#they’re both emotionally stupid and | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

diamonddaze01 · 2 months ago

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Plan B (for Boo)

pairing: bsk x f!reader genre: frenemies to lovers | wc: 9.0k au: non-idol au warnings: alcohol consumption, both reader and seungkwan are emotionally constipated a/n: based on this tweet https://x.com/galacticidiots/status/1582385401997955072 // thank you to the amazing @wongyuseokie for this BOO-tiful banner and divider (haha get it.) // and an enormous thank you to my lovely wonderful betas @chanranghaeys and @lovetaroandtaemin

summary: it's just a stupid pact. what could possibly go wrong?

“So,” he starts, his tone dripping with mock sincerity, “why are you still single? Could it be that no one wants to handle all this,” he gestures up and down with an exaggerated flourish, “24/7?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you sip your drink, but before you can respond with something equally sharp, he leans in a little closer, voice softer and yet somehow still insufferable. “If it’s still like this by the time we’re 30, maybe you should just give up and marry me. Think about it—life would be so much easier.”

It’s a jab, you’re sure. The kind he always takes. But maybe it’s the alcohol or the fact that it makes you laugh in a way that even catches him off guard—a laugh deep enough to make him blink before breaking into a grin too. And before you realize it, your own words slip out in response.

“Alright. If we’re both single at 30, I’ll marry you.” You shrug nonchalantly, but there’s a flash in his eyes that you can’t quite read. “And let’s be real, Boo—I’d be doing you the favor here.”

His brows shoot up as he crosses his arms, clearly ready to go head-to-head. “Please, I’d be your retirement plan,” he says with mock indignation, his tone warming for just a second as if this is more than a joke. Then, holding out his hand, he adds, “Deal?”

You shake it, the alcohol dulling the tiny voice that says this is a terrible idea. And just like that, you grin at each other, certain it’ll be nothing more than a passing joke, something to laugh about later. Neither of you knows that this will stick with you—that it’ll be a memory you revisit every time Seungkwan pops up at exactly the wrong (or right) moments.

11 months, 23 days post-pact:

The “pact” starts as a drunken joke during a night out, one of those silly promises that friends (well, frenemies) make when they’re feeling a bit too invincible. It’s almost always out of sight, out of mind, but fate is a cruel mistress. Just as things begin to go well with someone, Seungkwan inevitably shows up.

Today, you’re out with Keeho, a charming, laid-back guy you met at a friend’s party last month. After a few flirty texts, you both agree to meet for coffee downtown, and things are going smoothly. You find yourself in a cozy bookstore café on a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind of place that smells of freshly brewed coffee and old books. Keeho is funny and easygoing, and you’re genuinely enjoying yourself.

Just as you settle into a cozy corner table, sipping your latte and discussing your favorite novels, you feel a chill pass through the air. The bell above the door jingles, and you turn just in time to see Seungkwan burst in, a whirlwind of energy in his bright, patterned sweater.

“Oh, you’re on a date!” he exclaims, his voice echoing off the bookshelves as he approaches. He has that familiar look in his eyes—part mischief, part determination—as he slides into the seat across from you without so much as a greeting to Keeho.

You freeze mid-sentence, watching in horror as your carefully curated date suddenly turns chaotic. “Yes, Seungkwan,” you say, forcing a smile as you lean slightly away from him. “This is Keeho, and we were just—”

“Oh, Keeho! Nice to meet you!” Seungkwan interrupts, his tone dripping with faux enthusiasm. “So, you’re the brave soul who decided to take Y/N out on a date. You must have some serious courage.” He looks at you, feigning concern. “Are you sure you’re ready for her? She’s a handful, you know.”

Keeho raises an eyebrow, amusement battling with confusion. “I’m up for a challenge,” he replies, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glances between you and Seungkwan.

You can feel your cheeks warming, mortified at Seungkwan’s antics. “It’s really not—”

“Oh, but it is!” Seungkwan cuts you off again, leaning closer to Keeho. “Just last week, she convinced me to join her for a book club, and it was a disaster! I’m telling you, she had me reading some really intense romance novel.” He chuckles, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Let me tell you, that kind of emotional rollercoaster is not for the faint of heart.”

Keeho laughs, glancing at you with a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds like you have some strong opinions about romance, Y/N.”

“Okay, but I liked that book!” you protest, feeling the urge to defend your taste. “And it’s not my fault Seungkwan has no sense of romance!”

Seungkwan feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart. “I am a romantic! I just happen to be very selective about my literature. Besides, I didn’t think I’d need to give a warning to your date. Guess I was wrong!”

The two of them continue bantering, Keeho managing to hold his own, but you sense the dynamic shift. Each playful jab from Seungkwan feels like it’s chipping away at the ease of the moment. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Seungkwan leans back with an exaggerated sigh.

“Well, I’ve done my duty here,” he announces, clearly satisfied with the chaos he’d stirred up. “Just wanted to make sure Keeho knows what he’s getting into. You know, if things don’t work out, I’m still single and ready to mingle!” He winks at you, a smug smile plastered on his face.

You roll your eyes, watching him leave, but deep down, you’re more entertained than you want to admit. Just as he reaches the door, he turns back, giving you one last wink and whispering, “Call me when you’re done with this guy, yeah?”

As he walks out, you lean your head in your hands, half-laughing, half-sighing. “I’m so sorry about that,” you say to Keeho, who is still chuckling at the spectacle.

“I mean, he’s entertaining, I’ll give him that,” Keeho says, shaking his head. “But is he always like that?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you admit, the humor of the situation beginning to sink in. “But he means well.”

Keeho smiles, his eyes warm. “Well, if he’s the worst I have to deal with, I think I can handle it. Let’s just get back to our coffee and forget about the chaos, okay?”

You nod, relieved, and try to refocus on your conversation. But as you chat about your favorite books, you can’t shake the feeling that Seungkwan has left a lingering awkwardness in the air. Sure enough, as the date progresses, you notice that Keeho is distracted, occasionally glancing toward the door as if waiting for Seungkwan to return.

After a few more minutes of stilted conversation, you decide to lighten the mood. “So, what’s your favorite genre? Maybe we can find a book to recommend to each other?”

Keeho shrugs, a slight frown on his face. “Honestly? I’m more of a sci-fi guy. I guess romance isn’t really my thing.”

You feel a small twinge of disappointment but try to brush it off. “That’s okay! Everyone has different tastes. I really enjoy a good sci-fi too.”

As the conversation drifts back and forth, you both struggle to find common ground. You notice Keeho’s smile faltering more often, and he seems less engaged than before. It’s clear that Seungkwan’s surprise entrance has cast a shadow on the date, and the initial chemistry you felt is fading.

By the end of the hour, as you both finish your drinks, Keeho’s attention drifts to his phone. “Hey, I should probably get going. I have a few things to take care of at home,” he says, standing up and looking apologetic. “But it was nice meeting you.”

You nod, a hint of disappointment settling in your stomach. “Yeah, nice meeting you too.” You both exchange polite goodbyes, and as you watch him leave, you feel the familiar twinge of frustration. It’s as if fate is determined to keep sabotaging your chances of finding someone.

And deep down, you know Seungkwan will find a way to poke his head into your next date, too.

1 year, 6 months, 17 days post-pact:

The sun poured into the little bistro, casting a warm glow over your table as you shared easy laughs and stolen glances with your brunch date. It felt like a scene right out of a movie: the coffee was just strong enough, the food delicious, and the company—Sunghoon, a coworker you’d finally worked up the nerve to get closer to—was even better. You’d reached that perfect point where a little hand-holding across the table felt natural, like something you’d done a hundred times before. And you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this could actually go somewhere.

But just as you’re about to lean in with a smile, it happens.

A voice, unmistakably loud and dripping with exaggerated surprise, rings out. “Oh my god, is that you?”

Your heart sinks, but you turn anyway, because there’s no ignoring Seungkwan, especially when he’s dressed in his brightest pink sweater, standing a few tables over with a grin that could rival the sun. He’s holding a large coffee in one hand, eyebrows raised high in mock surprise.

“Seungkwan,” you say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wow, what a coincidence.��

“Oh, it’s not just a coincidence.” With the practiced ease of a performer, he slides into the seat beside Sunghoon, who has gone from looking amused to very, very confused. “Y/N and I go way back, actually. Practically family, really. Isn’t that right, Y/N?” He flashes you a grin, one that’s both infuriating and endearing.

You clench your jaw, trying to suppress the urge to strangle him. “Right. Practically family,” you murmur, hoping Sunghoon isn’t catching the way your fingers have turned white from gripping your napkin too hard.

Seungkwan seems to ignore you, his attention now entirely on Sunghoon, whose eyebrows have slowly started climbing into his hairline. “So,” he continues, his voice loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, “you’re here with Y/N? Cute choice. I hope you know what you’re getting into. Y/N’s kind of… high maintenance.” He winks at you like he’s just told an inside joke.

Sunghoon chuckles nervously, glancing over at you as if he needs confirmation. You shoot him an apologetic smile, trying to silently convey that, no, this isn’t normal and, yes, you’ll explain later.

“And I mean, Y/N and I?” Seungkwan keeps going, gesturing between the two of you like there’s some deep, mysterious connection. “The chemistry? It’s off the charts.” He taps his head, sighing. “We can practically read each other’s minds, you know?”

By now, Sunhoon is fidgeting, a small smile glued to his face as they look between you and Seungkwan. “Oh, really?” he asks, clearly wondering if he’s missing something monumental. “So you two… you’re not—”

“Oh, no, no,” you say quickly, shooting a glare at Seungkwan, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

But Seungkwan doesn’t stop there. “Ah, Y/N’s right,” he adds, shrugging. “We’re not together. Yet.” He drags out the word with a smirk, and you can practically hear the gears turning in Sunghoon’s head as he processes the word "yet."

You feel your face heating up, half-tempted to kick him under the table. “Seungkwan, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you ask, voice tight.

“Hmm, let me think…” He pretends to ponder this, tapping his chin before leaning across the table. “Nope. Nowhere. Besides, isn’t brunch better with a crowd?” He gives Sunghoon a friendly, if slightly unnerving, pat on the shoulder. “You must be so lucky to have Y/N’s attention like this. People are usually lining up for it.”

Sunghoon shifts again, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. You know Seungkwan can sense it too, his eyes glinting with amusement as he continues his casual interrogation. “So, tell me about yourself,” he says to Sunghoon, putting on his most interested expression, though you know he’s sizing him up with each word.

The back-and-forth goes on, with Seungkwan jumping in to answer Sunghoon’s questions as if he’s your personal biographer. He throws in every childhood story, every embarrassing tidbit he can remember—all exaggerated, of course—until Sunghoon’s head is spinning. The worst part is, it’s so absurd that it’s almost funny, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Seungkwan slips in comments like, “Oh, Y/N definitely prefers pineapple on pizza,” or, “Trust me, Y/N’s a total night owl.” As Seungkwan shares “insider secrets” and childhood anecdotes, a strange sensation bubbles up in your chest. It was annoyance, sure, but there was something else there—a soft ache that confused you. Why did he care so much about who you were dating? And why did you feel so strangely relieved that he was here?

Finally, just when you think you can’t take any more, he stands up, clapping his hands together like he’s just wrapped up a grand performance. “Well,” he says, turning to you with a look of smug satisfaction, “if you ever need a brunch buddy who doesn’t skip out on the bill…” He winks. “Call me, yeah?”

He pats Sunghoon on the back as he heads for the door, grinning like he’s just pulled off the prank of the century. “Nice to meet you!” he calls to your date, who’s left sitting in stunned silence as Seungkwan struts out, practically radiating smugness.

When he’s finally gone, Sunghoon lets out a slow breath, shoulders relaxing as they turn to you. “Sooo… that was interesting.”

You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah… interesting is one word for it.”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “So, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh, all the time,” you say with a sigh, though you can’t keep the fond smile off your face. “But hey, he means well. In a very… loud way.”

He chuckles, clearly unsure but still intrigued. “Well, guess I’ll have to stick around and see what other ‘friends’ you have in store.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean back in your seat, finally able to relax. In that moment, the chaos of Seungkwan’s interruption almost fades—almost—because part of you knows that with him around, peace and quiet will always be temporary at best.

2 years post-pact, to the day:

Seungcheol’s birthday is practically a national holiday among your friend group. Every year, he insists on throwing an over-the-top party, renting out a venue and packing it with everyone he knows (and some people he barely knows). This year is no different. He’s booked a rooftop bar with an incredible view, and the night promises to be one of laughter, loud music, and Seungcheol’s legendary knack for making everyone feel like family.

Of course, as soon as you walked through the doors, Seungkwan had cornered you, teasing you about your outfit, asking if you were sure you wanted to dress up this much for just any party. He’d even given you a once-over with a smirk, as if he could see right through your intentions. You’d brushed him off, but you knew he wasn’t done stirring up trouble.

The party is buzzing with laughter, conversations blending into a symphony of voices, and there you are, casually observing from the edge of the room. You spot Seungkwan in the distance, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he talks to a girl who’s completely engrossed in whatever story he’s telling. She’s laughing, touching his arm every now and then, and her eyes are practically twinkling. He’s playing it up too, charming as ever, and for a split second, it almost looks real.

A strange feeling knots in your stomach. It’s not jealousy, you tell yourself, but a weird twinge of something uncomfortable that you can’t quite name. You push the thought aside, focusing instead on the playful banter you’ve always shared with him. But still, you can’t help but feel a flicker of annoyance as the girl giggles, leaning in closer to him, her hand lingering on his arm. Why does it bother you so much?

You shake it off quickly – you know him too well. There’s no way it’s real (right?). Time to have a little fun of your own.

You bide your time, watching for the perfect moment before you make your move. Finally, you spot an opening, and with a quick breath, you slip through the crowd and tap him on the shoulder, putting on your brightest, most endearing smile.

“Hey, honey, sorry I’m late!” You say, practically singing the words as you slide an arm around his waist.

Seungkwan’s body tenses immediately, and when he turns to look at you, his eyes are wide with a mix of surprise and warning. Don’t you dare, his gaze practically screams, but you just tighten your grip, patting his side for emphasis.

“Oh… um, hi,” he stammers, clearly caught off guard, trying to maintain his composure as he looks back at the girl.

You flash her a warm, overly friendly smile, as if you’re just so glad to meet her. “So sorry to interrupt! He promised we’d catch up tonight, you know, since we’re…” you pause, feigning a thoughtful look as you glance up at Seungkwan, “what did you say the other day? Practically inseparable?”

The girl’s confident smile falters, her gaze shifting between you and Seungkwan, her expression growing more uncertain by the second. You can feel Seungkwan’s silent plea for mercy, but you keep going, leaning into him a bit more.

“Oh, and did he tell you about our little pact?” you add, raising your eyebrows with a playful grin as you look back at him. You feel his muscles tense under your arm, his cheeks beginning to glow a telltale shade of pink.

“Pact?” She asks, eyebrows knitting in confusion as she looks at Seungkwan, who’s now fidgeting slightly, glancing around as if looking for an escape.

“Yes, we’ve had it forever,” you say with a wistful sigh, clutching his arm as if this is the most romantic thing in the world. “You know, just in case we’re both… single. Isn’t that right, darling?”

The girl’s smile drops completely, and her mouth opens just a bit, as if she’s about to ask for clarification, but she seems to think better of it. Her cheeks flush as she glances at Seungkwan, now visibly flustered and clearing his throat, his eyes darting everywhere except toward either of you.

“Um, I… I should find my friends,” she mutters, shooting him one last look before quickly turning on her heel and slipping away into the crowd.

As soon as she’s out of sight, you can’t help but smirk, glancing up at Seungkwan’s astonished expression. Leaning up, you plant a quick peck on his cheek before stepping back, watching as he turns to you, looking thoroughly scandalized.

“Are you serious right now?” He hisses, though his lips are twitching, betraying the hint of a laugh he’s trying to hold back.

“Oh, come on, you had it coming,” you reply with a wicked smile. “After the whole pineapple on pizza stunt? I’d say that’s one for me.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly as he runs a hand through his hair, his pink cheeks now joined by a glimmer of genuine amusement. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, but there’s a light in his eyes that tells you he’s not mad in the slightest.

“Hey, you started this game,” you shrug, giving him a little nudge. “I’m just playing to win.”

Seungkwan lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he glances toward the direction the girl went, then back to you, a begrudging smile breaking through. “Fine, fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you next time. Speaking of which, what happened to that guy from brunch a few months ago? Sanghyun? Sanghoon?”

“His name is Sunghoon, idiot, and nothing happened. You made sure of that. That’s why I’m here, evening the score,” you retort, crossing your arms with a mock scowl.

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “So you’re telling me I’m your secret weapon now?”

“More like your meddling is a curse,” you say, shaking your head.

He chuckles, the sound light and infectious. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Just know, I’m not done with this game yet.”

As the night continues, the laughter and music surround you, but a lingering thought gnaws at the back of your mind. Watching Seungkwan charm his way through conversations, it strikes you how easily he can captivate others, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s a part of him that prefers their attention over yours. You push it away, the pang of unease echoing with the music, reminding you that this is just a party, just a game, but somehow, you can’t shake the feeling of something deeper bubbling just beneath the surface.

2 years, 4 months, and 9 days post-pact:

This time, it’s dinner at a new trendy restaurant in the nicer end of town. Dinner with Yuta had been going perfectly—a warm, candlelit setting, the faint hum of jazz music, and conversation that felt so easy you were actually starting to think you could see something real with him. He’s charming, you’re feeling all the right butterflies, and he even leans in, smiling as he teases you about the most embarrassing moments you’ve shared from work.

Then, right on cue, a waiter appears at your table, his expression a mix of confusion and apology.

“Miss Y/N?” he asks, glancing between you and Yuta, who’s now watching with mild curiosity. “I was told by a gentleman to deliver this to you with his regards.”

In his arms, he’s holding an enormous bouquet of deep red roses, wrapped in an extravagant silk ribbon that practically glows under the restaurant’s soft lights. Yuta raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a curious smirk.

As soon as you spot the bouquet, a sinking feeling settles in your stomach. You already know exactly what’s coming next.

The waiter hands you the bouquet, and you catch sight of a note nestled among the roses. The cursive writing on the card reads: “Forever yours, my little dumpling. ~ Boo”

“Oh my god…” you murmur, your cheeks flushing as you let out a strained laugh, trying to brush it off. “Um… wow. This is… an inside joke that got a little out of hand.”

Yuta’s eyes sparkle with amusement, but you can tell he’s a little taken aback. “Inside joke, huh? That’s… a lot of roses for a joke.”

“Yeah,” you say, stumbling over your words, “he just… has a sense of humor, you know?”

Before you can think of a more believable explanation, your phone vibrates on the table, the screen lighting up with a text notification. You already have a bad feeling about it.

Picking up your phone, you see a picture text from Seungkwan. He’s standing in front of a florist, grinning mischievously and holding the exact same bouquet that now sits on your table. “Enjoy,” reads the message, punctuated by a devil emoji.

You feel your jaw tighten, your fingers twitching with the urge to throw the phone across the table. But you take a deep breath, glancing at Yuta, who’s watching you with even more intrigue now.

“Let me guess,” he says, clearly trying not to laugh. “That was him?”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, gritting your teeth in a half-smile. “He’s a… close friend. Very close. Close enough that he thinks things like this are hilarious.”

Yuta chuckles, leaning back in his chair, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Is he… an ex or something?”

“Not at all,” you say quickly, cringing as you realize just how absurd the whole situation must look. “He’s just… Seungkwan. This is his idea of fun. Like, sending flowers to a date to ‘make sure I’m being treated well’ or something.” You laugh awkwardly, trying to make light of it, but Yuta’s expression suggests he’s a bit less enchanted now than he was a few minutes ago.

You can almost feel Seungkwan’s satisfaction from across the city, and it only makes you clench the bouquet harder. The playful irritation bubbling inside you suddenly feels like something else—was this jealousy? You push the thought aside. It’s ridiculous. Seungkwan is just your friend. He doesn’t mean anything by it, does he? Yet, the way Yuta’s laughter seems to wane, the way he glances at the bouquet with uncertainty, leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“Look,” you start, leaning in, “I know this is kind of… bizarre. But it’s not like that. Really, it’s just him trying to mess with me.”

Yuta smiles, but it’s a little strained. “Right, well… I guess I’d better bring my A-game if I’m up against grand gestures like that.”

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. “Trust me, if there’s anyone that doesn’t need to compete with Seungkwan, it’s you.”

The conversation moves on, but there’s a noticeable change in Yuta’s demeanor. He glances at the bouquet one too many times, and even as he smiles, there’s a lingering distance that wasn’t there before. You feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, and it gnaws at you that, in this moment, Seungkwan’s antics are the wedge between you and someone who could be something more.

By the end of the night, he’s still polite, still charming—but the spark feels a little dimmer. Seungkwan’s mission has been accomplished, and as Yuta bids you goodnight, his words are just a little too formal, a little too hesitant, making it painfully clear that he probably won’t be calling again. You should have been devastated. Yuta was the perfect gentleman – but something about a boy with the devious smirk, planning exactly when to have a bouquet of roses delivered, soothed the pain.

2 years, 9 months, and 18 days post-pact:

You never thought he’d go this far. Seungkwan, of all people, invited you out on a double date. The plan sounds innocent enough—a cozy dinner for four, just a casual night out. But the second you step into the dimly-lit, deafening restaurant he’s picked, you know he has a hidden agenda. The music’s loud, the lighting’s too low, and the tables are packed so close together you’re practically bumping elbows with strangers.

Settling into your seat, you force a smile as your date, Kevin—a genuinely nice guy with a warm laugh—leans in close, probably the only way he can hear you over the noise. Across the table, Seungkwan’s already chatting up his own date with way too much charm. Every time you try to ask Kevin a question or tell a story, Seungkwan seems to pick that exact moment to raise his voice.

“Oh, did I ever tell you about the time Y/N accidentally confessed to me?” Seungkwan practically shouts, cutting you off mid-sentence.

Kevin freezes, glancing between the two of you with a hesitant smile. “Wait… you guys dated?”

“Oh, no, no,” Seungkwan laughs, waving a hand dismissively, as if the thought is absurd. “Y/N only confesses on accident. Isn’t that right?” He sends you a playful, almost conspiratorial look, as if you’re both in on some inside joke—one that you’re definitely not part of.

You shoot him a glare, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “That was one time, and it was a misunderstanding!” You retort, but the laughter in his eyes makes you feel small. It’s not just annoyance you’re feeling; it’s a mixture of embarrassment and something deeper, a frustrating recognition of how easily he shifts the spotlight onto you.

As the evening progresses, the laughter and clinking of glasses fade into a dull background noise. You try steering the conversation back on track, giving Kevin an apologetic smile, but every time it seems like he’s interested again, Seungkwan throws in a casual remark, making sure no topic gets a chance to really take off.

By the end of the night, Kevin’s enthusiasm has dulled significantly. He gives you a polite, almost strained smile, saying something about “catching you later.” Seungwan’s date is no different. She attempts to give him a hug, but he somehow maneuvers it into the world’s most awkward handshake, and you stifle a giggle into your hand. With a quick wave, she’s gone too, leaving you alone with Seungkwan.

You turn to him, folding your arms as he grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Why do you look like the cat that swallowed the canary?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Because I had a wonderful evening with you, darling,” he replies, throwing an arm around your shoulders with an exaggerated wink.

“Do you always ruin dates for fun?” you fire back, trying to mask the mix of frustration and something that feels suspiciously like longing.

He shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

You shove him off, but can’t fully hide the amusement flickering in your eyes. He catches it, his grin widening like he’s won something. For a second, you wonder if this is less sabotage and more of a game he doesn’t want either of you to stop playing.

But as the laughter fades, a heavy silence settles in. The thrill of their playful rivalry leaves you feeling conflicted, tugged in two directions: part of you relishes these moments of banter, while the other is increasingly aware of the emotional chaos underneath it all. You should be angry, but instead, a tiny voice in your head whispers that maybe, just maybe, this game is his way of keeping you close.

“What’s next, Seungkwan? Are you going to plan another ‘double date’ with your other friends just to make sure I never get a moment alone?” You challenge him, half-joking, but your heart races at the thought.

His laughter rings out, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze, a hint of vulnerability that surprises you. “You know I’d never do that to you… I just like watching you squirm,” he admits, his tone lighter but the sincerity hidden underneath that’s palpable.

Suddenly, the air is thick with unspoken words and emotions, and you feel a strange mix of gratitude and frustration wash over you. Why can’t you just see him as the annoying frenemy he pretends to be? Why does it hurt a little too much to think about how you might actually miss him if he were to stop?

As you both stand to leave, your heart is a tangled mess, caught between the irritation he brings and the inexplicable thrill of having him in your life. He gives you one last playful nudge, and you can’t help but wonder if this rivalry is just a cover for something deeper, something you’re both too stubborn to acknowledge.

2 years, 11 months, 24 days post-pact:

After the double date fiasco, a week goes by, and you find yourself dress-shopping with Jeonghan. It's for Seungcheol’s wedding, and naturally, Jeonghan insisted on tagging along to “make sure you don’t show up looking like a bridesmaid nightmare.”

You’re in the dressing room, running your fingers over the delicate lace of the navy blue dress, adjusting the neckline before giving yourself one last glance in the mirror. Jeonghan’s already dismissed five of your previous picks with commentary ranging from “horrific” to “Good luck trying to upstage the bride in that.” But this one feels right. You’re almost nervous to step out, knowing he’s going to have plenty to say.

As you walk out, Jeonghan’s eyes narrow with that same hypercritical gaze he reserves for... well, everything. He circles you slowly, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he steps back to get a better look, then reaches forward to adjust the strap by your collarbone with a delicate touch. “Hmm,” he muses, tapping his chin theatrically. “That one doesn’t look like it’s trying to be the main character.”

You sigh, unable to hold back a little smile as his hand lingers on your shoulder. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Hey, no, that’s a good thing,” he says, brushing his fingers over your sleeve reassuringly. “It’s got enough class to charm all the moms, and just enough allure to turn a few heads. But you won’t make anyone jealous.”

He grins and pinches your cheek affectionately, like he knows he’s giving the highest possible praise. You swat his hand away, laughing, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes your cheeks flush.

“Think Seungcheol will approve?” you ask, spinning around to check the back in the mirror, letting him watch you pretend you’re not grinning.

“Oh, Seungcheol?” Jeonghan gives a faux-surprised raise of his eyebrows and gently nudges your elbow, keeping his tone light. “I think someone else might have a stronger opinion than our blissfully oblivious groom-to-be.”

You look at him, and he just smirks, half-mischievous, half-knowing. “Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, the lace brushing against your neck as you turn back to the mirror.

“Like what?” he says, leaning his shoulder against yours with exaggerated innocence.

“Like you have any clue what you’re talking about,” you reply, smoothing the fabric of the dress, still avoiding his eyes.

Jeonghan hums thoughtfully, crossing his arms, but you can feel his gaze studying you in the mirror. “Alright, well then, tell me about this little ‘date rivalry’ with Seungkwan that I keep hearing about.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you try to focus on fixing a stray curl rather than looking at him. “It’s nothing, okay? Just a… joke.” You try to laugh it off, though you’re pretty sure he can tell you’re deflecting. “You know, one of those... running gags.”

He snorts and slings his arm over your shoulders casually, squeezing as he leans close to your ear. “Right, because a ‘silly joke’ lasts for, what… three years?”

You elbow him gently, trying to hide your smile. “Two years, eleven months, and twenty-four days,” you correct, giving him a playful nudge. “Not that I’m counting.”

“Oh, of course not,” he says, deadpan, squeezing your shoulder again as he leans in. “Hence all the sabotage and dramatic entrances and flirty messages you two just pretend to brush off.”

You roll your eyes, pulling his arm off your shoulders as you smooth down the fabric of the dress. “It’s really not that deep, Jeonghan. We just... tease each other. Keeps things interesting.”

“Hmm,” he says, draping an arm around your waist this time, like he’s just making himself comfortable. “And all this talk of keeping things ‘interesting’… It’s what? Your foolproof plan to stay single?”

You hesitate, leaning back into his casual embrace as you stare into the mirror, focusing on a barely-there wrinkle in the fabric rather than his too-observant gaze. “We just… keep each other entertained.”

He’s quiet for a second, watching you a little too closely, his chin resting on your shoulder now. “You know, some people choose each other because they’re in love, Y/N.”

You huff a laugh, nudging him off your shoulder but leaning against him a little longer than necessary. “And some people spend too much time meddling in other people’s love lives, Jeonghan.”

“Oh, guilty as charged.” He grins, unbothered, slipping his fingers through yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. “But unlike you and Seungkwan, I don’t spend three years pretending I don’t have feelings for someone.”

You stare at him, but he’s already shifted his attention back to your outfit, reaching up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear with a gentle touch. “So, who says I’m pretending anything?” you ask, looking down, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Oh, please,” he says softly, his hand lingering at the nape of your neck. “You two sabotage every other date, throw each other’s names into any conversation just to keep the other on your mind, and act like you don’t know what you’re doing. Speaking of which, I was the one who told Seungkwan what restaurant your date was at so he could send you those flowers.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you shove him lightly. “You did what?”

He chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. “What? It’s not like I wanted you to end up with Yuto.”

“Yuta, and thanks for that, really,” you say, trying to keep your tone light despite the flutter of annoyance in your chest. “I thought I was going to have a nice evening.”

“Please, it was a public service,” Jeonghan insists, feigning seriousness. “And it was all part of the ‘evening the score’ strategy.”

You groan, half-amused and half-exasperated. “God, you’re impossible.”

He laughs, the sound light and infectious. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Just know, I’m not done with this game yet.”

You swallow, feeling your throat tighten as his hand drops to your shoulder. He squeezes it gently, his touch grounding as you try to ignore the truth in his words. Jeonghan’s seen it all: the way Seungkwan’s messages light up your screen, the not-so-casual dinner invitations, and how every other date just... doesn’t quite measure up.

“So when’s the wedding?” he teases, giving your shoulder a playful shake.

“Oh my God,” you groan, half-smiling as you grab a hanger and whack him gently on the shoulder. “Can we not do this right now? You’re supposed to help me pick a dress, not psychoanalyze my love life.”

Jeonghan raises his hands in surrender, his grin shameless. “Alright, alright. But for the record, the entire group’s got their money on you two.”

Your mouth drops open, half-horrified, half-amused. “Excuse me?”

“Yep. Seungcheol thinks it’ll happen at his wedding. Joshua’s got New Year’s. And I, of course, bet on tonight,” he says, winking.

“Oh, really? You’re just that confident, huh?” you ask, punching his arm softly.

He grabs your hand, pulling it to his chest with an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, admit it. You’re a little curious to see if Seungkwan feels the same way.”

You stare at him, and he looks back with that rare, soft sincerity that makes it impossible to tell him off. His words stay with you, settling like a soft ache in your chest as he tugs you toward the counter to pay for the dress, his arm still draped loosely around your shoulders.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, Jeonghan’s voice echoes in your mind: “A silly joke doesn’t last three years, Y/N.” You reach for your phone, the screen casting a soft glow as you scroll through your texts with Seungkwan. Before you know it, you’ve typed out, Why do you keep doing this?

The message sends, and your heart hammers in the quiet as you wait. The response is almost immediate.

Because I know those guys aren’t right for you.

A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth as you type back, And who is?

This time, the pause is longer, and you can almost picture him hesitating. Then, his reply lights up the screen:

Maybe someone who’ll crash every date just to see you smile.

You toss your phone aside, pulling the covers up over your head, fighting a grin that’s nearly impossible to contain. Because maybe, just maybe, Jeonghan’s meddling isn’t so misguided after all.

3 years, 1 month, 11 days post-pact:

The night is warm, a faint breeze carrying the scent of roses and lavender through the garden. Twinkle lights strung above cast a soft glow over the reception area, while the hum of laughter and clinking glasses fills the air as guests flow between the tables and the dance floor. It’s the perfect evening for a wedding—Seungcheol's wedding, of all people, the friend who used to swear up and down that he’d never get tied down. The ceremony had been beautiful, of course, filled with tender vows and stolen glances, the kind of moments that only make the ache in your chest a little sharper. It’s the kind of night made for weddings—the sky deepening to a dusky navy color not unlike the rich blue of your dress, soft to the touch and fitted just right, brushing the tops of your heels.

As you catch glimpses of friends in the crowd, your gaze lands on Seungkwan, who stands just beyond the garden’s edge. The fairy lights soften his outline, illuminating his black suit—perfectly tailored to his frame—and his navy tie, which, oddly enough, matches your dress exactly. The thought comes with a smirk. Jeonghan had said nothing, but you know he had something to do with this.

“Oh hey,” he says, voice warm with that little hint of sarcasm that’s so him. “Didn’t expect you to be sneaking up on me like that. What happened—already bored with your dance partner?”

Rolling your eyes, you return his smile. “Hardly. I just needed a break. It’s like, the second you make eye contact with someone, they’re convinced you’re interested.”

He nods knowingly. “Trust me, I know the feeling.” For a moment, he glances back at the party, and you both lapse into comfortable silence, letting the hum of music and laughter fill the space between you. But when he looks back, there’s something softer, almost vulnerable in his expression.

“So here we are,” he murmurs, crossing his arms, “just the two of us again, while everyone else is off being sentimental.”

Something in his tone makes you pause. It’s rare to see him peel back the layers of playful banter, but there’s a weight in his words that has your heart pounding a little faster.

“What, is being single at a wedding getting to you?” you tease, trying to keep things light, but his answering look is serious, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Oh, please,” he says, shaking his head with a slight huff. “But… I can’t lie; that pact of ours has been on my mind.”

The “if we’re both single at thirty, let’s get married” pact. A joke you’d made years ago, on a night not so different from this one, laughing over the idea of “settling” if neither of you found someone by then. You raise an eyebrow, voice softening. “That was just a joke, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replies, but his voice is softer, almost wistful, and he looks down at his hands. "It was a joke."

Your breath catches, feeling an ache that’s both familiar and new, the words between you now feeling a little too real. You’re about to say something when Jeonghan’s voice interrupts, calling your name from across the garden. He’s grinning, waving you both over.

"Hey!" he calls, all too cheerfully. "Are you coming to join the dance floor or just hiding in the shadows?"

Seungkwan groans, rolling his eyes. “Looks like my break’s over,” he mutters, but there’s a reluctant smile there as he lets Jeonghan drag you both toward the dance floor.

A new song starts, slower than the upbeat tracks that played earlier, and suddenly, everyone around you is pairing off. Before you know it, Jeonghan has nudged Seungkwan into place in front of you, giving him a wink as he steps back. The faintest pink dusts Seungkwan’s cheeks, but he recovers quickly, giving you a playful smirk as he offers you his hand.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs as you take his hand, his touch warm as he pulls you closer. The scent of his cologne wraps around you, subtle yet comforting, and his hand on your waist grounds you as the two of you sway under the twinkle lights.

It’s maddening, how close he is, how his gaze holds yours with a quiet intensity that feels like it’s about to crack through years of careful friendship. For a moment, the world around you fades, leaving only the warmth of his hand, the navy blue of his tie, the slow rhythm of the music, and the unspoken words hanging between you.

But just as quickly, Seungkwan clears his throat, breaking the spell as he takes a step back, glancing away. “I should… um, I should probably go help Jeonghan with…” His voice trails off as he disappears into the crowd.

You stand there, heart racing, feeling the weight of what was left unfinished. Jeonghan appears at your side, giving you a knowing smile.

“Go after him,” he says, nudging you with a grin. "Trust me, it’s time.”

With a deep breath, you weave through the clusters of guests, catching sight of Seungkwan just past the garden’s edge, leaning against a tree, looking out into the night.

As you approach, he turns, eyes widening just slightly before he speaks. “Oh. You’re here.” There’s a vulnerability about him that takes you by surprise.

“Yeah. Still… need a break,” you reply, barely above a whisper, and there’s a pause as he searches your gaze, something soft and hopeful flickering in his eyes.

“Seungkwan, I-” you start, voice shaking just a bit. He chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s no humor in it.

“Don’t say anything you don’t mean right now, Y/N,” he warns, voice low. You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over you like the warm, heavy night air. Behind you, the music fades as guests migrate to the bar, the hum of conversation filling the garden. But here, in this quiet corner under the fairy lights, it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

“Why?” you ask, feeling your cheeks warm. “Do you have something you need to tell me?”

He pauses, glancing down at the ground and taking a deep breath, his fingers flexing at his sides as though he’s gathering courage. When he looks back up, there’s something vulnerable in his gaze, raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before. “I’m saying that maybe, just maybe, I’ve wanted this all along.”

His confession hits you like a wave, a rush of emotion you weren’t prepared for. Memories flood back—those lingering glances, nights spent sabotaging each other’s dates, and playful jabs that always seemed to hit a little too close to the heart.

You manage a shaky breath, words tumbling out before you can stop them. “You’re not… just saying this because of the open bar, are you?”

He laughs, a soft sound that cuts through the tension, and steps a little closer, his hand brushing yours. The slight contact is electric, sending a thrill through you. “I’ve had plenty of chances to back out of that pact,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a near whisper. “But I didn’t want to. Because I kept hoping… that maybe it wasn’t just a joke to you, either.”

For a moment, time seems to stop. The music, the laughter, the soft glow of the lights—all of it fades until there’s only him, his face inches from yours, his hand hovering near your waist. His touch is gentle, yet electric, barely there, but enough to make your heart race and a thrill skitter down your spine. You can see the way his eyes search yours, a mix of vulnerability and desire reflected in their depths.

“Well, if we’re being honest… maybe I’ve been waiting for you, too,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly as the words slip free. The admission feels like a weight lifting, revealing the truth you’ve both danced around for far too long.

He lets out a breath, almost a sigh of relief, and pulls you a fraction closer, his hand settling firmly at your waist, warm and steady. The world around you blurs into a hazy backdrop, and all that matters is the heat radiating from his body, the way his thumb strokes your side, sending warmth pooling low in your belly. His smile is soft, just for you, a detail that makes your pulse quicken. Damn Jeonghan.

“Fucking finally,” he whispers, his voice low and inviting, igniting a fire deep within you. He leans in, closing the space between your lips, the anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. His breath mingles with yours, warm and tantalizing, and in that moment, it feels as if the entire universe has tilted just for the two of you.

Then his lips meet yours in a kiss that’s as warm and gentle as the night around you. It’s soft, exploratory, as if he’s afraid to rush and scare you off, yet there’s a warmth that ignites between you, a spark that feels both thrilling and reassuring. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with a sweet urgency, a rhythm that feels instinctive.

You can taste the hint of mint on his breath, the lingering flavor of a cocktail from earlier in the evening, and it mingles with the scent of his cologne—a heady blend that makes your senses spin. As his fingers slide further down to the small of your back, pulling you closer, it’s like everything has led up to this one perfect, terrifying moment.

He groans against your lips, and it makes your breath catch. “Three years,” he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip until you melt against him with a sigh, “I’ve waited three years to do this.”

You pull him closer by his tie. “Then shut up and kiss me more, Boo.”

He obliges with glee, running his hands up the buttons of your dress until you shiver. With each soft sigh that escapes you, you can feel the warmth pooling deeper, a delicious tension that makes the air around you crackle. The kiss ignites something primal between you, a yearning that has been simmering just beneath the surface, and every part of you is alive with the sensation of him. It feels as if the whole world has faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this moment—breathless, hearts racing, and tangled in each other.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and wide-eyed, the sounds of the wedding rush back in, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. But all you can focus on is him, the way his gaze holds yours, sparkling with a mix of surprise and delight, as if he can’t believe what just happened.

For a second, you just stare at each other.

“Wow,” he breathes, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t know we were doing that tonight.”

You can’t help but grin back, the thrill of the moment still coursing through you. “I guess we both had a little waiting to do,” you tease, a soft challenge in your voice, and you can see the spark of mischief in his eyes as he steps closer, closing the distance once more.

As he steps closer, the air between you crackles with electricity. “You know,” he murmurs, hands tickling your waist, fingers brushing just enough to send delightful shivers down your spine, “we should do that again. For science.”

“For science?” you echo, trying to sound serious but failing as a laugh escapes you.

“Absolutely,” he insists, leaning in slightly, his breath warm and inviting. The moment feels suspended in time, as if nothing else exists but the two of you and this playful game you’ve begun.

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes, the mischief swirling there igniting a flutter in your chest. “So, how many trials do you think we should run? Five? Ten?”

He leans in, his forehead nearly brushing against yours, a teasing grin still plastered on his face. His hands find your waist again, this time holding you a little tighter, his fingers warm against your skin, and you feel your heart race in anticipation.

“Maybe we should just keep going until we know for sure,” you suggest, your voice barely a whisper, laden with both challenge and excitement.

“Now that’s the spirit,” he replies, and before you can react, he swoops in, capturing your lips with his once more. This kiss is bolder, filled with laughter and the thrill of newfound freedom, as though you’ve crossed a line into something deeper and more exhilarating together.

As you pull away, breathless and grinning like giddy schoolchildren, you hear Jeonghan’s voice from behind you. “Oi! This is a WEDDING!”

You turn to find Jeonghan approaching with a playful pout, arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t believe you two actually went for it!” He shakes his head, mock-serious. “Seungcheol! You officially win the bet. You said they’d get together at your wedding, and look at this!”

Seungkwan’s hold on you tightens slightly, an instinctive response to the sudden attention. He leans closer, his warmth enveloping you like a cozy blanket, and you can feel a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanor, contrasting with his earlier bravado. You exchange sheepish glances, cheeks flushed with embarrassment under Jeonghan’s teasing gaze.

“I can’t believe Jeonghan was right,” Seungkwan mutters, still smiling but now a little bashful, as he nudges you playfully, fingers lingering at your waist as if he’s reluctant to let go.

Jeonghan feigns indignation, throwing his hands up dramatically. “This is unfair! You get a bride AND you win the bet on the same day? What kind of luck is that?”

“Guess you’ll have to deal with it,” Seungcheol says with a laugh, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his new bride’s cheek. She preens with attention, and it makes you lean a little closer to Seungkwan.

You let Jeonghan pout, turning back to Seungkwan with a grin.

“Guess this means I don’t have to keep sabotaging you anymore?” he teases, his hands still resting on your waist.

You laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully. “Oh, no way. I think you’re stuck with me now, Boo Seungkwan. We’ll find a new game to play.”

“Here’s to our next game, then,” Seungkwan declares, raising an imaginary glass. “No more hearts; I’m thinking something more… hands-on.”

Jeonghan pretends to puke, and it makes you laugh that much harder. As you glance around the wedding venue, laughter and celebration filling the air, it dawns on you how different this moment is from where it all began. The pact you had with Seungkwan was never about waiting. It was about finding your way to each other all along.

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retroaria · 2 months ago

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★ unlikely trio

⟡ ݁₊ what it was like working with osamu dazai and chuuya nakahara as port mafia operatives ₊ .⟡

platonic!dazai + chuuya x gn!reader | this is definitely based on 15-18 y/o dazai and chuuya! they are both executives and you’re under them but still high ranking. use of y/n btw. this is short i just wanted to do some silly hc's for my favorite boys :)

• | BSD M.LIST | reblogs are apprectiated! | •

⋆˙⟡ chuuya hates to make you the mediator, but dazai insists. when these two are locked in on one upping each others level of arrogant asshole, dazai seeks you out to be the final voice of reason just so he can see which of them will be scolded the most - he knows they’re both being stupid. because of his vulgarity, chuuya usually gets the shorter end of the stick in these competitions (competitions that exist only in dazai’s head btw)

D: “Did you see that!? Chuuya just bit me!”

C: “I did not bite you, i’m not some kind of wild animal.”

D: “No, I think you’re a creature far more sinister actually…”

C: “If you don’t shut the hell up I’ll actually bite your head off.”

D: “You see! Y/n! Someone has to reprimand this feral beast.”

Y/N: “Chuu~ you can’t just say you’re gonna bite his head off…”

C: “HE STARTED IT AND HE LIED!”

D: “My accusation doesn’t seem too far off for someone who just threatened to orally behead me, read the room Nakahara.”

⋆˙⟡ pushing and shoving each other to get through the doorway first. you or chuuya usually assume the role of line leader but when it comes to making an entrance dazai can’t help but weasel his way in there with an annoying amount of force. this doesn’t necessarily pertain to you, as dazai does this when it’s just him and chuuya as well…or anyone really - he’s gotta make a grand entrance.

⋆˙⟡ letting you win at arcade games just so chuuya feels like the only one who couldn’t beat him.

⋆˙⟡ you being the only thing that could get those two to sit down and have a normal meal together. they know you mean business when you invite them out to eat so they put their big boy pants on.

⋆˙⟡ you and dazai coming up with dangerous but efficient plans that chuuya spends the entirety of the mission refuting. alternatively: you and chuuya coming up with safe and well thought out plans that dazai spends the entirety of the mission ruining.

⋆˙⟡ they both go to you to talk about their troubles id think, although dazai does it in a much more sly manner; not really telling you anything but just wanting to have someone to talk to. chuuya really lets it all out on you, he’s a a bit of a trauma dumper when he feels he can be. sometimes one of them will walk in on you when you’re with the other and they both look at you feeling so betrayed.

D: “I can’t believe you double booked…today is MY DAY.”

C: “Shut it freak, I had plans with them first you’re such a little brat.”

D: “So cold…I’ll have you know I was invited.”

⋆˙⟡ dazai spends a lot of time trying to get you to understand the way he thinks. he’s totally emotionally and mentally stunted though, so he ends up speaking in riddles and not getting his point across as smooth as he’d like to sometimes. chuuya doesn’t explain his thought process to you at all and then gets mad when both dazai and you aren’t getting what he’s putting down.

⋆˙⟡ they both feel the need to get your opinion on big decisions they might be making concerning operations. dazai will dance around his proposals and take in your reactions based on the little info he gives you. chuuya tells you the situation straight up and asks what you would do if you were him.

⋆˙⟡ dazai feels that you need very little protection and can handle things on your own, his logic is that you couldn’t have gotten as far as you did if you weren’t capable. chuuya sees you as one of his valued subordinates and will go out of his way to ensure your safety (though he doesn’t do that for anyone else but if you died who else would protect him from dazai’s emotional abuse?)

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awkwardandeccentric · 7 months ago

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I love the idea of Blitz, Stolas, Angel Dust, and Husk all meeting, but it’s even funnier because Stolas and Husk are more similar and Angel and Blits are more similar.

Stolas and Husk are both functional, depressed alcoholics. They both are too old for your nonsense. They both enjoy the performance arts, particularly, ahem, classier than what Hell usually has to offer. They’re both subdued and introverted. Both are very smart, Husk emotionally and Stolas intellectually. They would have a lovely conversation over jazz music in the human world with a whiskey neat and a questionable amount of absinthe.

If Blitz and Angel Dust ever meet…oh god. No one is safe. No one. Run for the hills, because the unhinged chaos duo is coming and they don’t take prisoners. The “Blitz is a jealous freak” crowd was right- we’ve seen him literally growl like a possessive dog over a “bird-stealing cockbag” and I imagine Angel would be just as unhinged, if not even more so, if he thought someone was coming into Husk.

I want to see Blitz get so upset at this cat-griffin thing for being able to sit down and have a conversation about books he and Stolas have both read or black-and-white films they enjoy (‘how dare that stupid fucking pussy with wings think he’s smarter than me’) and I want Angel to lose his shit over a tall, skinny submissive with an accent speaking with Husk about jazz music and fancy cocktails (how dare that pompous fucking bird think he’s sexier than me’)

Meanwhile, Husk and Stolas have, like, zero sexual or romantic interest in each other and are just happy they can info dump about their interests to someone who won’t make it weird. Bonus points if Blitz and Angel get mad at each other for insulting their respective crushes.

“Who does that motherfucking pussy think he is?! He looks like he shot out of a blender and talks like he has a refrigerator level IQ! He can’t hold a conversation about anything that isn’t goddamn magic tricks or how much he likes cheap booze!”

“Excuse me?! Your lanky fucking bird is LUCKY to be talking to someone as smart and sweet and sexy as Husk! Your bird brain of a man can’t string a normal sentence together because he’s too busy showing off! By the way, that slutty romper?! Ugly as sin!”

Meanwhile, Stolas and Husk are both deeply confused and a weird combination of insulted and turned on.

#stolas #blitzø #stoliz #stolitz #husk #angel dust #huskerdust #I said I was taking a break from the helluva boss fandom #not the Hazbin hotel fandom #you guys are chill

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princesssmars · 6 months ago

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hockey player!abby, skier!reader, and those stupid olympic beds. slight nsfw.

it was no secret to anyone that you and abby had a very healthy relationship. you fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, compatible mentally, emotionally, romantically…

and physically. definitely physically.

it only took a month after your first time together for her teammates to start teasing her, pointing out the purple marks trailing up and down her body in the locker rooms, how her mood has somehow gotten even more chipper, not to mention that time some frat dickhead flirted with you at a party and you showed up to a game the next day with abby’s custom jersey on a slight limp in your step…

it got to the point where just your presence at a practice pulled abby’s attention in like a black hole, the blonde constantly checking to make sure you were in the same spot and waving cutely at you before getting slammed by someone she was supposed to be guarding against. after a few times her coach had to temporarily ban you from coming, or at least wearing the ugliest piece of clothing you owned if you came.

so yes. everybody knows you’re both very satisfied.

now, when you picked up your phone and saw five missed calls from abby in the span of ten minutes in the middle of the day, it’s safe to say your heart nearly dropped out of your ass. pressing the call back button and holding the device up to your ear, nothing but the worst scenarios fill your mind until her fast breathing fills your ear.

“babe, oh my god! why didn’t you pick up!”

“abs what’s wrong, are you okay?” you try to keep your voice steady, knowing that your panic will only make her panic which would be the worst thing if she was in an actually dangerous situation.

“no i’m not okay. is it true about the beds? please tell me it’s not true.”

you can hear two of her teammates giggling in the bathroom and it takes everything in you to not hang up and the phone spend the next month at your own place.

“what….abby what beds?”

“at the games! the olympics! jamie said the ones in milan are gonna be cardboard. and that they had a ban on. well, yknow.”

you let out a long sigh, clearly a loud one if the increased laughter in the background of the call is anything to go by. you pinch the bridge of your nose and try your best to act sane.

“yeah, babe, they’ll probably be cardboard. but there’s no ban of sex, that were just some temporary covid restrictions in tokyo. don’t think one would work, anyway. thousands of hot athletes in a single village? let’s be serious.”

halfway through your explanation she lets out a relived sigh joined by a ‘oh thank god’, a plethora of laughs and faux kissing noises drowning out her voice.

“ugh, you two are so whipped.” jamie’s voice pipes in from the background, abby groaning with the tell tale sound of fake slapping ringing from your phone.

“why don’t you tell jamie to keep her mouth shut and worry about how her girlfriends had her in the doghouse for three week?”

abby cackles on the other side of the phone, pestering her teammate for answer before you hear the sound of her stomping away, the other girls following after her.

“gosh, thanks for that. they never stop pestering me about you. whatever, they’re just jealous i got to you first. and that i’m not sharing.”

your heart warms at her possessiveness, always giddy when she shows clear affection towards you. “aww, you’re cute. tell me when your practice is over and i’ll pick you up, take you to get some pizza and i’ll spill all of the drama i learned last week.”

“you’re the best. buttt now that i know there’s no ban, maybe after pizza we can start warming up for our post game activities.”

“abs, the games are two years away.”

“i always say practice makes perfect!”

last month i had a whole fantasy played out of abby and reader competing together in paris and having sweet ‘we’re in love and olympic champions’ sex before i realized their sports are winter olympics. which are in milan. 2026. i’ve never been the brightest.

#tlou #the last of us #tlou 2 #tlou 2 x reader #the last of us 2 #abby #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n #hockey!abby #skier!reader #holly jolly

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suzukiblu · 4 months ago

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Thank-you sentences for quietellen; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“. . . oh,” Billy says, and blinks at him instead. Huh. “Wow, that is so much more than they charge at the ER. Or even for like, fertility treatments and stuff.”

What a weird thing for Cadmus to have told Lynn, though.

Lynn blinks too, looking startled. Billy doesn’t know what was startling about that? Unless maybe Lynn doesn’t really know much about monetary value yet scale-wise, anyway, or like, maybe Cadmus just didn’t explain how stupid health insurance is and all the stuff it doesn’t cover. Or maybe they did and were pricks who don’t know how to vote in their own self-interest about it, which is also maybe a concern, considering.

Probably he should explain insurance to Lynn later, yeah. And maybe healthcare. Like, obviously the League’ll deal with it if Lynn ever gets sick, because Lynn is Kryptonian and therefore a regular hospital probably couldn’t deal with it if he ever got sick, but also it’s better if he knows that kind of thing. Just like–so he understands, Billy means. Gets where the people he’s saving are coming from, and what kind of stuff they’re dealing with.

It’s important, getting that kind of thing.

“I count as a real kid to you,” Lynn says for . . . some reason, his voice stiff, and Billy–blinks, again, and tilts his head. Lynn’s face is back to blank, but even blank-faced, he kind of still looks tense and uncomfortable. Superman doesn’t look like that when his face is–well, no, actually, Superman’s face doesn’t really go blank, does it, Billy realizes. He’s always got something showing, emotionally speaking.

That’s kinda weird, come to think, because Billy also doesn’t really think of Superman as someone who’s, like, super-open or anything? Like, he shows a lot of emotion and stuff, Billy guesses, but Billy doesn’t really know anything about him. Mostly people don’t, as far as he can tell.

Also, he can’t really think of all that many times he’s seen Superman showing a negative emotion, now that he is thinking about it. Like, a few times during really bad fights or after some really awful thing Superman clearly blamed himself for, but not like, just day-to-day. Superman doesn’t ever seem to be impatient or cranky or in a bad mood, like, ever.

That’s . . . weird, yeah. Huh.

But also, more importantly–

Billy frowns to himself, and then frowns a little deeper and tilts his head a little more. Looks at Lynn and all his tension and discomfort and negative emotions, and . . .

“You definitely count as a real kid to me,” he promises him again, because he’s probably going to have to promise that a few times before Lynn really believes it anyway, and he’d kinda figured that out already. “You’re my real kid.”

Those are both probably things Lynn’s worried about, he figures. Being somebody’s real kid, and being a real kid at all.

#billy batson #conner kent #captain marvel #shazam #superboy #young justice #young justice animated #wip: billy adopts conner and it actually goes pretty good!#quietellen

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almostempty · 3 months ago

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dieter's party (dieter x f!reader)

Dieter’s party (dieter bravo x f!reader) | wc: 3k | other fics

summary: after fighting with your bf and reluctantly attending a party, you find yourself complaining to the host who offers to let you sleep off your emotional hangover headache in the pool house. when your boyfriend finally shows up, it’s a welcome surprise and you accept his apology in the form of sex. but, when you wake up in the morning you’re faced with another surprise.

note: this is my other version of the accidental adultery trope, only it’s the involuntary cheating/wrong bed trope bc that’s what i thought the prompt was originally! other version is here with stalker!frankie. (this is like a month late for the actual challenge but time is an illusion idc; it’s for u bb @auteurdelabre)

warnings/tags: explicit mdni, smut, this IS noncon– but it’s not dark vibes (like how the wrong bed trope in media is somehow played off as a ~hehe whoops~ ???), infidelity/cheating, oral sex, piv, prone bone, drugs mentioned at the party but reader and dieter are sober, boyfriend frankie, again, i repeat, this is noncon- but they’re not real and also they’re into it, REAL LOOSEY GOOSEY flimsy plot pls don’t poke at it there are already enough holes to drain ur pasta, kind of ooc dieter tbh

standard warnings for me at this point: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; no y/n, likely many mistakes aka no beta and limited editing on this bish

You sit sideways on the lounge chair, digging your toes into the sand and massaging your temples. The voices from the party behind you are easier to tune out as you look out over the water. The adrenaline rush of your anger has passed, and now you’re just left with a throbbing headache.

It’s not a bad view. But you resent it anyway. You’ve been abandoned by your friend who dragged you to the party in the first place. She’d assured you that it would be low key, just some people on mushrooms having a bonfire on a private beach. The names and the drugs didn’t sell you on it, but the free night at a fancy beach house was appealing

You didn’t know anyone else, and she’d assured you she’d stick with you until your boyfriend showed up. But so far nothing had gone to plan. The cute little beach house is actually more like a mansion. There is technically a fire on the beach and people on some kind of hallucinogenics, but there’s also a party by the pool, and rooms filled with people on the main floor of the house.

Your friend folded immediately–swooped up by the hot production assistant that told her about the party. You weren’t keen to follow them as they disappeared in search of a quieter room in the house to play tonsil hockey.

You don’t really blame her. Your boyfriend was supposed to be meeting you anyway. Or, at least, he was before you’d got in another argument before he went to work. You’re miserable when the two of you are on bad terms.

Frankie and you are both stubborn and can dig your heels in over the smallest arguments. Currently, you don’t actually know if he’s giving you the silent treatment or if he’s just working late. Either way, you figure you’re allowed to be a little pathetic over the situation.

Yet, you can’t even slink off to have your moody moment watching the waves and the stars. Someone is walking up behind you causing you to sigh. Stiffening, you turn to address none other than the life of the party himself, Dieter Bravo.

He’s undeniably nice to look at, but you’re still moping. Emotionally hungover and irritable. And stuck at loaded jagoff’s party full of nobody you particularly want to get to know.

“Party is that way,” you point past him towards the pool surrounded by drunk people with shiny white veneers and ugly jewelry. He’s unfazed by your snark and sits down next to you.

“Thought you could use some company.” His voice is low and sexy in a stupid movie star way that makes you roll your eyes.

“That’s not even a clever line,” you chastise him.

He flashes a grin at you that makes it hard to keep up the glum aura.

Whatever they say about actors looking better in person rather than on camera is true, and even more so when they’re sitting so close you can smell their expensive cologne. He’s dressed more casually than the rest of the party, but you wonder if it’s part of the quiet luxury mystique with the four hundred dollar t-shirts or if you’re overestimating his net worth.

Dieter likes a challenge. The more you try to shut him down, the more he turns on the charm and flirts with you brazenly. You aren’t immune. He’s fucking hot, and that builds up your ego. You figure it’s harmless to flirt. You’re busy complaining about the social climbers in attendance and how they must be inflating the ego of whichever rich asshole is throwing the party, when he cuts you off.

“And which one are you? Social climber or rich asshole?” He asks, squinting at you like he’s going to take a guess. You play into it, making a few exaggerated model poses–framing your face with your hands and batting your lashes–for him to base his decision off of.

He grins at you with a dazzling smile that makes you break character and laugh. But he doesn’t laugh with you. He just keeps his eyes on you, his sparkling dark brown eyes. Suddenly the moment feels charged, you didn’t realize you were so close, face to face.

“Time’s up,” you say, “I’m neither.” But he’s looking at your lips now and you’re hyper aware of your heart beating faster. Until his hand slips onto your knee and you balk, turning away with a sharp inhale to recenter yourself.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” you give him a glare and he frowns briefly.

“Like that’s real,” he scoffs and turns to watch his pseudo-girlfriend flirting with someone by the pool whose hair gel shines under the string lights.

“Oh.” You didn’t realize. “Sorry.”

For a moment, there’s a vulnerability between the two of you that draws you in, wondering what’s behind the curtain with Dieter. His hand, still resting on your knee, squeezes you slightly, and you snap out of his spell. “Well, my boyfriend most certainly is real,” you say. “Unless he doesn’t show up tonight,” you mutter, “then maybe he won’t be much longer.”

Dieter hesitates as if he might have something to add, but you grimace. You don’t want to answer any follow-up questions. He’s too close for you to think clearly. You stand, brushing off his hand, and give him a smile. “I’m going to do a lap. Maybe find my friend or my boyfriend before the sun comes up,” you sigh and give him a final look before you walk back towards the house.

Eventually, Dieter follows.

You go through the motions, introducing yourself to people, laughing along with whoever you find yourself standing next to, and always staying aware of Dieter’s presence. You avoid his path as the two of you mingle and socialize with different clusters of people. But you keep finding yourself catching his eye in every room you enter.

You weave through the house, pilfering some snacks and avoiding anyone’s attempts to talk one on one. You catch a glimpse of your friend, still entangled with her work crush, and continue on your path.

The later it gets, the less tolerance you have for the other partygoers. You find yourself back on the chair on the beach. Alternating between staring at your phone, debating composing a text to Frankie, and watching the waves break along the shore.

It’s not long before your suitor returns, joining you on the lounge chair again. Just as close, if not closer, than earlier in the evening.

“No luck?” he asks.

“Avoiding you?” you quip, and he shakes his head.

“Finding your friends.”

“Friend or boyfriend,” you emphasize for both of your sake, but he only smiles in return. “What about you? No luck with… whatever your goal was?” you ask.

He sighs deeply at that. “There’s no goal. I’m just the host.”

“Oh,” you blink. “I didn’t know this was your…thing,” you wave your hand towards the party.

“Would you have treated me differently if you knew?”

“Worse, maybe?” you laugh genuinely. “I’ve got a few complaints to lodge. Too many people, too loud, nobody is any fun,” you list them off on your fingers, “honestly–”

“Why are you here?” he cuts you off.

“I don’t know,” you pause to think about the real answer. “Thought it would be better than being miserable at home, a friend convinced me, thought it would be fun to stay at a fancy beach house with my boyfriend. Some combination of those?”

You pick at something invisible on your dress. Avoiding the heat of Dieter’s gaze. “Now, I’m just stuck outside with a headache. Why are you here?” you counter.

“I just told you. Did you take something from the guy in the studded jacket?”

“No. I mean, why are you outside with me? Aren’t there drugs you could be doing? Or there was that guy begging you to do body shots in the kitchen?”

“Kind of bored of it all,” he muses, scratching thoughtfully at his bearded jaw.

“Maybe you need a more intellectually stimulating scene,” you suggest. It was more a grumpy dig at the belligerent attendees, but he seems to be genuinely considering your suggestion. You let yourself ogle his handsome features as he thinks. Then his eyes light up and he snaps his head towards you.

“Do you want to go to the pool house?” he asks.

Your eyes narrow into a fierce glare and he raises his hands in surrender. “No, I mean there’s a bed. You said you have a headache. If you want to lie down.”

“That’s not where the orgy is happening?”

“No,” he snorts, “I think there’s a sex party across the street, though, if you’re interested,” he smirks at you. You roll your eyes at him exaggeratedly and give him a playful shove. “You wish, Bravo.”

You take him up on the offer to lie down, though. There’s a code to unlock the pool house, giving you a private little escape.

You decide to send the code to Frankie, letting him know you’ll be here all night. Hoping he still decides to show up. You enlist Dieter’s help. He repeats after you, “Broad, brooding, brown hair, brown eyes?”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “If you see him, tell him where he can find me?”

“Of course,” he agrees with a chuckle.

You spring to your feet, eagerly seeking out your solitude. Halfway across the yard you look back over your shoulder to mouth thank you at your generous host. He gives you a nod and a wink that is criminally hot.

You let yourself in and explore the space. It’s bigger than your apartment. You pass the living space and mini kitchen, down the hall to find the bedroom. It’s like a luxury hotel suite. You slip out of your shoes and crawl directly into the bed.

Dieter is still dumbstruck by you. Your our smile, your prickly yet playful aura, your sexy confidence. He lingers outside, caught up in his daydream of you, before he resigns himself to circling back through the house. He shares a few stories, laughs at some jokes, and does his best to enjoy the rest of the night. But his eyes constantly wander back to the the pool house.

He’s drawn to it like a moth. Except–it’s dark. The lights are off.

You’re wrapped up in a down duvet and crisp, clean linens. The noise from outside is significantly dulled, most people filtered back into the main house or down to the beach.

You drift into a hazy slumber, fading in and out. Unsure of the time, too stubborn to check your phone afraid of being disappointed the sun rises before you hear from your boyfriend. It’s still dark out whenever you peek at the windows though, so you keep drifting back off, hoping to wake up to your man. You’re rolling over to stretch, once again, when you hear a soft knock on the door.

“Yeah?” you reply, not fully awake.

The door swings open, and he can see you in the glow of the light from the hall.

You’re luminous even in the near dark, and he pauses before the critical thinking skills come to life and he can see the scowl on your face. “Sorry,” he starts.

Dieter had been wavering since you walked away from him. Wondering if he was reading the right signals. If you looked back hoping he was following. If he was the brown eyed prince you were really waiting for. Now he worries that he waited too long in his indecision.

You squint, eyes aching from the bright light in the hallway, only able to make out the silhouette of the broad shoulders in the doorway.

“Sorry, I thought you might still be up,” he trails off, in that familiar gravelly voice.

“Fucking finally,” you groan. “I thought you were going to just leave me here.”

Finally? He was right.

“Just get in here, please.” You toss the corner of the duvet back, inviting him in.

He’s still smiling in the doorway, thinking of something perfect to say when you lose patience.

“Look, you can either get in here and show me how sorry you are for making me wait for you all night, or you can fuck off–but don’t just stand in the doorway blinding me. Please.” You huff, covering your eyes and rolling onto your side to bury your face in the covers.

You hear the door shut before you feel the familiar weight of his body slipping into the bed behind you, and it’s comforting to finally have Frankie here. You thought you’d be left tossing and turning until the sun came up. Wondering if he was upset or just late.

He rests his hand on you, feather light but deliberate. You melt into his touch, stubborn words forgotten at the familiarity of his body heat. He moves slowly, tentatively caressing your shoulders as his nose grazes the back of your neck.

“Finally,” you murmur sleepily, arching you back to press closer into him, moving on instinct.

“Yeah?” his voice is low, husky and rich. Your favorite thing about him.

“Mmhm,” you mumble, pushing back against him. “So late…” Your body responds to his presence, a heat stirring that’s impossible to ignore.

Dieter’s ego flares. He knew there was something simmering behind your jabs.

“You sure about this?” he whispers against your warm skin, hand sliding up your side.

You assume he’s worried you’re still mad at him. Or maybe he thinks you’re too tired. You reassure him with whispered affirmations and a soft moan as your back arches instinctually, pressing closer to him, drawn to his warmth.

It’s the breathy please that spears hot down his spine. Hearing you beg for him, it’s more permission than he needs. He kisses your neck, unhurried, letting his lips linger on your skin as his hands move along the dips and curves of your body. There’s a tenderness in his touch that surprises even him.

He doesn’t rush, savoring the sounds you make, the way your body responds, and hoe pliant you are for him. Encouraged, he moves lower, rolling you onto your back, and settling between your legs. The sensations are overwhelming. Blurring the lines between dream and reality as he goes down on you with expert precision.

He always knows how to make it up to you without needing words. You run a hand through his hair and when he groans against your soft, wet cunt it draws you to the edge. He’s greedy as you shudder and wriggle beneath him, eagerly sucking at your clit until it’s all too much. Lost in the moment, you’re floaty, murmuring praise between moans as you come undone beneath his skilled mouth.

When you tell him to fuck you, he doesn’t hesitate. He rolls you onto your stomach, sliding his cock through your sopping folds, coating himself in the mix of your arousal and his saliva.

“Oh, fuck,” his raw desire for you makes your tongue go numb. Unable to respond, until he starts to ease into you and the stretch, the angle, the intimacy of his body covering yours–it makes you both groan loudly. He fits against you so perfectly. You’re too drunk with the pleasure to question any unusual differences.

Too lost in the heat of it all. He presses kisses into your spine while thrusting slowly, languidly, and deeply inside of you. When he lowers his chest against your back you can feel his heart beating loudly, like it’s calling to yours. With the heightened sensations and his velvety rich voice in your ear, he urges you closer and closer to a hypnotically intense, rolling orgasm.

When your thighs tremble beneath him and you beg him to come for you, his body responds like he’s under your spell. Throbbing and pulsing inside of you until his weight collapses on you. He rolls you to you side with him, staying connected, limbs tangled like vines and he’s mesmerized by you. Listening to your breathing as you fall asleep in his arms, sated and secure.

When you wake up in the morning, groggy and confused, the first thing you notice is the wrong smell. It’s not your boyfriend’s–it’s Dieter’s. Cold panic floods your body as you realize you’re in the wrong man’s arms. You try to pull away but Dieter’s still asleep, trapping you under his heavy arm.

A dense, searing mix of guilt and arousal swirls within you like lava as you register his hard cock pressed against you and your recollection of the night starts to clarify. It makes you hesitate.

Dieter, feeling your movement, tightens his grip around you and shifts. He’s hard and leaking against you and your traitorish pussy is slick between your legs, throbbing like a siren song for him to fill you up again.

His body unconsciously grinds against you. Your heart races, mind scrambling to make sense of everything. Every kiss, every touch, the way he’d been so gentle and tender. It wasn’t your boyfriend at all. But he made you feel so desired, cherished. Things you haven’t felt in a long time.

Your breath catches in your throat. The shock is dizzying, but there’s a quiet moment of mutual awareness as his breathing changes. You know he’s awake. Waiting on you before he dares to move again.

Without thinking you press back against him, heart fluttering in your chest. It’s instantaneous. He flips you around and you’re finally facing him in the soft light. Barely able to take in his besotted expression before your lips are drawn together in an impassioned kiss.

Your mutual arousal reignites like a blazing fire in the quiet early morning. It’s wrong. But in that moment, the connection between you feels inevitable. It’s as if it had always been building, a force of nature you couldn’t stop.

The shock and guilt fall to the side. Regret doesn’t get enough light to grow. The anger at your boyfriend’s absence whispers convincingly in your ear.

None of it matters when you lower yourself onto his cock, eyes fluttering shut, as his hands knead your thighs. None of it matters when you watch the lust cloud his eyes and his plush lips part as you start to move. None of it matters until you’re startled by the jarring sound of your phone buzzing on the night stand.

You’re frozen in place as the buzzing continues. Dieter grabs the phone, reading the name on the screen. His other hand trails over your hip moving with purpose until his thumb draws a slow, firm circle around your clit.

“You better answer,” he says, handing the phone to you, “think it’s your boyfriend.”

dividers by @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

#dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter x reader #dieter bravo smut #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfic #dieter x you #dieter bravo #pedro pascal fanfiction

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ally1uvsu · 18 days ago

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Breathe. | Choi su-bong (Thanos) x Nam-gyu

Summary; Where Nam-gyu basically has a breakdown inside the bathroom followed by huge dysphoria and the person he least expects talks him through it all.

Info; Gender dysphoria, trans!Nam-gyu, it’s like one of my hcs pls don’t attack me, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of death (avrg squid game behavior), drugs, mentions of blood, idiots in love, kissing, actually js fluff mixed w angst, Nam-gyu w sensory issues if you squint!!, self-harm but without necessarily cutting, suicidal thoughts, bathroom fight shit doesn’t happen for their sake, they’re both emotionally constipated, Thanos just being Thanos honestly, coming out of the closet, unbinding, bruises, cuddling, acceptance, probably ooc but again who cares, just tbh actual tooth rotting comfort for our boy<3

Notes; I think writing became sort of a hyperfixation.. it’s so bad I gen can’t sleep so here you go goobers! Also don’t attack me for the trans nam-gyu hc I js saw that man and I was like; ‘this one’s going to my big hcs list’..

Nam-gyu has been feeling shaken ever since they came back from that stupid mingle game, sure, he was high off his mind just like Thanos was but.. he wasn’t sure why he felt so shaken up. The blood tainted his once pristine white sneakers, making him grimace as he remembered the pools of blood on the floor.

Fidgeting with his anxiety ring, Nam-gyu bit the inside of his cheek as he pushed the bathroom door open. He could still very clearly hear the screams and shouts of the people dying outside, the cries piercing his soul. He cursed under his breath, leaning against the sinks.

It took him a bit to realize his hands were fucking shaking like hell. He brought a hand up to his hair to tug on it, feeling that desperate urge again. But he stopped, instead, he kept his gaze down on the sink as that same hand that was once meant for his hair turned the tap on.

He splashed cold water onto his face, once, twice, thrice. And then with the support of both hands, he looked at himself in the mirror, he still had fucking blood smudged on his face. His stomach churned, the back of his hand wiping the blood away, completely forgetting about the tap, rather, he just let the water keep running.

Nam-gyu couldn’t help but stare at himself in the mirror, had the drugs seriously worn off that quickly? No, he didn’t think so. Maybe the real problem was him, he hated feeling affected by that stupid fucking game.

But of course he was the problem, it wasn’t a surprise. From a problem to another, as quick as it came, his thoughts began scattering, his hand fidgeting with his ring viciously as he tried to will his body and mind to calm the fuck down.

Again, Nam-gyu looked at himself, really did. And he cringed at the sight, some of his hair was sticking to his face, he looked exhausted, which was no surprise. And then finally, his gaze focused on himself overall, most importantly, his features. He remembered Thanos, hell, he was so.. masculine.

It wasn’t only his personality, but his looks. Compared to how he looks, Nam-gyu looked horribly like a girl, something he despised to be or even think he would ever be. But in this moment, he just knows he looks like a girl.

Nam-gyu cursed under his breath as he ducked his head down, nimble fingers tightening around the sink as he tried to at least regulate his breathing, but he felt sick to his stomach. Not only because of that stupid round but because of himself.

The way he looked made him want to carve himself out, maybe get out of this skin somehow that seemed to trap him in a place where he felt like he was constantly going to lose his fucking mind.

He shivered, fuck, when had he gotten so cold? The feeling wasn’t exactly unwelcome, anything rather than this was.

He swallowed hard, feeling the itch on his skin. He got that whenever he was in moods like this, it’s as if his body knew he wanted to claw himself out of it, it was ironic.

Nam-gyu felt nothing short of pathetic, and yet he began itching his skin. He damned himself for not bringing a small knife with himself, it could have done wonders to what hems feeling right now.

The itching just intensifies, it begins to hurt. But it’s a welcome feeling of pain. His mind drags him to the lifeless corpses he could see through the slit on the door, eyes glazed and blood seeping out of them as the gunfire ceased.

Nam-gyu could feel his vision get blurry, slowly, reverently but surely. He bit down on his lip, the hand that wasn’t viciously scratching his arm as if to try to get himself out was clenched in a fist, his nails, albeit short, dug into his skin.

He was crying again, Nam-gyu hated feeling like this. Hell, he hated everything. He just desperately needed to get out, or maybe all he needed was a bullet in his brain, out there he was nothing and in here he was worse than nothing. Maybe he could steal a pill or two from Thanos to calm his nerves, but it didn’t feel ideal, especially when he became sober so quickly.

His mind felt hazy as he furiously scratched and dug his fingers and clawed at his skin in his arms, he couldn’t see because his eyes were so damn foggy. He couldn’t hear anything since the only thing he could hear was his heart beat thudding strongly in his ears, a sickening reminder he was still alive and would be inside this fuckass body.

He bit his lip to stifle what he guessed was a sob, his hands were shaking again, and Nam-gyu felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. His chest felt heavy, too constricted to suck in too much breath, the exact amount he needed.

He winced as he moved, the pain finally seeping in. He remembered binding tightly before leaving to this place, so.. he probably hasn’t taken this stupid binder in three days straight, oh, Nam-gyu bet this would do a number on this situation.

A quiet sob left his lips as his legs wobbled, doubling over while one hand still held tightly onto the sink, the water still running. His legs felt like jelly as his hand went to his chest, this was pure fucking torture at its finest, even though this was his own fault.

The reason why he’s like this right now is because he isn’t a fucking boy, Nam-gyu gritted his teeth. He would be able to breathe properly if he was a boy, he wouldn’t need to bind his stupid chest if he wasn’t a boy, he wouldn’t need to cry himself to sleep or fight with internal transphobia if he was a boy, Nam-gyu was just playing a boy, he realized. Or maybe it was just his mind speaking.

He only panicked further when he couldn’t breathe properly anymore, he was practically wheezing. And he was alone in the damn bathroom.

But not for long, really. Because Thanos apparently couldn’t leave people fucking alone when they took too long. Thanos, as always walked in carelessly, not noticing the scene at first.

"Hey, Nam-su, you were taking forever, bro. What else could be better than talking to the great Thanos?" But the next moment, Thanos knew something was off. First of all, he didn’t get a reply, and second of all, he could hear quiet sobs.

His gaze darted around until it fell on a familiar bob, Nam-gyu was sunken to his knees, shaking. Visibly crying and wheezing for air, Thanos didn’t know how to react. He was never good at comforting people, and wasn’t the best with making them feel better through words.

And yet, either way, his feet unconsciously moved to Nam-gyu as he crouched down in front of him. The other man seemed too caught up in his panic to notice, so, gently, Thanos reached out very slowly and wrapped his hand around Nam-gyu’s wrist.

The eyes that met his own were all familiar, but also weren’t. Nam-gyu had a huge ego and was a huge goof, but now.. Thanos couldn’t help but frown as he saw the tears clinging to his eyes as they slipped down, collected on his chin and then fell. His gaze was wild, hell, almost even scared. Thanos was definitely sure this was the closest to frightened he’d ever see Nam-gyu get.

"Nam-gyu, hey, hey man look at me." Thanos said as he held the other’s chin, it was almost scary how he was shaking so badly. "You need to take a breather, you look like you might run out of breath." Thanos said, but it didn’t do anything. Goddamn it, Thanos hated not knowing what to do, hated feeling powerless.

"I c-" He heard Nam-gyu choke out, was he trying to say 'I can’t'? Thanos was worried as hell, he couldn’t understand shit while his friend was nearly out of fucking breath.

Nam-gyu’s hand clawed at his chest, as much as he felt scared to come out, which mingled with his whole anxiety, Nam-gyu felt like he was being tortured. And thankfully, Thanos got the hint. "Is it something wrong with your chest?" He asked as he saw how Nam-gyu seemed to try to get something out. So instead of questioning, he shut up and began taking the tracksuit jacket with the other’s number off. Then, his shirt.

Thanos could easily tell Nam-gyu was almost afraid of this, he was hesitant, tense, even. But if this was cutting off his air supply, Thanos would have to get whatever this dude was using or wearing off.

His lips parted in a small 'O' as he caught the sight of a chest binder, but he brushed it off, now wasn’t really the time to be shocked. "You need to get this off before you pass out or some shit." Thanos said, and Nam-gyu just nodded, feeling lightheaded already, sobbing hurt, trying to suck in a breath hurt like a bitch.

He turned around with his back to Thanos as he felt the other unclasp the binder, his hands were too shaky to work something out, and he felt instantly relieved, like a pressure in his chest was gone, but he still couldn’t properly breathe. But before he could ponder on it too much, Thanos was already speaking up.

"Try to match your breathing rhythm to mines, in and out very slowly." He finally said, and Nam-gyu complied. After what felt like five minutes, Nam-gyu finally had managed to breathe. Calming down as he let out a shuddering sigh, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Great, now he had a headache and he felt pathetic.

He had forgotten about his binder, though. He was snapped out of it when Thanos began awkwardly talking; "You uh, really shouldn’t use that thing for too long. It was too tight, dumbass." The words didn’t have his usual bite to it, he seemed almost.. worried, as if he would be, Nam-gyu thought.

"What else would I wear, then, genius?" He snorted, actually caught off guard when he felt his shirt slip back on and the sound of a jacket unzipping. He turned around to see Thanos handing him his jacket, for some reason it was somewhat baggier than his own. Or maybe Thanos was just looking for an excuse for Nam-gyu to wear it. Either way, he was quick to put it on and zip it up. Maybe he was right, plus, Nam-gyu didn't want bruised ribs.. more than they already were. And his chest really wasn’t that hard to hide either way, Nam-gyu was just a bit paranoid over it, and binding felt more safe.

He sat down and leaned against the wall with his head tilted back, he felt exhausted, really. The silence became somewhat awkward with a tinge of comfort. "I’m not going to judge you, you know that, right?"

Nam-gyu paused, finally catching Thanos’ eyes. "You don’t have to lie if you find me a freak, I mean, hell I’d understand if you didn’t want a fake b—" Before the final words of the sentence could even tip off his tongue, Thanos shushed him.

"Do not say that, you hear me?" Thanos scoffed. "To me, you’re still the same crazy junkie who gets me, I’m not about to kick you out." Nam-gyu felt a weird flutter in his chest and maybe more weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

"I don’t see you any differently from how I used to." Thanos added, averting his gaze. "So, you’ll still give me the pills?" Nam-gyu added jokingly, but deep down he was being slightly serious, as much as he relied on Thanos, those pills kept him somewhat more sane to not hurt himself. "You never change, do you? I would call you a drug addict but I’m nowhere better."

Nam-gyu sniffled, ducking his head down as he let out a quiet smile before looking back up again, and then, their faces were a bit closer than he initially thought they were. And Thanos was looking at his lips. And then the next second, he felt his lips on his own.

They were slightly cracked, chapped against his own as he kissed him back, nothing too rough or demanding, it was pretty.. gentle. His lips felt sweet, and he found himself leaning into it, it was weirdly calming. Soothing to his soul in a way he didn’t quite dislike.

And yet, the moment was just ruined by a guard knocking on the door loudly declaring the lights would shut off soon. They both broke away, and Nam-gyu shoved his binder somewhere inside his pocket, ignoring how it appeared like a bundle inside of it and cleaned his face, following right behind Thanos who went in front.

As expected, most players were already in bed by the time they were there back, Nam-gyu really just felt the need to knock the fuck out, it felt like the only thing that would really calm his headache down.

As they walked towards their designed bunks, Nam-gyu held onto Thanos’ pinky finger, letting the other just lead him, really. He didn’t think much of it when Thanos finally lay down and motioned for him to do the same.

Nam-gyu lay next to Thanos with his back pressed to his chest, closing his eyes that were so heavy that he thought he might as well fall asleep standing up. He felt one arms around his waist, and one on his hair, deftly twirling a strand. It was easy to lull him to sleep, he was already pretty much exhausted anyways.

Maybe Thanos wasn’t the worse person in the world, in the end.

I wrote this while half asleep and while I did my biology work, srry for anything. Also I am not transgender so forgive me if I did anything wrong, I didn’t mean to be offensive in any way!! Anyway, enjoy<3

#thangyu #squid game thanos #player 124 #player 230 #nam gyu #choi su bong #thanos squid game #squid game season 2 #124 x 230 #thanos x nam gyu

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