; because then, he wouldn’t have to accept that he was messing up in front of you yet again.

And now, you’re rubbing it in that you only see him as a friend, adding salt to the wound.

“It’s been a shitty week,” he admits.

You lean over to push the bag of treats a little closer to him, earning a nearly silent chuckle.

“Is your shoulder feeling okay?” you ask.

“I had to do some scans,” he says. “I’m waiting to see if I can play. But I’m good.”

Your lips purse in thought. It’s like Rafe is nothing but knee-jerk reactions, snapping when he’s mad, direct about when he’s annoyed, but he hides everything else, as if he’s telling himself he’s not allowed to feel anything besides anger.

You wonder if he was always like that, or if his last relationship left that particular scar.

“Is midterm season getting to you?” you ask. “Because it’s getting to me. Studying’s hard enough and now I have a group project that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“It’s that bad?” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“You know when you’re put into a group with guys who think dropping paragraphs into a slide deck counts as contributing?” you say. “And when you try to meet up outside of class to practice the presentation, they pretend they didn’t see your text? Does that kind of stuff not happen to you?”

A smile pulls on his lips.

“Just me, then,” you reply.

“Do I need to talk to anyone?” he asks, and he realizes he’s only half-joking.

“You mean like, to threaten them? Only if you can fit it in your schedule,” you joke. “I don’t want to put you out.”

You think he’s kidding. He’s not. He feels insanely protective over you, and while he can see that you’re not that bothered by this, he’d get those idiots you’re working with in line if you needed him to.

This is only getting more difficult. He wants to tell you that he’s serious. That he’d do anything to make things easier for you, that you don’t deserve to be ignored, that you should cut this act out and be with him for real.

But he has to accept that while he’s spent his life being ruthlessly honest about what he thinks about people, good or bad, he needs to swallow down his words around you.

He can’t talk like that with a girl who’d never want him. Who he’d never recover from getting rejected by.

“You know you can tell me when something’s bothering you, right?” you say. “It’s not like I’d…”

You don’t finish your sentence, your gaze soft. He can tell you’re trying to reassure him that you wouldn’t criticize him for being stressed like his ex used to, the reminder of your last conversation planting discomfort in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he utters, eyes darting away again. You nod. So he does care. And now you feel bad if you made him feel ridiculed.

“Was I too intense?” you say dolefully. “I’m sorry. I just want you to do well. We worked hard on that assignment and it’s a waste of effort to lose points for lateness.”

You pull out your notebook, full of study notes you took last semester.

“It’s okay,” you conclude. “It’s just one assignment. We’ll finish up this essay and then start prepping for the midterm.”

Rafe’s muscles loosen, in awe of how quickly you just turned his mood around.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, “do you want me to come to the next game? I can drive up with Lyla. It’s an away, right? This Saturday?”

“You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” you laugh.

“Yeah, you should come,” Rafe says after a beat. “If I play.”

“Deal,” you say with a grin.

He’s hopeful you follow through. Because even if you’re there as a friend, as all you’ll ever want to be to him, he plays better knowing you’re watching.

════════

Rafe sits on the team bus on the way to game two, his eyes following the dips and valleys of lush trees lining the road. Music buzzes in his earbuds, his fingers interlaced in his lap, his knees bouncing.

He needs this before big games; the closest he can get to solitude, confining himself into his own mind, finding focus.

He’d never liked quiet until he started playing hockey. He chased noise, commotion, distractions. And he still gets his dose of chaos with every game, but it’s always preceded by this stillness. This moment he gives himself for the calm before the storm.

He got the call yesterday. The scans came back fine. They showed nothing serious, no signs of tearing, no reason for him to be freaking out.

Rafe texted you right away, finding himself wanting to tell you of all people the good news first, even before his coach.

As expected, you responded with an enthusiastic message telling him you couldn’t wait to cheer him on. The focus he’s trying to find right now keeps getting derailed by thoughts of you.

The song fades out, replaced with ringing. He picks up his phone to see that you’re video-calling him.

His stomach flips and he feels like a little kid with a crush on a girl in his class. The effect you have on him is starting to get really damn embarrassing.

Your pretty face appears on his screen, the backdrop a well-lit ceiling and colorful display shelves.

“Hello,” you greet him cheerfully. “We just stopped at a gas station. Do you want me to grab something for you for after the game? You know, because you’ll need nutrients and electrolytes and all that.”

“I will?” he says, his lips turned up in a smirk. “No shit?”

“Okay, I’m just being nice,” you laugh. “Don’t you get tired of being so sarcastic all the time?”

“Not really,” he replies.

Isaac, who always sits beside him on these drives, hears Rafe mumbling. He leans over and gazes at the screen.

You see the corner of Isaac’s face, then grin and wave.

“Hey, I have a really quick question,” Isaac says.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“She said to leave her alone,” Rafe murmurs.

“I did not,” you laugh, realizing only Rafe can hear you through his earbuds.

“Lies,” Isaac says. “I have this essay that’s killing me. You’re good at that stuff, right? Could you look at it for me? Please? It’s a huge chunk of my grade.”

“Sure,” you say with a nod. “Send it to me. You can get my email from Rafe.”

“She said no,” Rafe says.

“I saw her nod,” Isaac retorts.

“I’ll give you her email, alright?” Rafe says impatiently. “You done now? I’m trying to talk to my girl.”

Isaac feigns offense and leans away after giving you a thankful smile.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” he tells you.

“Suit yourself,” you say. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says simply, because he can’t be honest that he’s nervous about this game, nervous that he’ll mess up his shoulder again, nervous that he’s falling so hard for you that you could shatter him without even knowing it.

His mind is blank, words refusing to form.

“Okay,” you say, unhappy he’s being so short with you.

You don’t know what you did wrong, why he gets so irritated with you all the time. You’d called him impulsively, only ten minutes into your drive with Lyla when you stopped to buy a drink, but you assumed you were in a good enough place to call whenever you felt like it.

It’s all too familiar, this sinking feeling of questioning what a guy thinks of you, just like you always did with Beck. You know things between you and Rafe are platonic, but you thought he’d like to hear from you, because you like to hear from him.

Still, you can’t pretend that the sound of him calling you his girl didn’t make your heart lift with an unwelcome warmth. You remind yourself it’s a lie. Beck’s surely sitting close by, overhearing Rafe’s words.

“I’ll see you after the game,” you say low-spiritedly.

Rafe grimaces, guilt sinking into his bones. You’d once told him he makes you feel annoying and you were joking, but he hates to think that he’s really making you feel like that.

“How ‘bout you?” he asks hurriedly. “How’s your drive been?”

“Aside from Lyla’s road rage?” you joke.

“I do not have road rage,” Lyla defends herself with a playful gasp from the other side of the aisle.

Rafe watches as you look off-screen, the corners of your eyes crinkled as you laugh.

“Be careful,” he says, worry icing his chest. “Tell her to drive safe.”

“Oh, my God, I do!” Lyla half-shouts with a laugh. “Is he always that protective?”

“It’s why I like him so much,” you answer.

This is the point where Rafe would just be direct. He doesn’t play games. Never has. He’d ask you, straight up, the next time you're alone, if you meant that or if you were just faking affection in front of your best friend.

But he can’t do that when he already knows the answer. You told him yourself last weekend. I like you. Just not like that. Imagining something more with you just makes him a masochist.

“I’m offended that your boyfriend doesn’t trust me,” Lyla says.

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” you counter playfully. You look back at the screen. “I’ll let you go. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Look what I found,” Lyla sing-songs. She holds up a bottle of the drink you’ve been looking for.

“I love you,” you tell her.

Hearing you say those words and knowing they’ll never be directed to him is its own brand of agony. And it’s so soft, so insane that he’s already thinking about love, but you’ve thrown him for such a loop that he can’t control it.

He catches his reflection in the corner of the screen. It’s almost unbelievable how good he is at it, looking so careless, numb, when his heart is cracking down the middle.

“Good luck today,” you say to him. “You don’t need it, though.”

“Thanks,” Rafe replies. “See you.”

You hang up.

“For a second, I thought you were telling Rafe you love him,” Lyla says.

“Oh,” you laugh, turning to look at the items on the shelves again. “No.”

“Do you?” she asks. “Or do you see it getting to that point?”

“Maybe,” you reply.

“You’re giving me crumbs,” she whines.

You meet your best friend’s eyes, having already heard her complaints about how little you share about your relationship. You’re tight-lipped about Rafe because you’d rather not have to stomach the shame of feeding Lyla lies.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

“Everything. Start with the juicy stuff. Have you guys kissed?”

Imagining what it’d be like to kiss Rafe makes your stomach flutter. You wonder if his kisses would be like him; rushed, hard, impatient, or if he’d be soft and gentle and slow.

Your cheeks burn as you think about it, once again trying to pull yourself back into reality.

“Lots of times,” you say with a shrug.

“Have you guys…?” She raises her brows.

You laugh nervously. Her brother saw you leaving Rafe’s room. You doubt they’d ever gossip about you like that, but it’s better to keep the lies consistent.

You nod in response.

“And?”

“Let’s not do this here,” you chuckle, playing it off. “I don’t want strangers overhearing.”

Less than a minute after you hang up, Isaac gets Rafe’s attention with a nudge. He takes out an earbud.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Isaac says, “but how’d you get her to like you?”

“How the hell do I take that the right way?” he replies.

“No offense. She’s just so… nice,” Isaac tells him. “It’s a good thing. I can tell you’re happy. Way happier than you were with what’s-her-name.”

Rafe suggested this ploy so it’d seem that way. But with time, with getting to know you, with seeing what it’s like to be someone you care about, it’s become the truth.

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The game is hardly a nailbiter. Within the first period, you can tell the opponents aren’t strong contenders. It ends in an easy win.

You catch Rafe’s gaze a few times throughout the game, but you don’t get a chance to talk to him. On your way back to campus, he texts you that the team is celebrating their win in one of the common rooms in the athletes’ dorm building.

Lyla parks and before you can let her know you’ll call Rafe to come downstairs, she pulls out her phone.

“Hey,” she says after a pause. “Can you come down and let us in?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, stomach turning. You know she’s talking to her brother.

“I could’ve called Rafe,” you say nervously when you step out of the car, walking side-by-side to the building.

“It’s no problem,” she says. You can tell that she thinks she did you a favor by taking care of it, but these days, being around Beck brings you an unwelcome, awkward tension.

Beck lets you in, holding the front door open as you exchange casual greetings. You pace through the lobby and the elevator door slides shut behind you.

Beck stands by the buttons, Lyla leans against the corner between you, and you cross your arms and look up at the numbers changing.

“When’s the last time just the three of us hung out?” Lyla says lightheartedly. “And this doesn’t count.”

Your eyes flit up to Beck, whose stare is already on you. Lyla has no idea what’s gone on between you, that an unspoken heaviness has settled between you since that day in front of his exam room last semester.

Does he regret it? Does he want to take it back? Does he wish he’d never spent years leading you on and just pursued you from the beginning? Does he want to tell you what he’s really thinking? Will he ever?

The questions swirl through your head, a pattern that, at this point, you could do in your sleep.

And you realize that the answers don’t matter. Not really. Because if it takes a lie, a delusion that you’re with another man for Beck to see your worth, he never deserved you in the first place.

It gives you hope that you’re finally taking back your heart, piece by piece.

You need to allow yourself to see who you are without this hold he has on you. To love yourself instead of waiting for somebody else to. To give yourself space to be you, unencumbered by what anyone else thinks.

“It has been a long time,” you say. “I think we’ve all just been swamped.”

“Swamped?” Beck asks you. “You doing okay?”

His eyes drift over your face, shadowed with a hint of sadness.

The elevator reaches its stop. The doors open with the ding of a bell. And you nod.

“Yeah,” you answer. “My head has never been clearer, actually.”

════════

Rafe was hoping you’d still be wearing his jersey, rubbing it in Beck’s face that you’re wearing his name, no matter if it is just a ploy.

His throat tightens when his eyes land on you as you step into the common room, taking you in as he leans against the armrest of a couch. You’re not in his jersey. And you’re with Lyla and Beck.

His heart sinks. Why didn’t you call him to come get you?

“Hey,” you say, beaming at Rafe as you approach him. “You were great tonight.”

You pull him into a hug, arms draped around his wide shoulders, inhaling the smell of his body wash.

Part of you is embracing him because it’s what a girlfriend would do. The other part is because it feels good to be held by someone who knows just how much pain you’ve been holding onto.

Rafe’s hands tighten at your waist, his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“Pretty relaxed celebration,” you say, looking around when you part. Teammates and their friends and girlfriends are scattered around the room, grouped in different conversations.

You look at Rafe again and you swear that he’s somehow getting more handsome the longer you know him. Being inches away from him after daydreaming about kissing him makes the realization all the more overpowering.

The only thing you can feel is frustration because this is the last thing you need, to jump from liking one guy to another. Especially to one who has proven that he’d only hurt you.

You need your crush on Rafe to remain superficial. Any deeper and you’re just opening yourself up to more heartache.

“Yeah, this is really lowkey,” Lyla agrees with you. “You guys didn’t have it in you to party?”

“We’re pretty worn out,” Beck explains.

“Are you?” you ask Rafe, gazing up at him in that way that he’s grown to adore.

He is. He’s exhausted. And he’d fucking love it if you could go to his room just down the hall, lie in his bed together, doze off wrapped up in each other.

“Getting there,” he replies.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Lyla says, then looks at you. “Or whatever it is you do.”

“Lyla,” you groan with a laugh. She slips away, prompting Beck to do the same. Nowadays, he seems to hate being around you when you’re with Rafe.

“What was that about?” Rafe murmurs to you quietly.

You lean on the armrest, settled next to him with your arm pressed against his, finding that you’ve grown to enjoy the conversations you’re always having outside of the crowds, the feeling of being tucked away into privacy together.

“She’s annoyed that I’ve been so secretive,” you reply just as quietly. “I don’t give her details about us, but can you blame me?”

“What does she want to know?”

“If we’ve kissed and… stuff,” you say, looking at the floor, feeling too awkward to tell him the truth. “I said yeah, but I couldn’t exactly come up with details about something that never happened.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, staring while your gaze stays on the floor.

“You tellin’ me you want to break your ‘no kissing’ rule?” he asks in a joking tone, as if his heart is pounding in his ears right now.

“No,” you chuckle, looking back up at him. “I still want my first kiss to be real.”

It’s the first time he doesn’t like the sound of your laugh, because it’s apparently funny to you to consider having genuine feelings for him.

He swallows down the bitterness, determined not to punish you for his own pain. He’s done that before and he hated himself for it.

“If I played so great, why’d you take off my jersey?” he asks.

He didn’t his best tonight, feeling pricks of pain in his shoulder only a few minutes into the game. It made him afraid of getting into any hard collisions. He’s never been like that. It’s just as aggravating as it is depressing.

You lace your fingers together in your lap, fidgeting.

“I left it in the car,” you answer. You don’t offer him anything else, a faraway look in your eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You breathe out slowly, still in disbelief of how easily Rafe can read you. It’s a good thing you’re not really falling for him. He’d be able to tell.

“You’re too perceptive,” you murmur. He smirks. “It was just a weird elevator ride.”

“You could’ve called me to let you in.”

“Lyla called him before I could.” You clear your throat. “I’m finally seeing him act how I always wanted him to and… it doesn’t feel like I thought it would.”

Rafe studies you intently, hanging onto your words like they’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Everything that happened with him made me so insecure,” you confess. “And I think I shouldn’t date for real until I’m totally over him.”

At least Rafe won’t see you with another guy once you call this off, but now he’s wondering if he’ll see you at all, if you want to stay friends with someone like him, if he can manage being platonic with a girl who has so ruthlessly claimed his heart.

“And that’ll be long after we stage a mature, civil breakup where we mutually decide we’re better as friends,” you say. “And we are staying friends, got it?”

You offer him a smile. He returns it, relieved that you answered his unspoken concern, lucky that you want him around at all.

Rafe hopes you mean it, that you’re not just being nice. He can’t not have you in his life. He’ll just have to get used to quietly wanting you.

“Do we have to?” he teases, keeping his pain hidden.

You breathe a laugh, gently elbowing him, the contact making your heart feel a little less heavy.

It’s moments like these, when Rafe jokes with you and flashes his dimpled grin and shows glimmers of softness, that you worry your feelings will plunge into dangerous territory.

But you spent too long silently hoping someone would like you back. You can’t do it again.

(to be continued)

author’s note my bad… i love a man yearning too much to end it just yet… slowest slowburn i’ve ever written stg

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[ahqueinfortunio]

Babe, Your Butt is a National Threat – A Luke Hughes

You’re lying on the couch, scrolling through Instagram when Luke walks by in just his sweats. And not just any sweats—those grey ones. You glance up casually and then immediately do a double take.

“Oh my God,” you say, sitting up dramatically.

Luke freezes, a spoonful of peanut butter halfway to his mouth. “What? Did I forget to put pants on?”

“No,” you say, pointing an accusing finger. “Your butt. Luke, it’s getting out of control.”

He blinks. “...Thanks?”

“I’m serious!” you jump off the couch, storming over for further investigation. You do a slow circle around him like you’re inspecting a horse at auction. “It’s not fair. I do squats, lunges, Pilates—PILATES, LUKE!—and you just exist and somehow have the glutes of a Greek god.”

Luke, now visibly trying not to laugh, shrugs. “Hockey genes, baby.”

“I demand a butt-off. Right here. Right now,” you declare, already pulling up your leggings like you're suiting up for war.

“You want to compare?” he says, laughing. “You’re insane. This is why I love you.”

“No! Don’t distract me with compliments!” you say, poking him in the chest. “This is serious. If anyone in this relationship should have the better ass, it’s me!”

“Babe, come on,” he says, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you. “You know I’m an ass man. And I happen to be madly in love with yours.”

You cross your arms. “Even though it’s not as... aggressive as yours?”

“Hey,” he says, grinning, “Yours is elegant. Mine’s just... powerful.”

“Your ass could solve world hunger. Mine’s barely getting by,” you mutter, but you’re already smiling as he kisses your forehead.

“Want me to wear the grey sweats more often?” he asks, teasing.

“You know what? Yeah. We’re gonna monetize that thing.”

He laughs. “So, only fans for my ass?”

“Don’t tempt me, Hughes. I could fund our next vacation on those cheeks.”

And despite your outrage, you end up cuddled on the couch ten minutes later, head on his chest, scrolling through photos of the two of you. Every so often, you glance at his butt and shake your head.

Some girls get the 6'2" hockey player boyfriend. You got the hockey player and the best butt in the relationship.

You’re still not over it.

It’s been two days since you declared war on Luke Hughes’ glutes, and you’ve been on a mission. Morning squats. Afternoon squats. You’ve even started Googling “How to bulk your butt overnight” like a woman possessed.

Luke, of course, has been zero help. Every time you bend over to grab something, he dramatically whistles and goes, “Looking like a snack today!”—as if he isn’t the entire three-course meal walking around in grey sweats and oblivious hot-boy energy.

Today, though, you’ve got a plan. A revenge plan.

You wait until he’s napping on the couch—arms spread out, hair a mess, wearing those sweats again like a threat. You sneak over with your phone.

“Operation Steal the Peach is a go,” you whisper, activating selfie mode.

You carefully angle the camera to frame his butt in the background like it’s a museum piece, then snap the pic. You add a caption:

My boyfriend’s ass is so good I’m filing a formal complaint.

You’re giggling like a maniac when you hear a voice behind you: “Did you just take a picture of my butt?”

You spin around. Luke is squinting at you, still half-asleep, pillow lines on his face. He looks offended in the way only someone with a god-tier butt can be.

You hold up the phone. “Just trying to keep the world informed.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you post it?”

You pause. “No…”

He snatches the phone, checks your camera roll. “You captioned it?!”

“You should be flattered!” you defend. “It’s iconic. A peach for the ages!”

He stares at the screen, deadpan. “You put the crying emoji and the peach emoji together.”

“To express my emotional pain!”

Luke stares for another beat, then bursts out laughing. “You’re insane.”

“You knew this when you started dating me.”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling you into his lap, “and I’m gonna use this picture as blackmail when you least expect it.”

“Oh yeah? Well I’m not afraid. I’ve seen your camera roll too. You’ve got six different photos of my foot from when I fell asleep in socks with sandals.”

He gasps. “That was art.”

You’re both laughing now, tangled on the couch like two idiots in love. He kisses your cheek, still grinning.

“Truce?” he asks.

You sigh. “Fine. Truce.”

Then you add, “But tomorrow? Butt day. And I’m coming for your title.”

Luke raises a brow. “Oh, it’s on.”

Ending Note: You never do beat Luke’s butt. But at least you get to grab it whenever you want. So… who's the real winner?

[earlysunshines]

dontcha (want me?)

kang haerin x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: haerin doesn’t like you just because and then you hit her in the head with a volleyball and now she has a valid reason to not like you but now YOU have a reason to try to warm up to her

warnings: volleyball player!reader ; haerin is just like me in this I easily hate ; brief one sided enemies to lovers but very brief ; reader lowk whipped ; haerin whipped but she hides it better... maybe ; pure fluff no angst isn't that crazy ; so cute icl ; anything else I didn't mention ; haven't written in twenty years basically this is nooot my best ; not proofread

a/n: you don't understand how much i appreciate haerin's cover of dontcha (listen while you read!! or at least near the second half lolol) bc I'm so obsessed I keep looping the song that song is my everything... also, tried a diff pacing/writing style so lmk what u guys think :-P

haerin never really liked you. 

she’s never actually met you, but in her defense, once she has a reason not to like someone (or that tiny feeling in her gut that draws her away), the feeling grows and grows—quietly, steadily—until it fills every space it can. and you? you’ve given her plenty to work with.

considering your athletic reputation as the university’s star outside hitter, you're relatively well-known around campus. that’s her first strike—not that it’s a bad thing, just enough for haerin to put you in a different world in her mind. two sides of a coin. peas of different pods—and so forth. you’re louder, more outgoing, bright in a way that feels abrasive to her more reserved nature.

your friends don’t help your case either. they snicker during lectures while haerin is trying to take notes, organize her planner, or simply pay attention. even in the halls of the building or on the  respective way to your classes—you somehow manage to pass by her at least twice a day—-your friends are making you push them away because they made you laugh too hard and suddenly the quiet of the arts building is filled with your voice.

so, she didn’t really acknowledge you at first despite the connections you shared with two of her friends eunchae and minji. but when you decided to switch majors before your second semester and started spending more time in her building, ruining the comfortable routine and atmosphere,  that was the beginning of her personal second semester curse.

(haerin’s heard of the infamous second semester curse; she figured it’d just be due to a heavier academic load and whatnot, not for it to manifest in the form of you.)

and if she was being honest, you’d never actually done anything to her. haerin was just being a little more judgmental than she liked to admit—or as her best friend danielle would say, “you’re just being the usual haerin”—and you, all bright and loud, were simply everything she wasn’t very fond of. it was easier to dislike you that way.

but today, she finally had a tangible reason to back up her detestation.

“holy shit—” haerin hears you curse, your voice panicked as sneakers squawk against the gym floor.

the world spins a little as haerin presses her palm against her head, wincing. 

you’re already sprinting over, wide-eyed and breathless, guilt written all over your face as you slow down to a stop.

“i’m so sorry,” you blurt, unsure of what to do now that you’re right in front of her. “i swear i wasn’t aiming for you—are you okay? can you stand? should i get someone? oh my god i’m so sorry!”

your voice fully registers in her mind and through the haze of pain, haerin blinks up at you.

of course it had to be you.

of course you had to hit her.

of course you had to look at her like that—so worried, so intense.

and for some reason, that annoys her even more.

“i’m fine.” haerin says through gritted teeth, holding the side of her face that was pummeled by a volleyball. now it makes sense why you’re the star outside hitter, because it hurt. it wasn’t even your worst spike. 

she grumbles, “could you watch where you’re hitting next time?”

“i’m so sorry, really.” you hesitate, hand still hovering awkwardly in the air before it reaches over to haerin’s so you can check the side of her face, but she steps back.

“seriously,” she says, sharper this time. “i’m fine.”

you flinch a little at her tone, guilt flashing across your features before you try to cover it up with a sheepish smile. 

“right, um, sorry.” you say, backing off and biting the inside of your lip. “but seriously, i’m so sorry. you can, um, like, hit me back if you want? you can throw the volleyball at my face in return—ah, um, revenge. eye for an eye? or i can treat you to something… if you…”

your voice dies down at the sight of her glare, and because she’s taken her hand off her face and wow the color is nasty—a dark red that might just fade into a near purple in the next hour.

she looks at you, unimpressed, and flatly says, “i’m not five.”

you laugh under your breath, scratching the back of your neck. “fair. but if you change your mind, i won’t argue back or anything,” you offer, pointing to your cheek dramatically. “free shot. no consequences.”

for a second, haerin truly wants to slap you in the face. she wants to roll her eyes and walk away. wants to keep being annoyed, to keep clinging to that righteous, simmering dislike she’s built up for no reason.

but you stand there so weirdly genuine and stupidly endearing in your own loud, clumsy way that makes it harder for her to hate on you the way she wants to. 

she huffs—loud enough for you to hear and swallow lightly from her terrifying energy—then gives you a small groan before turning and walking away without another word.

behind her, you raise your voice just a bit as you call out, cheerful despite the tension, “i’ll take that as a maybe!”

haerin doesn’t turn around. she just keeps walking, cheeks nearly as warm as the side of her head.

—

the next day haerin has to add a good two layers of color corrector, concealer, and foundation in order to cover up the giant bruise on the side of her face. 

after the incident yesterday, the nurse gave her an ice pack and a “take care!” to compensate for your damage because ‘regular’ university students do not get the same attention as an athlete with a torn acl, unfortunately.

she sits down at her usual spot for her music history class, pulling out her laptop and current reading for the course as she waits for hanni. but before hanni can steal a seat next to her, someone else does.

“hi, i don’t know if you remember me. i mean, you probably do…” haerin glances to her right, jaw tensing at the sight of you and hearing your voice. “i, um, got you this…”

you hand her a small box of strawberry chocolate bites, offering her a small smile to break the tension. 

but haerin doesn’t give in.

“why?” she asks.

“what?”

“i don’t need your chocolate,” haerin responds flatly. “you can go back to your friends now.” she adds, redirecting her attention back on the book in front of her. 

“no, no. please, i—i insist. i’ve been on that end, worse than what you had to endure though, and it’s really bad, just—”

“just because i’m not you doesn’t mean i can’t handle a ball hitting my face. i’m good, are we done?”

haerin notices the look of shock that makes your features twitch slightly. you avoid eye contact then, pursing a smile before pushing the chocolate toward her. 

“look. i’m not the type of person to let these things slide. it might seem small to me, but i want to make it up to you. take these chocolates for now,” you sigh, standing up. haerin looks up at you curiously, her expression never shifting as you finally say, “bye.”

—

there was a noticeable routine throughout the next two weeks that you couldn’t seem to break.

you’d cross paths with haerin often, because apparently fate had a terrible sense of humor, and you made sure to acknowledge her each time. it started off small” a smile, nod, or a soft “hey” in her direction. none of it was overbearing, just… persistent. it’s how you are.

even when haerin pretended to notice (she sure noticed each and every time), you never faltered. if her gaze so much as brushed yours, you’d light up immediately, offering a little wave that would never fail to be left hanging. 

in class, it was the same. she always sat in the same spot — the third row from the front, fourth seat in — and you always scanned the room for her as soon as you walked in. when you found her (which you always did), you’d stroll past, knock gently on the edge of her desk with your knuckles, and smile before heading to your own seat across the room.

haerin didn’t understand any of it.

why were you being so nice to her? what were your intentions?

it was all so… strange.

hitting her in the head shouldn’t have led to… whatever this was. she’d expected you to move on and forget it. you have much bigger things to worry about anyway, as the outside hitter. instead, it felt like you were making a point to force your way into her peripheral vision every single day.

she’d been skeptical, very skeptical. she’d spend a few minutes zoned out, trying to think about what you were up to, and why it seemed so welcoming. but no, haerin can’t give in. that’s not like her, not for someone like you.

it wasn’t until her confusion simmered down that she found herself out one afternoon with her group of friends huddled around a crowded table at a campus cafe, sipping on iced teas.

“remember when you told us about the volleyball-to-your-head incident?” minji asks, switching the conversation topic from the most annoying professor to you.

haerin raises a brow. “yeah, why?”

“y/n’s been spiraling because of it.” minji says casually, twirling her straw. “because of you.”

haerin blinks, caught mid-sip. “...what?”

“yeah.” minji grins. “she thinks you hate her. she feels awful about it.”

hanni nods, a bite of a sandwich halfway to her mouth. “i feel bad for the girl,” she adds around a mouthful, earning a look from danielle. “sorry dani. but yeah, minji was telling me about it kinda. damn.”

“so you’re just going to tell hanni about a story that involves… me? without telling me first?” haerin rolls her eyes playfully.

“okay well to be fair she’s my roommate so how about that.” minji argues. “anyway, ever since the volleyball thing,” she continues, leaning forward like she’s about to drop the craziest news ever (knowing minji, it’s probably not that crazy), “she’s been convinced she made an enemy out of you. like, actually upset about it. she keeps asking me if she should apologize again, if she’s being annoying, if she should just stop trying…”

haerin stares at her, stunned into silence.

you? of all people? spiraling because of… her?

 “maybe she’s just not used to people like you, ‘rinnie. i don’t know her like that but i heard she’s very lively and outgoing and basically your complete opposite.” danielle giggles softly. “and i thought i was bad.”

“plus, she thinks you’re like a ghost or something. she sees you everywhere, apparently,” minji adds with a laugh. “she’s kinda going insane.”

for a long moment, haerin just sits there, her fingers gliding along the condensation on her cup. the irritation that she pairs up with you in her head fizzles away just a little.

she hadn’t realized it got to you that much. she never realized how much you truly cared about how she was affected by your killer spike.

maybe, haerin thinks, maybe she’d been a little too quick to judge. 

maybe you’re not just loud and obnoxious. maybe you’re just trying to mend things.

“i guess i’ll be a little nicer. you can’t blame me though, that bruise was purple. i’m just glad it wasn’t that close to my eye.”

“i’ve had worse.” minji snickers, earning a glare from her.

—

today, you have your music history class. 1pm on tuesdays and thursdays, seventy-five minutes long, and one of two classes you have with kang haerin.

you also share the class with two of your teammates: kazuha, the most reliant, talented setter you know, and yunjin, whose killer vertical and presence at the net make her the best middle blocker in the region. 

while the two are a dream combination on the court, they’re a nightmare in any academic setting.

out of the three of you, you tend to be a little more reserved, which says a lot. your composure breaks without fail because they’re so loud and unfortunately so hilarious that it makes you cackle and completely lose any self-awareness in class, or anywhere in general.

yunjin’s nudging you as you three walk up the stairs, teasing you as soon as you reach the second level of the building.

“are you ready to be ignored by kang again?” she snickers, grinning from ear to ear. “i think she hates you even more after all of whatever you’re doing.”

“oh shut up.” you groan, shoving her with your shoulder. “look, i’m trying to be nice. do you know how fucking bad it is to get hit in the head with a volleyball? dude, that wasn’t even my best. it was practice. i feel so bad… one time i got hit by ryujin’s spike and—”

you shiver, remembering how puffy and purple your face had been after the game against your rivals. you looked like you’d gone ten rounds in a boxing ring.

and you can’t stop thinking about haerin after, pinching the bridge of her nose at the thought of her. the faint swelling after the incident, the way her concealer couldn’t quite cover the bruise. the fact that she hadn’t said a word about it, just sat there stiff and silent the next day in class.

“—i need to make it up to her.” you mumble under your breath, almost to yourself.

“wow. i’ve never seen you so sorry.” kazuha hums thoughtfully, sipping on whatever flavored latte she has in her hand. then, she nudges you, nodding her head toward the woman you injured two weeks ago. “but seriously, it’s impressive. i’ve never seen someone make being nice this tragic— hey, now’s your time to shine.”

you glance up.

it’s nine in the morning and you always pass haerin on your way to your first class of the day. today is no different. 

she’s put together, headphones in, and headed straight towards you. 

you feel a lump in your throat. every day, every time, you say hi. and every day, every time, she ignores you.

but you can’t help yourself. you swallow lightly, raising a hand and smiling at haerin. to your surprise—she looks up and meets your eyes, holding the contact for a second longer than usual, something almost unreadable shimmering along the surface before she shifts her gaze forward like it’s nothing, continuing down teh hall.

she acknowledged you. 

you turn to watch her walk away, stunned. “guys, maybe she doesn’t hate me.” you gasp under your breath.

“or maybe: you’re delusional.” yunjin clicks her tongue. “there was probably something on your face.”

“was there?” you say in a slight panic, pulling out your phone to check yourself out. there’s nothing but your plain old face, the face that haerin looked at for four whole seconds.

you can’t be delusional, there’s no way.

when you go to your next class, your spirits are still lifted. you step into music history half an hour later. kazuha and yunjin are already in their seats since you left them to go grab something from your car, and by the time you glance over they’re laughing at something on yunjin’s phone. you linger longer by the door, adjusting your hoodie.

out of habit, your eyes find haerin—third row from the front, fourth seat in—posture perfect with her laptop in front of her, earbuds out now.

something is different this time when you look at her, because she’s already looking at you.

you feel your breath catching. a flash of nervousness rushes through your body and you have no clue why. she blinks once, twice, then quickly turns her focus back to the screen, fingers typing calmly like nothing had happened.

still—you catch yourself smiling, chest a little lighter than it had been all week.

something is different. you can feel it.

and for the first time you can relax your shoulders, because it feels like you’re not just fighting this silent losing battle anymore.

—

you see her again thursday morning, but yunjin and kazuha aren’t there to witness your five seconds of embarassing yourself. 

today her hair is up in a bun and she’s wearing a plaid long-sleeve button paired with wide-leg sweatpants—she looks good, and now that the thought pops up… when hasn’t she?

“hey,” you blurt out before you can even think about what to say after. “good morning.” you add with a friendly smile.

she slows down, her brows twitching just barely as she looks at you like she’s thinking of what to say. maybe she’ll utter nothing and walk off. maybe she’ll reprimand you. to be honest, you don’t really care what happens next because it’s better than nothing.

“hi.” she says quietly, flatly. she breaks eye contact and walks right past again.

your smile widens, and each step down the hall feels brighter.

—

the week ends for most people with relief, but not for you. most friday’s are spent at the university’s court for practice, running a few warmup laps around the small court to get you going.  

everything continues on normally: your team pairs up to pepper for ten minutes before moving into spiking drills, setting, receiving, and perfecting minor details before moving on to scrimmages. it’s a routine you could never get tired of, one your body knows by heart. even when you’re sore and dreading practice, you love it.

what breaks the usual routine is a certain someone showing up twenty minutes before practice ends. 

haerin walks through the door with two of her friends. you recognize danielle and hanni since they’re a weekly feature on your teammate minji’s instagram stories. while everyone gets back into order, your eyes linger on haerin. what you don’t expect is for her to lock eyes with you for a split second, a moment that makes you stop in place, before she breaks the contact. 

you catch the group sitting in the bleachers, sparking a sudden urge to try a little harder.

the last twenty minutes of scrimmage consist of you doing very well. your turns are sharp and precise, your spikes heavy and quick—even some of your teammates are shocked at the sudden boost of energy. you’re playing almost as well as you would in a real game, and maybe it’s because of a special someone in the crowd. maybe it’s to distract her from the fact that one of your spikes left her in the nurse's office.

when practice ends, you run a few laps with your team before stretching together, though not without trying to sneak a peek at haerin to find that she’s already doing the same. you have to fight back a smile each time.

and after everyone finished changing, you caught up with minji, nudging her arm with your elbow.

“hey buddy,” you greet with a teasing tone. “nice blocks today. your vertical is getting better by the day!”

“thanks,” she laughs. “and… buddy? since when did start using that?”

“since now?”

“you sound ridiculous,” minji sighs. “so, what did you need from me?”

“i already told you! you’re doing better… and… well, i have a question.”

minji sighs once more.

“what’s with your little friends showing up?”

“no,” minji starts, raising her eyebrows. “what’s with haerin showing up.”

“no…”

“...yes,” she counters. 

you huff, rolling your eyes as you step back onto the court. minji’s friends are still sitting in the third row of the bleachers, laughing at something from what you can tell. and then minji looks at you from the side, raising her brows again and tilting her head, motioning for you to follow her.

you hesitate when minji starts heading over, but give in anyway.

“i’ll just say hi,” you mutter, more to yourself than minji. your teammate shrugs. 

when you arrive, they’re already headed down the bleachers—it’s a little terrifying. haerin is second after danielle, with hanni trailing behind. you watch as danielle leaps over to hug minji, then catches you while her arms are wrapped around your teammate.

“oh hey!” danielle beams into minji’s ear. “you must be y/n?”

“yeah, right on!” you respond with the same energy. 

then your eyes land on haerin, who’s fixing the collar of her t-shirt before meeting your gaze once again. the energy in your body dims down, your jaw tenses, and you feel like a movie character when the background blurs behind and it’s just them.

“hi haerin.” you greet warmly. 

she scans you again as if she’s figuring out whether or not you deserve a response. you gulp shallowly.

“hi.” she responds. her friends turn their heads toward her, clearly amused. then, her lips curl up just barely, almost imperceptibly. if you weren’t so hyperfocused on her you wouldn’t have caught it. “i’m surprised you didn’t hit anyone in the face.”

your heart beats against your chest like it’s trying to escape. 

minji bites back a laugh as you awkwardly chuckle before saying, “well, that’s progress.”

haerin’s brows raise just a bit as she adds, “your aim must’ve improved.”

minji doesn’t hold back her laugh this time, slapping your shoulder. something about haerin’s light teasing warms your chest, there’s a grin on your face as you respond, “just for you.” and maybe it was risky, but it makes haerin’s lips turn up just a little more. it feels like a standing ovation.

“well,” you begin, because your heart might explode right there and right now. “i was just catching up with minji. i have to uh, i have to… catch up with someone else. see you haerin— and um, you two as well— hanni, danielle.”

they all giggle before waving to you, though haerin only offers you a small smile that makes you want to celebrate.

—

haerin lifts up her head after sensing someone’s presence right by her side. she assumes it’s hanni, so she doesn’t bother to look right away. but when she tilts her head and glances over, it’s not who she expected.

“morning.” you greet, casual, but a faint smile is seen on your face.

you’re here early, haerin thinks. usually your friends would make it before you, loud and probably sharing their whole weekend with the class unknowingly. you’d show up just before class started and scan the room for haerin before making  your way over to the back to join the disturbance. not that she’s keeping track or anything though. that’d be ridiculous.

she blinks once. “morning.”

she turns to grab something from her bag, assuming you’ll leave sooner. but you don’t. instead, she feels your lingering presence beside her desk.

“so, how was your weekend?” you ask, equally awkward as sincere.

“fine.” she replies without looking up. 

you nod, waiting, but nothing conversational trickles in after.

your attempt at dissolving the tension is by clearing your throat, trying not to make it weird. “that’s good. did you do anything fun?”

she turns her head just barely, meeting you halfway—sort of. “why are you bothering me?” she asks, and the bluntness makes you stiffen a little.

your lips part but nothing comes out. you hesitate before answering, “i’m waiting for my friends.”

her brow lifts slightly as if she doesn’t believe you.

“you don’t believe me, do you?” you sigh. “this isn’t me doing charity work because i left a bruise on the side of your face that one time. that was an accident.” 

“right.” she says dryly, her lips twitching faintly.

“i swear!” you blurt out, flustered now. “i felt so bad—like, genuinely. i was gonna ask minji if i could venmo you for your medical bills or something—”

haerin cuts you off by letting out a quiet huff of laughter, looking at you properly for the first time. the corners of her lips lift and something in her eyes soften.

“has anyone ever told you how dramatic you are?” she questions, amused.

you fake a pout. “whatever.”

“you know,” she turns back to her desk, fighting a smile, “you’re not bothering me. i also feel bad that you look like a loser, all lonely and all. you can stay a bit until your friends come.”

“what did you say?”

“you heard me.” she says with a smile. 

and just like that, you’re pretty sure your morning’s already made.

—

you’re not really sure why you decided to put an effort into stepping over the line to make it on haerin’s good side. all the waving at her and making your presence known—maybe it could be labeled as bothering—had been spontaneous. 

there was no doubt that you were drawn to her for whatever reason. maybe it was because she caught your eye each time you would pass her near the beginning of the semester. maybe it was because you looked for the familiar face once you got the rhythm of when you’d briefly be within her presence. 

she was also on minji’s instagram occasionally, so you had a clue of who she was before attacking her face with a ball. and you’d stalked her instagram maybe once or twice on a random evening just because she was tagged in a story. she seemed nice and all, so why not talk to her more?

plus, she was nice to look at at. she had the kind of face that lingers in your mind after being around her, sometimes at night too, or even in random bursts throughout the day. she’s a new smile in your life that you start getting used to. 

haerin found you to be an addition to her routine, a very unexpected one. 

you’d appear at the end of the hall, sometimes with your friends—but recently it had been just you—and wave to her. when it was just you, you never failed to ask her how she was or how her day had been so far, everything friendly. and if she were being honest; she didn’t mind all this energy from you, if anything, she really liked it. 

it took a bit of time for haerin to reciprocate, maybe because of the grudge but also because it was difficult to talk to someone who used to be a world away from her. but here she is asking you if your practice is well, when your games were, and further inquiries that introduce you more as a person. she truly liked getting to know you, even if she pretended to be reserved and hesitant at times.

—

“hey,” you greet haerin as you walk up to her.

haerin isn’t sure when the bumping into you turned into willingly wanting to catch you in the morning or afternoon. this time, she’s waiting in the lobby instead of lingering in the usual hall, and she’s caught you by surprise with the slight change.

“hi.” she greets back.

you’re wearing a blue baseball cap with capital ‘a’ in white on it. your hair is pushed down by the cap just a bit, urging you to swipe it away to prevent it from blocking your view. a loose, white graphic tee also hangs over your figure nicely, complemented by a nice pair of jeans with a color that suits you well. you adjust your cap, finding the way it sits on your head a little off, and haerin wonders why she hadn’t realized how cute you’ve been until now.

“so, i was wondering.”

“oh no.” haerin sighs.

“hey!” you whine playfully. “well now i’m not going to say it.”

haerin looks you square in the eye, tilting her head down and raising her brows just barely.

“okay well if you look at me like that…” you surrender, fixing your hair just a bit. “since we have that mini exam, i was wondering if you wanted to go to the library to study… or, we could hit that cafe nearby.”

“there’s a lot of those.”

“well i know a nice one.”

“me too, y/n.”

“everytime i feel like we’re getting better at this, you suddenly find a way to hate me again.” you joke, but haerin lingers on whatever ‘this’ is. you continue, finishing your thoughts, “but yeah, after class, are you down?”

“sure, sure.” she agrees.

and then you smile, teeth peeking out just a bit. haerin feels a weird tingle run through her body.

—

the tingles get worse the next two weeks.

she spends more time with you, getting a little more personal and she likes it a little too much. you tell her the main reason why you switched majors. you were pressured into something law related, but after taking one elective for that path, you knew it wasn’t for you. and then you did that thing where you rambled on about something you liked a lot, in this case you had rambled about your love for playing the bass, which is the main reason you switched.

“you play bass?” haerin’s eyes widen just a bit from the initial shock. you are so much and so normal at the same time. “since when?”

“ummmm when i was like ten i think. i’ve always played and enjoyed it, even had a few gigs, but my parents wanted me to do law or something that would rack up money.” you shrug. “i got a nice scholarship because of volleyball and realized that i could just… do what i like. and what i like is that—more than anything, really—so....”

she turns to see you staring ahead. you’re both walking across campus to meet up with your friends at the food court, but haerin can’t think about any of that when the afternoon sun is kissing your features perfectly. it hits her that you’re really good-looking.

sure, she knows that’s also another key factor that plays into your reputation. people praise you for your skills, how lively you are, but also how nice on the eyes you are. haerin gets that now.

you catch her staring hard, a smile forming as you mumble, “what?”

haerin snaps back to reality, looking ahead again. “nothing. just thinking, sorry.”

“it’s fine.” you assure, running a hand through your hair. 

when you arrive at the building, ready to split ways to meet your friends, you tap haerin on the shoulder as she turns to leave. she turns, tilting her head and says, “what?”

“you know, if you ever want to see me play bass… you could just ask~”

“you’re full of it.”

you snicker, shaking your head. “well. if you ever stop accusing me of being narcissist, maybe i’ll invite you over to a gig.”

haerin narrows her eyes. “whatever. you should catch up with your friends. i’ll see you, bye y/n.”

“yeah, yeah. see you, haerin.” you smile at her and it feels like the ground beneath is stealing the energy from her knees, nearly knocking her off balance.

—

something about haerin has you rolling around in bed. 

before you dressed in your most comfortable pajamas, flat on your stomach with a pillow under your chin as you stare at your phone, you had spent the evening with minji and her friends—haerin being one of them. 

you set your phone face down and rub your face in your hands. 

it was a spontaneous outing, and you had nothing better to do, so why not tag along with minji? it wasn’t anything crazy, just casual and friendly. all of you strolled along the boardwalk not too far from downtown and playing stupid carnival games. it was fun, especially when hanni and minji started arguing over who would win the most tickets before the sun would set.

what was the most jarring was haerin. nothing in particular, just everything about her that night.

she showed up in a baby tee, beige cargos, and that face of hers. there was something about her that night, or maybe there had always been something about her that you never fully realized until the glow of a building hit her features perfectly. you two were the first to meet up—coincidentally— and without the rest of the group it felt like all the confidence had slipped away from you.

it took a second to greet her, your eyes in awe from how pretty she looked with the slight change in her makeup, or maybe the smile formed on her lips as her eyes landed on you.

you roll over to lay on your back, face still in your hands.

 your cheeks feel significantly warmer as you recall haerin lingering by your side the whole night. her hand had brushed yours multiple times—you remembered each and every time out of fifteen—and she was just so different, charming even, with her friends around. it was a slightly different side of her, one that had your heart beating slightly faster the whole night. 

you can’t stop thinking about the moment she fixed the cap on your head, the hair on your face, and her fingers brushing against your face before telling you how stupid you looked with the loveliest grin. it made your stomach churn. 

the thought of her couldn’t—cant leave your head, even as you take your hands off your face to pinch the bridge of your nose and shut your eyes tightly. 

“what is wrong with me…” you mumble, sighing.

you pick up your phone again, opening on instagram and tapping through stories until minji’s suddenly pops up. your brows furrow slightly as you scan it, eyes lingering on the picture of hanni and haerin, but mainly haerin in that frame. 

she looks good. you can’t get over it. and her user is tagged as well, so you click on it out of curiosity and infatuation.

she has two posts, much less than most people you know. the first one has four slides and a cat emoji as the caption. the first picture is a simple selfie of her with a very neutral expression, one which you stare at for a little too long. the next one is a similar selfie, though she’s smiling instead and you spend more time on that one. the last picture is a cute cat on the street, it makes you smile.

when you catch yourself smiling, you throw your phone across the bed, groaning into your hands.

—

haerin shows up to your next practice without warning you, but to be fair, neither of you had the chance (or guts, really) to ask for each others numbers. the only thing you had was the fact that you were now mutuals on instagram and the fear that held you back from texting her a simple “hi.”

 she’s in the bleachers reading a book—reading while you’re practicing. it makes you laugh more than it offends you, but there’s no reason to be offended anyway. haerin is just being haerin.

you try a little harder just in case she decides to steal a peek at you. today is mainly you serving and spiking up a ton while the rest of the team works to receive it, but when it comes to scrimmaging, you do your best—almost. 

practice ends and instead of heading to the locker room with your team, you run up to haerin, who’s head perks up when she catches the blur of your figure in her vision.

“did you miss me so much that you couldn’t help but stop by and watch?”

haerin scoffs. “don’t flatter yourself.”

“tch, whatever.” you respond.

before she spills the reason she’s there, her gaze shifts to the sweat glistening on your neck, then down to your collarbone, your shoulders, and arms. it’s oddly alluring, but she pushes it down by gulping and meeting your eyes again, trying to ignore the stupid smirk on your lips that tugs at her heartstrings. 

“you put your laptop charger in the wrong bag. i figured you’d be here, so—” she pulls out your macbook charger and hands it to you. “—here.”

“haerin,” you mutter, grabbing the charger. then, you put your other hand out and say, “give me your phone.”

“what?”

“just do it.” you urge, and she surprisingly does.

haerin watches you type in something, then hears the phone vibrate. “my number.” you say it like it’s obvious. “so you don’t have to spend your time reading while the sound of our yelling and the volleyballs distract you.”

“it wasn’t distracting.”

“then why’d you come?”

“to see you.”

your face heats up immediately. 

“whatever. are you doing anything after this?” you ask with a twinge of nervousness in your tone. your thumb presses down on the charger in your hand, an attempt to cool your nerves. “lets hangout?”

“look who’s the one missing me now.”

“oh whatever. do you want to, or no?”

haerin rolls her eyes. “okay, but wash up. you’re sweaty and gross,” she says, her look falling to your bicep as it flexes while you squeeze your charger.

—

“so, you and y/n?” minji asks one afternoon, lazily sitting on the couch.

haerin looks up from her laptop, raising a brow. “what?”

“what’s with you two? are you guys dating?”

“what?” haerin repeats, though much more baffled than before. “where did you even get that idea?”

dating? that’s ridiculous. two people can spend more time together, become friends and whatnot. that’s not dating. and plus, you’re still a world apart. if you’re not around her you’re in your bubble above her, floating around far out of her reach. you guys are nothing more than good friends. you’re nothing more than her good friend.

“y/n talks about you a lot.” minji shrugs, but the flicker of mischief in her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. “a lot.”

“because we’re friends.”

“y/n and yunjin are best friends, but i haven’t heard much about yunjin in a while.”

haerin bites back immediately. “because you know her as well, you guys are teammates.”

“i know you too, haerin. it’s the same.”

minji’s just being ridiculous. there’s no way she’s implying that you have a thing for her. there’s a ton of girls lined up for you and for you to be fixated on her of all people would be ridiculous.

“there’s a lot of people who are into her, but it seems she’s only into you.”

“i—” haerin doesn’t know what to say, she bites her lip instead.

could you really be into her? she thinks hard about it. you’re so oblivious and idiotic, it would be much more blatant if you were actually into her.

“maybe you should pay more attention to her, because she pays a lot of attention to you, haerin.” minji says, followed by a smirk.

haerin groans quietly, sinking in her spot.

“you’re being stupid.”

minji shakes her head. “i think you’re trying to deny what i’m trying to say because you’re also into her—whether you’re going to accept that or not.”

—

minji’s accusation is proven right when it hits her—or rather you, quite literally—not too soon after the night on the couch.

haerin agrees to go to one of your games, but she doesn’t admit it’s because of you. she purposely meets up with minji first, pretending she isn’t eager to see your stupid face. when you run up to her in your uniform, the short sleeves hugging your arms just right, she has to fight back a huge smile. 

you raise your brows, giving her a teasing little smirk. “look who decided to show up.”

“you love to flatter yourself.”

“and you.” it’s a risky comment coming from you, especially when it’s paired with a wink. your teeth catch your lower lip like you regret it—maybe it was too risky. but haerin finds herself scoffing to distract you from the blush spreading across her face.

haerin gets some downtime to meet up with hanni, danielle, and eunchae in the stands. and then the game starts before she process what’s going on.

your team shows up all smiley in their jerseys, the crowd cheering. haerin isn’t on the loud side, so she claps for your team—a sharp contrast to hanni and danielle who are screaming at the top of their lungs. 

somehow, you catch her in the crowd, winking at her before slapping yunjin on the back to boost her spirits. haerin shakes her head, smiling as she does so.

the game starts off well for your team. yoon’s serves throw off the team in the beginning, giving your team a bit of a headstart before they grow accustomed to her. kazuha’s setting, paired with how quick and determined you are on the court, score two-thirds of the points in the first set.

the second set is rougher, with the other team winning by a few points. haerin can see the frustration in your face from where she’s at. the way you tighten your jaw after each slip up and how minji slaps your shoulder to keep you from losing your cool. she’s never seen you so serious, not even during practice. the way you hold yourself on the court is tremendously different from how unserious and carefree in class or alone with her. it’s admirable—also really attractive

the game goes on. you play well. really well.

the third set has you pumping your fist with each successful spike. haerin’s never been into volleyball like that—eunchae was the one who had to explain all the rules while the game was running—but she can tell that you’re incredible just from the way you leap, score, and celebrate.

everyone cools off a bit before the fourth set, determining if you’ll have to play another rigorous round or if you’re ready to celebrate a win against your rivals. 

it begins well, with one great serve from lily that scores the first point. yunjin’s quick to block a spike from the other side, and then kazuha’s dump scores another point for your own team, earning a slap on the back from you that’s too hard for her liking. she pushes your head roughly with a smile on her face.

for a while, the game goes smoothly—until it doesn’t.

your rivals’ star ace spike was faster than you could react, the ball hitting your temple unexpectedly with a force matching your own spikes. the sharp sound catches everyone off guard, and it’s followed by a few gasps, then cheers as the ball lands on the ground after your team loses their focus to look at you with concern.

it hurts, but you shake it off, signaling that you’re fine with a toothy smile and a thumbs-up.

haerin’s sitting up straigher in the stands now, worry etched into the way her eyebrows furrow. danielle glances at her, brows raised, but haerin says nothing. she doesn’t blink once until the game continues on.

everyone’s on the edge of their seats nearing the end of the game—your team is a point away from winning. the other team serves, your team does their best to keep them from scoring, then the ball is on the other side for them to deal with it.

and then, unbelievably, it happens again—this time way worse. 

their outside hitter jumps, swings, and the ball hits you directly in the face clean, and blood shoots out from your nose like something out of a cartoon. the crowd gasps, and haerin flinches as if it hit her too.

you recover quick, blinking hard, and yell at yunjin. she runs after the ball, keeps it in the air, and the game continues. your team scrambles, recovers, and you manage to run up, leap, and score a winning point that echoes in the court.

the gym erupts.

you exhale in relief, losing strength in your legs and laying on the ground with your eyes on the ceiling. blood trickles down your lip, mixing with sweat, and dripping onto the court where you lie down. it’s kind of gross, but you can’t really bother to care because you’ve won. 

the athletic trainer rushes over and makes you sit on the sideline, ice pressed to your face, tissues jammed up your nose almost comically. your team scrambles around you, and you brush them off, telling them you’re fine.

as soon as you’re left alone, haerin doesn’t think—she just moves. she scoots past legs and bags and down the bleachers, walking fast toward where you are.

you look up when she approaches, and all she can think of is how completely stupid you look. stupid and cute.

something sharp and certain twists in her chest.

she likes you.

not in a maybe, possibly way. in a real way. in a “you just bled all over your team’s side of the court, it’s on your jersey, and you’re still smiling at me like that” kind of way.

“i’m fine,” you say, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be grinning with blood drying under your nose.

she sits down next to you, looking at you with worry in her eyes. “you look like an idiot.”

“an idiot who scored the winning assist~” you hum happily, then pause. “maybe this is payback for the time i hit you.”

she narrows her eyes and shoves your shoulder—not hard, but enough to make you laugh.

“i hate you. i still have a grudge because of that but,” she smiles, then continues, “that’s way too harsh for payback.”

you laugh—sort of, through the tissue—and it’s not even that funny, but she laughs too. 

and for a second, the sounds around you fade. the gym, the team, the chaos. it all blurs. everything clicks into place like it’s always been leading to this.

it scares you both simultaneously—how real it feels, how quick it settles in your chests—but it also feels safe. god it feels warm. like this was supposed to happen eventually.

you like her. she likes you. it hits you both at the same time—the third time something has hit you today, but this one hits way harder.

—

when haerin sees you next, your face is still swollen from the game a few days prior.

you’ve shown up to class without bothering to cover up the giant purple mark around your eye and another red mark on your nose bridge. but still, like always, you greet haerin with a smile before heading to your friends, who poke at your face on purpose and earn a pained groan.

“damn, ryujin got you good… it’s still there!” kazuha snickers poking you again. “jesus christ, it looks like you got punched.”

you shove her off, scoffing. “i’ll give you a similar mark if you keep it up.” 

“you better pray that the mark fades into something better, friday we’ve got that gig.” yunjin reminds you.

a lightbulb appears above your head. you’ve totally forgotten about the gig you landed—with the help of yunjin—after your little triumph on the court from a few days ago. your rub your face in your hands a little too hard and it hurts, making kazuha chuckle. 

yunjin arranged a little gig for you and two other students to play at a lively restaurant downtown. you’ve been a few times, and each time there’s been musicians brightening the atmosphere while bringing people together. out of all the places, this is the one you’ve been wanting to play at the longest. how could you forget?

it’s been a while since you’ve had a gig, if you’re not counting late-night bedroom sessions with friends, friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends in someone's dorm or rooftop. the though of performing in such a long time, after being occupied with volleyball, makes you a little nervous.

“fuck,” you mutter. “i completely brushed that off.”

“well, you better be ready by then. we’ve got to practice for that after practice practice.” 

you nod, sighing at the slight sting of your injury. your eyes land on haerin, who’s writing something down on a sticky note and placing it in her notebook. she turns to say something to hanni and your eyes linger on the outline of her side profile.

a thought pops up in your head, one that makes you smile ever so slightly.

—

“so i was thinking,” you start, watching haerin turn to look at you with an “oh god,” expression plastered on her face.

“that’s not good.”

“would you not.” you sigh. “just let me finish.”

you two have been studying european music history together on the second floor of your campus’ most popular cafe. chatter is spilling out from every table, some mixed with the sound of writing or a pen tapping against the table, which does a decent job of making the process of studying your least favorite era less dreadful.

haerin has on a slight blush and lip balm that tints her lips, a no-makeup kind of look that prompts you to steal glances every few minutes or so. you can’t not glance at her, not when her hair is up in a high bun, some shorter hairs falling over her face shifting around just a bit everytime she laughs at your stupid jokes or looks up to think about something. 

“okay, fine.” haerin giggles softly.

“as i was saying,” you continue, but haerin is momentarily distracted.

the oversized t-shirt’s collar is loose enough to reveal a fraction of your collarbones. it drapes over you lazily, complimenting the slight tousled look of your hair. plus, you just look cute in general that it had made it really difficult to study with full concentration. the swelling had gone down and the bruise faded ever so slightly, but there’s a natural flush on your cheeks that lingers from the inflammation that haerin can’t help but find adorable. she looks down at the table, biting down on her back teeth and pursing her lips to give you her full attention.

“i have this… thing on sunday. it’s nothing big, kinda…” you say a little quiter than before. haerin’s distracted again, but just a little. your mannerisms are caught by her eye immediately; the way your voice simmers down to something slightly vulnerable when you’re serious, how you bite your lip in between sentences, and the way your eyes dart around are enough to tell her that it’s actually ‘something big.’

“down at that restaurant near the waterfront, the one with the good burgers and italian food—i have a um… a gig.” you explain, eyes meeting haerin’s again to search for something. “and you know, i’m gonna play bass, and yunjin’s gonna be there too with some others. we’re just gonna have fun, have a good time, a good night and stuff. i was um, i was wondering if you wanted to come.”

before haerin can respond, you clear your throat and clarify, “actually, i’m not really asking. i want you to come.” 

haerin is speechless for a moment, responding with only a blush dimmed by the ambience of the cafe and a smile.

“i’d like that.”

“really?” your posture fixes just a bit from sheer shock. “great. you can bring a friend of course! i don’t care, but i’d… i’d like to see you there. i’d like to spend time with you after my little thing too.”

she laughs and her head tilts a bit, eyes softening as she looks at you with those dumb, adorable blue light glasses slipping down near the tip of your nose. her hand moves over to push them back up, making you smile like a child.

haerin moves her hand back to her laptop, eyelashes fluttering as she blinks and says, “i’m looking forward to it.”

—

panic crawls up haerin’s spine before she can stop it.

she was supposed to have everything under control—finish her assignment early, take her time getting ready, maybe even have some downtime before heading out. but the essay took longer than expected because she lost half of her sources somehow, and now she’s scrambling. she types at a speed that blurs her vision and biting the inside of her lip with each typo just to submit with barely thirty minutes left to get ready to see you. 

haerin’s usually composed, easy-going, and on top of things. but now there’s a small pile of clothes tossed on the bed, her phone buzzing with the time, and her thoughts spinning faster than she can catch them. the bus stop is five minutes away, which means she has less time than she thought. her fingers have trouble zipping up her bag.

she ends up in something simple, making her second guess (but there’s no time for that, really). her hair is braided in two, something simple and hopefully cute enough for you. the braids fall neatly over her shoulders, parted slightly off-center. her makeup is light to match the striped, long-sleeve top she has on, paired with comfy jeans. it’s casual, but hopefully enough to make a statement, or get you to notice her, or maybe—

she closes her eyes, thinking of how ridiculous it is to be thinking so hard about her impression on you. she wants to look nice—wants you to think she looks nice. it’s stupid. she knows it’s stupid. and it’s conflicting in the sense that she’s standing in the mirror trying to impress someone who might not think twice about what she’s wearing. but she can’t help it.

now she’s tying her sneakers and thinking about how you’ll see her when she walks in. if you’ll glance at her for a beat longer than usual. if you’ll say anything. and that thought alone makes her blush so hard she has to put a hand over her face, thinking, what’s gotten into me?

—

haerin gets there a little late—heart banging against her chest from the walk and nerves—but it’s fine. the outdoor area is dim from the setting sun, the lights are warm and hazy, and you’re just about to start. the crowd isn’t crazy huge, but only two tables aren’t filled with a group of friends or couple. she spots a table for two, walking over and passing people talking over drinks, leaning into each other, swaying slightly even before the music begins.

you’re on stage, tuning your bass, laughing at something yunjin says into the mic. haerin spots you immediately, and before she can duck or think twice, your eyes catch hers through the crowd.

the moment is like a movie. everything slows down and it’s just you. your face lighting up—small, just a grin—but she feels it right in her chest. you look thrilled. like her showing up meant the world. like she’s not just another person in that room looking for a nice friday night. like she’s there for you and you only and the thought of it makes you soar.

she finds a spot somewhere off to the side, still in your line of sight. the music starts. something low and smooth and groovy—your fingers working the bass like it’s second nature. haerin’s never really paid attention to bassists before. but with you, it’s impossible not to. 

she’s suddenly too aware of every single thing you do. everytime your fingers shift to another note, the way your eyes flicker over her a little too often—none of it goes unnoticed.

yunjin stands beside you, her energy laidback, teasing. she waits for you to finish the opening chords, then strums into the rhythm, syncing naturally with the beat. you move with the rhythm, eyes mostly on your bandmates but still drifting back to haerin again and again like you can’t help it. 

the chorus creeps in, you step up next to yunjin, nodding at her like there’s a silent understanding of what’s up next. the crowd sways with you two, reeled in by your energy and playfulness. you alternate the lyrics with yunjin; she sings the first part of the chorus, and you sing the second part. 

“cause basically i—” yunjin starts, before passing it to you, “i just wanna ride with you”

your voice slides into the space, low and clear, easy but intimate.

“i gotta getcha—’cause i just wanna vibe with you”

yunjin keeps it light, laughing a little as you bump her shoulder during her next line, but when you return to your part, your gaze locks in on haerin. 

“‘cause i just gotta know if you want me too,” you sing. your voice is like silk, the tone is almost inviting, “dontcha want me?”

the lyrics feel different—like they mean something deeper and you’re not just singing it to entertain the crowd, like you really mean what you’re singing and it’s not just the song.

haerin’s heart races in her chest. she feels it even in her neck, in her fingertips, and the thrill of it makes it impossible to look away. the way your voice fills the room, rich and warm, and she’s hanging on every word. you sing with such ease, so naturally, as though this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. and with every chorus that yunjin flows into, you complement her voice without failing to make eye contact with haerin as you dance around with yunjin. 

dontcha, 

dontcha, 

dontcha, 

dontcha want me?

the outro loops, and she’s completely under whatever your voice has cast. her head bobs along, a faint smile on her lips, not even trying to hide how enamored she is. 

as the song ends, you pause for a moment, fingers still resting on the bass strings, and meet her gaze. you have the same look from before. a quiet understanding. your smile isn’t wide now, but it’s full of something softer, steadier. like you’re both aware of the new realization that hangs in the air. 

haerin rises with the rest of the crowd, clapping, her expression a little different now—slightly flushed, eyes bright. she makes her way to you once the applause dies down and people begin settling back into their seats after everyone on stage says their final words of appreciation and gratitude. 

it’s just you and her again. 

you’re both quiet. not because you want to be, but because haerin opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. and on your end, it feels like your brain short-circuits the second you see her up close. 

she’s standing there with her hands fidgeting around with the end of her top, her cheeks are pink from the slight chill of the evening or maybe from the song—maybe both. her hair catches the light in soft waves, and her eyes, even as she glances down, make you want to collapse then and there. she looks up again with those gorgeous brown eyes you could probably stare at for the entirety of a lecture and longer and your brain is fuzzy and twisted and tangled. 

the golden light from the streetlamp pools down against a window and it somehow reflects perfectly to make her face glow more than before. everything about her feels surreal, a little too good to be true.

and before you can even process anything other than the slight tilt of her head, you say it.

“wow.” 

your voice is quiet, breathy, like you’ve just found a new wonder of the world. 

she glances up at you, lips parted like she was about to speak, but your next words beat her to it.

“you look beautiful.” and it’s not smooth, or practiced. it falls out of your mouth clumsy and too honest. but the second it slips out, you mean it more than anything you’ve ever said.

her eyes go wide for a second, and then she laughs—soft and flustered and caught off guard. her eyes dart away like they’re too shy to hold yours anymore. she shifts on her feet, head ducking slightly, biting the inside of her lip just barely. 

“you’re just saying that,” she murmurs, her voice quiet but warm, still not quite looking at you. 

“no,” you say, immediate, because it’s true and you need her to know it. “i mean it.”

she laughs again—maybe to calm her stuttering heart, or because she is way to flustered to act normal at all—and smiles into the sidewalk like it’s the only way she can keep from blowing up then and there.

(something like that)

you watch her closely, your heart racing, but not from nerves anymore. from something else. something lighter. better. 

“i um, i—” you pinch the bridge of your nose, cringing at your stutter. haerin laughs, and you do too before continuing. “thank you for coming. i was really looking forward to see you.”

“you were?”

“of course i was, idiot.” you grin. “have you eaten yet?”

haerin thinks to herself briefly. she had crammed before meeting with you, and if she tried to take even a bite out of anything she probably wouldn’t have been able to swallow it just from the overwhelming rush of nervousness that washed over her just from thinking about you and seeing you.

“no. i didn’t get the chance.”

“let me treat you then! the burgers here are great. lets grab two and share the fries,” you suggest, putting your hand on your stomach. “and i’m really hungry after all of that.”

haerin rolls her eyes, then chuckles. “of course you are. let’s go eat, y/n.”

—

after dinner, and saying all your goodbyes to everyone who showed up, you end up walking along the waterfront right outside the restaurant.

(yunjin makes sure to wiggle her brows at you two, and tease you until you’re blushing even harder than before.)

the night is quiet except for the sound of water lapping gently against the edge of the dock and the occasional breeze. the street lamps light up your path, and your steps slow naturally, like neither of you are in a rush to go home.

you nudge her arm gently as you walk. “you know, i always wanted to get to know you better.”

she glances over, rasing an eyebrow. “since when?”

“since that day i hit you in the head.” you laugh a little, eyes on the water now.

she groans. “seriously?” and you grin.

“i felt so bad—you were so pissed,” you say fondly. “i did everything i could to warm up to you because i was so, so sorry. every time we passed each other, you’d act like i didn’t exist or give me that look… my friends poked at me for it but i was kind of fascinated.”

haerin’s already laughing now, shaking her head. “you’re so weird.”

“probably.” you admit with a chuckle. “but i liked finally getting through your skin, getting to know you… you just— you stood out. i don’t think i’ve ever met anyone like you. and i didn’t stick around because i felt bad for giving you a giant bruise. i just thought you were interesting, and smart, and pretty. and when you say you hate me and call me an idiot it only makes me want to stick around and bother you more.”

your voice dies down a bit. haerin notices the shift in your demeanor—something shy, nervous, and adorable.

“i thought you were so odd for wanting to stick around,” she finally says, glancing at you with that same familiar side-eye, but softer this time. “and i didn’t like you before because we were in two different worlds and… your friends were so loud.” she jokes.

you pretend to clutch your chest, gasping. “wow, i’m hurt. you hated me without knowing me?”

“i didn’t hate you!” she defends, pushing you softly.

she laughs again and you both stop walking, pausing near the edge of the water. she’s still smiling when she looks at you, but her voice is smaller when she speaks again.

“i’ve really grown to admire you,” she says quietly. “and i’m glad we’re here, and you invited me to your little gig and i finally got to see you play bass and you…”

“i’m glad we’re friends—kind of,” you say softly, quietly. she looks up at you with a confused expression, to which you respond by looking away, smiling at the water in front of you. “i’m saying ‘kind of because’… i’ve kinda had a thing for you for a while and i’m really glad you came and i wanted to ask you out tonight but god it feels like my heart is beating out of my chest and—”

you inhale, then look her in the eyes before exhaling your confession, “haerin. i really, really like you.”

she doesn’t say anything at first. just looks at you, her eyes darting across your face like she’s searching for something in the sparkle on the surface of your eyes. 

then, slowly, she leans in and kisses your cheek. it’s quick, barely there, but you heat up almost immediately. your chest warms, and then your face, and then your whole body.

you blink. your cheeks are flushed like crazy—they have to be—and haerin pulls back, clearly flustered now too. she bites back a smile.

“i really like you too,” she mumbles, looking anywhere but at you. “you’re so cute. i hate it.”

you grin. “sorry.” 

“don’t be. i like it.” she responds, earning a playful scoff from you.

you can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night. neither can she.

—

your first official date with haerin is downtown, but it’s nothing too far from a usual hangout other than the fact that both of you are crazy aware of the mutual feelings, mutual everything. haerin smiles at you the whole time and you want to capture the moment and hang it on your wall.

the second official date is nothing crazy, but it’s really domestic for a second date. 

you invite her over to your place since yunjin’s out for the weekend helping her mom with something you completely forgot about. haerin shows up in a simple sweater and shorts and the sight of her alone earns a bunch of kisses pressed all over her face. she pretends to be annoyed, pushing you off and groaning playfully, but when you’re settled, she presses a soft kiss on your cheek and calls you cute. you nearly combust.

for a second date, it’s awfully intimate. intimate in the way that you were supposed to be watching a movie together, but a gust of drowsiness decided to sweep by. it hits you first, starting off with a small yawn that leaves your lips, and then your head falls to haerin’s chest, the thump of her heart lulling you to sleep. she’s flustered beyond measure at how calm and settled you look, snapping a picture before shutting your laptop and pulling your blanket over both of you. she moves just a bit so you can both lie comfortably instead of at a questionable angle, and the last of your energy takes over then, your arm wrapping around her.

the second date ends with you waking up to a dead-asleep haerin sprawled out on top of you. the soft breaths from her lips urge you to reach out your hand, even while half asleep, and brush the hair out her face, smiling before you succumb to sleepiness again.

—

an incident familiar to your first mishap with haerin occurs before you even get to your third date. 

it’s just like before–same gym, same rush of adrenaline as you play through another long rally during practice. the ball sails high over the net, your timing feels perfect, and without thinking, you leap up and spike it hard.

the ball’s trajectory decides to swerve and smack right into someone’s head.

you freeze.

it takes less than a second to realize it’s haerin.

“oh my god—” you’re already sprinting across the court before she can even recover from the hit, cradling her head with one hand while waving off the coach with the other. “are you okay? are you—can you see me well? how is your vision? do you feel dizzy?”

“i’m fine,” she says, blinking a few times. “it just scared me—”

“i just hit your head with a nasty spike, do not lie to me. i’m not taking any chances. come on.” you gently take her wrist, ignoring the fact that practice hasn’t ended yet as you pull her toward the exit. 

she doesn’t resist. she just walks beside you with that unreadable expression she always has on her face—though it’s slightly more readable when she’s around you and you take much pride in that—though you don’t catch the way she keeps stealing glances at you.

you head over toward the nurse’s offices, nearly barging into the hallway, but once you’re alone and the noise of the gym fades behind you, you stop and turn to her. 

“let me see,” you mutter.

she opens her mouth to assure you that she’s perfectly fine even though a stinging sensation lingers, but you’re already cupping her face in both hands.

your thumbs press softly against her cheeks, fingers curled just under her jaw, tilting her head from one side to the other. “you’re not dizzy? does your head hurt? is your vision—”

“i’m fine,” she repeats, but her voice is quieter now, and her eyes keep flicking between yours and your lips.

the proximity decreases the more you frown. concern is etched on your features as you inspect her like she’s made of glass. “i swear, i didn’t mean to—the ball just, i thought yunjin would’ve got it but—ugh, you could’ve been really hurt if it were a direct spike. your cheek is already deepening in color, your face—”

and that’s when she kisses you.

a quick, soft press of her lips to yours. barely there. just enough to shut you up.

you blink. 

she pulls back immediately and fills the silence, her voice small. “you worry too much.”

your hands are still on her face, and now they tighten slightly. and before you can overthink it, you lean in and kiss her again. this time it’s slower, softer, and certain. 

she makes a small noise of shock against your mouth, but melts into it a second later. her whole body relaxes completely. 

when you finally pull back you’re blushing like crazy. her eyes are widened and her smile grows the longer you look at her.

“... are you sure you’re okay?” you murmur, your thumb brushing her cheek. 

“i am, stop worrying so much.” she scolds, then giggles softly. “you still hit me in the head me in the head though—again.”

“sorry.” you sigh. “guess we’ve come full circle now.”

“i guess so, loser.” she laughs, then moves over to peck your lips again.

[kxsagi]

Hello! Super impressed with how much you’re able to write so often and I hope you continue having fun doing it/ don’t get burnt out! Would it be possible to request a scenario about a reader who’s dating isagi (and has for awhile since before blue lock) but is from an affluent family who wants them to get engaged for family political reasons. They later decide to temporarily get engaged to reo to help cover up both of their relationships (reader and isagi and reo and nagi) and kind of become besties through it. For a one shot/ scenario maybe have them judging other people at a fancy dinner (or if head canons on the general idea would also be great - whatever is easier) thank you!!

“𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬”

a/n: hi and thank you so much!!!

rich reader x longtime boyfriend isagi x fake fiancée reo that has a secret relationship with nagi? this request was very specific lol, so i’m sorry if i got anything wrong! (i did make all 4 four of them besties from the start to make the writing a little easier, they become even better best friends throughout the engagement drama)

for later context, isagi is invited to the dinner party because he is now a pro soccer player after his achievements in blue lock. i also threw in some gay nagireo in there cuz why not they’re gay anyways 

you’ve been with isagi since before blue lock, since his hair was messier, his dreams quieter, and your family's expectations a little easier to ignore. back when being together meant holding hands behind the school and sneaking into your driver’s car after games. he’s always made you feel like a person, not a pawn. which is exactly why you can’t let your family know about him. 

not when they’re talking about engagements like they’re business mergers. 

your father puts down his wine glass at a family dinner and says, “we’ve had interest from the mikage family, you know. a strategic partnership could benefit both parties.” 

you blink. “you mean like… i get stock options? or i get married?” 

your mother’s smile is tight. “don’t be crass, sweetheart. you’d get both.” 

and just like that, you're being politically packaged like a luxury handbag. 

you don’t even panic. not really. you just call reo the next day and say, “wanna fake an engagement to avoid being sold off like cattle?” 

he hums. “sure. nagi thinks it’s funny.” 

you smile. “isagi said it’s either this or he beats up your dad. so i guess we’re going with this.” 

thus begins the most fabulous scam of your life. 

it’s about a month into the fake engagement when the dinner party happens, one of those rich people breeding grounds where everyone wears cream-colored suits and says things like “let’s circle back” when they mean “go away.” 

you’re seated next to reo, who looks like he just walked off a magazine cover, because of course he does. your parents are three seats away. nagi is conveniently not invited. and isagi is somewhere across the room, seated like a polite accessory at the farthest table, trying not to combust. 

“my real boyfriend is glaring at you,” you whisper to reo. 

reo raises a glass. “i know. isagi looks like he’s thinking about setting fire to this floral centerpiece.” 

you both clink glasses in solidarity. 

across from you, some heiress with a platinum trust fund is explaining how she’s “completely self-made” because she once opened a vegan bakery in london. 

“girl,” you mutter. “you own six apartment buildings.” 

reo leans in. “her dad had to pay two million in damages after she accidentally poisoned someone with mushroom powder she found on pinterest.” 

you bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “damn. you really do your research.” 

“i'm thorough,” he says smugly, and starts texting nagi under the table like a giddy middle schooler. you sneak a glance at isagi, who’s pretending to stir his soup while definitely texting you with his hand under the tablecloth. 

isagi [8:41pm]: i miss u 

you [8:42pm]: you’re 20 feet away 

isagi [8:42pm]: i’m dying. reo’s dad just said i look like someone who “played sports at the public school” 

you [8:43pm]: okay he’s getting coal for christmas 

reo tilts his phone so you can see nagi’s response. 

nagi [8:43pm]: make them eat the centerpiece. they won’t notice 

you almost choke on your water. 

the woman next to you tries to engage you in a conversation about equestrian bloodlines, and you politely nod while messaging isagi under the table like you’re in some sort of underground operation. reo’s playing his part like a total pro – he throws you looks like “i’m so in love” and sighs dramatically any time you talk, which only makes you both look obnoxiously engaged and secretly evil. it’s perfect. 

“what do you think of this one?” reo whispers when the next guest starts bragging about launching a NFT for gourmet olives. 

“looks like a young benedict cumberbatch if he lost a fight with a hedge fund,” you say. “he just said the word ‘synergy’ unironically.”

“disqualified,” reo mutters. 

you clink glasses again. you’re starting to like this way too much. 

but later, you escape to the garden to breathe, because all this secret-love-fake-fiancée-corporate-dinner-lunacy is exhausting. reo follows you out with two glasses of champagne and a subtle wink. 

“nagi’s bored,” he says. “he tried to facetime me under the table.” 

“isagi sent me a meme and called it ‘the real appetizer.’” you sigh. “do you ever feel like we’re the only sane people in this capitalist hellscape?” 

reo raises a brow. “you’re fake engaged to me. you think i’m sane?” 

you clink your glass against his anyway. “you’re the only one who gets it.” 

for a second, the two of you just stand there in silence, watching the glowing windows from the outside like kids pressed to a candy store. 

“thank you,” you say, suddenly, seriously. “for helping me.” 

reo waves it off. “please. i get a fake fiancée and tax write-offs. nagi’s obsessed with the drama.” 

you smile. “he should’ve been an actor.” 

“he is acting. like he doesn’t love me.” 

you glance at him. “do you ever wish you could just… tell everyone?” 

“all the time,” he says. “but for now, we have each other. and excellent wardrobe coordination.” 

you bump his shoulder with yours. “ride or die.” 

he grins. “now tell your boyfriend to stop sulking and come steal you away.” 

“only if nagi lets you come over for game night.” 

“deal.” 

back inside, you walk past your mother, who whispers, “try not to look too smug. people are already talking about how perfect you and reo look together.” 

you give her a dazzling smile. “just wait till the wedding photos,” you say sweetly. “they’ll be iconic.” 

isagi meets you by the door with that look on his face, the one that says i’d break ten social contracts to hold your hand right now. you brush fingers briefly as you pass. 

and later, when you sneak into isagi’s apartment with leftover cake in your bag and tell him all about the NFT olives and poisoned mushroom heiress, he kisses you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. which, really, you are. 

reo texts you at 1 AM. 

reo [1:01am]: nagi just said he wants to “elope but in a cool way.” do you think that means vegas or sword fight? 

you [1:02am]: depends. is there pacman involved? 

reo [1:02am]: always 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dhwty-writes]

To be fair to my players: we were all very inexperienced and it showed. I had just gotten my start in the hobby with actual plays and like 10 sessions of playing pathfinder myself and had just started building a world without really understanding what worldbuilding in a TTRPG context means (I have gotten better but I still tend to go overboard bc honestly I might be better off writing settings than actually running a game). I didn't really have an adventure my friends could bring their freaks to, just a sandbox and the adventure got shaped around their characters, kind of.

What was very frustrating tho was their initial refusal to follow adventure hooks and engage in combat. I spent a lot of time in the beginning making random encounter tables, selecting loot etc. And my players just did not want to fight. Coincidentally, the times they are having the most fun were the two arcs where every town had a new problem they had to solve with blades and magic. Still I sometimes here the "that was nice. Can we get back to the plot/backstories tho?" Thing

While I rail against the idea of GM prep being like "preparing a nice story for your players that their characters can be slotted into and also as a GM it's your duty to integrate the characters' backstories into your prep or else you're a bad GM" because it often results in linear narratives with very little room for player agency but also it's an unhealthy dynamic to expect a GM to weave together a coherent narrative out of the ideas provided by multiple people who might have completely different ideas about what the game should even look like. But there's also more to the practical angle than "it's hard to prep:"

If a player whose character is deeply integrated into the narrative of the campaign suddenly needs to leave the campaign you've left yourself with a narrative void and unlike in Hollywood you can't just go recasting that shit. No one's gonna buy into this new Goblin Steve, his new player can't even do his voice properly.

By prepping games like this you're really setting your whole campaign up for failure in most cases. How about: the story isn't something the players write for homework before the campaign, right? The NPCs that matter are not authored connections your players gave you as assigned reading before the game even started. The story is whatever happens during sessions and the connections that matter are those that characters build during play.

There is of course some nuance to this but like: we see so much talk about GMs being expected to integrate player character backstories into their prep (and then their players not being engaged anyway because they felt the GM did it "wrong") and about how GMs are burning out and it's a thankless job and like. Could there perhaps be a solution?

[hitlikehammers]

🍪That One Time Wayne Munson Got Gifted Some Homemade Cookies (by the man who’s also His Boy), Some Time to Listen to His Love-Drunk Nephew💍, and Some Opportunities to Answer Questions He Already Knows the Answers To (plus a bonus chance to celebrate Elizabeth Munson—God rest her soul) but Still Got NO COFFEE 🫠

☕️OR: 3/5 times Steve/Eddie talk to anyone but each other about their feelings (for each other), +1 (other time they turn around and talk to one another)

“Stevie made those.”

Wayne turns when he hears his nephew’s voice, the fancy Tupperware still in his hand.

“Figured as much,” Wayne shakes the box; “sure as hell wasn’t you.”

He expects Eddie to squawk, all self-righteous with not half-a-foot to shake on; but he hears Eddie come in just from his footsteps; how he leans against the doorway.

Wayne thinks Eddie’s comfortable way of being in this space is how this little house of theirs has been a place he’s been able to really think of as a home.

“I mean, he made me a batch, and you a batch,” Eddie leans his whole body toward where Wayne’s holding the Hershey-capped cookies: “those are all yours.”

Wayne looks down at the container in his hands, feels something complicated in his throat he don’t have a name for, but is a feeling he is finding himself coming close with more and more these days.

“He gonna be around later?” Wayne asks, gruffer than he means, or expects: but should have done.

Pesky thing in his throat, and all.

“If he gets off work at a decent time,” Eddie answers with a dramatic sigh before his face screws up in distaste as he adds; “inventory.”

Wayne hopes it goes quick; hopes everybody was kind and did rewind or…whatever inventory entails at a video store. He wants very much to thank the boy for his treats—and them being exclusively left for him—Eddie takes the Hershey-tops and leaves the cookie, always has. Grinds Wayne’s gears somethin’ awful.

And Wayne wouldn’t have pegged Harrington as a thoughtful boy, save maybe about the balance of his bank account, if he’d been asked to lodge an opinion on the kid sight-unseen; he admittedly hadn’t heard the name among those he sometimes caught of his Ed complaining about whatever hubbub had taken over the ‘preps and jocks’ in ‘the fiefdom of Hawkins High’.

To his shame as a good supportive listener, but the necessity of his sanity, Wayne mostly tuned out what came after those sorts of words when his nephew went off on one of his…opining spells.

Harrington was only a bit player, though, that Wayne was fairly sure of, simply because he only noticed that name on behalf of his daddy, out of all the names he took little to no notice of at all. And Wayne didn’t notice all that much.

He always perked up for it, and the overarching memory of whatever always followed was mild and tame in comparison to what he expected from the son and heir of that rat bastard.

Most recently, before all hell broke loose and Wayne came to know any better, Ed had been consumed with something of a conspiracy theory involving his new crop of ‘sheepies’ and his dungeon club being bamboozled by a…conniving Harrington seeking to corrupt them into, if Wayne understands correctly, the sins of having a reliable ride to the arcade, to the city for their little dragon supplies, and transportation safely home after dark in the winter.

Also being ‘normal’, which: Wayne knows his boy well enough to at least understand that is indeed an unacceptable offense.

But then all hell had broken loose, and the first time Wayne sees Steve Harrington up close for himself is at his boy’s bedside in clearly pilfered scrubs, which track with how he’s got an IV pole next to him where he sits—he was probably as much a gown-covered patient as Eddie is on the bed in front of them.

I’m sorry, are the first rough, tar-scraped words Wayne heard Harrington say, even if his eyes never leave Eddie to say them. Probably he suspects only family’s allowed in, and maybe already recognizes the sounds of the nurses, and knows that ain’t Wayne.

But those are these words Wayne hears for himself from Steve Harrington.

I’m sorry, followed close by: I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t save him, I got him here as quick as I could, I swear, I—

And that’s where Wayne had walked up and put a careful hand on this kid’s shoulder, even if he’d tended under the touch—or tried to, like his instinct was to go still but there was some deeper thing that trembled harder, unstoppable no matter how he tried—but Wayne set a hand on that shoulder, where the boy sat at his nephew’s bedside, while Wayne pointed out the important bit:

You did save ‘im, though, and Wayne had waited for the kid to look up, eyes rimmed red and expression just damn…shattered, but Wayne, as much as he’d been feeling much the same himself, he’d nodded toward the bed until the boy had followed the gaze to the very point Wayne had been trying to make, the why for how he’s only feeling shattered and nothing worse: his boy is there on that bed. His chest’s risin’ and falling. The monitor counting his heartbeats is steady.

This young man did save his boy. He tried, and he succeeded in the trying.

And that had been Wayne’s first real impression of Steve Harrington. Nothing like his daddy’s money. No nefarious plots, neither.

Hadn’t gone lost on him that nobody’d come to usher him back to wherever he’d come from with that gown and that line in his own arm, not for hours.

Wayne’s shaken free from his mulling when Eddie opens the fridge, grabs a beer—offers one to Wayne as if the man hadn’t just got up for the goddamn day and hadn’t even started his pot of coffee first.

Though, in honest fact: Eddie probably would grab a beer if he wanted one, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Crazy kid.

“He asked me to call and let him know if you want him to pick up pizza or chicken for dinner.”

It takes Wayne a second—maybe he’s the one who needs to shake off the sleep—but…nope. Nope, Eddie means Steve, there, because who else would come over with takeout, expecting the obvious that Wayne’s pretty damn sure Eddie also mentioned already:

“You just said,” Wayne starts and Eddie pops back out of the refrigerator, leans against the doors to push it closed.

“Robin said she’ll cover for him to bring it over, even if he can’t stay,” Eddie shrugs with a bright grin, and Wayne’s hit with the dregs of thinking back to that bright grin pulled tight under bandages, that spring up from a crouch to ransack the fridge stilled, battered, a question mark in the future of Wayne’s whole world—tries to shake it off before Eddie notices; “so that whatever you pick is here before you’re off.”

Wayne shouldn’t have worried about being noticed for dipping too close to the remnants of what it felt like to dance so long on the edges of grief in thinking on the hospital before—he’s teetering on the very opposite, here and now. Because Steve Harrington in theory really was the last person Wayne could imagine holding any positive feeling toward.

But as it stands: he don’t know what life looks like anymore without both his boys, safe and sound.

His eyes slide to one of those boys and notices how he’s staring off into nothing….except no. Not nothing. The counter where he’s got his hands propped now. And Wayne maybe’s only seeing from the side but…he doesn’t think he’s ever seen that kind of stare on his kid.

And his Eddie’s always been prone to just…staring off into space.

“What’s got you starin’ like that?” he asks, more suspiciously than concerned. Not least for the grin teasing the corner of Eddie’s mouth that Wayne can see.

“He gave me a ring.”

Eddie says it, voice low, never looking away from what Wayne presumes is that exact ring. He’s quietly entranced for a good near-on minute before he turns to Wayne, sobers a touch, but really only the slightest bit.

“Not like,” Eddie starts, then he pauses; bites his lips like it’s both incredibly simple and obvious and mighty complicated, all at once.

“I think he was raised too fancy not to ask you first,” Eddie lands on, spaces the words out slow; “for that.”

“Don’t need my permission,” Wayne half-grouses, more…not offended, but maybe closer to concerned—somewhere in the middle. That the boy would think to need his okay, but at the same crossing, to even second-guess he’s long since more’n had it, either way.

“He knows that,” Ed shoots back simply, definitive-like, which sets something more rustled-up than Wayne had expected it’d get back now to ease.

Before he tips Wayne’s world over in a whole other way, instead.

“He would want your blessing.”

The knowing glint in Eddie’s eyes is…Wayne’s not sure he’s had it turned back on him like that before. Knocks him a little crooked for the surprise of it before the words themselves knock him clear over—he’d never thought about being the person someone’d ask, like that.

Wouldn’t hesitate a second for Steve but…knowing the boy thinks well on you versus hearing, confident-like, that he’d seek out Wayne’s approval of the kinda feelings that have been clear from the early days and seem to grow more, and bigger, everything say, just…

Goddamn.

“But he said this was a temporary placeholder,” Eddie says it with such a smile in the words, his face all sunshine as he admires his left ring finger: always bare up to now, Wayne’s pretty sure; “I think he wants to wait until after I graduate.”

“Smart boy,” Wayne nods, gets back his footing a bit more; “gives you some extra motivation to cross the finish.”

And Eddie squawks his indignation right on schedule for it.

“Excuse you, I am doing very extremely passably in all my classes.”

“And I’m proud of ya for it,” Wayne nods, truthful as anything; “don’t mean a little extra nudge ain’t appreciated.”

That bit’s truthful too.

“Or a…colossal extra nudge,” Eddie concedes, tries to play petulant but his grin too big, too full to bite back any longer as he sighs, drapes himself a little more boneless over the precarious creak given by the kitchen chair he’s lounged in.

“He read my paper over, without bothering to tell mehe had a migraine coming on,” Eddie grouses, but he’s so goddamn fond about it through the worry; “sneaky bastard grabbed it up before I could get home to notice the signs it was imminent,” he whines a little more before gesturing out the window at the overcast sky: “not that I’d need to, with this fuckin’ weather.”

And Wayne will give Eddie that—scatterbrained and easily distracted as he’s always been? His biggest distraction is Steve. Steve’s whereabouts and safety, his well-being and caretaking—just Steve.

It’s…it’s heartwarming, Wayne can’t even think up a good way around that as the explanation that best suits.

“Stubborn,” is the explanation that Wayne vocalizes though, already figuring he’s roped into this conversation, and with an inkling where it could still turn?

He needs to save up his softest moments just in case.

“Gotta be why you’re so fond o’ each other,” Wayne hums like he’s reached some stunning realisation; “opposites attract sometimes as much as like finds like,” and Wayne always has reckoned these two maybe found the best of both in one near-world-ending go.

“Tried to tell me he just figured it wasn’t relevant,” Eddie rolls his eyes, brings it back to Steve as he usually tends to with most things, these days; “said it’s not like his eyes on my writing are worth anything anyway, because he’s, well,” and Ed straightens up there, expression hardening a little.

“He tried to call himself something offensive and also untrue, so I stopped him, but,” and Wayne knows well that argument. He’s taken to stopping it himself more’n once.

“Boy won’t accept his smarts are just as good as those rugrats you got,” Wayne says with conviction; “just look different, his do, s’all.”

Wayne doesn’t come from top-of-the-class stock, but he knows intelligence. In the field, in battle, in working hard with your hands, in honest everyday know-how. Recognizes it well in Steve, where Steve was probably only taught college meant smart, and anything other was just different, but mostly worthless.

Wayne really would enjoy a free shot at Steve’s daddy’s jaw, just once.

Cause he’d only need the once to break the sucker.

“Exactly,” Eddie sighs with an odd amount of enthusiasm, only person Wayne’s ever seen infuse a sigh with so much; “and all that, even without believing that he was willing to put himself in pain to make sure I didn’t miss a fuckin’ comma.”

Less than a minute’s-worth of quiet settles before Eddie’s back to talkin’—‘bout the same subject, of course, as per usual.

“He’s gonna help me with the van,” he announces, and that’s good to hear because that van…needs all the helping hands it can get, for as often as Eddie’s on Steve’s good graces for a ride these days.

Though Wayne don’t think Steve minds one lick.

“Next weekend, when he’s off,” Eddie’s elaborating, as if always his way, but Wayne feels…different with this. It’s as rambling as Eddie ever ends up being but, also it’s…it feels like it’s building up to something. Bolstering some other thing, though hell Wayne can suss out what. “He’s, like, really good with cars? Probably because of how much he pampers his—”

“Don’t gotta sell me on the boy, son,” Wayne finally cuts him off, “I know he’s good people,” which was a surprise he shouldn’t have made assumptions on without seeing for himself.

“And I know he’s good for you.”

And that, once he’d gotten clear of the assuming? That, Wayne had been sure on quick and with no doubts at all.

But his Ed still beams for it, red still high on his cheeks like every time he thinks of his boy is the brand new, first blush and everything.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks in that way that don’t require no answer.

But Wayne has one, for this, so he’s gonna give it anyway.

“That boy watches you like you walk on water,” Wayne scoffs, because he might’a known Eddie long enough to clock his heartsick ass from the get-go, but Steve wasn’t ever so hard to read, even at the start. By now, though?

“Looks at you like you shat the stars out and hung them for show.”

Ed looks up at the ceiling for a second, drags his hair to hide his face as he blushes full-on now and grins like anything. Wayne just enjoys the opportunity he never expected to get: seein’ his boy not just this happy, but so damn in love.

“He sees the best and worst in you, Ed, has seen youat your best and worst, and he still looks at you that way for all of it,” Wayne feels compelled to underscore the point, the uncommon magic in it all—here. After everything, sure, but: here, in all the world. “Not in spite of all of it, but for all of it,” and it’s true. Steve loves Eddie toe-to-toe, inside and out. Like Eddie loves—almost uncanny for the match of them.

“Kid loves the hell outta you,” Wayne comments definitive-like as he finally goes to get a mug from the cupboard—only to turn around and meet his boy’s too-surprised stare, those big eyes damn-near shocked at Wayne’s sureness, like he don’t have eyes.

“D’ya really think I’da been keepin’ my mouth shut if I didn’t think he was right for you, loved you right?” Wayne asks, which: it’s mostly meant for the way Wayne specifically makes his opinions known. Which are less about opening his mouth and more about certain combinations to grunting and narrowing his eyes—he ain’t foolish to his own peculiarities.

But this doesn’t qualify for any of that, so.

“World’s not always done right by you,” Wayne lets himself say a little softer, a little more…care-true around the vulnerable things. Ain’t ever been his strong suit but: for Eddie.

And for Steve.

“But for all it’s done wrong?” Wayne works a pointed brow. “I’m fairly sure puttin’ the two o’ you together’s something like it trying to make amends.”

Eddie smiles at that, the small kind he does when his heart’s in it most, but then he looks…earnest in a soft, almost-sober way before he says, dead serious:

“It was worth it.”

Wayne stills at the words—not because he’s that surprised, more just that…hearing ‘em out loud hits different.

Takes him back to those early first days where it was all by-the-hour, in God’s hands someone in the waiting room tried comforting him before he was allowed by Eddie’s bedside—cold comfort, that, when Wayne didn’t know he believed in those hands at all.

Just don’t tell his Ma, might be what sends her to her grave.

“I know you don’t agree,” Eddie sighs, but that’s…

“I didn’t say that.”

Eddie levels him with a doubtful kind of stare.

“Your face speaks for itself, old man.”

Wayne takes his time, sucks his lips: ain’t that simple. And he wants to try and get some words to fit right, when he’s not sure there are any that fit the bill—sure ain’t sure he’s the one to find them.

But for his boy? He’ll damn well try.

“I think you gotta make a lot of assumptions, to get t’that conclusion,” Wayne thinks through out loud—the idea that nearly losing his Ed was worth anything is unthinkable, but…Wayne ain’t blind, yeah? He sees all the signs of Eddie’s heart in this.

Sees Steve’s, too.

“But it’s not likely you’d have crossed paths like you did,” Wayne nods slow; “better part of a year o’ him ferrying those kids from your club and,” Wayne gives a pfft to underscore his point:

“Nothin’.”

So maybe it wouldn’t have needed to be so drastic, so close to heartbreaking, to get his boy next to the man he loved so deeply. But…history weren’t exactly on the side of that argument.

Heartbreaking as that fact was on its own.

“That poor girl, that would have happened either way.”

Eddie’s expression drops and Wayne hates that but: heartbreaking as it, too, was?

There’s truth to it. Wayne knows enough—and onlyenough—of the cursedness of this town, more of how it’s hurt people he cares about.

“Sometimes my worst nightmares don’t take me to the hospital, but a prison cell.”

Wayne’s voice is rougher than he wants. Eddie’s probably more still, and frozen quick with it? Than hewants.

At least not to be seen for it but: it still cuts. Like as much, it always will.

“I don’t know how I could have protected you,” Wayne admit a truth he holds with shame in his chest, much as he knows—or else, Hopper’s told him as often from the source, as much as Steve and Eddie have made clear in their own ways dancing around a truth Wayne bristles, but understand he’ll never know the whole of. “I would have died tryin’, but even if it was just the police, I,” he shakes his head, sighs out slow; “and the fuckin’ people of this town,” and that’s where he’s made more of anger than guilt because even now: this fuckin’ town.

“Ain’t words for how grateful I am to him, bringin’ you back,” Wayne says because it’s where his opinion of Steve Harrington truly started;

“But he’s like as my own now, for how he’s stayed,” and Wayne don’t speak words like those idly. Or lightly.

And Eddie knows it.

But Wayne knows in kind that his words ain’t no gate being lifted. Weren’t no way of convincing Eddie to say the words he follows with next. No: the words that follow?

Those were ones Eddie’s been sittin’ on. Holding close in his chest long enough that Wayne can hear the soul o’ him colorin’ every goddamn letter:

“I want Mom’s ring.”

And there it is. The thing he was maybe suspecting was coming—finally; what his softer feelings needing saving up for.

“What, no,” Eddie asks when Wayne doesn’t reply right away, less shaking with anything like hesitance, more like squaring up in case he needs to be defiant, needs to defend the love he’s damn well vibrating with; “no nothing?”

And see: Wayne’s been keeping Eddie’s mama’s ring safe since she passed—knew a boy that young couldn’t understand why it mattered, and then when he did grow old enough, Eddie’s asked him to keep hold of it. Don’t let me be stupid with it, Wayne remembers it clear as day, when they both knew that instruction was pointed less at the empty field of possible proposals to be made for Ed in Hawkins and far more at the possible temptation to pawn it, for rent or groceries, in the best of cases. And Wayne would rather have starved than lost this piece of Elizabeth, especially when Eddie has so few after Al’s endless string of idiocy, of cruelties and straight-said fuckups, Wayne can’t call ‘em less than they are.

So Wayne had kept hold of the ring.

And had got it shined up nice in a brand new pouch and everything, the first night he found Eddie asleep on Steve’s chest on the sofa, T.V. still on to static, clinging to him as hard as Steve was clinging back with one hand, stretched protective almost over Eddie’s chest, curling over and again ‘round his hair with the other, idle-honest affection even in his sleep.

It hadn’t been the first sign. Or the second. Or the hundredth. But it had been how Wayne had been sure of them, for whatever his own opinion in it counted for at all—again, they don’t need his permission to love.

But that was when his blessing went from full-throated to full-chested, whole-hearted. When Steve had slid from family, to his boy, too.

“Boy,” Wayne meets his other boy with a bit of pu-upon indignation of his own, learned from the master of it sat gaping like a fish before him, and Wayne ultimately can’t hold onto it when the smirk’s just too hard to fight; “you think I ain’t had that at the ready for months? Waiting on you to ask,” he puts his thoughts into words for sharing, which is always a task for him but is getting easier, with Ed. With Steve in a new way, for the chord it struck in him to get to know that boy, as under-appreciated and worn down on the inside as he’d been—save for how he’d loved Eddie brighter than the sun through all of it.

“He’s family already, Ed, s’far as I’m concerned.”

And Eddie closes his mouth, and his eyes look too sparkly, so Wayne clears his throat and looks away to let him…let those tears free or not, and make that decision for himself without an audience.

“Found a guy at the plant, knows someone who can try to resize it, though probably safer to reset it on another band, but,” Wayne folds his hands and locks the fingers, tapping them on his thighs in thought, but also with meaning:

“Bert thinks you could cut the original, somehow embed it inside something bigger, more like yours.” He points to Eddie’s collection, even his latest placeholder—as thick and right for his boy as it could possibly be.

As Steve would obviously know, and make damn sure if.

“No matter,” Wayne says, peeks to see if Eddie’s decided whether he needs some extra space with his feelings, closer to the surface now than they’d ever dared to be before—the doctors warned it could happen after he was discharged but Wayne knows it’s not that. It’s being soft-hearted and having something like what he’s found, to want his mama’s ring; “however you want it done,” and Wayne sees Eddie’s just blinking, red-rimmed but wiped mostly dry.

“However he wants it, to be honest,” Eddie’s breath in is a shaky thing, but it’s true, it’s a thing Wayne can recognize as devotion without trying even to look. “I just want him to have every piece of me he can, y’know? All of me,” and his voice cracks, and now Eddie’s the one who’s clearing his throat to get some footing: “everything I can, every way I can.”

And then he looks up properly, and meets Wayne’s eyes, means every single word when he says the most important part, the most honest thing—the most obvious truth:

“He’s my heart, y’know?”

And the only thing Wayne can think is: he’s found a good one, Lizzie, you’d be so proud of your boy.

So proud of this boy, for your boy.

“And he already graduated, so,” Eddie picks at his nails, the way he does when he makes a smart ass side comment he wants to flag to Wayne that he’s making, but smooth-like. Wayne might be old, now, but he remembers what counted for smooth—and this was never it; “nothing I need to hold it back for as motivation.”

Wayne goes ahead let’s a snort loose to at least acknowledge Ed’s poor attempt, score he shoots for the core of the matter:

“Boy,” he shakes his head with a loose grin, the kind that’s ready to grow as and when needed: “maybe you’ve got yourself a mighty fine placeholder ring,” he nods down to Eddie’s hand and hell, but Eddie’s already admiring the thing at the slightest suggestion, if’n he ever entirely stopped at all.

“But he was never ‘round here with nothing but his whole heart for you,” Wayne says, one of the surest things he knows in this world.

“Almost as obvious as you with it,” he lets himself smirk a little for how Eddie goes a little red, but shineswith it so goddamn bright.

S’just another sure thing Wayne knows.

“Lemme go get you that ring,” Wayne gets to his feet and heads further past the table, waits out Eddie’s confusion, and the inevitable ask:

“You keep it in the kitchen?”

And so what if he did? Wayne lets Eddie dog his steps all the way in before he flips the Mr. Coffee on—fucking finally.

“I ain’t had my coffee yet,” Wayne turns, raises a daring, of teasing kind of brow Eddie’s way as he goes to grab the mug he’s fetched before, lest it feel abandoned; “and my son-in-law-to-be baked me blossoms,” he pops open the Tupperware and breathes in the peanut butter deep; maybe a little extra dramatic because he’s actually pretty tickled to be able to say that for his own self: son-in-law-to-be.

Not that Steve wasn’t already family, but, y’know. Something in the words, out loud.

But still:

“I’m allowed a detour.”

The ring’s waited this long, for something that’s been true all this time already. It can stand a cup-o-joe and some homemade cookies with risk of gettin’ abandonment issues.

1: Gareth // 2: Mrs. Harrington // 3: Wayne // 4: ??? // 5: ??? // +1: ???

☕️

✨also on ao3

💫for @penny00dreadful—happiest of happy birthdays, my lovely 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @eternal-sunflowers @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit, weird as it is: ME ☕️🍪

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 damn, he got lucky | isagi yoichi x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; isagi yoichi as your boyfriend ! ♡

love mail — take her from him and then leave him w nothin' ! lazy post. sue me! wrote this cus i got a cuuutie isagi keychain and i love him v much. nbdy asked for this but we write anyway (^_^) hashtag i heart bllk

i can see isagi as the type of guy to like subtle affection. brushing his fingers over your knuckles, hand on the thigh, locking arms and stuff like that. more intimate touches are meant for closed doors, but he likes letting people know you're taken. makes jokes that he gets as fired up as he does on soccer because 'he wants to crush the dreams of anyone looking at you'. cus obvi ure a dreamboat and he's the luckiest boy alive.

he's big on matching stuff. puts some matching keychains you bought for him on his bag, you have his jersey number on your phonecase, and his shoe laces are your favorite color. they are small things that most people don't notice, but you do. and so does he. his heart skips a beat when you wear his favorite hoodie or shirt to any of his games.

if you're into skincare, he BEGS you to let him use your products. not cause he needs it, because he does, but because you don't trust him to finish your bottles and serums in one go. (he'd buy you new ones anyway, why do you care?) and so, you have a tendancy to do it for him. isagi just likes being cared for, feeling you caress his skin calms him down and he almost falls asleep every time you do his skincare.

his faaaaavorite petname for you is angel. you're just so.. angelic. you're so sweet, and funny, and kindhearted, and your hands have healing powers he swears on it.. everyone on the team wants to knock his brains out whenever he hears him gush about 'his angel'.

type of guy to keep and care for one flower from the bouquets he buys, so he knows when they start to wilt and get you a new one. spoiling you is his favorite thing but if you feel like it gets too much, he knows when to chill.

adores praise. probably why he likes spoiling you rotten, loves to hear you gush about how thankful you are to him and all the compliments that spill from those pretty lips that he's sure he'll get to kiss till he's silly for playing well in a game that day. favorite reward tbh.

gets pissed tf off when smbdy tries to insult you, on some bullshit about you not being good enough to date one of blue locks best players. gets on the news for being a little too devious with his insults and gets a scolding for getting carried away. 。。(〃_ _)

he likes kissing. as previously established, i see him as the type to sneak in a quick makeout before a game, hiding behind a locker to practically swallow you whole because his nerves r getting the better of him.. you walk out a little breathless and he's running full speed into the field because he's hyped up now. genuinely the cutest nd kinda hottest thing he can do for real.

bought a #ILOVEMYGF/BF/PARTNER shirt that he wears at home. got dared to wear it outside once, and had a matching pair of pants and hat. shameless, but it was funny nevertheless.

melts when you run your hand thru his hair. a goner, immediately. turns soft at the touch and wholeheartedly believes he could fall asleep after only 5 minutes.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[cybrasigilism]

hear me out, the wet dream drabble you did, PLEASE MAKE A FIC like where hes over for the night and reader falls asleep and has a wet dream abou him, but hes still awake and when readers asleep he hears her like faintly moan his name and like she wakes up and they ykkkk

Sweet Dreams (Nam-gyu/Player 124 X F!Reader SMUT)

warning: smut, well no shit | NOT PROOFREAD | lowercase intended | wet dreams | nipple play (if you squint) | oral (m! receiving) | dom to sub, kind of? | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinion on the character differs from your own

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: holy moly, i’m so sorry for my lack of activity! i recently got a new place and i’m in the process of moving, life’s been hectic! i can’t promise that i’ll be posting a whole bunch but i’m definitely going to try :)

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

finding yourself having a sleepover with nam-gyu of all people was not something you expected out of the night, but here you were— cozied up in your own bed, scrolling on your phone while he took a drag from his cigarette.

“hey, asshole. did i say you could smoke in here?” you scoffed, looking him up and down in exaggerated disgust as nam-gyu blew his smoke in your face.

“funny, you mistake me for someone who gives a fuck.” he chuckled, before bringing the butt to his lips once again, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so.

you weren’t sure what it was, but in that moment, there was something about nam-gyu that made you press your thighs together. you had never seen someone look so damn good while smoking, and here he was; as if he was putting on a show for you.

there was no possible way he knew what he was doing to you.

was there?

————————

as you slept that night, your mind couldn’t help but circle back to when nam-gyu was blatantly ignoring your aversion to his smoking habit. the way he retained your gaze as he slowly exhaled trails of smoke from his mouth, slightly agape; dark brown eyes flicking from your own eyes to your lips quickly.

you couldn’t trust if that last part had actually happened, or if it was just a trick your brain was playing on you as some more… lewd thoughts began to circulate through your brain.

it was impressive how quickly your mind took things from slightly suggestive, to downright dirty, in a matter of moments. before you knew it, visions of nam-gyu dicking you down were playing on repeat in your mind. it all felt so vivid, down to the sensation of the sheets beneath you moving in tandem with your bodies.

you must have been deep in this erotic trance, because you didn’t notice that the noises you were making in your blissful fantasy were carrying over to the real world.

it started out as nothing much, a light moan leaving your throat that could easily be explained away as a sound you made due to changing your position. although stirred awake by this initial sound, lord knows how, nam-gyu didn’t think much of it… until he heard it again.

this time, it was more than a light sound; you straight up moaned his name. not overly loud or obnoxious-like, but airy enough for nam-gyu to piece together that you were definitely dreaming about him.

part of him wanted to let you carry on, he wanted to see how far you would get— if you would actually cum in your sleep. but another part of him wanted to wake you up, and fuck you for real.

to hell with dreams, to hell with fantasy. he wanted you to feel him fuck you good, real this time.

against what may have been his better judgement, nam-gyu reached over and shook you awake. you rubbed your eyes, squinting up at him confused. but, before you could say anything, his lips crashed into yours; his tongue pushing its way into your mouth as a desperate moan left his throat.

you brought your hands up to his neck as he crawled on top of you, you felt his bulge rub up against your side as he did so.

“fuck, you knew what you were doing.. didn’t you?” nam-gyu gasped, breaking the kiss as he rolled your shirt up your body. “i don’t.. i don’t know what you mean—“ you were confused, but you definitely did not mind your current situation.

had you known letting your subconscious take control would end up getting you in bed with someone like nam-gyu, this may have played out earlier. but you didn’t have the time to focus on ‘what if’ scenarios here. you were quickly snapped back to the present when nam-gyu rolled his tongue over your nipple— shooting a sharp shiver up your back.

“oh shit! ah, s-so, so..” “shh…” he interrupted, running his hand up and down your body, occasionally cupping your tit when he reached your chest. “don’t need you to say anything.. just lemme do this, please..”

his breath against your skin made you tremble, and each time he brought his mouth back onto your tits, you felt your pussy clench around air. he knew exactly how good his tongue felt on your chest, and he was going to drag that feeling out as long as he could.

“mh, so good… need more of you…” you were slurring your words, like you were drunk on this wave of pleasure— and of course nam-gyu was going to take advantage of this. “yeah? need me s’bad, huh? you just want to get your needs met, don’t you?”

the mix of your tired state and the sheer sense of euphoria you were riding boiled you down to a mumbling mess, the only coherent response you could give him was a loose nod. nam-gyu chuckled, bringing himself away from your breasts and falling back onto his side of the bed.

“well, you’re not the only one.” he stated, pulling the waistband of his sleep pants down; exposing the tent in his boxers. you may have been a loopy mess, but you knew exactly what he was getting at here. without command, you positioned yourself between his legs and started to free his dick on your own.

“i’d say it’s only fair, since you were practically begging for me before— ah, fuck..” what would have been more of his douchebag rambling was cut short by your taking his cock between your lips. with no warning at all, you cut the shit and started bobbing your head up and down his dick. now, he was the one who was becoming incoherent— rambling nonsense as he took a fistful of your hair in his grasp.

“ah, f-fuck.. your mouth feels.. s’good— yeah, j’st keep sucking me like tha— fuck” he was so fucked out already, you would have guessed that he was the one having the wet dream.

each time your tongue swirled around his shaft, you felt nam-gyu buck his hips up into your mouth like you were planning on abruptly stopping anytime soon. you were sucking him like a woman starved, like you planned on sucking him dry. his moans only egged you on as you dug your nails into his hips; deepthroating him all the while.

“mmh, f-f-fuck me, oh g-od, ‘m gonna cum soon if you don’t… don’t—“ you almost felt bad, with how pathetic he sounded. but you wanted to pull more of these sounds from his lips, you craved hearing him whimper and whine like a cheap slut for you.

poor nam-gyu, he doesn’t know half of the monster he’s created.

══════════════

hey chat! i’m alive! i can’t believe it’s been 18 days since my last work, i promise i didn’t mean to leave it that long!

i’m sure you all understand that life gets busy, but i don’t want anyone to think that i’m losing interest in squid game. well that could just never be possible.

have a fantastic night/day lovelies! 💋

as always, thank you so much for reading! if you have any constructive criticism/advice on how i can improve my writing, please feel free to dm me! 💌

🏷️: @namsgyu @gongyoosgf @kouzih

[anonymous-dentist]

Genuinely? I think that trFoolish embracing the spread of the Corruption and risking the safety of his kingdom is kinda just like. The kind of wake up call that the kingdom’s members need?

I’m not saying he’s some crazy tyrant or that the kingdom is a cult or anything, I’m saying that their blind faith in him and in Yellow itself has led to genuinely so much alienation and hatred from so many characters from all different factions. The only people willing to join Yellow these days are the people who haven’t experienced them before, and even then it’s like. A coin flip, really, because all of Yellow is so close with each other that even new members can see red flags.

So when the king is just fine with one of the kingdom’s members being a literal Harbinger of the Fourth, one of the literal actual horsemen of the apocalypse, and when he’s chill with said harbinger spreading the Corruption everywhere, it’s like. Okay. Why?

But that begs the question of whether or not any of the kingdom members would actually question their king.

But that also brings to mind the one thing that actually unites a majority of the most active Yellow players: trPangi. trRos has unwavering faith in her king, but she’s seen firsthand how the Corruption can destroy a person down to their very soul. trZam is trPangi’s oldest and closest friend who is willing to do anything to get Pangi cured. Even trSneeg, who hates trPangi for the most part, acknowledged the dangers of the Corruption and tried helping find him a cure.

But does that mean that they’ll go up to Foolish and ask him to kick Ace out of the faction? For Zam, maybe, he’s loyal to a fault, but he also knows danger probably better than anyone else on his team; he’s seen apocalypses before. Maybe Ros, who already didn’t want Ace around anymore even before he started Harbingering all over the place. Possibly even Sneeg, who would want Ace gone for reasons besides the whole Corruption thing (being mean to Ros, maybe, or just because he’d see Ace as a threat to king and kingdom.)

And then that brings to mind Foolish himself, who is an immortal being literally affiliated with the element of Chaos and who makes a hobby out of seeing shit go down. He and Bad are two sides of the same coin: life versus death, yes, but also shared immortality and shared boredom. He cares about his mortals, but he also really wanted a war to happen. Like. Really wanted it. He Needs Enrichment!

Foolish wants the Keepers to suffer. He already hated them from the beginning- he was the first person they ever appeared to!!- but time only made the wounds deeper: Ros being taken and returned sick and traumatized, and then the Ordeals about not letting Zam and Sausage into the faction for waayyyyyy too long, and then the Keepers being way too hesitant in letting him give a life to Ros after the ball. And then they made him build. A. Statue!!!

The real question here isn’t necessarily if the kingdom’s members would confront or question Foolish about Ace and the Corruption and everything, I think the question should be whether or not he listens to them. He cares, of course, but he’s also the Totem of Death. He chose the Chaos room on Quesadilla Island. He thinks wars are fun. He’s immortal, and he isn’t infallible, and it’s quite possible that his beloved subjects might finally realize that in some capacity

[hobgoblinsandpeachfuzz]

here have a musical number as a treat*

*i don't write songs very well forgive the cheesiness

But on the plus side, instead of this being my planned finale I now have a rough outline of where I wanted all this to go and more doodles planned xD

We'll see how long it takes to get to all of it xD

(pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt.5, pt. 6)

outline under the read more:

Act I

Overture: Lady Ambrosia kidnaps the players and the narrator so they will tell her story.

Matchmaking (A woman with a kingdom must be in want of a consort)

Just Leave Everything to Me but evil and fairy like

More Important Things

Tadius and Ella agree that there’s too much work to be done to be focused on this. Both are reassured in each other’s commitments, and there is lingering romance. 

Mischief and Romance - Lady Ambrosia Approaches Ella

She tries to go for the kill here first and asks what love looks like to her. Ella does reveal she is in love, but she also confirms her suspicion—Lady Ambrosia is a fairy.

A Quest

Ella sends Sir Crumb to inform the Fairy Queen

The List

Ella was a dead end. Tadius is now the next victim. Lady Ambrosia has finished her list of bachelors and approaches Tadius with them.

Mischief and Romance - Lady Ambrosia has acquired a new target

Lord Cornelius Appleton

Destiny

Tadius laments the clearly destined love between Cornelius and Ella. Ella celebrates the good things in her life now, and how she will protect them, and how she loves Tadius. Lady Ambrosia plans on making things a whole lot worse before they get better—destiny is her plaything after all.

The Bachelor Parade

All the bachelors are introduced and present themselves to Ella, Lord Hop-a-Lot, and Tadius. Tadius does not do his usual good job of keeping in how he feels. Ella reprimands him.

Tadius’s Soliloquy

(Based on How I Am meets Who Am I)

He’s pissed! They were doing good and now distractions are happening! Royals end up only caring about parties and silly things (and maybe he’s in love and can’t admit it!) Ella would never do this!

Take What You Want

Lady Ambrosia steps in right after the soliloquy to encourage Tadius not quite yet fairy reveal. She explains that she has seen that the Queen favors him. It wouldn’t be hard to do all the things they want to do if they were both on the throne.

Tadius isn’t fully convinced yet, but he’s thinking.

Cornelius and Ella

A duet where they reminisce about childhood. Tadius sees them get close and leaves before Ella explains to Cornelius that her heart belongs to another. In being her friend, he encourages her to go for it. Ella says it’s Tadius, and Cornelius, a good dude, reminds her she has changed so much already, who cares about Tadius’s upbringing. This can only make the world better. (A positive spin on Take What You Want)

The Ball

The Way I’m Meant to

Ella and Tadius fight and then confirm their love.

Take What You Want Reprise

Ella leaves and while in love and feeling better Tadius still has fears and doubts. This isn’t how things are done. Lady Ambrosia preys on them. When Tadius affirms that he believes in Ella and loves her and will do the right thing, Lady Ambrosia is grossed out and has to go to plan C: possession. What’s important is she is only revealing his darker impulses—none of this is not something within Tadius himself.

Act II

Sir Crumb returns and tells Ella what the Fairy Queen told him. She’ll need to go to the forest herself to be able to get the means to defeat Lady Ambrosia. She leaves with Sir Crumb and asks Lord Hop-a-Lot to keep an eye on things.

A New King in Town

Dark Tadius Emerges and declares all the Bachelors can go home. He will be marrying Ella and he will be King. Fairy Guards drag them to dungeons. He is VIBING HARD.

Sisters

Ella talks to the Fairy Queen. She cannot grant Ella another wish, but if Ella takes a wand from her branches she can at least have one moment of starlight to confront Lady Ambrosia. The Fairy Queen sings about the two sisters duality and how they are oft opposed but have to survive together.

Ridiculous

Lord Hop-A-Lot tries to get through to Tadius. He sings his genuine feelings on royalty, magic, fairy tales, and love—it’s ridiculous. Hard work is all that matters, and sense. Lord Hop-A-Lot tries to remind him of Ella—everyone knew they were in love. Tadius thinks he is doing this for Ella—magic has hurt her so. But now he is at war with himself. He is also ridiculous.

The Way I’m Meant to Reprise

Ella returns with the wand and Sir Crumb and confronts Dark Tadius. Love does conquer all especially within the powers of a fairy of romance.

Mischief and Romance and Green and Goodness

Lady Ambrosia Fights Back. She is defeated by the wand in a kick ass fairy battle.

Tadius and Ella (a reprise of sorts of Cornelius and Ella)

Tadius apologizes profusely to Ella. It was him, it was his darkest thoughts, and Ella forgives him. She still chooses him, no matter what. Their dark impulses are actually quite the same. But as a team, they can balance each other. 

They apologize to all the nobles and bachelors. There likely will be further fallout but they’ll deal with it together.

The Way I’m Meant To (Finale)

Tadius and Ella get married. Lady Ambrosia crashes and flirts with Lord Hop-a-Lot. 

Storytelling (A woman with a kingdom must be in want of a consort)

The narrator finally escapes Lady Ambrosia’s clutches and sings his own version of the beginning song to end.

[toloveviceforitself]

I support replacing all lockpicking rolls with simply handing me a padlock at the table.

The fact that I'm better at lockpicking than most of the people I play ttrpgs with is immaterial to this.

No, but to be serious, one thing I do worry about is that falling back to simply using the player's social skills in place of the character's doesn't *just* peg the character's charisma to the player's. Because in most in-game situations the player isn't trying to convince a large audience, they're trying to convince the storyteller. Which means that the player's rapport with *one specific person* becomes a stand-in for their entire social skillset. That feels like it rapidly collapses all talking-your-way-out-of-this challenges into a who-gets-along-better-with-the-storyteller challenge.

I'm not sure if I think this is a problem that needs solving or what I think the tradeoffs of any given solution would even be, but it's something I wanted to flag in this sort of discussion: talking about "player charisma" is still seeing the phenomenon too broadly (and, ironically, in game stat terms). What's usually at play is more "player ability to reliably convince one specific person"

(Though, amusingly, "player charisma" also makes more sense to talk about in larp since the number of storytellers is much higher and more varied, and player/player interaction drives plot more. To be good at talking your way out of things in a campaign larp you actually do need to be broadly good at convincing people of things! (Also it leads to funny things like "i am strangely better at getting my way with a specific subset of characters, and within the fiction the only commonality between them is they're all the same height"))

Regarding your post(s) about investigation checks and the like, there's something that's bothering me, and it bothered me for a while. Not in regard to investigation, but charisma (and similar checks, diplomacy, negotiation, persuasion, whatever the game calls it).

In a TTRPG with skills, those skills are an abstraction meant to simulate a characters actual capabilities. If I want to make a character who can effortlessly jump from rooftop to rooftop, I'll give them high Athletics, Agility, Endurance, whatever. Maybe some feats, abilities, perks, advantages etc that pertain to jumping. Now, if I want my character to jump from rooftop to rooftop, I just roll the dice, and the skills, attributes, perks etc will make sure I have a high likelihood of success. I don't need to prove to the GM or the group that I myself could make that jump.

But now let's talk about Charisma checks. I've often heard stories of groups who say they don't make those checks, they just let the player make the argument, and if the GM is convinced, they "pass." But like... that means the character will always be as persuasive as the player. If the player isn't good at formulating an argument, the character won't be, either. Same with perception, investigation, etc. Sometimes, players just aren't good at picking up on hints and clues and/or they're not good at drawing conclusions from the clues they have. So that means that they can't play as a character who is?

Don't get me wrong, I get your point, I just find this is an issue worth thinking about. Why are things like athleticism, stealth, and combat prowess, or even things like lockpicking, hacking, or repairing stuff okay to abstract away as dice rolls, but deduction, perception, and maybe also persuasion and rhetoric aren't? Or, maybe the better, more constructive question: How would you propose handling a player playing a character whose skills exceed the player's?

I also think it's an issue worth thinking about, but I think "thinking about it" also has to involve asking the questions "why is this a problem?" and "is this ACTUALLY a problem?"

Like this discussion comes with the prepackaged assumption that allowing you to play a character whose abilities exceed yours as a player is both a) a universally desirable thing, and b) something that must be treated as a game design priority. And, with that assumption, it's logical to conclude that a TTRPG has an *obligation* to allow you to play a character whose abilities are not limited by yours as a player in any way, and not allowing you to do so constitutes a failure on the game's part.

But let's question that assumption a little bit. Because, the way I see it "allowing you to play a character who is good at X even if that's something that you, personally, are not good at" is not an inherently desirable design goal. It's a value-neutral feature, and it becomes a good or bad design goal to pursue depending on what X is and whether abstracting X so that the player doesn't have to engage with it benefits or detracts from the desired gameplay experience.

Let's for example, imagine a TTRPG with wargame elements, where, among other things to do, there are situations where your character can assume command of an army to engage in large-scale battles. It's pretty clear that, in such a game, you simply can't play as a character who is a better tactician than you, the player, are. If I'm not a good tactician, I don't get to play a character who's supposed to be the most brilliant tactician in all the land. That's simply not a character concept I get to play unless I am also skilled at tactical decision-making.

Is that inherently a problem to be solved? If we got rid of tactical decision-making as an activity that the players have to engage in, and instead gave the characters a "Tactics" skill and we used a Tactics skill check to determine whether they win or lose a battle, that would certainly allow a player who's bad at tactics the freedom to play a character who's the best tactician ever. But would this be an objectively good change? I'd say no, because it would skip past the entire point of the wargame elements, which is engaging as a player with the process of tactical decision-making, and that's not something that I'd consider worth sacrificing in pursuit of allowing the player to play a character whose skills exceed theirs in this particular aspect.

To name a more concrete example that someone else mentioned in the notes of that post: Mothership has no equivalent of a stealth skill, despite being a game where a lot of your playtime is spent hiding from some flavor of Scary Space Monster, because if the game abstracted stealth that way the resolution to any situation where you're trying to hide from a Scary Space Monster would be saying "I roll stealth" and hoping you roll high enough. Without a stealth skill, you're forced to participate in the narrative conversation of paying attention to the GM's description of the environment, ask clarifying questions if needed, and describe how you try to hide in the space presented to you.

This, once again, presents a situation where your character's skills are limited by your own. It's pretty clear that your character can only be as good at hiding as you are at thinking of places to hide and describing how they hide in them, and that if the game took the "i roll stealth" approach instead, it would solve the "problem" of your character's skills being limited by your own in this particular way. But is solving this "problem" worth sacrificing the tension that the game seeks to create by deliberately refusing to abstract stealth in this way?

So yeah... I think lacking skill checks for stuff such as perception or investigation makes a dungeon-crawling game better because it forces the players to narratively engage with the environment as a real place when they're looking for something, and it's also true that the lack of such mechanics kinda does mean that a player who just isn't good at picking up hints and clues from environmental details simply doesn't get to play a character who is supposed to be good at picking up hints and clues from environmental details. But I think that ensuring a player's ability to play such a character regardless of their real-life skill level is not a design goal that a game has any inherent obligation to pursue, especially not at the cost of skipping over the actions that, to me, are the meat and potatoes of a dungeon crawl.

My answer to "why is it okay to abstract certain skills as dice rolls and not others" is that games are allowed to make decisions about which actions they want to skip over with a dice roll and which actions they want the players to have to exercise direct narrative control and mastery of, and sometimes that's gonna interfere with their freedom to play a character whose skills exceed theirs, and that's okay because sometimes other game design goals are going to have priority over the goal of ensuring the character's skills aren't limited by the player's real-life skills in any conceivable way.

[descendant-of-truth]

While I'm of the opinion that the Re:Coded movie that's in all the collections generally does a better job at giving you all the relevant cutscenes than the Days movie, after playing through the DS game myself, I still think it's a shame how much they left out. Notably, the Castle Oblivion section is... extremely nerfed in the movie.

See, when Roxas tells Sora that he can do whatever he wants when talking to the illusions from his past, he means it. You, the player, are presented with different tasks that come with multiple dialogue options, and there are three possible endings for every "world" you enter. You get a different Ending Card depending on how you act; a Normal Card, an Alternate Card, and an Extra Card.

In the movie, instead of providing you with any kind of choose-your-own-adventure routes that lead to different cutscenes, they just. vaguely animate everyone talking silently to each other, and then have the illusions fade away. Which I think loses a lot of the intrigue, but it also means that relatively few people in the fanbase have even seen any of these routes.

I won't go over every single one because that can easily be done by looking them up on YouTube, but I do want to bring up one route in specific because it's really stuck with me ever since - Wonderland's Extra Ending.

So, in Wonderland, you're presented with a series of dilemmas:

Alice can't remember her name

The White Rabbit drops his pocket watch

The Cheshire cat gives you a riddle that requires you to choose the correct box or else fight a Heartless waiting in the wrong ones

One card soldier asks you to deliver a potion to a second card soldier for him

A third card soldier is weakened and woozy

You get the Normal Ending by doing at least one of these tasks correctly, the Alternate Ending by doing all of them correctly, and the Extra Ending by doing everything wrong.

In order to get the Extra Ending, you must:

Tell Alice that she's the Queen of Hearts

Pick up the White Rabbit's watch (causing Sora to lose sight of him, unable to return it; you're supposed to just tell him where it is)

Give up on the Cheshire Cat's riddle

Give the potion to the third, weakened card soldier, instead of its intended recipient (it turns out he was just hungry, not injured, so you didn't help him. the second card soldier would have given you a sandwich)

No matter what you do, at the end of each route, the Queen of Hearts will grab your attention and accuse you of being the thief who stole her memory. She'll try to back it up with proof, and even when you've done everything right (which she acknowledges), she still concludes with an "off with your head!" which Sora implicitly runs away from, ending the world's story.

Except for in the Extra Ending.

After she recaps everything you've done wrong up to that point, she drops this dialogue that I haven't been able to stop thinking about:

Queen of Hearts: "Don't tell me you were trying to be NICE? Cheering that girl up by telling her she was important? Giving things away because you thought someone else needed them more? Trying to... to own up to your failures!? Bah! Go on! Off with you!" Data Sora: "Not 'off with my head'?" Queen of Hearts: The punishment must match the crime! See how YOU like having something NICE done to you!"

It's hard to describe what it was about this that's still so striking to me months later, but it's just... kind of off-putting, in a way?

Having the Queen of Hearts choose to spare you as a "more fitting punishment" is out of character enough already, but the fact that it's the consequence to you actually doing everything wrong makes it feel all the more pointed. This is somehow supposed to be worse than being beheaded, and it kind of works, because it feels so much more personal than her usual schtick.

And it exists in such an isolated incident, too. The level is completed immediately after this dialogue, and nothing else is changed by getting it, it's just. there.

At the same time, everything about it feels so deliberate that I can't help but feel like it either is or will be relevant elsewhere somehow. It could just be overanalyzing on my part, but the first thing that comes to mind is actually that the Queen's final line could parallel the consequence of Sora misusing the Power of Waking?

He did so for a good cause, after all, but it wasn't what he was supposed to do. He broke a taboo of nature in the process. But his punishment isn't a straightforward death; he's just put somewhere else, somewhere he can't see his friends. "Off with you," the universe says, "see how you like having something nice done to you!"

...but that doesn't really feel like it's getting to the heart of the matter, which is that Data Sora did not need to do any of this. He could have told Alice her real name, on account of it being the default dialogue option, and he could have tried to figure out what was wrong with that card soldier before giving away stuff that wasn't his. He could have tried a little harder at the riddle. These were all fairly low-stakes situations - in particular, he really didn't need to lie to Alice.

The original Sora didn't have much of a choice in what he did. It was either lose his powers and vanish, or leave Kairi shattered and functionally dead. You can't really say he made the wrong decision, or did something immoral for a superficial reason.

So then... will this line remain an isolated slap in the face to completionist DS players, or will there be more to it? Is there already more to it that I'm missing? Where's our parallel to Data Sora "cheering that girl up by telling her she was important"? What are we supposed to make of "see how you like having something nice done to you"?

What does it all mean???

(In conclusion: go check out the DS versions of these cutscenes, they're great)

[artimeanatheart]

Having Lift and Cultivation thoughts (Wind and Truth spoilers!).

So, each of Cultivation's three 'players' (Dalinar, Taravangian, and Lift) correspond with one of the Rosharan shards, right? (with Taravangian=Odium, Dalinar=Honor, and Lift=Cultivation). As far as we can tell, her Taravangian plan backfired, although her plan with Dalinar kind of worked. Almost.

And maybe, with everything going on with Taravangian and Retribution, Cultivation really did give up on Roshar and leave her final player, Lift, to fend for herself. We don't know a lot about Cultivation (well, really Koravellium Avast) or her end goal, so that is completely plausible.

But what if she didn't give up? What if her leaving Roshar was less of her fleeing and more of her retreating temporarily? What if she realized Taravangian becoming Retribution was a possibility? Cultivation is the shard of growing things. She plans and plants seeds. She knows when to leave something alone to let it grow. She knows not to harvest something early.

And since she does, it's entirely possible that Lift is one of those seeds. Lift, with her ability to generate and use Lifelight to fuel her Radiant powers, is going to be the only person on Roshar who can use their Radiant abilities outside the tower. And she'll have been training with Vasher for a decade by then. And she'll probably have a bond with an Aviar, giving her some other, unknown power. Lift will be an incredibly powerful and influential person in the back half of Stormlight. And Cultivation orchestrated a major part of that power. She could be preparing Lift for something.

There are various somethings that could be. Maybe she's preparing Lift to become the Nightwatcher's Bondsmith. Cultivation seems very protective over her daughter and would only want the best Bondsmith for her. Wyndle wouldn't even have to die for it to happen; there could be some less traumatic form of bond-breaking between them. Oooh, or maybe Cultivation is trying to set up Lift to form a double Radiant bond (Edgedancer and Bondsmith would be a fascinating combination).

But I think the more likely option is that Korravellium is cultivating Lift to be the next vessel for the Shard of Cultivation. She's watched Tanavast fall, and Rayse decline. She's a dragon, so maybe she's weathered the millennia better than they did, but she seems to be the type of person who wants to be prepared. She doesn't want to be caught off-guard by her decline, and she would rather avoid that decline entirely, if possible. It'd make sense for her to choose an heir. Also, her other players ended up taking up the Shards they represent (temporarily, in Dalinar's case). It would be a nice way to complete the pattern if Lift did, too. There's also something interesting about Lift's desire to stay the same and the Shard of Cultivation's desire to grow. A conflict and a balance between the two.

Maybe Lift will decide that she doesn't want to be a Shard. Maybe Cultivation wasn't planning that for her in the first place. Maybe none of this is what's actually going on and Branderson is going to pull out some completely random plot-twist that makes perfect sense in retrospect.

But theorizing is fun :)

[thydungeongal]

During these discussions I often see the sentiment expressed that players want to play characters who lack some perceived flaw that the player thinks they have: they want to play a character who's more perceptive than them, more charismatic than them, whatever. And that's a valid desire to have. But here's the thing: a character having a high bonus on Perception and them being able to Perceive everything by rolling really well doesn't really sell the fantasy of them being perceptive.

D&D is good at selling the fantasy of a badass warrior or perchance a wizard who is able to defeat many foes and survive with a combination of luck, grit, and tactical acumen, because it has very granular rules for that sort of thing. You still need player input for it, and a good player who has learned system mastery is better at getting that fantasy out of the game. If D&D combat was a matter of "optimize a character to have a high Combat skill, and then roll Combat to win Combat" then it wouldn't really sell that fantasy, right?

Perception and Charisma and Knowledge checks work like that in D&D. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Like, I have my issues with them, but at the end of the day I don't want D&D to have a deeper system for Charisma checks than "roll a check to see if the monster wants to eat the party now or later." Maybe with a bonus for a reasonable argument. But the extent of D&D selling the fantasy of a Charismatic character stops there.

(There are games out there that allow for better creating a narrative of a Charismatic or Knowledgeable or Perceptive character, and they do it by having mechanics that go beyond "roll high to prove that your character is the Best at the Thing.")

And to go back to the original example: D&D as a system can't really help you with portraying the fantasy of a funny character, and a high bonus on Perform (comedy) doesn't make a character funny. And that's okay. The fantasy that D&D is the best at presenting is the power fantasy of a Warrior or Perchance a Wizard who Can Kill Dragons Good.

Imagine I appended this to @imsobadatnicknames2 very good post, it's a very good post but since I was going to make a very silly riff on it I didn't want it to be there to detract from it.

Imagine you, as a player, want to play a funny character. Sadly, you're the unfunniest person alive and can't tell a joke to save your life, Derek, so you won't exactly be able to make your friends laugh around the table. So you make your character, Bepis Horndongle, a really funny gnome with maximum ranks in Perform (comedy). Then when the situation demands it you can say "Bepis tells a joke to lighten the mood," and you ask the GM to be able to roll Perform (comedy), and after seeing the result of your roll you can be confident in the fact that the joke Bepis told was really funny.

However there's an issue: someone else in the group has brought in Goblin Steve. Goblin Steve is amazing, everyone loves that guy. And his player is also effortlessly funny. You could say that she's very smart and attractive and good at video games too. But regardless, whenever Goblin Steve says his famous catchphrase "Check it out, guys, I'm Goblin Steve" everyone at the table erupts in laughter. This feels unfair. Goblin Steve shouldn't be funny, he doesn't even have any ranks in Perform (comedy). Bepis is getting completely sidelined by Goblin Steve.

Now, here's a few questions:

Is there an actual issue here? If so, what is the issue?

If there is an issue here, is it one that is worth trying to solve with game design?

The example given heavily implies that this is a game of fantasy dungeon-crawling. With that in mind, is this really an issue? Could Derek maybe chill the fuck out and accept that Bepis will never be as funny as Goblin Steve?

[dulcecherub]

Igual Que Un Angel

Epilogue

Synopsis: Sofia is pregnant, and the last thing she needs is for Rafe to find out. It’s her dirty secret, it’s not like he’s barging down her door to speak to her. He looks as if he’s done with her for good. Will outside forces, force Sofia to confront the situation at hand. Or will she be able to keep this secret up? Not like, her belly isn’t growing everyday or anything.

Author’s note: the main plot of the series is finished. Just wanted to show you how Sofia and Rafe are like as parents and as a married couple. Sorry for how short it is! It took me so long to brain storm these ideas.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 14 | Epilogue

Four Years Later

“Rory! Please, no running around in the house. You’re going to hurt yourself!” Sofia says in a sing song voice. Aurora lets out an audible grunt. She crosses her arms angrily.

“But mommy I’m having fun.” She pouts. She throws her head back.

“I know, but there’s other ways to have fun.” Sofia picks up her daughter, twirling her around. As Aurora lets out a giggle, she grins up at Sofia.

“You’re so silly mommy.”

Rafe’s not home, so it’s just them too.

“Vamos a bailar…” Sofia continues to spin Rory around, erupting more giggles from her four year old daughter. Sofia laughs along with her. As they sway to the sounds of Sofia’s voice.

“Can we play music, mommy? Please?” Sofia adjusts her better, turning to walk towards the record player Rafe had purchased for her. The vinyl’s next to it, tucked on a shelf.

“Which one?”

“That one! That one!” Aurora points to one of the vinyls. One Sofia constantly played when she wanted to clean around the house. Sofia smiled, reaching to remove it from the row of vinyls.

“This one?”

“Yes momma.” Sofia places the vinyl onto the record player, the music cracking to life. Sofia begins to sway Aurora around the room. Singing along to the lyrics.

She turns her once more, to be faced with Rafe. Sofia jumps.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Rafe has a hand in his pocket and a smirk on his lips. “Not long, can I join you guys?”

“Yes! Yes! Join us dad!”

Sofia laughs as Rafe approaches, twirling them both around the room.

Rafe was alone with Aurora for the first time in a while. Usually so busy with work and finally he found a way to be with his family. Sofia, unfortunately for him, had work to do. She was now a preschool teacher.

“Ugh, dad! You’re doing it wrong!” Aurora chastises her own dad, Rafe tries to hide his laughter. But her outburst makes him chuckle outloud. She glares at him.

“Sparkly pink princess gets the red cup. Dr. Gloss gets the pink one.”

Rafe pulls his hands up in surrender. “My bad Rory. I thought since she’s called sparkly pink princess she’ll want the pink cup.”

“No, she doesn’t like everything pink. She likes colors that compliment her, duh.”

Rafe brows furrow. “Since when did you learn the world compliment? You’re four.”

“I heard mommy saying it to you.”

“So I’m dad and she’s mommy.” Rafe purses his lips comically. Aurora only giggles, pretending to make Dr.Gloss sip his tea.

“You’re so silly, dad.”

The front door opens then closes. He hears a shuffle of steps heading in their direction. Before long, Sofia’s head peers through the door.

She feigns a gasp. “You’re letting daddy playing tea part with you?”

“It’s dad, Sofia. Apparently you’re mommy and I’m just dad.”

Sofia smirks, “Not her fault she has her priorities straight.”

Rafe shakes his head, smiling at her. His eyes roaming her body, she moves closer, placing a kiss on his head before moving to do the same on Aurora.

“Hey mommy, can you join us please?” Aurora says, smiling up at her.

“Of course I will.” Sofia plops down on one of the seats. As Aurora prepares her “tea.”

“I got Dr. Gloss to finally get the one you like. The chamomile.”

“Okay, she needs to hang out less with you. Before you know it, we’ll have our very own like—boss baby.” Rafe says, eyeing Aurora.

“You’ve been watching boss baby?”

Rafe merely shrugs, “I was too lazy to change the movie.” Sofia laughs, it sounds like music to his ears. Aurora smiles at them both, pretending she isn’t listening.

“Our smart little girl.” Sofia coos at Aurora, kissing her cheek. Aurora giggles.

John B and Aurora glare at each other. Their uno cards pressed tightly to their chest.

“What do you know about uno?” John B says in a whisper.

“Everything.” Aurora whispers back, Sarah is trying to suppress her giggle. Little Jay shaking his head, rolling his eyes at his dad and his cousin.

John B dramatically drops his uno card, showing a draw 2 card. He smirks at Aurora but it instantly falls. A smile pressed onto Aurora’s face as well. She drops her card, showing a draw 2.

“No… no.” John B says, almost in horror. He picks up the four cards.

Sofia and Rafe are watching from the kitchen island. They’d lost already, much to Rafe’s dismay.

“I can’t believe she beat me.” Rafe murmurs, Sofia kisses his cheek.

“Sorry sore loser.”

His eyes widen, turning to her. “You lost too!”

“Yeah but not as bad as you.” Rafe rolls his eyes as he continues to watch.

“Uno.” Aurora says, John B’s mouth opens. “Sorry uncle Johnny.”

“It’s John B.”

“Well, I just beat you at uno. So it’s Johnny now.”

Sarah laughs as John B continues to be dumbfounded.

“I can’t believe I just got beat by a four year old.”

“Believe it buddy.”

Sofia turns to Rafe, “Yeah, she gets that from you.” Rafe only smirks, seeming proud of Aurora.

“So… you ready to tell them you’re pregnant again?”

Sofia cheeks flush, her elbow knocking on Rafe’s stomach.

“Not yet.”

Aurora turns to her parents, smiling at them with a big grin. They smile back. Sofia rests her head on Rafe’s shoulder.

“Not yet.”

[falsepetrel]

Limbus company sinner's favourite games

(source: vibes)

Yi sang - Scribblenauts unlimited, creative and puzzling which seems right for him, maybe escape room puzzle games too

Faust - rhythm games, the one thing that faustcord cant spoil her on, also maybe games that take forever to learn and need 2 wikis open to understand like dwarf fortress.

I feel like her and yi sang would also play uber modded Minecraft together, she has all the knowledge about every mod and he likes tinkering with them to combine the systems into new ways of automation

Don Quixote - Baldur's gate 3, skyrim, anything with a lot of exploration and adventure, alternatively maybe she'd be into doom

Gregor - Fruit ninja... (in reality probably something like stardew valley or another calming survival game)

Rodion - those slot machine simulators, online poker, extremely degenerate gambling

Sinclair - dance dance revolution baby wooo (they have a really old and terrible Xbox 360 hooked up in the back of the bus) ((he always gets obliterated by faust))

Ishmael - sea of thieves (in reality probably The Sims)

Heathcliff - in public he plays competitive first person shooters and fighting games, flames people in chat when they mess up, the secret he plays wholesome romantic visual novels

hong lu - plays fighting games with heathcliff, wins 80% of the time, never gets angry when he loses which makes heathcliff even angrier, sometimes lets him win (it makes him even more angry),

I also imagine him going along with what the other sinners want to play and doesn't really suggest anything of his own

Meursault - New York times style newspaper games 100%, sudoku, crossword, etc,

alternatively stuff like factorio

Outis - 1000% she plays real-time strategy games like Hearts of iron 4 and stellaris, maybe even Warhammer total war, the more simulated war crimes the better

possibly a League of legends ranked player (in which case she's 1,000% diamond 2 and banned from chat)

Ryoshu - cyberpunk, GTA, any game which lets her cause general mayhem upon the populace, possibly also metal gear revengeance due to the cutting action

Dante - library of ruina

vergilius - he does NOT game

charon - forza