#what are normal things to say in a conversation? how do you start a conversation like what kinds of things do you ask?? or say??

[always-azriels-princess]

The Wrong Thing part two

Guysss i did it :) im so proud

Summary: the mate bond snaps, and you say the wrong thing

Part 1

Word Count: 1.4K

Azriel was avoiding you. You knew it, he knew it, the entire Inner Circle knew it. Feyre had tried to approach you a couple times to figure out what had happened, but you never answered the knocks on your door.

It was embarassing, and yet you completely understood why your mate didn't want you. The haunted look in his eyes that night appeared in your nightmares each night, and each one ended with you waking up, slicked with sweat and panting as if just finishing a marathon.

Bags had started to form under your eyes from the lack of sleep, and Azriel wasn't looking much better. You had overheard Rhys talking to Feyre on multiple occasions about how Azriel was getting unfocused during missions, sloppy during training, and quick to anger in simple conversations.

You knew you had to fix your mistake, but it was hard to think of how your mate would look at you, like he never wanted to see you again. And you didn't even blame him, you wouldn't want to see yourself either after what you had done.

"No."

The words hung around your neck, suffocating you every second of every day like a noose growing tighter and tighter. Rhys had also noticed your work as a diplomat for the Night Court was diminishing in its thoroughness.

Nuala knocked on your door, as you were deep in some paperwork updating the new peace treaty with Winter. "Come in," you called.

"Good afternoon miss," Nuala said as she walked in. "The High Lord would like to see you in his office."

You sighed, expecting something like this after on your and Azriel's actions in the past week. "Thank you Nuala, I'll be right there."

The chair scraped back after you stood up, shuffling the papers and stuffing them in a drawer.

Dread coiled in your gut as you made your way to the High Lord's office, worried he would make you confront what you had been trying so hard to hide from.

You knocked thrice quietly, hoping Rhys had maybe left to go get a snack and you could sneak back into your room. To no avail, you heard a faint "come in," and you took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

The breath you had previously took escaped you as you gazed over every inch of the shadowsinger, completely ignoring the High Lord sitting at his desk, smirking with his "I'm so amazing" face.

As you drank in the image of your mate, his shadows clung to him, wrapping around his body like a second skin, while others writhed around his feet, swarming and twisting in chaotic patterns. The tension in the room increased ten-fold and the air around Azriel began to darken, his very presence sucking in the light around him. His adam's apple bobbed as he traced your every curve, as if committing the image to memory.

You just stood in the doorway, both you and your mate frozen, staring at each other, before Rhys cleared his throat and you snapped out of your trance, breaking your eye contact with your mate. As you sat down on the opposite side of the couch Azriel was on,

"Now, you probably know why I called you in," Rhys explained. "This," he gestured wildly, waving his hands between you two, "needs to stop. Azriel, you've almost completely dropped your training schedule, and I have reports from your informants that you're missing their check-ins." He turned to you, "And you are three days behind on the paperwork for the Winter Court peace treaty renewal."

Rhys sighed and stood up, walking towards the door. Before exiting the room, he turned back and said, "I don't know what's going on with you two, and I'm not going to snoop through your heads to figure it out, but something clearly happened, so you can leave this room when you are back to normal." With a wave of his hand, the door closed behind him as he walked away, and you could hear the soft click of the lock turning, keeping you stuck in a room with male who wanted nothing to do with you.

The air in the room was thick, suffocating. The silence between you and Azriel seemed to stretch endlessly, like the tension before a storm. He sat on the couch across from you, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body taut, like he was ready to shadow away at any second.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him at first. The guilt gnawed at your insides, raw and jagged, but you forced yourself to breathe, slow and steady, to calm the racing in your chest. The room was too quiet, and yet every sound felt amplified. The way his shadows whispered, curling and slithering at his feet, the way his eyes seemed to burn into you from across the room.

He was avoiding you, but you were avoiding him too.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat, suffocating you before they even had a chance to leave your lips.

Azriel spoke first, his voice low and strained. "You don’t have to do this." It was almost a whisper, his words laced with pain and, not anger...no, something more vunerable. Insecurity.

"Do what?" you finally managed, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. "Talk about it?"

His voice was low and strained. "You have already made your feelings very clear, and I would never try to force you into anything you don't want."

You sat up, confused. "Az, I never said I didn't want the bond. I was overjoyed when it snapped, but I....I panicked because I know that you deserve someone better than me."

His beautiful hazel eyes softened. "But...you said no. The bond snapped and you said no." His voice was getting louder and faster as he spoke. "You were right, you shouldn't want this bond, I'm broken and scarred, and you're so....so perfect."

An ache spread through your chest, as though all the fragile pieces of your heart had shattered at once, leaving sharp fragments to tear at your insides.

"Azriel," your voice cracked as tears filled your eyes. You shifted closer on the couch, until your legs were brushing against his. "I told you this that night, and I will tell you again. You. Are. Not. Weak. You are not broken, you are not scarred, you do not have a single flaw unless it is loving your family too much. I can never take back what I said that night, and I will replay that moment in my head for the rest of my life, praying to be able to go back in the past and change it. You have a such a pure heart, so do not think for one moment that you are not deserving of me. I am the one who doesn't deserve you." You finished your speech, a soft, uneven breath escaping you.

Azriel stared into your soul, his eyes softening with wonder and adoration. He smiled softly as he drew closer. When you felt his warm breath on your face, he murmured, "Why don't we just agree that we both deserve each other," and closed the distance between you. His lips met yours, and it was like the world fell away and the only thing that mattered was the male in front of you. His hand slid from your face to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. It was slow, unhurried, like you both had all the time in the world. You smiled against his lips, fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair as you leaned into him, deepening the kiss.

The taste of him, the feel of him, was overwhelming in the best way. It was like coming home, like a storm finally releasing the tension it had held for so long. You regretfully pulled away, resting your forehead against his. You were finally home.

The peace of the moment was shattered as the door was thrown in, what seemed to be the entire court of Velaris pushing themselves through. Cassian laughed deeply, sweeping Az off the couch and hugging him "Finally!" he exclaimed. Mor, who was bawling her eyes out, flung herself at you, knocking yourself back against the couch. "THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL!" You paused for a second, then laughed and hugged her back.

Rhys came in with Feyre on his arm, looking all too smug. "I told you Feyre darling, I'm a genius."

Feyre smacked him upside the head.

@lilah-asteria >3 ilsym you are my first tag ever and i'm so grateful for the support so thank youuuu

[miniwheat77]

Loser. (Soap x Virgin!Reader.)

!NSFW, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, innocent reader, NO MINORS!

Unedited*

“You’d hit that? Even with how innocent Y/N is?”

“Ugh. Until her fuckin’ legs shake mate.” Soap laughs. Gaz rolls his eyes, laughing too. “You’re sick.”

“Nah, I think it’s an act.” Soap smirks. “No twenty-something year old is that naive.”

He doesn’t realize you’re listening on the other side of the door. They’d chose to have this conversation right outside the office you usually worked in. It was late and they didn’t figure you were still inside.

———

Later that night, you’re in the watch tower alone. It’s dark out, it’s pretty late. Soap is supposed to be up here with you, but you’re early. You’re curious about what he had said. What he meant by it anyways. Hit that? Until your legs shake? What does that even mean? You wanted to ask but also knew how wrong it had been of you to eavesdrop in the first place.

Soap walks through the door and startles you out of your daydream and you act as if you hadn’t heard his entire conversation earlier with Gaz. “Hey little lady.” He smiles. “Hi Johnny.” You smile back at him. Looking away quickly. He can tell that you’re acting off. “Everything alright?” He asks. “Uh.. yeah.” You mumble. He can tell you’re off. You knew that you should have listened to the others on base and stayed away from him. Sarah and Layla had told you on more than one occasion to stay away from him but had never actually explained why. You knew that the two could be a little overdramatic at times.

“I have a question actually.” Soap says, sliding a chair up to sit next to you. “Why do you wear your hair like that?” He asks.

“L-like what?” You brush it down. He makes you nervous, you aren't sure why.

“It’s always done up real nice. Sometimes you even got cute clips in it and stuff.” He toys with the ends that hang by your face, seeing the way your cheeks redden by his touch alone. You look down with a laugh. “Uh.. I’m not sure. I guess it’s just something I picked up on from my mo-“ you pause, shaking your head.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks. “Uh.. it’s just… I guess I just don’t like to talk about my parents.” You mumble. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’ll listen anytime you’d like.” He smiles, resting a hand on your knee. It doesn’t seem like it, but Johnny is being genuine. The other girls' words are always echoing around in your head. Johnny seemed nice and you needed to ignore what they said sometimes.

“They uh… they were very religious. So far beyond the normal extent that it was like a cult.” You look up at him. “No offense but is that kind’ve why you’re a little…”

“Sheltered?” You smile. “Well I wasn’t gonna say it.” He laughs.

“Yes it is. They didn’t let me have exposure to stuff like TV or books. Homeschooled all my life, expected to be well kempt and tidy. I guess some things just stuck. My room is spotless and my hair is always fixed.” You shrug. He smiles. “I like it though. Wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t I suppose.” He laughs.

“So. I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but I heard you talking to Gaz earlier.”

Soaps cheeks nearly light on fire.

“Uhhh. You weren’t supposed to hear it.” He laughs. “I’m sorry.”

“Well if you’re saying sorry it means it wasn’t good, what you were saying. I don’t know what that means.”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Do uh… you not know what Sex is?”

Your eyes widen. “What? Y-yeah I know what it is. What does that have to do with this?” He sees the way you start to backtrack. How nervous you get talking about it. “I’d hit that” he laughs, repeating himself. In disbelief you have no idea what he meant when he said it. He looks down at the ground away from you. “It’s… a slang term. For sex.” He laughs. You look confused. “You’ve never heard it?” He asks. “No. I know what sex is but I’ve not mapped out the slang terms I guess. So what you were saying.” You swallow hard. Eyes finally moving up to meet his. You're starting to realize what he had meant. “You…” You’re very hesitant. “I would have sex with you, that’s what I meant.” He laughs. You try to play it off with a small laugh but he can see that you’re different now. “I’ve.. I’ve never um…” you rest your hand on the back of your chair. “I know. I can tell.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "I honestly thought that this was some kind of act you were putting up. Until you mentioned your parents. I feel like a dick now. I shouldn't have said what I said and I want you to know that what I was saying was really disrespectful of me. I shouldn't have been saying anything like that." He looks down at his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

"What?" You ask. "I thought that wanting to have sex with someone is like a compliment or something." You mumble. "It is. Well. Kind of." He shakes his head with a laugh. "Look. It's awkward but I'll teach you all of the stupid slang terms alright? It doesn't make sense, you're supposed to grow up hearing this stuff and learn what it means along the way alright?" He laughs. You nod your head. "Okay. Yeah. Got it. " You blush. "Thank you Johnny." You mumble. "Course.” He laughs.

“You said something else too uh… until my legs shake? What does that mean?” Johnny’s face is on fire, embarrassed and blushing. How is he supposed to explain this away?

He sighs. “Well. This is what I get for being gross ah?” He laughs. “Sometimes during sex if it’s.. rough enough or good enough, your legs will shake. I guess. It’s more complex than that. You know.. Um... I'm gonna write down a website and I want you to look it up. Don't be scared alright? And don't watch it with anyone else around, it's bad."

"If it's bad why are you telling me to watch it?" You ask. "Because... It's about sex and you know how apprehensive you are about it. Everyone else is too. This website it's for adults only, watch it alone. You'll understand. If you see something you want to know about you can ask me or research it on like... an incognito browser on your phone. I'll show you how to do that too." He mumbles. He picks up a piece of printer paper and looks around until he finds a pen. He writes down the very familiar website and than shows you on your phone how to get to an incognito browser. Reminding you to never watch it with people around.

You have an idea of what he's telling you to look up.

Later that night when you’re off watch, you’re making sure your earbuds are connected to your phone before you look up the website he’s telling you about, the front page is intimidating enough before you even click on a video.

Hours later you’re still awake. The amount of terms you’ve learned about, the videos you’ve seen.

You feel corrupted.

Urban Dictionary and a Porn website have turned your entire life around. No wonder your parents kept you sheltered.

You finally fall asleep just a couple hours before you’re supposed to be awake. A new ache between your legs and you’re unsure how to fix it or make it feel better. The next day, you’re exhausted but everything you had learned the night before changed your perspective on everything. The conversations you had overheard from the men on base suddenly made so much sense. Why Layla and Sarah had told you to stay far away from Johnny made so much sense now.

“Uh.. Earth to Y/N. You alright?” Ghost waves his hand in your face and you jerk back away from him, swallowing hard. “Uh.. yeah. Sorry. Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Something keeping you awake love?” Ghost places his hand on your knee and Johnny watches across from the table as you go completely stiff, looking down at his hand. “Yeah.” You say it, “wait no. No I mean no. Sorry.” You shake your head, standing up fast. “Just slept in too late yesterday. I’ve got to go get some paperwork done.” You mumble. “See you guys around.” You wave, hurrying out of the mess hall and into your office. “What was that about?” Ghost laughs. "I think she's just stressed." Johnny laughs. He was getting a little nervous by your reaction. Maybe he had given you too much all at once.

———

You were desperate. You didn't care anymore. It had been almost two weeks since Johnny had showed you the website. He'd answered any questions you had, didn't matter how awkward.

You had so much pent up arousal. You were horny from days and days of watching nothing but videos. You wanted anything. You hurried up the watch tower stairs, heart thudding in your chest. You step inside, nerves growing as you such in a sharp breath. “Hey, everything okay?” He asks.

You swallow hard. “Yeah…”

“No not really.” You mumble. You take your seat like usual and face away from Johnny for a second. You don’t know how to ask him for help, you feel shameful. “What’s goin on? I do somn?” He asks. “Yeah. Yeah you did. You showed me what porn is and now I feel weird all of the time.” You huff. He laughs. “You don’t feel weird. You’re just horny.” You sigh. Tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “Yeah well. It sucks!” You groan. You feel tears pricking your eyes from your frustration. “What, touching yourself isn’t enough?” He laughs. “Touching myself?”

The thought of you doing that sounds foreign. “Oh dear… don’t tell me you’ve been watching 2 weeks worth of porn and haven’t made yourself cum.” He laughs. You stay quiet. “Poor girl, no wonder you’re so frustrated.” He laughs. You stand up, pacing back and forth slow. You’re trying to think to yourself. “I don’t really know how, no really. I’ve seen videos but they’re usually not helpful in the slightest.” Johnny glides his tongue over his bottom lip. Seeing you so frustrated has him a little riled up himself. “I.. not sure how much trust me.” He laughs.

You turn to look at him. Your pupils are blown wide.

“I could show you… if you wa-“

You nod your head before he even finishes his sentence. He leans forward in his chair, motioning you to come forward with his fingers. Your stomach fills with butterflies.

“Just uh.. take a deep breath, alright?” You nod your head. You’re still standing a ways away from him. He reaches out, pulling you forward by the back of your thigh, until you’re right directly in front of him. He looks up at you. “S’alright lass. Nothing to be nervous about.” He mumbles. You’ve sat next to Johnny sure, but this is different. You’re closer to him than you ever have been. He smells like cologne and hair pomade. You close your eyes as you he reaches for your cargo pants. You don’t make any movements to stop him. He continues. He unbuttons them, slow. He doesn’t want to startle you or move too fast. He wants to give you ample time to stop him. You have a choice, he wants to make that known. He tugs them down slightly, you close your eyes tight. Biting your lip. What you were about to trust him with was a lot. Further than you’ve ever gone with anyone else.

He grasps the waistband of your panties, pushing them down just far enough he could get a hand between them and your skin. He glides his hand between them.

Johnny glides the side of his pointer finger across your slit. Collecting your arousal on his finger. When he draws it away he can see just how wet you are. It drives him fucking crazy.

He parts his fingers, seeing strings of your arousal across them. His cock is rock hard in seconds, by far the most turned on he’s ever been in his life. He lets out a laugh. Shaking his head. “My god you are wet.” he shakes his head, biting his lip. He growls under his breath. He wants to devour you. Fuck you until your legs really shake, until you’re crying out for more. “You been watching more videos, Bonnie?” He asks. You nod your head. “See you’ve found one you like” he chuckles. You chew at your lip nervously. “Johnny..” you whine. “Hm?”

“I want to know what it feels like to cum..” you look down at him. “Please show me.” You whine.

“I’ll show you, doll. Just relax into me okay?” He breathes. “Cmere, why don’t you sit in my lap.” He pulls you forward. You spin around, sitting down on him. You can feel his erection pressing into you. He pushes your cargo pants and panties down further, until one of your legs is completely free. “Prop your leg up on me, don’t be shy.” He sighs. His warm breath is right against your ear. He pushes your hair behind your ear, he wants you to hear him. He’s going to talk you through it.

“Just watch my hand. Do as I say. I’ll show you how lass.” He breathes. You nod your head. Your face is hot, in such a daze you barely even know what’s going on around you. “I’m so horny Johnny.. I can’t take it.” You cry. Tears filling your eyes. “Just watch darling..” he trails his hand across your bare stomach, he’d pulled your shirt up. Pushing down, until his huge hand glides over your mound. Stopping just right at the top. He circles over your clit with two of his fingers, feeling you jump against him. “It’s going to be really sensitive. Since you’ve never touched here before, alright?” You nod your head. You’re panting. “It’s your clit. You try.” He moved his hand lower, drawing circles around your opening as you start to rub your clit. You’re getting more comfortable, relaxing into him. “That’s it. Just keep doing that for me, yeah.” He breathes. He raises his hand to his mouth. Using his saliva to wet down his fingers enough. Circling his spit over your hole. He’s prepping you.

“Deep breath.” He mumbles. You nod your head.

He doesn’t have to stretch you too much. He pushes his finger in, feeling you tense up. “Oh god.” You pant. Wiggling your hips lower into him. You pause your movement, whining out. “Keep rubbing your clit baby. I didn’t say to stop.” He breathes. His voice is low and sexy. He’s turned on. A side of Johnny you hadn’t seen.

He pairs another finger up, pushing it back into you. You gasp, clutching his wrist with your free hand. “There you go darling.” Your breaths get a little more rigid. Nearly panting out as he fingers you. “Keep going darling. Gentle, not too fast now.” He guides you.

“I- oh god!” You cry. “There you go baby. That’s it… give it to me.” He whines, raising his hips into you. You can tell he wants relief of his own.

You grasp his hand, forcing him away. “Woah- hey. Everything okay?” He asks. You stand on one leg. Turning so that you could straddle his lap. Sitting down on him again. “F-fuck..” he grits his teeth. “What’re you doing?”

“I want to know what it’s like.” You look him in the eyes. “Y/N.” He warns. He knows what it is you want.

“Johnny.” You repeat his name back. “Your virginity is really important. I think you’re just really turned on. Not thinking straig-“ he clenches his eyes shut as you rut your hips into his. He swallows hard. “You can’t take it back. Once you do it with me, I’ll always be your first.” He breathes. “I think you should really think about it.” He swallows hard. “I think I’ve got my mind made up, MacTavish.” You sigh, hands clutching at the collar of his shirt. You lean into him, lips brushing over his. You kiss him, hard. He can feel your heart thumping in your chest.

Johnny is in shock. Because this isn’t just another hook up and you’re not just another girl.

You’re Y/N. The girl who is supposed to be so far out of his reach, out of his league even. You’re not someone Johnny ever expected to be sitting in his lap, wanting more than just a kiss even. Wanting to…

He has to draw himself out of his trance. You want your first to be him. And Johnny up until this point is recognized as a scumbag. Everyone knows it. He’s desperate for any kind of attention he’ll get. He knows that this is how people feel about him. Maybe they don’t know him, don’t know that he wants to be loved. He wants it all, using any way he can to get it, even if it does make him look like an asshole.

Not anymore. Johnny wants your attention. Yours and yours only, he knows it.

“Okay.. look at me.” He pushes back. “If you want me to do this, we’re gonna do it right.” You nod your head. “We’ll go slow. I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to know that this is how you should be treated. Always. Okay?” You nod your head.

He unbuckles his belt, pushing his jeans down his thighs just enough. You swallow hard at the size of him, not sure what you were expecting. “Are you sure?” You nod your head. Looking at him. You prop yourself up and he helps you. Spitting in his hand and gliding it up his cock. If he had lube he’d use it. Knowing how bad this is about to hurt you. Once he’s got himself lined up with your entrance, you’re eager. Pushing yourself down onto him. He tries to force you to be gentle. You’re in a hurry. Desperate to have him inside of you.

Once you get to that point, where you start to stretch, you slow. Biting your lip. He can tell it’s starting to hurt.

“It’s okay- it’s alright lass. Deep breath for me.” Soaps face crunches up in pleasure, trying his best to conceal it because he doesn’t want to enjoy this when you’re not.

“Oh fuck…” he pants. His voice is so unsteady you can’t help but smile. “Are you okay Johnny?”

“Y-yeah. You just feel so fucking good.” He smiles, eyes closing. “Just a little more, you’re doing so good for me.” He pants. You hiss, and he hesitates. Drawing his hips back into the chair and raising you up slightly. He gathers more arousal at the tip of his cock. Spearing you further onto him. It’s easier to slide like this.

“I’m going to push all of the way alright? Deep breath.” He lowers you completely, burying his head into the crook of your neck. He takes in a sharp breath, standing up with you. It’s not the best place for it, but not the worst. He lays you right on the ground. It’s clean, you’d just cleaned it the night before.

The feeling of all of his body weight on you is intimidating. Something you’ve never felt before. He takes one deep thrust and you’re gasping out, a cry leaving your lips as he penetrates to the deepest parts of you. Just like that, it’s over.

You have your eyes screwed shut and he gives you a couple minutes to adjust before he starts fucking you. He’s slow, trying to ease the pain.

And it works. Your eyes soften as they slowly open, lips going from locked shut to parted. Your hands had a tight hold on his shirt and they’re staring to relax. You were dead quiet, but as he moves you start to pant.

You’re starting to like it.

Soap sighs, thank god.

He keeps a steady pace until he knows you can take more and then he’s rocking his hips into you deeper. “Oh god Johnny.” You mewl, opening your legs wider for him. Giving him complete access to you. His eyes widen.

Johnny has been with his fair share of women, each different from the last. You’re by far the most gentle, skin soft against his. Your clutches are even soft when you run your hands through his mow hawk and grip it. Your body is like a clouded temple and the fact that he’s been allowed inside is something Johnny is going to cherish, he’s never letting this go. He’s made up his mind.

He starts driving himself into you at a brutal pace. You’re trying your best to stay quiet but it’s hard. “Ah, Johnny. S’a lot.” You breathe. “Deep breathes, I said I’d make your legs shake and I intend on it darling.” He chuckles. You can’t help but blush.

He expected it to be easier, but you’re taking a lot. “Johnny I- I’m gonna cum!” You whine. Your legs start to shiver just slightly and he smiles. “Go on doll, show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.” You screw your eyes shut, focusing on the knot building and how his cock stimulates the perfect place to make it unwind. He’s getting overwhelmed. This is the first time you’ll ever cum. Not just that. The first time you’ll ever cum, and it’s around his cock. Not from your fingers, or even his. Not a pillow you’re desperately rutting into. Around Johnny’s dick.

He lowers his hand, pressing his fingertips into your clit and your mouth parts in shock, how good he feels is unmatched. A cry barely leaves your lips and he covers your mouth with his hand. Fucking you into your high. When you hit it, your legs shake.

Just like in the videos.

You’re on the verge of crying when Johnny hits his high. He’s panting and whining and it’s almost pathetic as he reaches it. He doesn’t think to pull out.

———

“Y/N. He’s just using you. He wants to fuck you and then dump you. That’s who he is. He’s a loser.” Layla rolls her eyes.

Her words cut through you like a knife. “I.. why are you saying that?”

“Because it’s what guys like him do Y/N. He doesn’t want anything serious. He’d have a girlfriend if that were the case. I bet his body count would cripple you because he’s just a gross loser. He wants sex and no offense, but you’re naive and he knows if he shows up and shows out you’ll be dumb enough to give it to him. No offense.” She waves her hand. “I’m not trying to be a bitch but it’s true. I’m not saying to listen to me, I’m just warning you before you catch feelings and get your heart broken. You heard how he used to talk about you.”

You nod your head. “Thank you.” You mumble, turning away from her. The tears are hot as they spill over your eyelids the moment she can’t see your face anymore. You hurry away.

She was going to go find Johnny.

“I know you’re trying to get your claws into Y/N, but you need to stay away from her.”

She catches Johnny off guard, he’d just gotten off of watch with you. “What are you talking about?” He hurries to cover up the love bites he's got on his neck from you.

“I’m talking about how you’ve been spending so much time with her. I know you. You’re nothing but a loser looking for someone who will put out for you. That’s not her. So leave her alone.” He shakes his head. “You’ve got it wrong.”

“Do I? Because everyone here has heard the way you talk about her and other women.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have anything to prove to you okay? I’m friends with Y/N and I care a lot about her whether you believe it or not." He's getting angry. "Whatever. I guess since she's so stupid and naïve we'll find out when you get her to fuck you." The words are laced with venom.

His face goes stone cold and he pauses, standing straight up and taking a step toward her. He's sharp with her.

"She's not stupid. Say whatever you want about me. Call me a loser, fine. But if you say that to me again we will have a much bigger problem on our hands." He's stern and his voice is quiet. "She's smart and she's had it rough. She's learning everything day by day. Naïve yes. Stupid? Absolutely not. Now back off." He growls. She is a little intimidated but she plays it off with a huff and leaves. His reaction to her calling you stupid had taken her completely off guard.

Maybe he really did have feelings for you.

———

"You know, one way to really find out if he likes her is to hit on him and see if he takes the bait." She shrugs. "Yeah, but I don't want to hurt Y/N by doing that." She sighs. "Layla, she'll get hurt even worse if she gives her V card up to that loser and he treats her like shit after." Her eyes are wide as she looks at her.

"I know Sarah. I guess you're right. Let's give it a go. But I already pissed him off so it's got to be you." She looks up from her tray of food. "Gross. Whatever." She scoffs.

The two wait until that night. Soap gets to the watch tower first and she takes the opportunity, heading up the stairs. Layla stays at the bottom of the stairs just in case.

She wants to stop you at the bottom and give Sarah enough time to do what she needs to do.

"Uh.. something wrong?" You ask. You startle her, she hadn't been paying attention. "Shit! You scared me. No- no nothing is wrong. I just really needed to ask you a question and it couldn't wait." Her response is fast and it has you narrowing your eyes. "What is it?"

"It's... uhh." She pauses, trying to come up with something on the fly. "Look.. about you and Soap..."

"Jesus Layla, I've already starting retracting from him, I really just want this all behind us." You groan, pushing passed her. "Wait!" She grasps your hand. "What is going on? Why are you stalling to keep me down here?" You tear your arm out of her grasp and move further up the stairs but she's hot on your tail. "She's testing him!"

You pause right outside the door. "What?"

"She's going to hit on him to see if he'd cave. Y/N we don't want you to get hurt by him.” She says. "Jesus Christ." You reach for the handle but pause when you hear Soap.

"Sarah, I'm not interested okay? I've told you like 3 times now. I... I like Y/N. And I'm sure she wouldn't like knowing that you're doing this. Because I respect her enough, the moment she comes through those doors I'll tell her." He takes a step back.

You and Layla can hear it on the other side of the door but she tries to stop you as you reach for the door again.

"Oh come on John. You'd be stupid to pass this up." Her voice is low and she's trying to sound sexy. They hear shuffling inside. "You need to leave me alone. I... I love Y/N. You and Layla can believe it or not but I do and I'm done with whatever this is. Back off before I make you."

You shove the door open. "That's enough!" You yell.

Soap and Sarah jump. "What the fuck is the deal?"

"Did you put them up to this?" He asks. "Of course I didn't put them up to this, I'm not fucking crazy." The swears leaving your lips have everyone in the room startled. "I don't know what the obsession is with you two trying to protect me from Soap when it's none of your business!"

"We just don't want you to give your V card to him because he's a fucking loser Y/N!" Layla calls back.

"I already had sex with him!"

The rooms falls quiet.

Their eyes are wide and even Soap is completely baffled. "I already gave him my virginity. I already slept with him, we've had sex multiple times." You have your arms crossed. Scolding them like a mother scolds her kids. "Seriously? Why didn't you lead with that?" Sarah hisses. "Because you both have been acting crazy."

"You.. you love her? You had sex with her and you still like her..?" Layla and Sarah turn to Soap. He looks away. "Yeah. I do. Maybe if you both had given it a chance you would've seen it." He sighs. "I just threw myself at him and he didn't take the bait. I think that's enough for me." Sarah shrugs her shoulders.

"Give us some space please." You sigh.

"Okay.. We owe you a huge apology Y/N. We had no idea." Layla mumbles. "It's fine, we'll talk later." You sigh. They both leave, the moment the door is closed you're locking it behind them. "Those two, my god." You laugh. He starts laughing too. "Yeah, a bit protective." He chuckles. "I'm sorry about that." You roll your eyes.

"It's alright. They're just looking out for you. Hitting on me though, that's a bit crazy."

"Very crazy."

The both of you start laughing, unable to contain it.

"Cat's out of the bag now I guess."

"Yeah, yeah I guess it is." You look up at him. He's beginning to close the distance between the both of you. "You ready to make this official yet or what?" He smirks. "I don't think that that's the way to properly ask a girl out MacTavish."

"I also don't think it was very respectable of you to let me hit it before at least becoming my girlfriend either, Y/L/N." He raises a brow. "Fuck you." You roll your eyes. Playful smile on your lips. "I'll never get used to you cursing like that. It's kind of sexy actually." He leans in, lips right by yours. "Shut up and ask the question Johnny."

"Fine." He laughs.

"Y/N. Will you be my girlfriend? Officially."

"Yes." You laugh. "Thank god." He mumbles, wrapping his arms under your thighs and lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist. He pushes you into the wall behind you, you can feel that he's already hard as he presses into you.

"Been waiting weeks to finally hear that lass."

[finelinevogue]

safe with me

summary - you say 'yes' to being intimate with azriel when you really mean ‘no', because your past relationship taught you that saying 'yes' is the only answer

word count - 1.2k

pairing - azriel x mate!reader

[ reference to past abusive relationship - read with care 🤎 ]

It was the dark of night.

Everyone was in bed except you and Azriel, because you'd both lost track of time staying up and talking about everything and nothing. It was a habit you were both readily guilty of. Neither of you cared, though, when your conversations only made the bond stronger.

Azriel held the bedroom door open for you as you walked through first.

"Do you have training in the morning?" You asked him, walking over to your side of the bed.

You picked up the small tin of body cream there, scooping some up so you could apply it to your hands. It smelt of roses and reminded you of the endless walks through the garden you'd had with Azriel over the years.

"I do, yes. Cassian wants to show the priestesses some new defence techniques. He asked me to help him demonstrate."

Azriel locked the bedroom door and rounded the opposite side of the bed to you - his side, you both now called it.

You watched intensely as he lifted his black shirt over his head.

His muscles stretched and rippled as his body moved. His arms lengthened and the veins popped as he lifted his hands above his head.

You swallowed your desire as you admired him.

Due to Azriel's slight compulsive tendencies, he couldn't just throw his shirt on the floor. Instead, he neatly folded it and placed it on the dressing table.

You don't know what was more attractive; Azriel stripping down or Azirel being neat and tidy.

"It's rude to stare, you know?" He teased you as he came back to bed, lifting the covers to slip underneath.

"I wasn't staring." You blushed.

"Tell that to your cheeks."

You smiled to yourself as you stood up to untuck the covers on your side of the bed, before slipping in beside your mate.

The moment you were laid down Azriel attacked you with a flurry of kisses - probably the sweetest type of attack you could endure.

His lips kissed your cheeks repeatedly, making you laugh out loud from the suddenness of it all. You tried to move away and turn a cheek, but he was too insistent on loving you to notice.

He did notice, however, when your laugh started to fade away as he continued to kiss from your cheek to your neck.

Your mind was spinning a million miles an hour, trying to figure out how you were feeling and if you wanted this innocent kissing to turn into something more intimate. The fact that you were hesitating was enough for you to mentally agree that you didn't want to do anything this evening, but conveying that to your mate was an entire different thing.

"Okay?" He asked, slowly kissing over the sweet spot on your neck that normally got you going.

Unfortunately your mind was being cruel.

Instead of being here and in the room with Az, you had been transported back to the same situation with an ex-male of yours. He had initiated an evening much like Azriel was doing, but he knew you weren't particularly feeling it. Instead of accepting your answer of 'no', he had convinced you that you were "just confused" and "this is something you actually want" and to "just say yes".

You hadn't wanted to say yes at all.

But your ex had been so good at manipulating you that he had eventually gotten what he wanted without making it seem non-consensual.

Azriel, being ever so perceptive, could tell you were caving in on yourself, as well as feeling your heartbeat quicken and his shadows picked up on your hesitance and nervous energy. All of it together sent Azriel major red alarms.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey?"

Azriel's face was hovering above yours now, nowhere near your neck but you hadn't even realised he had moved away.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

You looked in his eyes and saw their concern. You didn't want to worry him. This is something that Azriel wants and that should be enough, right?

"Mhm."

You couldn't convince yourself to say the word 'yes' out loud. You couldn't do that to yourself again.

Azriel's hand cupped your cheek so softly you thought you were made out of porcelain. He looked through you before he spoke - his shadows enclosing around you so that you could just focus on each other and nothing else.

"Sweetheart, you're allowed to say no. You know that."

You blinked a few times as if that would help register what he'd just said.

"But..." You stuttered, "But you want to."

Azriel furrowed his eyebrows and tried to keep himself calm. If it weren't for needing to reassure and comfort you right now, he would very quickly dress in his battle armour and take out every male who had ever wrongly taught you about consent.

How someone could let themselves not take care of you if you weren't feeling up to being intimate is beyond his comprension.

Azriel shook his head, gritting his teeth. "That's not how it works with me."

Your eyes started to water as they were opened to understanding what true consent feels like and should be. Azriel was doing the absolute bare minimum in this situation and yet it felt like the most monumental thing to have happened.

"It’s just... When I was with... him, it didn’t matter if I wanted to or not. What he wanted was all that mattered. And I-I guess I just learned to go along with it."

"Well that stops right now." Azriel said, "That's not how we're going to do things, okay? How you feel is more important to me than getting off. Mother above, how does someone even get off if the other person isn't feeling it? Sweetheart, if you’re not sure, then we stop. Always."

A little teardrop fell onto your cheek, but you couldn't help but smile with how loved and protected you felt right now.

You could tell that Azriel was absolutely heartbroken to hear about your past relationships, but he would be damned if he didn't change the wrongs of your thinking. Knowing that your comfort is his priority filled your heart with joy, because it meant that you were safe with him. Safe with your mate.

“I didn’t realise how scared I was to tell you no. I was so sure it would make you angry, or-or disappointed.”

Azriel shook his head again, “The only thing that would ever disappoint me is you thinking you have to hide how you feel. You’re safe with me. I promise."

You nodded in agreement because you did believe him.

You could feel his trust and his assuredness within the bond.

"Can we just cuddle?" You asked shyly.

"Of course we can." Azriel smiled, kissing your forehead for good measure. "Only after I kill your ex..."

You didn't think he was being serious until he started to get up off you and shuffle out of bed. Laughing, you tugged on his arm and because he wasn't expecting it he landed with an oomph on top of you.

"You'll do no such thing."

"We'll see about that." He scoffed, trying again.

"See about it in the morning?" You counter offered, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop him from defending your honour - overprotective mate.

"Fine." He flopped back down on the bed and made room for you to cosy in next to him.

His wings finally wrapped around you, ensuring your safety as the both of you drifted off to sleep, the weight of your confession making it easier to sleep at night. All the while, Azriel stayed up planning his vengeance.

[jellxzy]

I was wondering if you could do a hyunju x fem!reader where the reader is pregnant and reader sees that Hyunju is alone in the second game so reader approaches her and they start a friendship and as time goes by they both fall in love ^^

𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐁𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧! -𝐇𝐜

|| 𝐂𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐱 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭!𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

|| 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬!: 𝐂𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.

|| 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧-𝐣𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

|| 𝐀/𝐧: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬! 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲! Thank 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪! 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

Here you were, competing in deadly children games for the sake of your own child. You never excepted your life to go down this path, you were a heir to a wealthy company. Going to collage abroad, studying medicine.

And yet, you're stuck here. Fearing your life every second of the day. Luckily, you were only two months pregnant unlike Junhee, so you didn't show like she did. So, you acted just like another normal girl competing at the games.

Though you were eating for two, so the food definitely didn't keep you calm and the one thing you waited for the whole day. Instead you laid in the uncomfortable bed, staring up. You laid there with a hand on your stomach, thinking of what to do with the money you received.

You'll get a little house in the provinces, probably build a farm, and take care of your baby. Even if it's only you taking care of her/him. Then a soft yet deep voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "Hi, uhm. We were teammates during the game earlier, remember?"

She was your teammate during the game, and you remember it so vividly, she was brave and strong, had good leadership skills, moving back to the 'strong' she is very strong, you had accidentally slipped on blood whilst moving, but with ease she lifted you up to continue on walking forward.

"Yeah." You nod your head with a smile as you sat up. "Well, we're all gathering there if you'd like to be with us. Just so nobody's alone. " She smiled while explaining. "Oh, yeah sure." You reluctantly agree standing up and walking with her towards the group.

You couldn't help but notice her lingering hand on your shoulder, a small smile on her lips as her eyes glance at you. A soft pink hue appearing on your cheeks as you notice that.

Upon reaching the group, the hand on your shoulder gets removed while she goes up the stairs. The group welcomes you in, the atmosphere easy and has no awkwardness whatsoever. But when the topic changes to you, the topic asking on why they entered the games.

"I-uhm." You shudder before saying in a quiet and soft tone; "I'm pregnant." The weight on your shoulder finally gets lifted as the secret finally comes out. "How many months are you in?" Geum-ja asks, her eyes filled with worry.

"I'm only two months in, so me being pregnant won't bring us down." You tell them with a smile. "Hopefully." You mutter under your breath. During the whole conversation, you could feel Hyun-ju's eyes watching your every move.

So, when the a voice announced that it was gonna be lights out in thirty minutes, the conversations was forced to stop. "Hey." Hyun-ju's voice called out to you from behind. "I think it's best if you sleep in my bed tonight. Don't worry I don't sleep."

She left no other options as her hand gripped your wrist in a firm yet soft grip, stopping you from moving. "Okay." You accepted nonetheless, walking with her towards her bed. "You don't have to do this, y'know."

"I know. But I have too. No one knows what they could do. Especially to you." You turn around in your bed, now facing her while she sits on the floor next to the bed. "You can lay down here..." You trail off, feeling a bit shy.

"With me." Her eyes slightly widen at that before glancing at your blushing state. "Are you sure?" She asks turning to look at you. "Mhm." You hum with a soft nod, moving your body so she can have space, patting the space in front of you.

She slowly moved to lay down next to you, carefully as to not accidentally hurt you or cause you discomfort. "Am I hurting you? Are you okay?" She asked with a worried tone, which only caused you to laugh.

"You're only laying you're head on my arm, I'll be fine." You lightly chuckle to ease the atmosphere between you. Instead of sleeping you could only admire how beautiful she looked underneath the dim lights, and how she still had a protective hold over you by her arm draped over your waist. Even if it's a small thing, you somehow still felt more protected than you did on the outside world.

And when you were already sleeping that's when she woke up, due to her military training she's gotten used to waking up very early in the morning. She didn't notice at first, how your hand lightly gripped her bicep, scared that she'll leave you. And that how her arm was still draped on your waist that you didn't bother to move or brush off. She only continued to look at you, not wanting to move at all, brushing a hair off your face to pulling up the blanket to cover you.

And that's how she fell for you, as for you? You knew the moment you first saw her. You knew she was the one, the one who will help you raise your child. And that's what the both of you are doing right know, you carried your baby in your arms while she prepared her milk.

Yes, it's a girl.

The both of you won, alongside with your close friends. And luckily Junhee gave birth successfully, it scared you a little that you're gonna be next to go through that but, after was amazing. Spending months miserable to birth something so beautiful, it was poetic.

three months in, and a little baby bump was finally showing. Though, you couldn't be more confused, is it because you just ate or is it because of the baby.

and that's the month she demanded you to stop working. Now, she was the one working outside your shared apartment. Yet, she was still the same sweet and gentle person you know. Four months in, your baby bump got a little bigger. So, now she holds it in her hands every chance she gets. Hugging you from behind whilst you cook, cuddling with you in bed, and sitting on the sofa, all of those moments, she had her hand on your baby bump, that's also the month you told everyone else that you were pregnant, so now you get free kimchi every week from Geum-ja.

Five months in, and that's when your baby starts to kick. And every time, she does, you call Hyun-ju. And yes, it's a baby girl. And when the first time she feels her kicking, she sobbed into you shoulder for a straight hour, like she's the pregnant one. Geum-ja and Junhee decoded it was best to spend their mornings and evenings with you, so they'll be there if you need anything. Considering they've gone through it already, Junhee more recently.

Six months in, the baby's kicks become more frequent, and you start to crave more weirder foods. You suggested for Hyun-ju to just stay with you all day and quit her job, but she said she's saving up for her collage. That's when you sobbed into her shoulder, whispering-yelling thank you's and words of praise to her.

Seven months in, that's when your emotions took a sharp turn, your hormones kicking in every minute. She gets tired of it sure, but she loves you more than anything. And that includes waking up in the midnight just to go out and buy your craving. Only to return to you, already fast asleep.

Eight months passed by like a breeze, your baby bump was definitely showing more than ever, and you looked so cute, despite your hair and clothes being disheveled most of the time. She starts talking to the baby bump, while your fast asleep, talking about how beautiful her mother is, and how great she is.

Nine months in, and that's the month you waited for, the whole time. It was near your due-date, and she's already got everything packed, baby blanket, yours and her clothes, baby clothes that were sent by Junhee, and most importantly her strength.

the due-date day, was the hardest fight Hyun-ju ever fought, hands were gripped tightly, curses spilled from your mouth, and a birth was witnessed. So, when it was your turn to give birth, everyone who survived came to support you and Hyun-ju, so, now you're living in Thailand, peacefully with your soon-to-be wife. And a four-year old daughter. You're life was complete.

[revelboo]

Bro, you can't have me crying over tender-hearted spider-men like this😢

He just wants a friend

Disappear Pt 4

Tarantulas x Reader

• Clawed servos flexing, he works on tweaking the avatar and glances at where you’re stretched out on the scavenged mattress in your nest of blankets. Remembering the feel of your hand in his. Well, his avatar’s. You’re still skittish of his actual form. Watches you draw your legs up against your body, huddling deeper into your blankets. Cold? Mandibles shifting he sets the projector aside and lifts up onto his extra limbs, moving closer and easing down to crouch over you as you shiver in your sleep to tug your blankets more closely around you, a servo brushing you cheek and your skin is chilled.

• Startling as something thumps down near your head, you don’t move as his creepy spider limbs cage you while he pokes at whatever the thing is. And it begins to softly hum and- it’s a heater. He’d realized you were cold and made you a heater to keep you warm. Watching him stalk away from you to return to his work, you roll over to watch him. “Hey, Tarantulas?” Head turning and mandibles shifting, you make yourself look him in the optics. He still creeps you out, but you’re getting used to him. Suspect he’s really lonely. “Thank you.” You’ve never seen anyone visit him, no one ever contacts him. It occurs to you that you’re all he really has. And you’re scared of him and he knows it.

• Servos tapping on his work table, he vents. “If you freeze, who’s going to teach me to not be, what were your words? Serial killer looking?” He asks watching you smile and lay back down. And he’s half tempted to move closer. To try and coax a conversation from you, but he lets you be and returns to his work. You’re behaving only because you fear him, you don’t like him. You’re not friends.

• Stretching, you listen to the silence and try to gauge what time it is. And sitting up, you freeze. Because you’re free. Normally he webs you down before he goes to lay down to keep you from escaping. He’d forgotten. Pushing off the blankets, you stand up and go up on tiptoes to try and see where he’s sprawled on his front on his berth, a couple of spider legs and an arm hanging over the edge. Recharging. Heart racing, you move across the room. Hesitating at the open door of the crypt, your breath catches. All you have to do is go. Walk until you’re far enough away he won’t hear you when you bolt.

• Venting as he comes online, mandibles flexing, his head lifts and his spark constricts when he automatically looks for you on your little mattress. And realizes he’d forgotten to secure you before recharge. Primus, how much of a head start do you have? Is Ghost already on its way? Lunging upright with a snarl, he hears a little gasp and he freezes. Because you’re right there bent over the little cooler of food he’s been scavenging for you. “I swear you’re trying to give me a heart attack,” you mutter, turning your attention back to finding something to eat. You’d had the opportunity to run and you’d stayed with him? Hadn’t betrayed or abandoned him. Has anyone ever chosen him before?

• Stiffening as he stalks your way, his spidery legs come down on either side of you and your breath catches. Watch his head tip to make your skin crawl and you wonder why he has to be so damn unsettling all the time. A clawed hand lands near your hip as he leans down into your space to make every instinct scream to run. And he’s just staring, his mandibles slowly shifting. “After you eat your food, show me how to move correctly again,” he says, lifting up on his extra legs and walking away to leave you bewildered. Creepy, damn spider dude.

Previous

[wttcsms]

anatomy of desire, satoru gojo

part ii. initial incision

with mysterious circumstances centering around a first year med student’s “suicide”, you do something stupidly noble: reporting to a detective that you saw satoru gojo slipping out the backdoor of the very same building yu haibara supposedly jumped from. in doing so, you start a twisted, sick game of cat-and-mouse with the most powerful and insane student on campus. the only thing keeping you alive? the fact that satoru gojo is apathetic towards everything and everyone, besides you. ( fem!reader )

chapter contains mentions of suicide, the first confrontation between you & gojo!!!!! word count 3.9k [ previous ] [ next ] [ masterlist ]

“You know, it’s perfectly normal to still be in shock after what you’ve just witnessed,” the blond haired detective sitting across from you pushes the tiny paper cup of tap water towards you. Your mouth is dry, but you don’t trust yourself enough to stop your hands from shaking and not spilling water everywhere, so you ignore it. 

Detective Junji Wakimiya looks no older than his early thirties, but he carries himself high, with all the experience and stature of an experienced, older gentleman. He has perfect posture, and you’re not sure how much they’re paying him to work as a police officer, but the suit he’s wearing is perfectly tailored to fit his body. Chances are, it’s a department store suit and not designer, but it still looks good nonetheless. His voice is deep, but when he speaks to you, it’s almost as if he’s taking care in saying the words gently, like he doesn’t want to scare you. 

Maybe he just wants to lull you into a false sense of security. 

After all, he reminds you that this isn’t an interrogation, and that you aren’t called in here because you’re a suspect, but rather a witness. And then, before you can ask, he clarifies that no one here is a suspect because yes, something awful has happened here tonight, but until he gets all the facts sorted, whether this “something awful” was a crime or just someone’s final choice remains to be decided. 

“Apologies for making you relive through this ordeal once again, but I’ll need you to reaffirm for me the timeline of events from your viewpoint.” He takes a sip out of his own cup, as if to signal to you that it’s safe for you to drink your own, but you swallow your spit and clear your throat before repeating what you’ve just told him.

“My name is [Name] [Surname]. I’m currently a senior studying journalism here at Tokyo Metropolitan College. Earlier today, I overheard a student having a secret conversation by the vending machines near Murakami Hall, which is where a majority of liberal arts majors have their classes. I didn’t recognize the voice, and I was being nosy when I chose to eavesdrop. I heard him mention on the phone that after tonight, he would ‘be set for life,’ and I was curious as to what he meant by that. So, I got a good look at him, saw that he was a medical student, found him online, and then I started to follow him. I lost sight of him for a few minutes while talking to a classmate, and by the time I entered the laboratory building, I was exhausted and decided that this was stupid. As I walked out, I heard the screams, and that’s when I—” 

You choke up on the last part of your statement. When you blink, you see Yu Haibara’s crumpled up body smack dab on the pavement, his blood streaming out, leaving streaks that the school’s landscaper will have to pressure wash out. 

“—that’s when I saw Haibara’s dead body.” You whisper out the last part, and Detective Wakimiya is nice enough to not make you repeat your statement once more. 

“I see.” He says, setting down his cup. “As a senior in college, you must be considering postgrad jobs now, right?” 

You’re not sure what this detective is trying to get at, but you nod slowly. 

“You seem to be bright. Very ambitious, with the way you seem to want to… How did you put it? Hunt for a good story?” The small talk — is there a bigger picture here, or is he just trying to put you at ease? You know you shouldn’t be paranoid; it’s not as if you’re being suspected of a crime or anything, but after your statement was given, you were certain that you were going to be let go. 

“How do you know what’s a good story or not?” 

“Pardon?”

“What makes you want to chase down a lead over others?” 

“Um… It sounds stupid, sir, but I get a gut feeling.” You mumble, feeling awkward and like a child. “An instinct, I guess? You know, like… When you feel like someone’s watching you, and you turn around, and someone is. It’s a weird sense.” 

He nods. “Interesting. And so, when you chose to follow Haibara, you got this feeling as well?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Quite a story, wouldn’t you agree?” 

You wait a few seconds before replying. “Yes, sir.” 

“You’ve got good instincts, then. Even if things don’t necessarily turn out quite the way you anticipate them to. That’s just how life goes.” He leans over the table, reaching for his recorder and stopping the recording. “Even if things get scary, like I’m certain tonight was, you should still listen to your instincts.” 

You look at him curiously. Just an innocent piece of advice from a well-meaning adult? Whatever it is, you agree. “I will, sir.”

“I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow, what with your classes and whatever else a college girl gets up to.” Detective Wakimiya is funny in the way he seems to think he’s some sort of old man. He acts like it. 

He gives you a reassuring smile before pulling out a business card. “Here’s my number and email. If anything else about this night, anything that you might have forgotten to add to your statement, comes to mind, please reach out. I’m available at any time.” 

“Yes, sir.”

You see Yu Haibara’s face everywhere the following day. 

The picture everyone seems to be using is the same: a headshot photo of him, probably from his most recent undergrad graduation. His hair is a little shorter than you remember, but he’s smiling wide for the camera, practically beaming. He looks cheerful, happy — excited for the future, even. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet, and Haibara is already haunting the halls of this college. 

There are posters and flyers tacked up on the walls of every building on campus. There’s going to be a candlelight vigil held in his honor tomorrow night; you’re not sure who the hell could possibly organize an event that big on such short notice, but in tiny, barely there font, you’re not entirely surprised to see EVENT GENEROUSLY FUNDED BY THE GOJO FAMILY. 

If you open up any social media, even LinkedIn, there are nothing but memorial posts for him. Selfies of him and other students, throwback photos, and embarrassing videos. He even has his own personal hashtag: #YuWillBeMissed. Classy. 

Last night, he was haunting you, too. When you closed your eyes after your interrogation with the detective, all you could see was Haibara’s accusatory face. You’re not sure why he’s blaming you, of all people. Maybe he’s upset with you because you couldn’t mind your own damn business. Whatever his beef with you inside your head is, you couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. And when you open the doors to the Tokyo Metropolitan Student Journalism clubroom, it’s evident you’re not the only one who couldn’t rest.

Even now, the team in charge of the school’s paper is going insane. You walk into a storm — the copier is running at full speed, and when it gets jammed (because school printers can smell fear and anxiety; they will never work when you need them the most), one of the editors for the paper curses and kicks it. A few juniors are furiously typing away at their laptops, and unlike most mornings, no one even acknowledges your arrival with a polite “good morning”. Even Sakura, for once, looks serious. 

“For the love of God, this is awful advice. We need to be instructing people on how to properly dress at this funeral. Three inch heels at a candlelight vigil is serving cunt! Four inches is giving insensitive bitch who doesn’t care about anyone besides herself!” Sakura points furiously at a line some freshman writer must have typed up in their draft. “In twenty minutes, we need a perfect edition for today’s paper. Does this look perfect to you?!” 

Tucked away in a corner of the room, you see this semester’s exchange student whispering in her phone, staring wide-eyed at the fit Sakura is throwing. 

“Osamu,” Kotori says, clutching her phone like it’s a lifeline. “I really can’t wait to be back in Osaka.” 

There are good schools in Osaka. After surveying the mess here, you even consider asking her if you can tag along with her.

It’s a sick, vain — insensitive, even — thing to notice, but you can’t help it. A majority of the girls here must have heeded Sakura’s sage advice and opted for sleek, shiny three-inch high heels. Not a single heel in sight appears to be any higher.

You suppose the noble pursuit of serving cunt is always preferable over being a bitch. Especially when you’re attending an event to remember a dead classmate.

Your peers have enough decency and decorum, at least, to keep the complaints of their heels getting stuck in the grass to a minimum. You’re honestly shocked at the amount of people who are in attendance; with the low acceptance rate and exclusivity of the school, it’s hard not to find a familiar face. Every med school student must be here, though; if even the liberal arts and STEM undergrads could make it, surely they could. 

“I heard there’s going to be a dinner afterwards,” a voice pipes up from next to you. Startled, you turn to your right, only to see Kotori beaming at you. 

“Really? Who’s catering?” You fiddle with the candle you’ve been given; everyone gathered in the main square was handed one. 

The food being served at a memorial should be the least of your concerns, but when your meager stipend barely covers cup ramen and protein bars, your stomach jumps for joy at the prospect of a meal that comes with a side of vegetables and an actual entree. 

“The Gojo family is hosting, but I heard a rumor that it’s going to be steak and lobster. So, it must be true.” 

If Haibara is inescapable, Gojo must be his shadow. He lingers around after every thought you have of Haibara, and you don’t know why, but it leaves a bad aftertaste. You briefly wonder what his interrogation with Detective Wakimiya was like. Probably nothing more than a conversation glazing the Gojo family. That’s how most interactions with older adults go for him. You’ve heard, once, that Gojo and the professors often have a funny dynamic. He makes it out to where it seems like they’re doing him a favor, but really, anybody on this campus would kill for a chance to be in his good graces. 

So what exactly was Haibara’s relationship with Gojo? They must have been close enough to where Gojo felt so bad, he would want to host and sponsor a candlelight vigil for him. Everyone around you who murmurs an anecdote about Haibara seems to only have positive things to say about the boy. Apparently, he was bright and ambitious, friendly and helpful, funny and a little weird, in a good, boyish way. He was a total open book. No one could see him killing himself. Someone even thinks he must have just accidentally fell. 

That’s the fan-favorite theory at the moment: that it must have been a bad accident. That Haibara probably was just fooling around, or trying to film a TikTok, and then he died. As morbid and awful as it makes you sound, a fleeting thought occurs.

Maybe he was pushed. 

It’s gone the minute the vigil starts, though. You don’t know why you even think that; too many true crime podcasts must be rotting your brain. That, and maybe the guilt of you basically stalking the poor guy during his last few moments on earth. 

I’ll be set for life. 

He probably was just trying to go viral on TikTok. Boys do stupid shit for online views all the time, and while Haibara must be intelligent enough to attend this school on a scholarship, it’s not like he was immune to bad decisions. Instead of worrying about the why behind his fall, though, you turn your attention to the elevated platform on the square. There’s a podium set up; usually the dean or a guest speaker will come here to give a speech, but tonight, it’s Satoru Gojo. 

Much like everyone else here, he’s dressed in all-black. Black long sleeve button down, black slacks, shiny black loafers. He walks up to the podium, but he’s not greeting the audience with his signature smile that he seems to always wear. Instead, he looks devastated. A few strands of his hair are hanging in his face as his head bends down. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, like he’s trying to practice a few breathing exercises. The crowd went silent the minute he came into view, and they’re still silent now. When Satoru Gojo is around, the world stops for him. No matter what.

After a few more seconds, he finally lifts his head, greeting the crowd with an obviously tight, forced smile. He messes with the microphone for a bit before addressing the audience. 

“Good evening,” his voice is hoarse, almost as if he’s been crying before he went onstage. Between that, and his uncharacteristic disheveled appearance, he might have been. Crying, that is. It’s weird — thinking about Gojo crying. It sounds insensitive, but you never thought of him as someone who experiences the sad and disappointing emotions other mere mortals are privy to. “I suppose the reason for why we’re all gathered here tonight needs no introduction.” He takes a deep breath. Someone is already bursting into tears. 

“Yu Haibara is — was — what I considered to be a beacon of hope in my life. He was bright. Not just in an academic sense, but something about him always radiated pure joy. As his upperclassman, I was assigned as his “buddy” during his first year orientation. I remember meeting him for the very first time, and being taken aback. I mean, we all talk about the baby first year glow, how med school hasn’t hit them yet, but damn—” Gojo lets out a sad laugh, shaking his head. “He was something else. I could tell from just lookin’ at him that nothing was going to dull his shine. He always had a positive outlook on everything, was always an optimist. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.” Gojo’s voice has a bit of a tremor to it, and more people are tearing up as they watch him grip both sides of the podium, as if to keep him stable. 

“I’m afraid that I’ll — that we’ll — never meet anyone like him ever again.” 

Gojo continues on with his speech, talking about all the things Haibara talked about accomplishing, how confident Gojo was in his potential. That Haibara was hilarious and the best junior anyone could ever ask for. That the Zenin School of Medicine will never find another student as bright and bold and ambitious as Haibara. That he’ll be missed. That Gojo has a lot of love for him, but that he hates the choice Haibara made; that despite it all, he’ll still always harbor a lot of love for him. And at the end of his speech, he reveals that the Gojo family will start funding a scholarship in Haibara’s honor, using Haibara’s name, so that way his impact will never truly die. That his spirit will still remain as strong as ever here at this college. 

Gojo’s the first to light his candle, naturally. He holds it up high, almost as if he’s aiming for the night sky. Too bad there isn’t a single star to be seen tonight. 

“To Yu Haibara!” 

Someone else sets their candle aflame, bringing the flame to someone else’s unlit wick, and eventually, going down the line, your candle gets lit, too. You share your flame with Kotori, and once the square is glowing with the comforting orange warmth only several hundred candles can provide, everyone raises their candles high.

“To Yu Haibara!” 

In the following seconds, everyone is silent and solemn. The mourning lasts only as long as the time it takes for Gojo to descend from the platform, and the conversation immediately starts back up again. All signs of despondency seem to evaporate the minute Gojo’s loafers hit the grass, and the crowd immediately parts to make way for him. 

Groups of people rush to him, to compliment him on his speech, to let him know that they’re always going to be here for him if he needs a shoulder to cry on. Every step he takes, he’s never not being bombarded by people. When he makes it closer to where you’re standing, Sakura inches towards him. 

“That was such a beautiful speech, Gojo.” She says, pretending to dab at the corner of her eyes with her black silk scarf. Sakura didn’t tear up once during the ceremony, and she would never dare to risk smudging her makeup in front of Gojo. “And you’re so strong for being able to stand up in front of us and talk about such a good friend without completely breaking down. It must have been awful to see his body, right? I know so many saw him before the cops could come and shoo everyone off—”

“Thanks,” he smiles at her, his hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks. “Between you and me? I had to hold back my tears a few times.” She gasps, staring at him with wide eyes before nodding. He’s about to walk off, but then he adds, “Fortunately, what got me through was probably the fact that I didn’t ever see his body. I was in the medical school’s library preparing for an exam all night when that happened. Wanted to avoid the sight at all costs, too, so I couldn’t even stomach opening any social media.” 

You’re not eavesdropping, you rationalize. Granted, you’re not even hunting for a story, so you’re not sure what your justification for listening in on their conversation is. It’s their fault for having a conversation so close to you, anyway. Anyone with ears can hear them. 

But your stomach is lurching now; gone is your appetite for steak and lobster. Instead, you can feel yourself being filled with dread. 

During Gojo’s “emotional” speech, you were taken aback at just how torn he was. Haibara must have truly been a close friend if Gojo’s voice is shaking when speaking about him. He even needed to grip the damn podium to keep himself upright. 

Maybe it’s because it’s so dark in the nighttime, but you couldn’t help but notice how there was no true force or stress in his grip; no familiar sight of white knuckles from holding something so tightly. And his eyes — they’re obviously the most captivating feature of his. The type of blue that’s only seen in one in every one hundred million, you’re sure. But they’re not red-rimmed or puffy, and during the speech, there was no shine that would indicate he’s on the verge of tears. And you’re certain it’s all in your head when you’re punched with the same realization that the emotion Gojo portrays to his audience never reaches his eyes. Everything about him outwardly screams a boy heartbroken over the death of a good friend. He’s full of grief, but his eyes remain as empty as ever. 

You’re not going to dwell on it any more than that; at least, you weren’t going to. Now, after hearing what he just told Sakura, you’re conflicted. 

You know what you saw that night. You saw him. You saw him. Why would he lie about his whereabouts? 

Your heart is pounding as he walks past Sakura, slowly but steadily making his way closer to you. You should just let him be; everyone handles grief differently. Maybe he was just dissociating during the speech. Maybe trauma is making him want to bend the truth a little bit. Maybe he’s beating himself up over not being there to stop Haibara, and that’s why he’s pretending he wasn’t at the scene of the crime. 

No — you forcibly remind yourself. There is no “scene of the crime.” There wasn’t a crime committed. 

But that instinctual feeling in your gut intensifies the closer Gojo gets, and it’s now or never. Right before he can slip away, you reach out for him, tugging at the fabric of his sleeve, near his wrist. He pauses, turns a bit, looks down at you.

Has he always been this tall, this imposing?

“Yes?” Despite you rudely grabbing at him, he’s nothing but cordial. You swallow hard, bringing your voice to a whisper. 

“Were you there?” 

“Pardon?” He’s smiling, but he tilts his head in confusion. “There… as in where, exactly?” 

“At Old Kashimo Laboratory. When Haibara died.” You clarify. 

“Ah, I wasn’t. I had an exam to study for, so I spent all night in the library.” He blinks, before frowning. “I wish I was there, though. I’ve been wondering if there was anything I could have said or done to change the outcome of that night…” 

Your gut twists, and you swallow hard. “But that’s the thing, Gojo.” You don’t want to say it; there’s a part of you that protests, and the stronger side of you, the one that says maybe you shouldn’t leave this unanswered, dictates that you do. “Why are you lying about being at the library?” You say it so softly, you’re not even able to hear yourself speak.

But he does. You know he does, because the look in his eyes turns cold, colder than you’ve ever seen them. For the first time, you see a glimpse of emotion behind his icy blues. But it isn’t grief, and it isn’t anger. You don’t know what it is, and you almost regret grabbing his sleeve in the first place. 

“That’s a pretty harsh accusation to make.” Gone is his cordial tone. You resist taking a step back from him. “A pretty baseless one, too.” 

“I saw you.” You dare to look him in his eyes. “That night. You were leaving out the back door of the building, and a minute later, Haibara’s body was found. I don’t know the med school’s campus all that well, but the library certainly isn’t behind that old lab, is it?” 

Gojo stares at you for what feels like forever. You’ve never been scrutinized before, but you wonder if this is what a cell under a microscope feels like. The feeling of being completely and utterly exposed is a scary one, and it sounds so silly. Who is scared of friendly, kind, golden boy Gojo? 

No one is. But right now, the man staring you down isn’t the Gojo you’ve heard stories about. 

You blink, and he’s back to smiling at you, almost as if the conversation you two shared never even happened. Maybe it never did. Maybe you’re the crazy one. 

“Well, it was nice chatting with you.” He’s speaking at his normal volume now. “Hey, what was your name again?” 

He poses it as a friendly question, but you know better. 

“[Name].” 

He repeats it back, obnoxiously slow, sounding out the vowels and all. “Pleasure to meet you, [Name]. I hope I see you soon.” 

Somehow, he’s made a pleasantry sound like a threat.

[corpsedogs]

✿ my annoying siblings (req)

tim drake x f!assistant

more focused on the bat-family

( ♡ he just likes his assistant, is that wrong? )

“Yeah, okay I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again.” Tim says before looking at the end call screen on his phone. Dick, who was sitting on a chair leaned back to look at him, “Who was that?” he asked. Tim didn’t look back but answered, “My assistant.” Dick’s eyes raised as he looked towards Bruce’s direction.

“Do you know about this?”

“No.” Bruce answers as he looks through his case files.

Stephanie perks up from the conversation. “Why’d you hire one?” Tim looks up at her, “I just needed help at work. You know, to balance my work better.” Tim shrugs, placing his phone in his pocket.

Damian crosses his arms, “Since when are you not capable of doing your tasks?” Tim glared at him, “I am capable, I just needed some help.”

Tim had hired a new assistant, you. It's been a few weeks since he has hired you, his initial plan was to keep you for a week before working by himself again. But god, how it made his life so easier.

Schedules, back reading paperwork, research. It was all done once he went back to see you. Not only that, but he also found you endearing. He would always admire how hard you worked and how you would always get the job done.

He can’t help but smile when you enter his office as you hold onto some paperwork in your arms or when he listens to your voice on the phone as you update on his schedule.

Jason raised his brow as he saw him staring to space, “You good?” Tim was snapped from his thoughts “Huh? Yeah.. just thinking about work.” Jason shrugged, not giving a care as he walked towards the exit of the batcave.

A day passed by and Tim was in Wayne enterprises. He looked up ahead and saw you making some coffee, he didn’t hesitate and walked to your side. Tim cleared his throat as you looked at him surprised, "Oh, sir. I'm so sorry I didn't see you. Did you want some coffee?"

“Yes please.” He says giving you a warm smile. You nodded as you prepared a cup, “Do you have any preferences?”

“Two sugar, with a splash of creamer would be great. Thank you.”

You nodded at his request and started to pour the warm water onto the cup.

Tim crosses his arms, “Anything I should take note of today?” he asks, you thought for a bit before shaking your head “Uh, no one seems to be asking for a meeting and.. the things you requested should be coming in here soon. So I suppose your schedule is quite free, should I write something down?”

Tim didn’t realize he had been zoning out while staring at you until he was back to reality. He blinked twice when he noticed you had been speaking. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked, feeling a bit dazed. “There's nothing important to report,” you repeated, “So your schedule is quite free today.” you said as you gave him his coffee.

Tim slowly took the warm cup from you, “Thank you.” he said, his fingers brushed against yours when he took the cup from your hands.

Free time.

He had been so busy lately that having a free day seemed strange. "You sure I don't have anything scheduled?” he asked, a bit of skepticism in his tone. You took out your phone to double check and nodded, “Well, yes. Unless you want to meet with someone today.” He took a sip of his coffee, savoring the bittersweet taste, “I was thinking…”

“I was wondering if… you’d like to have lunch with me?” You blanked out for a minute, “Me?” you pointed to yourself. “Oh, I mean. Sure, I’d love to sir.” Tim was surprised by how easy it was to convince you to accept his invitation. Not only that, but your eagerness to go was also surprising. Normally he’d expect someone to be skeptical when a boss asks you to have lunch with them.

He smiled warmly at you, “Great, I’ll pick you up at your desk at 12.”

Noon arrived. Tim was a bit nervous as he stood in front of your desk. He had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie for the occasion. Tim took a deep breath before tapping the top of your desk to get your attention. “Ready?” You nodded, “Yes, let me just tidy my things.”

Tim watched as you gathered your things, placing them in their proper folders. Once you were ready, the two of you left the building as Tim gestured to you to walk ahead of him.

The cafe wasn't a 5 minute walk for the building, when you approached the cafe, he opened the door for you, gesturing for you to walk in first. You sat down in one of the booths, “Is there a reason why you took me out for lunch sir?” you asked.

Tim shrugged his shoulders as he sat opposite of you, “I thought I’d treat you since you’ve been such a great help lately.”

“Oh, thank you.” you said. Tim could sense a bit of embarrassment in your voice as he replied.

The waitress came by to take the two of your orders. Tim looked at you first, “What’re you gonna have?” You looked down at the menu, then back up at him, "I’ll have the chicken parm and water, please." Tim nodded, then ordered once it was his turn, "I’ll get an iced green tea and the club sandwich."

The waitress took your orders and left the two of you to chat. Tim leaned back in his spot and studied you a bit more before he spoke, "How’s being my assistant like so far?”

You avoided eye contact a bit, “It's nice, the job is for me and I get nice pay.” you answered. He tried to reassure you, “I’m glad you like the job. And also, I don’t bite. You don’t need to be so nervous.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult for me to talk friendly to a higher up.” you nervously chuckled. “You don’t need to feel nervous talking to me. You’ve been doing a fantastic job as my assistant, if anything, I should be nervous talking with you.” he said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

You softly smiled, “Well, it was nice for you to take me out to lunch sir.” He smiled back at you as he spoke, “You’re welcome, but don’t call me ‘sir’ when we’re outside of work.”

Night time passed, Tim was on his Red Robin suit sitting on one of the rooftops watching from below. Behind him was Jason and Stephanie who accompanied him on patrol. Jason sat by him as he tapped his fingers on the stone floor, “So..” he trailed, “Who’s your date?” Stephanie asked.

Tim raised his brow at the two, “What date?” Stephanie crossed his arms “The date you had at the afternoon.” Tim looked at the two of them, deadpanning “What date...” oh no.

Tim stood up, “Have you two been spying on me??” Dick’s voice entered in the earpiece “And me.” he fuzzed in. Tim rolled his eyes in annoyance, “All of you were spying on me??” he asked, a bit frustrated.

Jason smirked, “What’s the matter, Red? Didn’t want us to find out who you were swooning over?” Tim narrowed his eyes at Jason, “I am not ‘swooning’ over anyone.” he replied.

Stephanie smirked as she joined in, "You definitely were. Who is it?"

“It’s nothing. Just lunch with an assistant,” he said. Jason scoffed, getting more of an idea of who “that assistant” was. “Since when did you start taking an interest in your assistants?”

Dick chimed in again ”That was your assistant??” Tim looked up at the sky in frustration, and nodded. Stephanie started to laugh, “Oh my god, you’ve got the hots for your assistant!” Tim huffed, he knew where this was going to go. “Why were you three spying on me anyway?”

“Because, we’re nosey.”, Dick said through the comms again. Jason crossed his arms, “You should get used to it by now.” Before Tim could say anything, Barbara chimed in. “Guys, task at hand please.” she said, thank you Barbara. “Let’s talk about this later.” Dick said, before he tuned out.

Tim is positive he won't see the light of day soon.

🍰 part two? maybe? please reblog and comment to support me 🙏

[dexastres]

sweet melody, part two

jude bellingham x black reader

summary : elena wants revenge on her ex-boyfriend, who cheated on her, and jude will help her.

wc : 1165

part one

Jude couldn’t shake off the strange feeling that overcame him ever since he laid eyes on Elena. His inner voice yelled at him to stand up and go find her in the bathroom, but his body refused to listen. So, he stayed at the bar, lost in his thoughts, wondering if she was fine and if she needed a shoulder to cry on. The young man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The music faded gradually, along with Enrique’s voice. For a moment, Jude felt like he was in his own world, an island in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but Elena filling his thoughts. 

He couldn’t put it into words what he was feeling right now. It was unlike anything he ever felt before. Jude couldn’t explain why she attracted him so much, but he sensed a certain connection with her, a bond only they could understand. His heartbeat intensified every time he thought about the moment their eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Enrique noticed and couldn’t hold back his laughter.

The Englishman looked towards the bathroom door, hoping to see the young woman. He didn’t know how long it had been since she locked herself in there, but it felt like an eternity. Once again, the little voice in his head shouted at him to get up, but before he could, the door opened, revealing the person who made his heart beat. Elena walked into the club with a newfound energy, fuelled by a burning desire for revenge. A radiant smile lit up her face, and her confidence grew with every passing second. She attracted everyone’s attention, as if she was the star of the nightclub. Jude couldn’t take his eyes off her, and his heart skipped a beat when she stopped in front of him.

“Is this seat taken?” Elena asked, her voice sounded like music to Jude’s ears. He found her slight accent very cute, though it could go unnoticed unless you paid close attention.

“No. You can take it.” She nodded in response and sat next to the footballer. She felt the warmth Jude radiated, which surprisingly brought her some comfort. Normally, she’d go out of her way to avoid talking to strangers, but this time, it was different.

“Hey, what can I serve you, young lady?" Enrique’s sudden appearance startled Elena, who shyly turned towards the bartender.

"I’ll just have water, thank you." The middle-aged man nodded while writing her order, along with the others on his list. Jude noticed the subtle change in Elena’s attitude, and how she tried to keep the conversation short with the bartender.

"Can I have more water, please?” Jude said, holding out his glass towards the bartender. 

“I should start charging you for refills, Jude. This is your third time. Are you trying to put me out of business?” Enrique teased, raising an eyebrow, and the Englishman responded by rolling his eyes. Elena watched them arguing like cats and dogs over the most insignificant thing. While the two men bickered, she pulled her phone out of her tiny bag. Notifications from the group chat she had with her friends flooded her screen. The young woman looked around her, searching for a familiar face, but found none.

“Looking for someone?” Jude asked, and she nodded.

“I’m looking for my best friend, Sierra. The girls are blowing up our group chat, asking where she is. I checked her location, and it says she’s still here, but she’s probably somewhere with a guy." She shrugged.

"This happens every time we go out. She disappears, then suddenly reappears and tells us all the crazy details. But I get it, though. She’s the most beautiful, hilarious and intelligent person I know. You never get bored when she’s around. So yeah, I can’t blame any guy for falling for her." 

Elena’s eyes sparkled as she spoke about her best friend, a sign of the deep affection she felt for Sierra. Their friendship meant the world to her, and she couldn’t imagine what she’d do if it suddenly ended.

“Well, I should probably go because the girls are blowing up my phone again. It was nice to talk with you, Jude.” Elena got up from her seat and grabbed her glass of water.

"Wait..." Before Jude could even ask for her name, she had already disappeared into the crowd. “What an idiot.” He muttered under his breath.

"Why didn’t I ask for her name?” He sighed, placed his glass of water on the counter, then stood up. His feet moved before his mind could react. Moments later, he was near the dance floor, where Elena had just stopped. From where he stood, he saw her body trembling slightly. Confused, he moved closer to her, only to see her tearful face.

“What the fuck?” Elena said. She couldn’t look away from the scene unfolding before her, and felt her heart break, as if a blade had pierced her chest. For a second, everything around her disappeared, except for Alejandro and Sierra, who were kissing on the dance floor.

“How could you?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, drowned by the music, but it was loud enough for Jude to hear.

“What have I done to deserve this?” The young woman couldn’t believe her best friend would stoop so low. However, she wasn’t surprised by Alejandro. After all, he had cheated on her and didn’t even try to deny it when Elena confronted him.

“My best friend and my ex…” Elena stopped mid-sentence when a soft, unexpected warmth seized her wrist. She looked up to see Jude gazing at her with a softened expression. He wiped away her tears, and without thinking, Elena buried her face in his chest and let them flow. Normally, she would have run away, but she felt oddly comfortable in his presence.

“Come with me,” he whispered in her ear. She nodded, too tired to fight back, and followed him towards the exit door while staring at the floor.

“Oh, Elena....” Sierra murmured as she watched her best friend leave the club with Jude. A knot formed in her stomach, and her pulse quickened when she locked eyes with Alejandro. She forced a slight smile to hide her sadness, knowing that this moment would mean nothing to him tomorrow.

Sierra stared at the exit door, her eyes filled with tears. She bit her lips, her heart heavy, as she reflected on all the moments they shared. However, a shadow hung over each of them, reflecting the jealousy she always felt towards her best friend.

“Did I ever tell you that I'm not doing well? You see, jealousy is incurable and I'm sick of you.” Elena’s presence served as a brutal reminder to Sierra that she would always finish second, that she would always remain the second choice, her understudy, and that she’d never step out of her shadow.

"I've always hated you."

[redicillin]

Hello!! If you’re taking requests on this account, could I ask for- chase who’s been anxious all day, distracted etc, and it’s been pretty obvious to the rest of the team. Then chase turns to foreman when they’re alone and asks for advice on how to propose to reader. Like this poor man is so nervous and just wants to make it perfect for reader? Tysm ❤️

𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐫.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞)

chase’ll settle for nothing less than perfection when it comes to popping the all important question.

fem!reader ☆ 1.6k ☆ masterlist.

The team is gathered around the diagnostics table, papers and charts strewn across its surface. You stand near House, half-listening to his sarcastic commentary as the others throw out potential diagnoses. It's the kind of spirited back-and-forth you've grown used to in this office—except for one glaring exception.

Chase isn’t himself.

You’ve noticed it since the moment you woke up. He’s unusually quiet, his bright blue eyes fixed on the table, his fingers twisting the cap of a dry-erase marker until it clicks repeatedly. Normally, Chase is quick to weigh in during these meetings, offering his thoughts with a mix of confidence and calm that suits him. Today, though, he barely seems present.

“Am I talking to myself here?” House barks, glaring around the room. His cane taps the ground impatiently as his gaze lands on Chase. “Paging Dr. Kangaroo. You awake over there?”

Chase’s head snaps up. “What? Oh, sorry. Uh, no, I don’t think it’s lupus,”

House narrows his eyes. “Riveting contribution. Anything else you want to share, or should we let your mind wander back to wherever it’s been for the past hour?”

“Leave him alone, House,” you interject, giving Chase a brief, worried glance. His lips twitch upward in what might be an attempt at a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Something is definitely off.

“Fine,” House drawls, rolling his eyes. “Guess I’ll pick up the slack while Dr. Distracted works through whatever existential crisis is happening over there. Foreman, Cameron—go start the tests. Chase, try to remember that thinking is part of your job.”

The meeting dissolves, and you find yourself walking alongside Chase as the team disperses. The hallways of Princeton-Plainsboro are as busy as ever, but all you can focus on is the man beside you. His silence feels heavy, and you can’t help but press.

“You okay?” you ask softly, glancing up at him. “You’ve been… somewhere else all day,”

Chase hesitates, the corner of his mouth quirking like he’s debating how to answer. Finally, he shakes his head and offers a rueful chuckle. “I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind,”

“Clearly,” You nudge him gently with your shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

His expression softens at that, and for a moment, you think he might actually open up. But instead, he leans down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “I know. Thanks. But I’m good, I promise,”

You’re not convinced, but you let it slide for now. Chase has always had a tendency to internalise things, preferring to work through his emotions privately. Still, you make a mental note to check in with him later.

—

The hum of the MRI machine fills the small room, a low, steady noise that makes conversation feel oddly intimate. Foreman is adjusting settings on the console while Chase stands by the monitor, staring at the patient’s scan with a blank expression.

Foreman notices. “Okay, what’s going on with you?” he asks, leaning back against the counter.

“What do you mean?” Chase replies, though his voice lacks conviction.

“You’ve been distracted all day,” Foreman says. “More than usual. It’s not like you to zone out during a differential. And don’t try to tell me it’s the case, because I’m not buying it,”

Chase hesitates, glancing over at the patient through the observation window. Once he’s sure she can’t hear, he exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair.

“Okay, fine,” he says. “There’s...something on my mind.”

Foreman waits, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Chase shifts awkwardly, clearly debating whether to say more. Finally, he blurts out, “I want to propose.”

Foreman blinks. “Propose? As in marriage?”

“Yes, marriage,” Chase says, his tone somewhere between exasperation and nervous laughter. “What else would I be proposing?”

Foreman grins. “Okay, calm down. You’re just...really worked up about this, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Chase mutters, leaning on the counter. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, trying to figure out the right way to do it. It has to be perfect,”

Foreman gives him a skeptical look. “Does it? She loves you, man. She’s not going to care if it’s perfect,”

Chase shakes his head. “I care. I want it to be special. Something she’ll remember forever,”

Foreman shrugs. “Look, I’m not exactly the romantic type, but here’s what I think: you’re overthinking it. You’ve been with her long enough to know she’ll say yes. Just do it,”

Chase frowns. “That’s it? Just do it? That’s your advice?”

“Yeah,” Foreman says with a shrug. “Why make it more complicated than it needs to be?”

Chase doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he nods. “I’ll think about it.”

—

The case wraps up late in the evening, the patient stabilised and diagnosed after a long day of tests and deliberation. The team gathers in the conference room for a quick debrief, but everyone is clearly exhausted.

House dismisses you all with a wave of his cane, muttering something about needing to bother Wilson. One by one, the others file out, leaving you and Chase alone.

You glance at him, noting the tension in his posture. He’s been like this all day—nervous, restless. You’re about to ask him about it again when he suddenly turns to you, his expression oddly intense.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, his voice low.

“Of course,” you reply, a little startled by his tone.

He takes a deep breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. For a moment, he seems to hesitate, as if he’s trying to find the right words. Then, in one quick, almost panicked burst, he blurts out:

“Will you marry me?”

You blink, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“Will you marry me?” he repeats, his voice softer this time. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, a mixture of hope and fear that makes your heart ache.

For a moment, you just stare at him, too stunned to speak. He fidgets under your gaze, his hands moving as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“I—I know this isn’t the most romantic way to ask,” he stammers. “I had this whole plan, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I just… I couldn’t wait anymore,”

Your lips twitch, and before you know it, you’re laughing. Not because you think it’s funny, but because the whole situation is so completely Chase—overthinking everything until he just dives in headfirst.

“Are you serious?” you ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Completely.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “Chase, you’re unbelievable,”

He winces. “Is that a no?”

“No!” you say quickly, stepping closer to him. “It’s not a no. I’m just… surprised, that’s all,”

“So— it’s a yes, then?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

You smile, your chest swelling with warmth. “Yes. Of course it’s a yes,”

The relief on his face is almost comical. He lets out a breath he must have been holding for hours and pulls you into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against your hair. “I wanted to make it perfect,”

“It was perfect,” you assure him, your voice muffled against his chest. “Because it was you, but blurting it out in the middle of the conference room?” You chuckle.

Chase groans, burying his face further into your hair. “I panicked, okay? Foreman told me to go with my gut,”

“And your gut told you to propose at work?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice muffled. Then he peeks at your face, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I guess it wasn’t so bad, though,”

You laugh, leaning into him. “No, it wasn’t. It was… very you,”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. “I’ll plan something better. A nice dinner, or a trip, or—”

“Chase,” you interrupt, placing a hand on his chest. “You don’t have to make it up to me. This is exactly how it was supposed to happen,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling up at him. “Now stop overthinking it and just enjoy the moment,”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll try,”

And as the two of you walk out, the weight of the day finally lifting, you can’t help but think that this—messy, imperfect, and completely unplanned—is exactly what love should be.

[the-box-of-mine]

Melinda and demetrius: splitting and dissociation (part 2)

I was talking in the first part here about Melinda and her splitting episodes. In this part I will talk about the oldest son demetrius.

There's no lie in the fact his appearance was surprising, but also everyone knew that he didn't seem right.

But also he's very mysterious and understanding him is quite a challenge with the very little context we have of him. So let's dive into his character a little.

The unfocused look, very intimidating look, and eyebags under his eyes. Hell yeah, he got freaking 6 stellas and didn't even seem happy about it. He just looked very tired and just wanted to go to rest.

Damian and the rest of the gang approached him, and damian went to congratulate him of his achievement. But it seems that Demetrius looked very intimidating to him so he started to stutter. Demetrius took the lead of the conversation and asked him about his Stella (which indicates that Demetrius is actually looking at the progress Damian does academically, which is the most important aspect of demetrius's life). Normally when asked this type of question, it's normal to say "yeah how did you know?" "Yeah what do you think?". But not damian (my little child seems to struggle)😭, he instantly jumped into "how do you think father would think?" ,which is wrong in different aspects, firstly demetrius is the one who asked about his academics, so it felt very disrespectful to do that. Secondly , knowing how Damian gets annoyed with the girls in his class asking constantly about his father (and he's the second son with less remarkable achievements), I'm sure that Demetrius himself has even worse share in this experience, he doesn't even seem to have friends because he feels in different league, and people either intimidated by him or try to use him to get to his father. Lastly, it's their second time talking to each other in school, and damian still asked him in the same matter (about their father) which really gives an impression that he has nothing to ask about but this. But of course Damian didn't mean that, he's a little child who is trying to reach his family, Demetrius himself seems to have also problems with reaching out to others.

But even then he didn't get mad, even in his mind, he didn't get annoyed at damian, he just swayed away keeping his boundaries without any addition, something that neither Melinda nor Donovan did (imo he still got judged wildly). With one struggling with her emotions and splitting episodes, and deadbeat neglectful dad. Which made me believe that he is the one who has higher chances with having a stable relationship with damian. I talked more about this here but to summarise, demetrius is quite surprisingly patient with damian at most times. Considering their parents and his age too.

Now into his interesting mind, in chapter 93, anya tried reading his mind but got nothing at first, and the things she got was he (I don't understand) questions.

This hit very different seeing chapter 110, when Melinda said Donovan can read mind and even demetrius had been saying that.

A lot of people drew to the conclusion that Demetrius has this habit of blocking his mind since he knew his father can read mind, he restricted himself to not have any thoughts at all, which is very painful to think about, making your child anxious to this point is really a new low truly, donovan.

There had been questions about how this is even achievable, a state of blanked mind of barely any thoughts, Mr green talked a little about it when he was with damian and his friends. But let me explain this more.

What is demetrius doing is very similar to something called "dissociation", it's a state of complete stillness of thoughts, flowing through the stress, you can say it's like putting your mind in an autopilot mode. It's a coping mechanism many people do in response to stress and trauma, and its severity changes from one person to another.

Now it seems very peaceful coping mechanism, but it's a hell itself, it's like getting into a deep hole with, the more you get deeper, the more difficult it's to get out of it. The more time you spend doing it, the more it's hard to keep up with your life and tasks.

I'm pretty sure that if Demetrius had been doing it from a very young age, it means he definitely is having difficulty in keeping his thoughts flowing, and that he is not voluntary and completely controls his mind.

Now, what could happen if someone is dissociating excessively? It leads to many mental disorders and problems. The most insightful of them are (dissociative disorders). The three main disorders are (ranked with severity from lower to higher)

1-Depersonalization/ derealization disorder.

2-dissociative amnesia.

3- dissociative identity disorder (aka called multiple personality disorder in the past but the medical term changed)

Now I'm very sure with the amount of excessive dissociation demetrius expressed (and even indicate he started doing it very early). I'm sure he has derealization disorder, he's very out of touch with himself and feels very separated from his reality ,which is a perfect description of this disorder. I wouldn't be surprised if he had dissociative amnesia, like I wouldn't be surprised if he said he doesn't really remember having dinner with his family in chapter 106 (he really was out of touch and just eating his food, not giving care to the tension felt in that time).

(until now he didn't show any signs of being a system or having DID)

I'm sure he also has different mental struggles other than dissociation, but this one is the clearest one. Him and Melinda showed very clear signs of mental health struggles, I tried to analyse that, I hope that they both heal and get the help they need.

[matteglaze]

Thinking about, tired fisherman! Aizawa and Shark! Reader

Aizawa has always been a great fisherman, almost abnormally so, with large catches and even larger fish. Others always ask him, how does he do it? Though, he never entertains it.

In, comes you, you make sure to follow Aizawa around— because it seems like he knows all the spots with the most plump fish. You end up turning it into a graveyard once he's left, eating everything in your wake.

Now, whenever Aizawa returns to his usual spots he's cursed to be in a drought. There's no more fish, and no fish means no money, no money means no food on his plate.

He spends hours at a time just waiting for something to hook onto his line, waiting and waiting, and when nothing happens he comes back the next day to do it again.

You take pity on him, of course you do, and decide to 'help' him out.

This leads to a series of strange events.

When Aizawa first finds out that you're some sort of mermaid— "No mermaid, shark" (you always correct him)— he thinks he's going insane.

But I also feel like he gets somewhat used to the idea (it's still very strange). You then express that you've always had an interest in humans, and Aizawa learns that you've managed to learn his language by spying on other fishermen's conversations.

(At least that explains your odd dialogue)

"Shouta, got any on ya fish, fella?"

Though, the order of your words could use work. It's why he suggests that, if you can help him out with fishing, he can help you out with learning more about humans (since you seem to harbour a strange fascination with them).

At first, you deny his offer. Mostly because in your culture, it's a courting ritual to provide for the one you want to mate, and then they offer you something back as well.

And, you aren't that interested in Shouta. If you wanted to court a man, you'd choose the one with a large boat, that likes to sing to songs on the radio and tease Shouta.

Why would you go after Aizawa? He seems to be the weakest of his kind. Small boat, quiet, and you could easily eat him.

But with the more time you spend with Aizawa,, the more you start to like him.

So you agree, and Aizawa thinks nothing of it (maybe you just had a change of mind), but then this starts the series of you courting him.

You offer him big fish, almost too large for his boat, and many gems as well, all of which he ends up selling.

It isn't until you're both inside of a desolate cave, him sitting on the edge with his feet in, and you in the water.

You bring your hands up to his legs, and he jerks away.

".. What are you doing"

You almost seem bashful when you turn your head to the side, hands still hung up as if they're frozen in time.

"Will bring big fish if you let" you murmur.

Aizawa knows better now than to fall for your shy act, but he's been curious about you, too.

"I'd like to see.. your, uh, tail" was that a normal thing to ask? It wasn't, like, offensive right? I mean, you asked to feel his legs— so it can't be that weird..

Instead, it seems like you preen at the idea, puffing out your chest proudly. It was always a positive sign when future mates showed interest, and once he gets a look at the scars littering your tail, he'd practically be in awe at your pure, sheer strength!

It doesn't take much for you to lift yourself above the water, finding a spot next to him as you run your fingers across his legs, toying with the hair that grows and playing around with his knee.

"Good catch" you say.

Aizawa looks anywhere but you, and once it's his turn to explore your tail he just looks— far too in his head to touch the skin.

It goes on like this for a few weeks, you bringing him fish, he explains basic concepts of human behaviour and sometimes even brings you fruit or home cooked meals.

"I like when you provide food, mate"

And Shouta startles, eyes wide and mouth shut closed.

You didn't mean it like that, he rationalizes, you probably meant it in a friendly way—

So why can't he stop thinking about it?

ummm am I writing a longshot based off of this? noooo....

I'm very excited for this year's mermay fics !!

[pursued-by-the-squid]

iii. location drop

pairing: eventual gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 7.1k

ao3 | masterlist

Young-il is so… interesting. In many ways he reminds you of yourself – he’s always studying the world around him, always listening, he can be remarkably serious and endearingly lighthearted in the same conversation, and he’s wickedly sharp. Much smarter than you are, that’s for sure, but you like that. It’s nice to speak to someone with so much life already lived and hear the way they view the world, even if it doesn’t always align with your own ideals. He challenges you, too. In ways you never would have imagined. That’s what makes him so intriguing.

His smile catches the light when you see him. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he says as he starts shrugging off his coat. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, his hair pushed away from his face in an elegant swoop.

You hum lightly into your cup. “Business stuff?”

Young-il nods. “Of a sort.” He eyes the extra cup of coffee on the table as he moves to sit across from you. “Trying something new?”

“It’s yours,” you correct. “Black Americano, right?”

Surprise tints his features and you feel a stab of pride for managing to catch him so off guard. “You remembered.”

His reaction shouldn’t sit as warm and cozy as it does in your chest, but you don’t fight it. Still, you try to play it off with a shrug. “I remember all kinds of things.”

A hand slips into his trouser pocket and it doesn’t occur to you until he’s pulling out his wallet that he wants to repay you. Before he can utter a single suggestion, you stop him. “Oh, no, that’s alright. I don’t mind,” you reply with a politely dismissive wave. “You can cover me next time, if you want.”

Truthfully, you’re still adjusting to the idea of purchasing whatever you want when you want it. You can’t (and won’t) go out and buy a brand-new sports car or anything, but even something as mundane as a coffee feels like a splurge with how strict you’ve been in the past. Gi-hun wants you to be happy, though, to have all your needs met, and if that’s what he wants…

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” you say after a moment. That wasn’t exactly what you had intended to say; you were trying to find something to say that wasn’t the same boring topics he always hears from you, but your mind had wandered and gotten lost somewhere between point A and point B.

Young-il’s still a bit taken aback, but you can see him smiling when he takes a sip of his coffee. “You would have missed me that much?”

He’s very clearly teasing you, but the fact of the matter is that yes, you would have missed him if he hadn’t shown. You don’t have many friends apart from him and Gi-hun who is, more often than not, busy doing whatever it is that he does. It’s not exactly a normal friendship, no matter how hard you strive to make it so, no matter how much you’ve come to care for him. Young-il, on the other hand, is less closed off, more engaging. He’s a normal businessman who does normal things like drink coffee and do guest lectures for some of the business students. You haven’t been able to see any of his talks yet, but you have a feeling they’re good.

You hide your own smile behind your cup when you go to take a sip, hoping that he doesn’t see just how tickled you are. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The conversation flows loosely from there. Young-il has recently taken over his business from the previous owner and as a result, his time is limited. Too many meetings, too much paperwork, and a lot of strategizing. You, on the other hand, have several short papers due this week that you’ve been putting off, not to mention the final project looming in the back of your mind as each week ticks by.

“There’s an extra credit module I was thinking of completing,” you say casually, as if your heart isn’t about to beat right out of your chest. “We have to visit the art gallery here on campus and write a reflection about our experience.”

You’ve been thinking of asking him to go with you. It makes sense considering he’s always on campus. You might almost think him a student if you didn’t know any better. But the difference between thinking about asking and actually asking is great – you don’t even know if he likes art, if he cares enough about your casual little friendship to meet you outside of weekly coffee meetings and words exchanged in passing on your way to the bus stop. Maybe you’re asking for too much. What if he thinks you’re weird?

So it takes you by surprise when Young-il leans forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. “I wasn’t aware there was an art gallery.”

You wipe a bit of liquid from the corner of your mouth. Could it really be this easy? “Yeah! They have a rotation of displays and visiting artists. The one we have currently is focused on surrealism. They’re displaying copies of some famous pieces, as well as art from several of our students.” Your eyes dart nervously over Young-il’s frame, trying to determine how open he is to the idea. He seems interested enough. “I haven’t been to a gallery in a little while and the extra credit would help raise my grade a bit.”

He nods thoughtfully. “It seems like you’ve already decided to go.”

“I think so, yes.” Your lungs constrict painfully below the canopy of your ribcage. If you don’t ask now, you’ll never find the courage to try again. “Would you like to go with me?”

A moment ticks by uneventfully. Then another.

Searching Young-il’s eyes tells you nothing. You can’t determine what he’s thinking, no matter how hard you look. The only insight his silence offers you is the weight of his gaze as he studies you, as if you were the art piece and he the seasoned purveyor.

His head tilts ever so slightly to one side. “You want me to join you?” He doesn’t sound disinterested in the idea, but neither does he sound fully invested.

You swallow nervously. “Yes. If you want.”

“Why me? Surely you have other friends you could go with, some of the students in your class, perhaps?”

Ah. So he’s not interested. You can feel your face heat up with the embarrassment of his rejection. You suddenly find the shapeless stain of a former coffee spill on the table inexplicably fascinating.

“I guess I probably should have asked one of them first.” You try to wrap the tail end of your response in a light chuckle, but it’s forced and uncomfortable. You end up grimacing more than anything else. “I’m sure you’re busy, what with your business and everything.”

What you want to say is that you wouldn’t go with any of your classmates even if you were paid to do it. What you want to say is that you’ve come to greatly enjoy his company and the little breaks in your otherwise monotonous routine that his presence provides. But of course, you can’t say any of that.

You reach for your drink, hoping to fill the awkward space with a couple sips of something tasty, but you’ve already drained the cup. There’s nothing left except for a few spare drops.

Young-il shifts in his seat, drawing your attention as he adjusts his sleeves. He’s rolling them up to his elbow, exposing all that previously unseen skin and the muscles of his forearms, and… Oh. Maybe this means more to you than you’d previously thought. Maybe you’ve developed a bit of a crush. That’s embarrassing.

“Next Tuesday,” he says, his attention still focused on the task at hand. “I have a break in my schedule around noon.”

For a few scattered inhalations, you’re left feeling lost. You were so sure he was uninterested based on the, well, everything about him, but now he’s saying exactly the opposite.

“I… Huh?”

The corner of his mouth twitches and for the briefest of micro-minutes, you think you see something soft hidden in his eyes. “If you’re free then?”

Right. Next Tuesday. Noon. Your brain putters around for a bit as it tries to play catch up to the conversation, but eventually the fog clears. You have an opening in your schedule around that time, too, funnily enough. The date is set – not that it’s that kind of date – and the conversation fades back into normalcy, but the entire time your heart is racing because Young-il has agreed to go with you and you feel an abnormal amount of excitement pooling in your stomach because of it.

The thing is, Gi-hun has told you before that you ought to make more friends. He knows that he is essentially the only person you spend time with on a regular basis and he’s not sure if he should feel guilty or honored by that fact. He should be happy for you that you’ve finally found a friend, that you’re getting out of your apartment and socializing. It’s just that when he had pictured a friend, Gi-hun had imagined someone around your own age, not… this.

The unknown man looks closer to Gi-hun’s age than yours. Not that that’s a bad thing. He’s your friend too, isn’t he? He simply finds it worrying. Older men and younger college students are something of a suspicious combination, no matter how refined and put together they seem. Like your new friend.

Still, there’s nothing harmless about meeting a friend for coffee. An older friend. Who doesn’t seem to do much apart from loitering around the business building and talking to you.

You’re fine, he tells himself, even as he pulls the brim of his cap down over his eyes and sips at his own drink. You can take care of yourself. But it doesn’t hurt that he’s here to watch over you, just in case. The last person in a suit to approach you had turned out to be a recruiter and it would be foolish of him to assume that you’re safe simply because you’ve thrown the card away and started heeding his advice.

Jeong-rae and his men are busy scouting the subways with a few more sets of eyes than usual to make up for Gi-hun’s absence. He has a pistol on him in case things go badly or your mysterious new friend turns out to be something he’s not, but he thinks (he hopes) that won’t be necessary.

Your coffee meet-up ends within the hour. Gi-hun has already finished his own drink long before, but he keeps sipping at his cup to sell the illusion that he belongs here, tucked into the corner of the campus coffee shop and watching you. He tries not to feel like he’s doing something wrong. Because he isn’t. He’s keeping you safe. If you’d had family or friends in the Games when he was there, he would have sworn to look after you and that’s all he’s doing now.

You head for the bus stop, your friend heads for the nearest parking lot. Gi-hun follows. He watches your friend settle into a very normal looking car – not obnoxiously flashy, but not a rundown heap of scrap metal either – and drive off, and he follows closely in his own vehicle. And if he gets a bit of a rush from tracking this man down and vetting him, then that’s his own business.

The man drives to a corner store and disappears inside for several minutes. When he comes out again, he drops a bag into the passenger seat and leans against the door while he smokes. Gi-hun suddenly pretends to find his mobile very interesting. He double, triple, and quadruple checks his incoming messages – no sign of the recruiter so far – and eventually finds himself pulling out his own stack of cigarettes and lighting one up.

By the end of the night, Gi-hun’s mission leads him to a hotel in one of the quieter pockets of the city. Your friend is entirely unthreatening and uninteresting. He feels a little foolish for letting himself get so caught up in his own paranoia – taking a gun with him? Really? Whoever he is, this man hardly looks like the same unhinged species of psychotic as the recruiter that had sealed his fate so long ago.

You can handle yourself, he reminds himself, perhaps for the fiftieth time today. And he knows it’s true. You’re smart and very capable, even if you are a bit trusting. You’re not the problem – it’s the rest of the world that worries him, the recruiters and game runners of society who could snuff out your light without blinking an eye. He won’t allow it, not even if it aggravates his paranoia and leaves him sleepless in the early hours of the morning.

Gi-hun will just need to keep a closer eye on you. To keep you safe. It’s a small sacrifice to make in return for your life.

In-ho carefully studies his reflection, smoothing a hand over his hair and straightening the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t usually wear a suit when he meets with you like he does when conducting Game business, opting instead for dark, soft things like turtlenecks and knit sweaters. Spring is finally here, but the chill of winter still lingers, so he suspects you’ll be neatly bundled as you were when he met you in the autumn. He’s mirroring you, trying things that subconsciously lure you into a false sense of security, and you’re falling for it every step of the way. It’s no wonder Gi-hun managed to worm his way into your life.

Gi-hun.

His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smirk. 456 had been a bit of a surprise, admittedly, a wrench in his otherwise perfectly executed plans. But In-ho has the training of a decorated police officer; 456 is gutter filth. And gutter filth, no matter how cunning, how desperate, or how rich, cannot overcome decades of rigorous training with the best police force in the country. He spotted Gi-hun the moment he pulled out of the campus parking lot – the rest had simply been a game that he was willing to play.

Today is a game of another sort. In his youth, In-ho had never been much of a flirt. Charming, perhaps, even suave if he was in the mood, but a flirt? It just wasn’t his style. But there is something to the Young-il persona that prompts him to try. Perhaps it’s the anonymity. Maybe it’s the low stakes and high reward – you’re not a genuine romantic prospect, you’re a target, and that means that it’s not his ego being bruised by your potential rejection but his predatory prowess.

Except you haven’t rejected him. You have, quite surprisingly, invited him further into your life. You have carved out a space for him in the otherwise uneventful and meaningless scope of your existence, and In-ho is painfully curious to discover how far he can push you before you fall completely.

He arrives at the gallery nearly an hour early, content to peruse the art nearest to the entrance and sufficiently prepare himself. It’s been several years since he has studied art in any meaningful way. He was more prone to it in the years before Oh Il-nam and Gi-hun’s Game, but he was more prone to many things back then – holiday phone calls to his brother, flowers at his wife’s grave. He doesn’t have time for such things anymore. Still, he finds the familiarity of the art, the artist, and the solemnity of viewership a comforting thing.

When you appear several minutes before noon, short of breath and clearly frazzled, In-ho finds it difficult to suppress his smile. You make your intentions so clearly known without ever realizing how transparent you are. Eagerness is written across your face so plainly, it may as well be a brand. Your eyes light up when you spot him, like a child encountering their favorite toy. Only – no, that’s a poor comparison. As young and foolish as you may be, you aren’t a child. A pet, perhaps. Clever enough with the capabilities you’ve been born with, but ultimately submissive to the hand of the master that feeds it.

“Hi,” you greet him with a flash of a smile. You’re already pulling off your coat only to grip it in your mouth while you start rummaging through your backpack, all before he can get more than a simple ‘hello’ out in response. Hardly a minute later, you’re settled with a notebook and pencil in hand, and your coat shoved haphazardly into your backpack. “Okay. Ready.”

He allows himself a moment of genuine amusement. “You seem eager.”

“Always eager to learn, Young-il-nim,” you answer with a little tap of your pencil against your forehead.

He takes the initiative to open the gallery door for you, reveling in the small victory of your poorly hidden surprise. “I take it you haven’t studied much Surrealism before, then?”

You shake your head. In-ho is keen to observe your expressions, but already you’ve tilted your face away to analyze the first painting, a popular Dalí piece that makes a clear impact on you. You murmur your way through the informative sign plastered beside the canvas with furrowed brows and inquiring, contemplative eyes.

“That’s so sad.”

He scans over the sign, confirming the information he already knows – a commentary on the Spanish Civil War of the 1930’s, made by an apolitical artist who chose to side neither with the fascists nor the Republic that rose up to fight it. What is it about political neutrality that is so heartbreaking to you? Or are you, perhaps, more drawn to the hollow grief portrayed in the painting itself?

Before he can find the words to ask, you’ve already taken the initiative to expand upon your remark. “His sister was killed by one side and his friend by the other. But he still didn’t take a side.” The hand holding your pencil is hovering lightly over the sign, fingers almost but not quite touching the words – as if you were afraid to touch it and mar its tragedy with your own simplistic worldview. “I can’t even imagine that.”

Something akin to sympathy flares up inside him before quickly turning to the flush of displeasure. Not anger, not yet. “Imagine what?” he prompts.

At last, you turn your face and allow him the chance to swallow every minute, flickering micro expression. “Any of it. Losing your family to the people who are meant to help you and then losing your friend to the people who want to hurt you.” The knot in your throat bobs when you swallow. How curious that you seem to be so deeply affected by something you have no true understanding of. “I guess I wouldn’t know which side to choose either, but I can’t say that I’d want to side with the fascists.”

In-ho nods, unsurprised. No, he can’t imagine that you would either. He tries not to think too hard on the implications – of the painting, of your sudden swell of emotions, or of the memories already pressing hard against the interior of his skull.

Your head tips down as you scribble a few notes in your book, followed by the click of your phone camera. He glances over your handwriting, a mix of Korean and your native tongue, before you eventually step away, turning to the next piece. He stays, only for a heartbeat or two, eyes lingering on the canvas before finally deciding to trail after you.

Most of the pieces in the gallery are somewhat familiar to him, though he doesn’t care for all of them. Some are too fantastical for his tastes, some are too nonsensical. Others leave him feeling perplexed, as they once did when he was younger, more bereaved and less inclined to the logic that rules his life now. And then – then there are the pieces that remind him of the Games. Chess pieces in vast, unending landscapes. Peering eyes devoid of faces, studying the audience the way the VIPs study the players. Staircases that lead to nowhere and doors that open to nothing, tangling together like the labyrinthine maze of pastel walls he has come to call both his home and his work.

Your reaction to each of them is as predictable as ever. “‘We often believe we're being led to a higher place when perhaps we're not going anywhere,’” you read. Your pencil taps against the corner of your mouth. “Well, that’s a bit grim.”

He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes – barely. “Is it?” Surely you can see the logic in such an argument, even if you don’t agree with it? Or must he spell everything out for you?

The gears in your head begin to turn, slow and steady. “It sounds more like depression to me than an actually viable outlook on life. Maybe you aren’t going anywhere because you’re holding yourself back, you know? You’ve closed all the doors that you can escape through and now you’re ramming your head into the wall, wondering why nothing’s happening.”

In-ho’s exhalation is heavier than it usually is, the tone of it caught somewhere between amusement, contemplation, and disbelief.

“Not that I’m judging him for feeling that way, Mister…” You lean in to check the name of the artist. “M.C. Escher.”

“I suppose you find it hard to relate to – feeling hopeless?” It’s not entirely fair of him to say and he is more than aware, but he wants to see that spark in your eyes. He wants to hear you explain yourself. Prove to him how miserable the world is, that your vision is flawed.

But where In-ho had expected anger, he instead finds something more subdued. The subtle tilt of your head, betraying the indignation you feel at his assumption. The flexing of the muscle in your jaw. The deep inhalation that makes your ribs expand. You make a sound in the back of your throat, a quiet hum overflowing with enough emotions that he can’t possibly translate them all. “I didn’t say that,” you murmur. “I just… prefer to be optimistic instead. When I can be.”

You don’t seem to like the labyrinthine staircases leading nowhere and he wonders, not for the first time and far from the last, how you would fare in the Games. Optimism is beloved by the naïve – it won’t get you very far. How would you have fared in his Game? In Seong Gi-hun’s? How quickly would your optimism have killed you?

He takes another opportunity to study you as you shoulder past him, still clearly upset by his remark. You are such a sensitive thing. How do you manage to survive in the world burdened by the weight of your own sympathies? Is it Gi-hun’s money that eases your heart, makes it easier to ignore the death and corruption all around you? Is it your own ignorance that makes life bearable?

His hands twitch with the sudden desire to pull you apart and discover exactly what it is that makes you tick. What mechanisms lie beneath your skin? Would you cry if he pulled them out one by one? Would you rage?

“I’m sorry,” he says, coming up behind you as you move to the next collection of works. “I’ve upset you.”

“No,” you reply, too quickly for it to be anything other than a lie. “I just wanted to look at the others, that’s all.”

You’re a terrible liar, at least when you’re agitated. In-ho rests his hand on your shoulder, his tongue already sharpened with the blade of a few clever words, when he happens to look up and catch a glimpse of the painting you’ve chosen to study. It hits him all at once – the empty nights, the cheap bourbon and even cheaper whiskey, the agonizing pit in his stomach, the hospital bills – and suddenly, In-ho finds that he can do little more than stand there, his mouth agape, and sway against the current that threatens to sweep him off his feet.

René Magritte. L’Empire des lumières. He would know it anywhere.

He’s distantly aware of you turning to look at him, your shoulder twisting under his hand, your voice curling around the shape of a stranger’s name, but it’s little more than a vague, hazy noise in the back of his mind.

A brightly illuminated sky dotted with pearlescent clouds. (He thinks of the arenas, splattered with blood.) A darkened street. Trees silhouetted against the clouds. A house, lonely and empty, its reflection in the water below unfocused. (He thinks of the apartment he’d had with his wife, how empty it was when he returned home from the Games.) A single lamppost illuminates the darkness of the house. One. Alone. Sturdy and strong, blazing against the emptiness.

“What is it? Young-il-nim?”

“My wife...” The words croak out of him, unbidden, unwanted. He shakes his head to try and clear his thoughts, but he can’t shake the memories.

Your hands drop – wherever they had been on his person previously, he doesn’t know, nor does he care. All he sees, all he knows is the apartment he had holed himself up in after she died. Some small, cramped shoebox that offered less personality, less freedom, than the rooms he offered to his own soldiers. The two little fish on his desk, long dead by now. The books he left behind. The card from his first Game – the only thing left of her. The paintings.

The paintings.

He can still remember the first time he saw them. Drunk on grief and so violently angry at the world, he had stumbled his way through Seoul, reliving the old haunts from the happier days of his marriage. The theatre, the mall, the academy he had graduated from, the gallery where they met… He remembers his face being wet with spit and tears. He remembers peering in through the darkened windows, searching for something that no longer existed. He remembers the paintings, the isolated lamppost standing tall in a sea of hopelessness. He remembers thinking he may as well be that lamppost, trying desperately to illumine an abandoned house haunted by the Games that had stolen his hope, his humanity, his last moments with the only person in the entire world who could have saved him.

In-ho pries desperately at the air around him, trying to relearn how to breathe even as he’s swept below the current. He’s only vaguely aware that he’s left you behind, that his surroundings have shifted. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

He should have known better. Magritte is one of the most popular artists in the genre. He should have expected to see his works, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He was so focused on his game, on luring you further into his trap and wielding the victory over Seong Gi-hun’s head. He was so busy playing the Front Man that he had forgotten Hwang In-ho.

“I need to apologize.” It’s the first thing he says when he sees you again, almost two weeks later.

You wave him off very politely, but he can tell that you’ve already started to close yourself off to him and that simply won’t do. After everything he has suffered and endured to lure you and 456 into his trap, he will not allow his plans to crumble over a past he cannot change.

“It’s alright, Young-il-nim. I could tell you were upset. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Your eyes are sad for the first time since he’s met you. “I was worried.”

For a moment – the briefest, most fleeting of seconds – he allows himself the indulgence of your compassion. He may not need it, but it is a balm on the freshly torn open scar of his grief all the same. He covers your hand with both of his in thanks. The words don’t come for a very long time.

“My wife died eight years ago.” And he can still see her face even now, even after everything he’s done. “We met in a gallery, like the one here. She loved art, loved the theatre and music. She was… bright.” Like a streetlamp illuminating the darkened eaves of his heart. “After she died, that painting was the first thing I saw and it–.”

He’s struck by the onslaught of tears poking at his waterline. He shouldn’t be telling you any of this. Yet some ancient corner of his heart that had shriveled up the night he held her death certificate in his hands is crying out, desperate to be heard, and for once, In-ho doesn’t have the strength or will to fight himself.

“It reminded me of what she was to me – a light in an unforgiving world.” He swallows hard as the world swims all around him. He can feel your gaze on his cheek, your fingers curled around his. “I hadn’t expected to see it again and I reacted poorly.”

The swiftness of your reply nearly guts him. You press your body closer to his, from your shoulder down to your knees as you lean in, voice soft and eyes misty. “You didn’t… you didn’t do anything you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” You rub your thumb over the back of his hand and all In-ho can do is stare. “I’m sorry you had to relive that. That’s… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

It isn’t worth much, but the apology is kind and he appreciates it for what it is.

“What was her name? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Min-jung.” Her face flashes across his memory again – the wide eyes and bright smile he had fallen for so instantaneously, the laughter, the joy. “Kang Min-jung.”

You repeat the name to yourself with a reverence he doesn’t expect, but then, he hadn’t expected any of this. For all the control he tries so desperately to cling to, In-ho is wildly out of his depth. He feels unmoored and listless.

“It’s a beautiful name. I’m sorry you lost her.”

He nods. “As am I.” It’s the truest thing he’s said in years.

“Is there…” Your mouth tilts into a frown as you search for the right words. “Is there anything I can do for you?” The inclination of his head and the exaggerated lifting of his brows encourages you to explain further. “I just feel bad. You wouldn’t have reacted like that if I hadn’t invited you with me.”

There, he realizes. It’s an opening, a crack for him to slip his fingers into and apply some pressure. A glimpse at control. After two weeks of drowning in memories and grief, In-ho relishes the thought.

“You have nothing to apologize for, [___]. But I would like to make it up to you, if I can.”

“You don’t have to–”

He raises his hand with a smile. “I would like to.” And because you are the naïve, optimistic thing that you are, you will say yes. “Allow me to drive you home today.”

The first time he enters your apartment is a bit surreal. It had been a hired hand to install the camera that he studies you through and he’s learned quite a bit that way – your practically non-existent breakfast routine, the things you watch on your TV (you’ve rewatched the same show at least five times in the last month and a half, surely there’s something more fascinating you could be doing with your time?), and sometimes he can even catch a conversation or two between you and Gi-hun. Those occurrences are always so interesting. But actually stepping into your living space provides In-ho with even more context to the knowledge he’s already gathered.

You have a very specific taste in candles, not wholly unpleasant but perhaps a bit of an acquired taste. There is an entire wall of your living room that has been unviewable until now, mostly wall décor of the variety people your age tend to obsess over like pop groups and Western franchises, but there are other things too. A photo album of your time spent in Seoul. A crisp, dried-up plant that might once have been green. Little trinkets you’ve clearly purchased at some hole-in-the-wall tourist trap. And the amount of books you own is surprising. Old textbooks from classes long since passed, well-worn Korean workbooks, even romance novels that would make any sensible person flush with shame.

“It’s just down there,” you say, pointing vaguely to your right as you shrug off your backpack. “The door doesn’t always close fully, so you have to push it a little hard.”

He nods his thanks and starts down the hall. There are two doors: one to your bedroom and one to the toilet, though there’s only one that he actually finds interesting. He manages to sneak a glance into your room as he passes, but the shades are drawn and the door is only slightly cracked, so there isn’t much to see. In-ho thinks that one of his cufflinks may eventually find its way inside.

The bathroom is as uninteresting as he had suspected it would be, though small things still catch his eye. He cannot truly recall the last time he was so thoroughly surrounded by the presence of another person. Your scent lingers in the hair products, body wash, and body spray, your personality sparkling in the bits of jewelry scattered on the counter. Your favorite color is made apparent in the towel, toothbrush cup, and floor rug, and even your underwear preference jumps out at him. You must have left them on the floor after you showered this morning.

In-ho feels a surge of memories flaring at the base of his skull, begging to be released, but he pushes them back. This isn’t domestic. This is business, plain and simple. The comparison is superficial at best and he will not entertain it.

He flushes the toilet to keep up appearances, washes his hands, then quickly undoes one of his cufflinks. It rolls quietly down the edge of the door until it finally stops somewhere inside your room, and he smiles to himself, just for a moment, to revel in his success.

You flash him a smile of your own when he re-enters the sitting room. “All better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

You’ve curled up on the sofa in his absence, scrolling absently through your phone as he meanders toward the front door. “Oh, are you- are you leaving already?” And don’t you sound so distraught at the idea?

“Unfortunately, yes. I have a business meeting in a few hours,” which is a blatant lie, “and I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He goes to adjust his jacket sleeves one at a time, waiting patiently, patiently for you to rise from your seat and bid him farewell.

“Aw. Well, good luck with your meeting, I guess.” You reach past him to open the door. “Don’t work too hard, now. You might hurt yourself.”

In-ho chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He fixes his other sleeve, fingers fumbling with the empty space where there ought to be cool metal, and he halts mid-step.

Your eyes drift to the open part of his shirt sleeve where his wrist is exposed. “You okay?”

He schools his face into something more serious. “My cufflink is missing. I… I could’ve sworn I still had it in the car.” As if he actually cares about something so trivial.

Much to his delight, your entire expression crumples. “Oh no! D’you think you lost it somewhere in here, or…?”

You accept the lie so easily, it’s no wonder that 456 was able to approach you. Are you truly so gullible that you cannot see through even the simplest of manipulations?

“I’m not sure,” he hums.

“Can I see?”

True confusion wrinkles in his brow when he looks at you. “What?”

One of your hands lifts to point at his right arm. “The other one. Can I see what it looks like?”

In-ho nods and offers his hand without hesitation, twisting his wrist to allow you a better view, but he finds himself stilling as you draw nearer. Your expressions are always genuine, but often some level of restrained or distanced. You like him, but you try not to show it. Yet now, as you had only an hour before, all that hesitation seems to dissipate in the wake of this small inconvenience.

And then you touch him. It is a brief and unassuming thing, merely the press of your fingertips on his forearm as you tilt his wrist toward you, but for In-ho, you may as well have shot him point blank. Some strange uncertainty passes over him, accompanied by a tightening in his chest and a hesitation in his lungs.

“I’ll take a look around in here,” you say, as casual as you ever are and entirely blind to his current state. “Maybe it fell off when you came inside.”

The collar of his shirt feels too tight when he swallows. “I’ll check the bathroom.”

You aren’t afraid of him. The realization is akin to the detonation of a bomb. Here, in this moment, he is not Oh Young-il. Young-il is a vulnerable dream wrapped in just enough mystery to keep you coming back to him time and time again. In this moment, he is the Front Man, he is a man with decades of police training and cunning drilled into his skull. And you aren’t afraid of him.

He wanders into the bathroom with unseeing eyes, his forearm tingling in the same spot where you’d touched him. Your toothbrush stares back at him, unblinking and undisturbed by the intensity of his glare. How many years has it been since someone looked at him and was visibly unafraid? How long since he has felt the touch of anything beyond the clinical sting of forceps and his brother’s bullet in his flesh?

Hyung…

He squeezes his eyes shut against the sound of Jun-ho’s voice, the frayed nerves around the edges of his bullet wound suddenly twisting in agony.

“I’m going to check outside!” you call from the sitting room. “Be right back!”

This is ridiculous. Even as he shoulders his way from the bathroom to your bedroom, he can feel himself growing more and more agitated. The overhead light flickers on as he swoops down to grab his cufflink. You’re nothing more than a pawn in the grander game. You have no clue how incredibly unremarkable and minuscule you are. His gaze flits over framed photos of your friends and family, the unmade bed, the hamper of folded laundry and the lazy pile of dirtied clothes just beside it. You’re nothing, no one. He could squeeze the life out of you right now and no one but 456 would even miss you.

The tendons in his hands constrict, suddenly curling his fingers into fists. He could do it. You would fall apart so easily in his hands.

He looks to the small, cluttered table beside your bed. A clock, a bodhisattva figurine (likely from any number of the temples across Seoul), a phone charger, a book. You are so painfully mundane. Killing you would be a favor, to himself and anyone unfortunate enough to know you, and it would shatter Seong Gi-hun. That much he can be sure of. So –

In-ho pauses mid-step. His pulse ticks just below his ear. He turns.

The book on your table is brand new, he can still see the price sticker along the spine and the receipt you’ve manufactured into a bookmark, but that isn’t what draws his eye. It’s the painting on the cover, the name of the artist that makes him feel as if he’s just been dragged to the lowest depths of the ocean.

René Magritte – L’Empire des lumières.

He would know it anywhere. He spent five whole years staring at the damn thing from inside the four cramped walls of his shithole apartment. The first painting he saw after…

He rushes for the exit as fast as his legs will carry him.

“Did you find-? Are you okay?” You’re standing just inside the front door, your phone in hand and the flashlight still turned on, peering curiously at him.

He very nearly drops his car keys when he tries to snag them from the table. “I have to go.”

“Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t reply, can’t reply. There aren’t words. But your voice lingers long after you’re gone. Other things linger too, other pieces of the past that haunt him no matter the time or distance spent trying to disconnect himself. He feels flayed apart and exposed. He feels raw. He feels… angry.

He buys himself a bottle of whiskey on his way back to the hotel, the cheapest, shittiest brand with the most bitter taste. He drowns himself in it. He spends the entire night locked inside his hotel room, his insides pulling at his outsides, fingers itching to pull the trigger on a loaded gun. You, Gi-hun, himself, he doesn’t care who dies, so long as the influx of memories and regret and utter fucking loneliness dissipate and he is allowed a moment of peace.

But for a man like Hwang In-ho, for the Frontman, he knows there is no such thing. Peace is a luxury only afforded to a few, usually the rich fucks who fly themselves to the island to bet on lives and bloodlust.

You likely think you have that same peace, bloated as you are with Gi-hun’s money. You hadn’t been so different from him before 456 came into your life – a student with a dream, low on funds but high in hopes – except you had found favor where In-ho had not. There was no rich, pathetic billionaire with a guilty conscience to spare him several hundred thousand won when his wife and child were dying. There was no mercy to be found in the cruel and selfish loan sharks, doctors, or police chiefs. There had only been the Games and their unfaltering equality.

His lip curls into a snarl as he downs the last of the whiskey. Equality. 456 had shattered that illusion, but In-ho knows exactly what to do to piece it back together. After all, there’s only one place in the world where true equality exists.

[itsalwaysforyou]

just remembered a wip i had which was jay at uni meeting normal people and desperately trying to act cool and normal whilst internally screaming about being in a whole new place with all new people and not having his gang with him

[toddtakefive]

btw todd’s reluctance to join the dps because he doesn’t want to read (which is then accommodated for) and is scared to put himself out there (which is also worked through) being read as todd not wanting to go AT ALL, and thus neil making the proper accommodations (“todd anderson, who prefers not to read, will keep the minutes of the meetings”) and encouraging him to step out of the box that stifles him being seen as ‘forceful’ or like he can’t take no for an answer makes me insane with rage

[itsalwaysdark]

i like overthink everything now it makes me feel so dumb. i used 2 be able to just talk 2 ppl but nowadays every single thing im like Is that actually going to make them hate me. Yes probably. and then i just dont respond which makes ppl hate me. this is how it is

[seaofreverie]

We should normalize bringing these sort of "small talk ideas" cards to meetings with other people so that it's possible to avoid the awkwardness of not knowing what to talk about to kick things off or if it's considered normal to talk about this specific thing and AUGHGHFCG all this stuff.