#your face is not your face is not your face around the curling carousel it twists in place to take from you

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ Cackling Carousel — [Live Action] Buggy x GN Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

The sounds of the sea went on outside the Big Top, waves moving being the best white noise for one traveling on sea. You worked with parchment and ink to try and chart out some sense of a feasible schedule— the captain sure didn't know how to do such. Familiar distant noises of chatter caught your ears as you did your best to write in a constantly-swaying seat, waves tilting the ship ever so slightly against the tides. Your ears picked up the sound of slightly heavier boots approaching, coming right up to the door of your room. You could already tell who was on the other side, but it amused you how you heard the door being opened with an attempt at stealth.

"Hey pal," a familiar voice rang out from behind you "Mind lending me a hand?". You suppressed a chuckle before responding, "Captain, if I turn around to see a floating hand for the third time today...". You purposely left it open-ended, a small sound of moving air coming from behind you after a pause. Footsteps came again, and Captain Buggy sat on the side of your bed that directly faced your desk. He leaned against it, rubbing his recently reattached wrist and grumbling in disappointment "You're really no fun, you know that?" He frowned. Unusually enough, his large jacket was missing, leaving just his sleeveless striped shirt. You chuckled, rolling up your paper "It's not like you to go for low-hanging fruit like that, are you feeling alright?" You joked.

"You come up with that one yourself?" Buggy replied sarcastically "Fruit, 'ha-ha', good one. 2/10". You snickered, standing from your seat. Despite his offended tone, the clown gestured the spot next to him with a pat in invitation. You sat down beside him, leaning against his shoulder. "Thank you, I come up with my best work when you're here" you said. "Don't get cute, I'm here on work" Buggy responded, attempting to keep up a serious facade. You could see right through him, but it was always good fun to play along with his acts. "Oh? Well what troubles you, captain? Is the ship well?" You asked with faux concern.

"Ship's fine, never better, nice and buoyant" Buggy said. He then wrapped an arm around your shoulders "It's your dear old captian that's in peril". "Oh, how terrible" you responded, biting back a laugh "Whatever can I do to help?". Buggy suddenly leaned back from you, scooting back further on the bed. You watched as he laid down, opening up an arm. You huffed in amusement, sliding in next to him. He tended to be a little insistent when it came to quality time, but by now you'd long gotten used to it. He was a man of attention, it came with the package.

You helped Buggy remove his hat, pausing when you got to the fabric beneath that covered his head. You glanced down to him, silently looking for permission. Buggy gave you a mumbled, "Go 'head", and you took the opportunity to uncover his hair. Once you put his things to the side, you had to brush it down a bit with your hands. In your opinion it was rather beautiful when down, long and such a nice shade of blue that complimented the clown so well. But it did always look a little hellish when not brushed, and Buggy wasn't exactly notorious for his cleanliness. He seemed unamused as you tried to fix it up, eventually lightly swatting your hand off of his head "Cut it out, it looks fine".

You gave him a small smile, curling up into his side for comfort. You could feel the tension leaving his form as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to his chest. "That's better" he mumbled, pressing his large red nose into your hair and nuzzling into you. "Comfortable, love?" You asked, and Buggy gave a lazy nod in reply "Mhmgh. Never better". You reached a hand up to card through the clown's long hair again, this time teasing his scalp with your fingers. He let himself melt into you, softening considerably at the attention.

"You've done so much, rest up" you murmured to him "Can't have the star of the show out, after all". Buggy let out a satisfied hum, leaning his head up into your hand "Of course not, you all wouldn't make it five minutes into an act without me". He tilted his head enough to give you a confident grin "Sorry babe, but those other guys... well, you've seen em". You chuckled, pecking the corner of his mouth "Exactly. So enough talk, okay?". "I see how it is, alright" Buggy replied, exaggerating a sense of offense as he held you closer "You're lucky I love you, you know that?" He said playfully. "Hmm, maybe" you replied.

Buggy nearly shot up where he sat "Maybe? Maybe?? You're with the Buggy the Star Clown, and you only maybe love me?". "Love, come on-" you said, gently pulling him back into your arms "Of course I love you, I was teasing". "Better be" Buggy grumbled, scooting back into your embrace. His ego and pride were fragile things, as you'd come to learn. Though his over-the-top reactions could be funny at times, you knew it stemmed from a sense of insecurity. He was getting better about it, but you still avoided certain topics just in case.

You felt the soft pressure of lips on your cheek, Buggy holding you around the waist. "Sorry," he said gently "M'not mad at ya". You pecked his forehead in return, leaning your head against his. "It's okay, love" you replied. A break didn't seem too bad, the papers could wait. The very second he tucked his head under your chin, you were a goner. You let your eyes slide shut for the moment, being held in a tight, comforting grip.

[thegaydepressedone]

I might be going genuinely insane because I am trying to memorise the entire poem from MAG 165 because I love it so much. This is a really really good use of my time and brainpower I’m sure

[mag200]

rips off your face and then rips off your other face and then rips off your other face and then rips off your other face and th

[m-e-w-666]

i’m going to continue memorizing all of mag 165 statement at some point

[kisses4themissus]

Mr, Mrs & Labour? | Hwang In-ho x Reader

wc: 2.3k

a/n: I locked in and finished writing this!!

previous ¦ masterlist

Classic music filled your ears as you laid by in-ho who was wide awake as the lights began to turn on. You both looked at each other, knowing the next game; Mingle.

The others got up, groaning at the bright lights. In-ho leaned over to you and ran a hand over your bump before helping you up. 

“Don’t wake them up, all night long was filled with back pain and endless kicking!” You complained to your husband who chuckled and rubbed the lower portion of your back while you all waited to be led up the stairs.

- - - - - - - -

You stared at the soldiers as you entered the carousel themed room. You were too tired to really act scared, your back felt as if someone had taken a hammer and tried to break your spine, your unborn child was restless the night before and your braxton hicks seemed too real for comfort. 

Gi-hun noticed your pain and walked to a solider. “Does she need to participate? Look at her, she’s in pain.” He motioned towards you and in-ho who rubbed your back, trying to comfort you. 

“The appeal of the game is that everyone is treated equally, even if they have different needs.” The soldier said sternly, making gi-hun sigh before walking back to you all on the platform. 

“I’m alright gi-hun, I should be able to make it through the rest of the game…I hope at least.” You tried to joked earning stern looks from everyone.

You quickly apologized and waited for other players to step on the platform. Tuning out as the instructions were played out. You had left the third game up to in-ho after you had grown frustrated from in-ho’s comments about your ideas. In-ho held you close as him and the others went over a plan. 

“If it’s lower then five, we group apart and adapt.” Gi-hun informed you all. You smiled as the others began to place their hands in the middle, you joined in and smiled at in-ho. “One, two, three, victory!” You all quietly cheered before turning back to face the colorful doors.

As the players were all on, the lights dimmed and the platform jerked everyone, in-ho holding you and jun-hee up right. You sighed as children’s music played, before you could think the platform stopped. 

“Ten!” 

You all looked at each other. Gi-hun turned to the people next to you all. “How many of you?!” He asked, looking around panicked as players yelled over each other. “Four,” Hyun-ju looked around for one more player. “That’s makes nine, we need one more!” Jung-bae noted, as you all discussed a plan, another group of players walked over and held dae-ho by his shoulder.

“Your a group of five? So are we, come with us!” They yelled out. Before you all could step forward a different group rushed over and grabbed the other group of five. Hyun-ju looked around and sighed in relief and grabbed the shaman lady.

You quickly moved from in-ho grasp and waddled the fastest you could to the nearest room and held the door open as the others followed you, shutting the door in time. You winced as gunshots rang out outside the door.

“You’re all alive thanks to me, I saved you all!” The crazy lady announced rasing her finger as she looked at each of you. You scoffed at her.

She quickly whipped around and tilted her head at you. 

“We’re the reason you’re not out there being shot.” You sneered at the religious woman, she scoffed at you and stepped closer, everyone’s eyes bouncing between you both. “Just like a snake in the heavenly garden.” She spat down on your shoes, geum-ja and the others gasped at the lady’s actions.

Your eyes widen, stepping in her way you glared at the woman. “Talk about me again.” You challenged, straightening out, your hands curling up in anger. 

“Let’s not fight right now,” Geum-ja tried to defuse the situation, everyone joining in, trying to calm you down from harming the shaman. You sighed and turned to face the door, trying to calm down, feeling your baby kick around.

“Your child will be stuck in your cursed hands.” She muttered, there was a beat of silence before it had dawned on the others what was happening.

You had stood with your back to her, the next you were slamming a fist into her nose, your other hand holding tightly on her ponytail. In-ho quickly moved and held you on one side while the other blocked you away from her. “You bitch! I’ll snap your neck!” You yelled, trying to claw your way away from your husband and dae-ho’s grasps.

- - - - - - - -

Thankfully the doors unlocked, letting you all out. You glared as dae-ho softly pulled you away from the room. Once out, everyone looked around to notice the drop on the counter of players.

You sighed, shaking your shoe clean of spit. 

“Brush off that woman’s evil words!” Geum-ja told you and she ran he hands over your jacket as if she was clearing off dust.  “Your baby will be born in the hands of a wonderful mother.” She continued as she fixed your jacket.

You nodded at her words. “I would’ve killed her, bringing up my baby like that.” You muttered, in-ho cleared his throat and lead you back. “You can’t be doing that, not when your in a vulnerable state.” In-ho scolded as you both stepped back onto the platform. “Are you saying i should’ve let her run her mouth about our child?” You scoffed, crossing your arms at your husband. 

“I wasn’t saying that..” In-ho sighed and gave up as the platform spun around. You held hands with jun-hee, you both squeezing each others palms for comfort. “Four!” 

Gi-hun looked at you all and sighed, “You four go, me and jung-bae will find someone.” Gi-hun tried to separate you all but you quickly shook your head and held onto in-ho’s arm, “You four go, me and in-ho will go!” You quickly walked away with your husband as the others fled into an empty room. 

“We need two players!” In-ho yelled as you noticed the panic on players faces, people getting betrayed by their teams left and right.

A younger man scrambled on the floor by your shoes and held your ankle. “Please miss, don’t let me die here.” He begged, in-ho quickly helped him up as you found another solo player, you all ran into a room in time, the door close and clicked shut.

You caught your breath as you waited for the soldiers and workers to be done. The other two players caught their breaths, player 256 sighed and bowed to both you and in-ho. 

“Thank you for saving me.” He thanked, the other player quickly joining in. You and in-ho chuckled and shook your heads at them. “It’s alright, thank you for coming with.” You smiled at the pair.

- - - - - - - -

Once it was clear you walked out and looked around for the others.

“MRS OH!” Jung-bae yelled out.

“BROTHER YOUNG-IL?!” Dae-ho called out, him and the others frantically looking for you both. 

“Mr and mrs Oh!” Jun-hee smiled as you both joined the group, you holding your back with a smile as you waddled to the others who embraced you in a hug.

“Oh, i’m glad you and the baby are safe!” Jung-bae sighed in relief and hugged you the best he could. 

“Me or the baby aren’t going anywhere so easily.” You chuckled, quietly smirking at gi-hun and in-ho’s sweet reunion. “I’m glad you both made it, i was worried.” Gi-hun expressed, placing a hand on in-ho’s shoulder.

“Well, me and my wife are very charismatic, so it was easy to get players!” In-ho smiled charmingly at gi-hun. 

In-ho glanced over to jun-hee and checked on her. “You feeling alright?” He questioned, the younger girl nodded a smile on her face. “I’m alright, im glad you both are safe.” She grinned.

Nodding in-ho turned to gi-hun and placed his hands in his pockets. “Wait so if the number is eight, we won’t need other, correct?” He asked, making the other look at him confused, you groaned and cover your face.

“Why’s that?” Jung-bae asked confused, “And the dad jokes have begun..” You chuckled a bit, trying not to. 

“Oh, cause the ladies have babies in them!” Dae-ho realized, making everyone chuckle at the joke.

“If they both had twins we would’ve been good by ourselves for 10.” Jung-bae added, making you all laugh as you got onto the platform.

You held onto jun-hee who tried to brace herself for the stop. “Three!” You all stopped, looking around you all figured out a plan.

“You three go, we’ll go to a different room!” Gi-hun yelled out, both in-ho and him holding onto your arms as you all went to the nearest room.

As you approached the blue door the two let go of you to let you walk on your own but stopped as other players rushed past you, distancing you from in-ho and gi-hun who realized what had happened.

Beside you the older woman, geum-ja was left alone. You looked at in-ho and motioned for her. Without warning in-ho grabbed geum-ja and gi-hun and made it to a room. 

You sighed and looked around, it was too late for players to help you, quickly you snuck away and hid where the solider’s stood hidden for the duration of the game. You noticed the number on the guards back and tapped them. “011, cover me, i couldn’t find a room in time to hide.” You explained as the solider stood up and blocked anyone from seeing you.

You groaned as a cramp ran down your spine. You let out deep breaths, making the guard tense up, not turning around they spoke up. “I believe you’re in labour, gameplanner.” They informed you making you chuckle. “I don't think so, i have a few days before my due date-!” You rushed out the words and tightly held on the soldiers shoulders as a cramp tensed up once more.

“My daughter came a week before her due date.” They informed making you glance up at the triangle, you sighed as the pain calmed down for the moment. “If they get worse, have them call my number, but don't let anything slip to my husband!” You lectured, earning a nod from the solider before they stepped away, letting you slip into a group of players exiting the rooms.

“Mrs oh!” Gi-hun gasped out as you waddled over to the two men, the other also approaching. “I’m glad you’re safe.” In-ho embraced you, leaning into him.

You turned to see geum-ja comforting her son who began to cry as she held him close. “It’s alright, i’m here alive!” She muttered, running a hand over his head. “What happened?” You questioned, in-ho sighed and fixed your jacket.

“Her and her son meant to stick together but got separated when others took him.” In-ho explained, watching as you began to tear up at the bond. Hyun-ju turned to in-ho and gi-hun and thanked the men for keeping geum-ja alive and safe.

Wiping away tears, you all stepped on the platform and waited for the number. “Are you feeling alright, miss?” Player 246, gyung-seok asked as you held your bump. “I’m ok, thank you though.” You reassured before turning to see a worried look on in-ho’s face.

- - - - - - - -

The round had gone by smoothly, you had split apart and joined in-ho and the other men, stepping out and all gathering on the platform you all noticed hyun-ja’s depressive state and the lack of player 095. The platform spun as the song played out, the lights doing the usual pattern. You all waited for the platform to stop.

“How many do you think it’s gonna be?” Jung-bae asked. Leaning towards in-ho and gi-hun who stood in front of you all. 

Gi-hun hesitated, the game didn’t have a pattern to the numbers. “Hard to say-!” Gi-hun was cut off by in-ho’s stoic voice.

“Two.” 

Gi-hun and jung-bae looked confused at his confident answer. “How are you sure?” Jung-bae questioned.

“There’s only 50 rooms and hundred and something players left!” You lied, knowing your husband had a slip up. In-ho nodded along as you pointed to the player counter. 

The platform halted, you all waited as the lights dimmed and began to strobe,

“Two!”

With quick glances everyone grabbed a partner and took off. You and in-ho held hands as you both ran to the nearest room. Opening the door you stopped as player 100 and another man yelled at you to shut the door.

“Green door!” In-ho yelled, tossing a guy to the ground before following behind you into the room. In-ho braced you as a man cowered into the corner of the room. “We-we were here first!” He tried to defend, making in-ho widen is eyes in anger and walked over to the man.

The man swiftly avoid in-ho and backed into you. 

As in-ho went in to rip the man away he watched as you wrapped your arms around the man's neck and slowly moved to the floor as the man tried to let you release him. “Where did you learn that?” in-ho questioned, holding the door shut with his weight.

“the recruiter taught me somethings!” You winked up at your husband who tilted his head, his eyes having a tint of jealousy after all those years.

As the man patted around the room you felt a wet sensation go down your leg, making your eyes widen.

“Asshole!” You cussed twisting the man’s neck, watching as the heavy body lay limp on your lap. In-ho quickly pulled the weight off you and stopped at the wet stain on your pants. “I’ll signal a guard to help clean you up.” He reassured but you shook your head at him. The room door locking and gunshots rang out. 

“My water broke..” You muttered.

hwang in-ho taglist: @snowtargaryen @menabuser16 @azusdump @jspidey5 @annasnape7 @macnbriee @ookybatt @sasha-swftie @moonxnite @ninglovr @frontwomann

Mr & Mrs taglist: @colorwastaken @aphoenixnamed-angel @sooyasya @fries11 @lover-girl009 @skywalker0809 @fallout-girl219 @scarlettlupinblack

[suguann]

an. a little 'and-they-were-roommates' drabble series to get me back into writing because it's been an age. | masterlist | part two

It starts as a situation built off convenience: he needed someone to take care of his place while he was gone, and you needed a place to stay. 

Simon never thought he’d get anything out of it other than coming home to a house that feels lived-in and the entryway clear of envelopes from months of neglecting his mail—another voice throughout the day besides the intrusive ones in his head that spun like a carousel with the word work etched on top. 

It’s not until you show up on his doorstep, three boxes and a measly duffel bag crowding your arms, that he thinks he really should’ve thought this through better. He’ll only realize this after the fact—weeks late, sleepless nights filled with images of daisy-shaped buttons down the front of a summer dress and a smile that nearly knocks him flat off his feet.

As it is, he’ll blame it on the handful of sleepless hours from tiny airplane seats and energy drinks sleuthing through his system that clouded his judgment, then admit it’s nice coming home to a woman who looks pretty reading a book on his living room couch.

Only his soap-slick fist in his bathroom late at night will know the honest-to-God truth. That is if there was ever a god he believed in. 

He never claimed to be a good man. 

(Can anyone claim to be good in his line of work?)

Just an honest one.

So it goes something like this: he tries not to come off as an obsessed, lonely fuck (the jury is out on either) by just existing in the same space as you whenever the opportunity arises—reading the paper while you make breakfast on the stove he hasn’t touched in too long to remember when, flipping through a book Simon didn’t even know he owned while you water plants you picked up on your way from work, watching whatever you have on the telly before you both go to bed—then he’s on a plane, being shipped out to who knows where with a gun holstered to his hip.

Rinse and repeat. 

The fourth time he comes home after an assignment keeps him away longer than expected, he finds you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a cute, frilly apron tied around your waist that he’s never seen you wear before. A smile curls the edges of your mouth as you look over at him, everything in your face soft and attentive—a vision suddenly takes shape.

You with a ring on your finger, Simon calling you his little wife, getting to hold your hand whenever he feels like it, and not because yours accidentally brushed up against his. His hand fisting in your hair, bending you over the counter, your cheek covered in powdery confectionery, fingers rucking up your skirt and apron because he can.

He blinks once, twice, and the little fantasy falls apart. 

Except you’re still in his kitchen, smiling prettily and happy to see him of all things. Imagine that.

Your lashes flutter, making crescent shadows across your cheeks. “How was your trip?” you ask. “You look more tired than you usually do.”

A shrug, a dismissal. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I have some tea that might help.”

“Tea.” He repeats to fill the quiet if only to stand there a little longer, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his clothes smelling like recycled air. 

“Yeah, I got it from a friend a few weeks ago when I caught this cold that was going around the office.” Sometimes, you ramble, and he can do nothing more than let you get it out of your system—not that he minds. “I swear it’s nothing janky or anything. Just try it; it might help.”

You’re so damn earnest about it that he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Sure,” he says and watches a wide, satisfied smile stretch across your face.

It’d be easier if you weren’t so sweet and gave a sincere fuck about the comings and goings of his life. If the smell of your perfume wasn’t following Simon everywhere—sugary vanilla faintly clinging to his balaclava even after he’s washed it—as a reminder of what’s just out of his reach.

(A mindfuck is what it is.)

[xjcjuis]

JUST TOO MUCH

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

synopsis: na, requested

warnings: one swear word, comfort fluff, menstruation, mentions in passing of v*mit, not proofread

wordcount: 0.8k

a/n: na

if the day hadn't started out shitty enough already, you were in for a horrible ride.

you were lying on your side, head propped up on the armrest of the couch and basically snapping your neck in search of a position comfortable enough to soothe the growing pain in your uterus. your hands press down on a point just below your stomach but it does little to alleviate your discomfort.

you feel like you're about to be sick: there's a headache tingling in the very back of your brain; your throat had closed up in preparation for possible sick; and your body was simply too heavy to move around.

billie sits at your feet on the couch, scrolling through her phone and periodically checking on you every time you let out a groan, which, really, was every two minutes. "you okay, love?" her brows knit in concern when you shift to the other side and curl into a ball. "that bad?"

you nod, however it wasn't visible to her due to you being buried deep beneath a blanket. "i want to stop existing completely."

she laughs softly at that, "well, now. that's a little dramatic of you, isn't it?"

you know she didn't mean anything by it. it's obvious from her light-hearted tone, and the bright smile on her face as she reaches out to softly caress your leg, but your eyes prickle with tears anyway.

for whatever reason your mind had subconsciously decided to take the statement personally, and hot tears roll down your cheeks. and then you were angry for crying over a simple, stupid joke. and then you were annoyed at billie for saying it in the first place, followed by resentment towards yourself for feeling negatively towards your girlfriend over something as small as a joke.

eventually it evolves into a carousel of emotions, each one negative and directed at everything and everyone and yourself. the smile slowly slips off of billie's face, noticing the deafening silence that came after she opened her mouth.

"baby?" no reply, just a quiet sniffle. "are you okay? does it hurt?"

you continue to ignore her, screwing your eyes shut and then blinking them rapidly in an attempt to stop the tears uselessly running down your face. now you were annoyed at that too — adding to the discomfort in your lower region, the side of your face was wet from the pool of tears you'd shed on the seat cushion.

your girlfriend, worried now, stands up, moving closer to gently peel away the blanket from your face and catching a glimpse of your reddened eyes and nose before you yanked the cloth back over you.

"oh, honey, no," she cringes at herself. billie drops to her knees on the floor to be on level with you. "is it what i said? i'm sorry, baby, i forgot how you get."

whoops. she should've phrased that differently. you whine in irritation at her words, causing her to take them back quicker than she'd mindlessly let them go.

"no, that's not what i meant!" billie adds hastily. "everyone's a little down when they're on their cycle and i totally understand. i'm sorry, my love, please forgive me?"

you're turned away from her, but you could hear the pout in her voice. you knew she was beating herself up for her fumble in her head, and you hated that, but even though the more intense of the negative emotions had gone away, you weren't quite ready to be all touchy and lovey-dovey.

oh, but how quickly you retract that thought when you feel a soft pair of lips pressing onto your temple. a softer hand snakes beneath your blanket to stroke your arm, up and down, rhythmically.

she repeats this pattern for a while.

up stroke. down stroke. kiss. up stroke. down stroke. double kiss.

"you wanna move to the bedroom?" she finally whispers. "my knees are about to be bruised, sweet girl. i want to cuddle you."

you huff, rejecting her, but you couldn't resist her soothing actions and silky words any longer. "fine." your voice is small, trying hard to sound disinterested, but billie's face brightens in triumph. she hooks an arm under your knees and carries you bridal-style to your shared room.

she lays you down gently, ridding herself of her slippers and getting comfortable beside you. billie wraps her arm around your waist, providing the extra heat you need. she pushes herself up to lean over and kiss you shortly on the lips and once more on your forehead before laying back down and cuddling you properly.

"i love you." she mutters in your ear, kissing the space behind your ear.

"mmhmm," you murmur back, words slurring as sleep turns your lids heavy. "love you too..."

as you're set free from the torture of cramps and the ache, billie stands guard, ready to comfort you if need be. and ready to run faster than a track athlete if you ever had any cravings.

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XII. — HAND HOLDING (DURING THE ACT)

cw: Fluff, Romantic Talk, Hand Holding, Cunnilingus, Aged-Up / Pro-Hero Time Skip, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: It was so interesting writing Deku. He's so cute but he's still an anxious dweeb who struggles to talk to girls. Enjoy!

word count: Approximately 1.2k words.

“Um, okay. I’m not sure if—well, it’s just, I’ve never done anything like this before so I don’t know if I’ll be able to perform at the kind of standard you might be expecting, which—”

“Izuku.” 

Izuku pauses, the brows of his face pinched together and his pretty emerald eyes wide. They’re glossy with emotion, shiny underneath the dim lighting of your bedroom. His head rests in between your thighs, hands curled around the swell of your knees, fingers pinching into your skin. The way he looks at you makes you pause, but you just amend your surprise with a half moon of a smile. 

“It’s okay, really. I don’t expect you to be an expert at this. I mean, I’m sure I wouldn’t be good going down on you either.” 

A distinct little yelp squeaks in the back of Izuku’s throat before he quickly flings his gaze off to the side, red flames igniting and powdering across his face while he stammers a response. 

“Ha ha! W-Well, you’re great at everything you do, or, you have been, so I’m sure you’d do great if you, uh, did g-go down on m-me. B-But we’re not talking about me right now! I’m just trying to make sure that you’re comfortable with this, and that—” 

“Izuku.” 

Once again, his teeth snap shut, and his eyes meet yours. 

“Don’t think about it too much. Just do what your gut tells you. I know it’ll feel good, don’t sweat it.” 

Izuku gulps, but he nods, determined. His face shifts a little, and his body wiggles along with it. He tries to press himself further in between your legs, squeezing your knees before he starts to push them down so he can accurately lower his face to the meadows of your cunt. Izuku’s determination fades a little, cracks of doubt breaking through his facade before he swallows and scrunches his brow ridge. You stare at him fondly, content with observing him build up the courage to swoop forward and claim what already belongs to him. His locks sway along his forehead, full and curly, and they tickle your thighs with Izuku’s every subtle movement. One of your hands reaches for him, tapping his head in a wave gently before you start to pet him. Izuku jumps, quickly glancing at you before he blinks and looks down again. 

“J-Just tell me if you don’t like this and want me to stop. I’ll…” 

Izuku doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he finally bows his head until his hot breath fans against the meaty lips of your cunt. Another swallow, but Izuku doesn’t keep you waiting any longer. He’s delicate and ginger whenever he connects your lips, his mouth is soft and warm, and you moan quietly at the sensation that unfolds beneath him. It’s lightning, but it’s slow, it’s nothing real. Fire, but it’s dull, but toasty enough to feel like ice thawing from your body. The feelings start to weigh down on you, and your head collapses onto the pillow within a mere second of Izuku’s mouth against your cunt. 

The fingers in his hair braid themselves, a shallow sort of attempt to ground yourself. Izuku pauses for a split second, probably listening for any signs of discomfort, but resumes once another moan floats from your chest. His mouth parts, and his tongue pokes out like a snake hidden within tall stalks of gross to lay a thin stripe over the seam of your cunt. You feel like you’re spinning on a carousel, faster and faster, and your thighs clench once Izuku’s tongue prods against your clit. It’s hard, heavy, and thumping, eager to be touched and Izuku decidedly flicks it a few times. You groan each time, encouraging Izuku to tilt his head to the side so that he could suction his mouth against your clit. Both of your eyes roll back into your head, scattering like bowling pins smacked in the center, and a moan that’s way too loud escapes you whenever Izuku starts to suck and tug your clit. 

“W-What was that you were saying about not being good? Ahhh, haa, oh, Izuku, that feels so so sooo good. Don’t stop, don’t stop!” 

Your praise spurns Izuku on, and he starts to work his jaw in miniscule circles to lap at your clit and play it over his tongue like a meal, like food he wanted to savor, like a broth and soup that spreads love and health throughout his chest. You wondered what Izuku was thinking, you wondered if he was really enjoying this, but an ear-splitting slurp made your head dizzy and all thoughts flew out of your mind. 

His belly is flat to the bed, but you can feel him start to crunch up, can feel whenever he starts to gyrate his hips. Izuku’s moving in a way that slides you further towards him, your knees are growing closer to your head by the moment, and his face dives deeper. His groans vibrate your body, too, and his chin is parting your cunt down the middle. Glaze is slick down your flesh, but Izuku just bobs and weaves his head, smearing you wet, like he’s gone. 

“Like that! Yeah, ohhh, yes, yes.” 

Izuku nods to the best of his ability, and you’re left gritting your teeth and groaning. You wonder if he’s asked how to do this or if he’s researched it himself because, fuck, he’s so good, but that thought is fleeting and all you can imagine is teasing him after this is over by returning the favor. Because he’s eating you out like he’s mad with a fever, like you’re cetirizine. Maybe he’s listened to you gush one too many times—and that idea flatters you so badly, it makes you feel special to think someone is that dedicated to making you feel like this. 

And whenever one of Izuku’s hands leaves your thigh, trailing down, leaving storms and electricity in his wake, you nearly gasp and cry out his name whenever he finds your free palm and taps it gently. You flex, trying to process everything, trying to focus on anything all at once but finding each feeling overlapping and overwhelming. Izuku traces his fingers up before he laces them between the gaps of yours, curling down over your knuckles and squeezing. Tears spring to your eyes, fresh and new, and you start to pant, chanting Izuku’s name with every molecule of air you sip through. 

You can feel this burning, this reality that is starting to compress the rims of your belly. It’s down, but then it’s shivering and shuddering throughout your thighs all the way down to your stretching toes. But then it’s up, making your shoulder recoil and your chest bounce like a gunshot. 

Izuku’s hand is in yours, and yours is in his. You return his hold, losing yourself to the intimacy of him, of Izuku, of your lover, of your pleasure. His mouth seems to suck you in, through a drain and tumbling into the rabbit hole, and you’re crying before you can catch yourself. It’s getting to be too much, the way you seem to slowly implode, and your back arches before Izuku’s name is your death rattle.

And you squeeze again, hands intertwined, and Izuku holds you all the way through your orgasm. 

[lvnleah]

— family now | leah williamson 🎄

find the twelve days of Christmas masterlist here!

The warm glow of twinkling lights filled your apartment as the three of you snuggled on the couch under a thick blanket. Freya was curled up against Leah, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of Leah’s jumper as her breathing slowed. The animated laughter of elves on the TV filled the room, but your attention wasn’t on the movie anymore. It was on Leah and Freya.

Seeing your daughter so comfortable with someone who wasn’t you was both heartwarming and a little terrifying. You hadn’t planned for this—none of it. Moving to Arsenal, raising Freya on your own, meeting Leah…falling in love with her. But here you were, and the way Leah was gently brushing a strand of Freya’s dark hair from her face made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

You’d transferred to Arsenal just over a year and a bit ago from Lyon and Leah had been there for you ever since. You’d been with them for just over six years and you’d been through a lot there and needed a change. 

You were only twenty when you signed for Lyon from Manchester City after coming up through their ranks. Only a year later at the age of twenty-one, you found yourself pregnant with Freya after a one-night stand. Lyon supported you throughout your pregnancy and everyone loved Freya. 

When the offer from Arsenal came through it felt right and you instantly accepted it. Freya was hesitant at first, leaving the team she had grown up around was hard, but you knew it was for the better. When you arrived at Arsenal, they all welcomed you with open arms and all loved Freya. 

You and Leah became close very quickly and before you knew it you were going on a date. Since then, you have been inseparable and together ever since. She’d become a mother figure to Freya and loved her like her own.  

Leah glanced up, her eyes catching yours with a soft smile. “She’s out,” she whispered, nodding to the sleeping bundle nestled into her side.

“She’s had a big day,” you murmured back. “Meeting Santa, decorating cookies, riding the carousel… It’s the most excitement she’s had in weeks.”

“She loved it,” Leah said, shifting slightly to get more comfortable without waking Freya. “I think she’s still processing how Santa knew her name.”

You chuckled. “She’s convinced he’s magic now. You should’ve seen her telling all the kids in the queue.”

Leah’s laugh was quiet but warm. For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the weight of Freya’s trust and affection filling the space between you.

After a while, Leah’s voice broke the comfortable silence. “What are your plans for Christmas, love?”

The question caught you off guard. You hadn’t really thought about it, beyond the basics. “Um… just a quiet one, I think. Just me and Freya.”

Leah tilted her head, studying you. “What about your family? Are you seeing them?”

You hesitated, the question stirring a familiar ache. “No. We’re not…we’re not really on speaking terms,” you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s been like that for a while and I don’t see it changing anytime soon.”

Leah’s expression shifted, her brows knitting together in concern as she took your hands into hers. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head quickly. “Don’t be. It’s just how things are.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Leah took a deep breath, her tone gentle but certain. “Why don’t you and Freya come to ours for Christmas?”

Your eyes widened, caught completely off guard. “Leah, I couldn’t—”

“Why not?” she interrupted, her hand resting lightly on your knee. “It’s not like it’s just me. My family would love to have you both. Freya would have the best time.”

You bit your lip, torn. “I don’t want to intrude on your traditions.”

Leah’s hand gave a reassuring squeeze. “You wouldn’t be intruding. Trust me, my family loves a full house. And Freya would fit right in. My mum’s already got presents for her, anyway.”

“She…what?” You blinked, startled.

Leah smiled, almost sheepishly. “She might’ve gotten a bit carried away.”

The thought of being included, of Freya being embraced by Leah’s family, tugged at something deep inside you. But there was still that little voice of doubt. “I just…I don’t want to make things awkward.”

Leah shook her head firmly. “You won’t. And you’d both love it. We have this tradition of a big Christmas walk after breakfast—Freya would be obsessed with it. She could bring her scooter or just explore. It’s nothing fancy, just…family stuff.”

Family. The word lingered in the air, heavier than Leah probably realised.

You looked down at Freya, still sound asleep against Leah’s side, her little face peaceful and content. She deserved this—this joy, this sense of belonging. And maybe, just maybe, you deserved it too.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll come.”

Leah’s face lit up, her grin so bright it made your chest ache. “Really?”

You nodded, unable to stop your own smile from spreading. “Really.”

Leah leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “It’s going to be the best Christmas ever,” she murmured.

And as you watched Freya stir slightly in her sleep, nestling closer to Leah, you couldn’t help but believe her.

Christmas soon rolled around quickly and before you knew it you were at Amanda’s house in Milton Keynes preparing for the Christmas walk. Freya was a bundle of excitement as you all got ready for a walk in the cold woods. 

“Le can I take my scooter?!” She asked Leah excitedly as she helped her put her boots on. 

“Oh of course you can!” Leah smiled, moving on to zipping Freya’s coat up. “Only if I can have a go though.”

Freya’s face lit up at the idea of Leah riding her scooter, and she nodded eagerly. “Yes! You can have a go! We can race!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement.

Leah chuckled, gently pulling Freya’s woolly hat down over her ears before adjusting her own scarf. “Alright, alright but I’m pretty fast!” she teased.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Freya’s enthusiasm was contagious, and seeing the two of them so at ease together, getting ready for the walk, made your heart swell. 

As you finished getting yourself bundled up in your own coat and scarf, you glanced over at Amanda and David in the kitchen, busy preparing some last-minute snacks for the walk. Jacob was rummaging through the closet looking for gloves, and Jordan was playfully chasing Henry around, trying to get him into his jacket. The buzz of holiday preparations surrounded you, but there was a calmness that settled in your chest. You weren’t just a guest here—you felt like part of this.

Leah helped Freya with her gloves, and then they both made their way to the door, excited chatter filling the air. “We’ll race once we’re out there!” Freya declared, grinning up at Leah.

“Race? You’re on,” Leah said, giving Freya a quick high-five before she helped her with the scooter.

Once outside, Freya zipped ahead, her scooter gliding effortlessly over the path, her laughter ringing out behind her. Leah jogged to catch up, occasionally grabbing onto the scooter for a brief moment before letting Freya race ahead again. You hung back a little, content to watch them interact, your heart warmed by the sight of their bond. Freya had grown so comfortable with Leah, and Leah had embraced her as her own.

As the group continued walking, you chatted with Amanda, who was beside you, offering you a smile every time she noticed you looking at Freya and Leah.

“You two are great for each other,” Amanda remarked her voice kind but knowing. “It’s clear she adores Leah, and Leah’s been so good with her.”

You smiled, unsure how to respond, but thankful for the words. “Leah’s been incredible with Freya. I couldn’t ask for a better role model for her.”

Amanda smiled warmly. “I can tell. You’ve both made her feel so at home. And it’s obvious how much she loves Freya.”

Before you could reply, Freya suddenly skidded to a stop and turned around, waving at you. “Mummy, hurry up! I’m winning!” she called out, her cheeks flushed from the cold and excitement.

Leah, running after her, gave you a wink. “She’s trying to beat me!” she laughed.

“Don’t let her beat you, Frey!” Amanda laughed, “We can’t have that can we?”

As you walked through the forest path, Freya was full of energy, racing ahead with Leah and Jacob, her laughter ringing through the air. Jacob, keeping up with the two of them, managed to give Freya a few playful pushes, causing her to giggle uncontrollably as she tried to keep her balance on the scooter. Leah jogged beside them, her smile never fading as she watched Freya and Jacob bond.

Freya finally slowed down and spotted Henry, Leah’s cousin, Jordan’s, two-year-old son, who had been happily toddling along with his parents. As Freya zoomed over to him, she squealed with excitement. “Henry! Wanna play?” she asked, holding out her hands.

Henry’s eyes lit up at the invitation, and before long, they were both rolling around in the leaves, laughing and chasing each other as their parents and grandparents looked on, amused. It was a beautiful sight—Freya, so at home among Leah’s family, creating memories just like any other child would.

Leah stayed nearby, keeping an eye on the two younger ones, but it wasn’t long before Freya’s energy began to wane. She walked over to Leah, her little legs tired from all the running. “Le, carry me?” she murmured, looking up at Leah with big, pleading eyes.

Without hesitation, Leah scooped Freya up into her arms, the little girl resting her head against Leah’s shoulder with a content sigh. As Leah walked back towards the group, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them—Leah with Freya, both of them so comfortable and natural with each other.

When you all finally made it back to Amanda’s house, the warmth inside enveloped you, and you quickly got Freya out of her layers. The excitement of the walk seemed to have drained her, and as she cuddled up with Leah on the couch, her eyelids grew heavy. You smiled to yourself as you set the mugs of hot chocolate down on the table. Freya’s tiny snores were barely audible, her head resting against Leah’s chest, and the sight filled you with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire crackling nearby.

Leah leaned down to press a kiss to Freya’s forehead before gently covering her with a blanket. Then, turning to you, she smiled softly. “She’s out,” she whispered, her voice full of affection. You nodded in agreement, content in the quiet moment.

The evening went on, and as the whole family gathered around to leave cookies and milk out for Santa, Freya stirred enough to giggle at the sight of the treats. Her excitement returned in full force as she jumped up and helped Leah place the plate on the table, carefully arranging the cookies and pouring the milk just right.

Once the house had quieted down and everyone settled in for the night, you found yourself alone with Leah upstairs. The chaos of the day had settled. 

“Le,” you started softly, “I really appreciate you inviting us. This… this is perfect for Freya. She’s so happy here. And honestly, so am I.”

Leah turned to face you, her smile warm and sincere. “I’m so glad you’re here. My family loves you two—especially Frey.”

You chuckled, remembering the way Freya had been spoiled all day by everyone. “She’s certainly getting used to all the attention,” you said with a smile. “She deserves it, though.”

Leah wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “We’re a family now, you know that, right?”

As you stood there in the quiet of Leah’s family’s home, the sounds of laughter from downstairs fading into the background, you realised just how much you’d come to love this new life. The family, the warmth, and the love you had for Leah and Freya—this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The next morning arrived quickly and came with a lot of excitement, and from the moment Freya’s eyes fluttered open, the buzz of the holiday filled the house. She scrambled out of bed, her tiny feet pattering across the wooden floor as she rushed to the door, calling out to you and Leah in her usual cheerful voice. “Mummy, Mummy! Santa came! Come see!”

You barely had time to sit up before Freya had already dashed into the living room, her face lighting up at the sight of the pile of presents stacked under the tree. Leah groggily sat up beside you and stretched, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. 

“Looks like someone’s been busy,” she murmured, watching Freya’s excitement from the bed.

With a laugh, you got up and joined her. The whole family was already stirring, the sounds of soft chatter and footsteps filling the house as everyone made their way to the living room. Amanda was the first to greet you with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling as she watched Freya bounce from one gift to the next.

“Merry Christmas!” she said, pulling you into a hug. “Hope you both got some sleep after all the excitement last night.”

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, smiling back at her as you took in the scene. 

Freya had already ripped through a few presents, and now she was holding up a toy car set, her eyes wide with joy. “Look, Mummy! Santa knows I love cars!”

You bent down to kiss the top of her head, your heart swelling with love. “Santa’s pretty great, huh?”

“Santa’s the best!” Freya grinned, her cheeks flushed from the excitement.

The room was a chaotic mix of laughter, the crinkling of wrapping paper, and the occasional sound of someone gasping in delight at a gift. Leah’s cousins, Jacob, Ben, and Holly, were gathered around, handing out more presents as everyone sat in a circle, basking in the warm glow of Christmas morning. Jordan, her belly round with the baby she was expecting, sat next to Berny, who was cooing over Freya’s latest discovery.

You found yourself nestled beside Leah on the couch, both of you with hot drinks in hand as you watched Freya play with her new toys. 

Leah leaned in closer, resting her head on your shoulder, “I’m glad you came. I know Freya loves all this, but it means a lot to me, too. Having you here with me.”

You looked at her, “Thank you for inviting us. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Freya’s having the best time, and so am I.”

Leah smiled softly, her eyes lingering on you with an expression of quiet affection. “You’re part of my family now. And Frey, too.”

Before you could respond, Amanda made her way over, handing you a gift wrapped in sparkly paper. “Here, love. I thought this might be something you’d enjoy.”

You took the gift, surprised but grateful. “Thanks, Amanda.”

As you unwrapped it, you found a beautiful leather journal with a heartfelt note inside. “For new memories and new beginnings,” the note read. Your throat tightened with emotion as you held the journal in your hands. 

Leah’s hand gently brushed yours as she leaned closer. “You’ve got a lot of memories to make,” she said softly, her voice warm and sincere.

You nodded, glancing at Freya as she played with Henry, her laughter filling the room. Your heart felt full, and in that moment, surrounded by Leah’s family, you knew that this was the start of something truly special.

After the presents had been opened, the floor was covered in wrapping paper, and everyone gathered around the table for a Christmas breakfast. Freya, dressed in her Christmas pyjamas, sat at the table, chatting excitedly about everything she had gotten. You sat beside Leah, your hand resting gently on hers as you looked around at the faces of Leah’s family.

The day went fast and before you knew it you were all sitting in the living room together. You could tell she was getting sleepy as her eyelids fluttered, her usually boundless excitement fading to a soft contentment.

“Freya, sweetie, time for bed,” you said softly, guiding her gently toward the stairs.

She groaned, dragging her feet. “Do we have to, Mummy? I want to play with my new toys more…”

You chuckled, scooping her up in your arms as you reached the top of the stairs. “You can play with them tomorrow, love. Right now, it’s time to rest.”

As you tucked her into bed, the room bathed in the soft light of the bedside lamp, Freya’s eyes met yours, still a little sleepy but filled with affection. “Mumma, will you read me a story?” she asked, her voice still a bit drowsy from all the excitement.

You froze for a moment, feeling your heart swell. Leah had become such an important part of her life that Freya had started calling her “Mumma” when she was particularly tired, seeking comfort and familiarity. You smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair away from Freya’s face.

“I think Mumma is going to be busy with some things downstairs,” you said gently, pulling the blanket up around her. “But I’ll be here. I can read you a story if you’d like.”

Freya nodded sleepily, snuggling into her pillow. “Okay… can we read the one about the reindeer again?” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping.

“Of course, sweetheart.” You reached for the storybook on her nightstand and began to read in a soft, soothing voice. As you read about the magical reindeer and their snowy adventure, you felt a quiet sense of peace settle over you. The simple act of tucking her in, of being her comfort at the end of the day, filled your heart in a way you hadn’t expected.

By the time you finished the story, Freya was fast asleep, her little face peaceful and content. You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, whispering, “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

As you stepped back into the hallway, you caught sight of Leah standing at the top of the stairs, her gaze soft as she watched you. You couldn’t help but smile at her, the weight of the moment—of everything that had led up to this point—filling you with warmth.

Leah gave you a small, knowing smile. “She’s a lucky girl,” she whispered, her voice full of love. “And so are we.”

You nodded, your heart full, as you slowly made your way back downstairs.

The house was quieter now, but the love that filled it was unmistakable. And as you settled back next to Leah on the couch, the holiday warmth and joy wrapping around you, you knew that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

can you do ponyboy x soc reader who is stunning and always dressed up and pony is so obsessed with her and the boys tease him all the time when she comes over and then Darry walks in on them making out with the door shut and flips out and the boys have a field day making fun of pony because of it

Summary: Yours a Pony's relationship is not quite as it seems.. Warnings: Kissing, Author's Note: sorry for the spotty updating, im sooo busy rnnn You treasured the lofty nights spent on the hardwood of Pony's floor. His brothers and friends oblivious to you being in his house, head resting against a lazily strewn pillow and hands dusting the cold floorboards. You only came here when you needed a small time to rest, a place to curl up and take a light nap as the world swirled on around you and life clamored in the busy house. Technically, you were risking quite a bit by being close to Ponyboy. You two came from two different lives, the spoon in your mouth was always silver and shining, Pony had to work for his end. But that probably what you admired most about him. Far from the lazy and arisocrat-like snobby attitudes of the soc boys, Pony was actually a fresh breath of reality. He'd liked you for quite some time. You'd known it, but the lingering eyes and burning stares only made you turn your head for ever so long. How much could you risk for someone like him? You found your answer all too quickly. You were willing to risk it all. His thumb stroked your cheek and you blinked up at him. His eyes were glued to a thick book, the pages smelling faintly of a library and of everything human, but he smiled as he felt your gaze on him. His nimble fingers dog-eared a well worn page and he closed the book quietly. "How you feelin'?" He asked, although he could read you like a children's book, with letters in bold and simple lettering. You smiled and stretched, getting up from your curled up position on his floor to sit up next to him. "Alright" You said, sighing and leaning your head on his shoulder. His hand found your hair and his index finger twirled a long stand around and around like a carousel. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you pressed one to his nose. Pony let out an airy chuckle, peppering your face with light kisses, and then a final one to your lips. You locked hands as you kissed, deep and lovingly. But the tingling sensation in your heart stopped short as the door burst open. "Pony whaddya want for din- JESUS CHRIST" Darry yelped. His hand covered his eyes but his parental instinct kicked in shortly after. "Ponyboy Curtis, you better get your ass out in the living room." He said, a hint of anger hidden in his stern voice. Your face grew beet red and you got up quickly. "And you, Y/n, how the hell'dya get into my house!" He sounded more exasperated than angry. You silently pointed to the open window. "Goddamnit Ponyboy! Lord knows I have enough to deal with already! And now you're sneaking girls in through the window!" He said, walking over to the steady stream of fresh and and closing it abruptly. "Pony's doing what!" Soda yelled from the kitchen. The boys all laughed and started filing into his room. They looked you over. Dally gave a low whistle. "Isn't that the one you always talk about?" Dal asked, a smirk playing on his lips. Ponyboy hung his head in embarrassement. Two-Bit clapped him on the back. "Good going, kid." He snickered. "I want all you out in the living room!" Darry yelled, ushering them out the door. You gave him the best pleading eyes you could, trying to save yourself of the shame but he shook his head, "You too, missy," He said. You groaned and hid your face in your hands.

[littlelamy]

Could you do Reader meeting Drew at carnival or something? Reader is there with her two friends and Drew is there with his, Odessa and co. Both groups are in odd numbers, meaning someone always has to sit with a stranger during a carousel ride. This time it is Reader’s turn to sit with a stranger while her friends sit togehter. Same for Drew. Reader and Drew get put together in a ride. Some awkward tension, attraction and cuteness. As soon as they get off the ride tho, Odessa runs up to Drew hugging him, so Reader gets the impression that he is taken and is like ‘’Oh…guess I won’t ask for his number…..:/ ‘’ and walks off. But then at some point Drew sees her again at the carnival and well…….

hope you like it !!⭐️ the air was thick with the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, the sounds of laughter and screams from carnival rides filling the night. you, along with your two friends, were making your way through the throngs of people, the vibrant lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors around you. your friend jenna was already eyeing the ferris wheel, while casey was determined to find the most ridiculous hat she could wear for a photo op.

“can we please go on something that won’t make me want to hurl?” you joked, clutching your stomach as you passed a spinny ride that looked like it could launch someone into orbit.

“oh, come on! where’s your sense of adventure?” jenna teased, giving you a playful shove. “we’re here to have fun!”

just then, you caught sight of a group across the way: a guy with tousled hair, a cheeky grin plastered on his face, surrounded by a couple of friends, one of whom was waving her arms like a lunatic. you couldn’t help but smirk; they looked like a band of misfits, and the guy—drew, you overheard someone call him—had an easy charm that was hard to ignore.

as you wandered toward the carousel, the sound of cheerful music inviting you closer, drew’s laugh carried over to you, loud and unapologetic. he had that kind of laugh that made you want to roll your eyes, but you also found yourself grinning. the carousel was in a weird configuration: you and your friends were odd-numbered, meaning one of you would have to sit with a stranger. guess who that unlucky bastard was? you.

“looks like it’s you, champ,” casey said, nudging you forward as jenna giggled. “have fun with your mystery date!”

you shot her a mock glare before stepping up to the ride. meanwhile, drew was being pushed by his friends toward the same ride, and you both ended up on the same horse—his a little to the left of yours. great.

as the carousel began to spin, you shot drew a sideways glance. he looked at you, and for a moment, everything blurred into the background. “so, this is fun,” you said, trying to fill the awkward silence. “i’m thrilled to be your carousel buddy.”

“thrilled? oh, it must be my lucky day,” he replied, his smirk making your heart flutter. “what’s your name? or should I just call you my new favorite stranger?”

“y/n. and you’re drew, right?”

“guilty as charged. so, what brings you here? other than the joy of being awkwardly paired with a stranger on a spinning ride?”

you laughed, the sound a bit louder than you intended. “just here for the chaos, i guess. you know, cotton candy, overpriced games, and the constant threat of nausea.”

“ah, a connoisseur of fine carnivals! i like that,” he grinned, leaning closer. “i, too, have a refined taste in fine cotton candy and the thrill of potential vomiting on a carousel. it’s a true art form, really.”

you shook your head, laughing. “you’re ridiculous. but in the best way.”

the ride continued, the two of you exchanging jokes, the initial awkwardness fading into something more comfortable. you caught yourself sneaking glances at him, taking in the way his lips curled into a smirk and how animated his expressions were. he was cute—like, really cute.

but as the ride slowed to a stop, reality came crashing back. you were both about to disembark when suddenly, a blur of energy rushed up to drew. “drew!” she squealed, throwing her arms around him. it was odessa, the friend from earlier, and the two of them looked way too cozy. your heart sank as you realized that maybe drew wasn’t available after all.

“oh… guess i won’t be asking for his number,” you muttered under your breath, forcing a smile as you stepped away. you could feel the bubble of attraction deflate like a popped balloon. you waved goodbye to your friends and started to walk away, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment.

time passed, and the carnival lights danced around you, but your mind kept drifting back to the moment with drew. you were beginning to think you’d never see him again when, out of nowhere, he came sprinting back into view. his friends were trailing behind him, and he was looking for something—or someone.

“hey!” he called, spotting you. you turned, a little surprised he even remembered your name. “you didn’t get my number!”

“yeah, well, you were kind of busy being hugged by odessa,” you replied, crossing your arms defensively.

“trust me, it’s not what it looks like. we're just friends,” he said, rolling his eyes. "want to grab some cotton candy together? i promise to share, but only if you’re willing to do it like true adults—by faceplanting into it.”

your heart did a little flip at his invitation. “okay, but only if you promise to eat it straight off the stick like civilized humans.”

drew laughed, his eyes lighting up. “deal! and who knows, maybe we can find a ride that doesn’t require sitting next to strangers. unless you’re into that. i’m not here to judge. my friends and i have a running bet on who can make the most ridiculous small talk on rides, and i could use some competition.”

he led you through the carnival, weaving between the crowds, his hand brushing against yours like he was testing the waters. your heart raced as you made your way toward the ferris wheel, its lights twinkling like a galaxy above you. “this is the best ride for some real fun,” he said, leaning closer as you waited in line. “you get a killer view of the carnival and the chance to make out in the moonlight if you play your cards right.”

“oh, really?” you shot back, trying to sound nonchalant, though your cheeks felt hot. “is that a guarantee?”

“i’m just saying,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “i can be pretty persuasive. or maybe it’s just the cotton candy talking.”

as you climbed into the gondola and it began to rise, the world below you shrank, the lights of the carnival twinkling like stars. you could feel the excitement building, your heart racing not just from the height but from being so close to him. drew leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “you know, this would be the perfect time to kiss someone,” he murmured, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“oh, is that right?” you replied, challenging him with a smirk.

“absolutely. i mean, who wouldn’t want to steal a kiss while overlooking a carnival filled with chaos?” he asked, leaning even closer until your lips were mere inches apart.

in that moment, everything else faded away. the noise of the carnival, the lights, the world���it was just you and drew, suspended in that gondola. you could feel the heat radiating between you as you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss that quickly turned hungry. he tasted like cotton candy and adventure, and you lost yourself in the moment, the kiss deepening as you melted against him.

when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he grinned like he’d just won the jackpot. “so, how was that for some carnival fun?” he teased, clearly pleased with himself.

“definitely more exciting than a roller coaster,” you admitted, your heart still racing.

“well, the night is still young,” he said, his grin widening. “let’s see what other trouble we can get into.”

as the ferris wheel creaked to a stop, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of a wild night filled with laughter, chaos, and maybe a few more kisses.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[imjustatorturedpoet]

Meet me in the Hallway

chapter 8: welcome to my breaking point

pairing: hwang in-ho x reader

also available on ao3

word count: 8.7k

-----

The arena was massive, but it felt suffocating.

It was impossibly vast, a circular stage bordered by fifty vividly coloured doors. At the centre stood a carousel—not a functioning one, but a relic frozen in time. Its painted horses stood eerily still, their glossy eyes reflecting the sterile lights above. The entire setup felt like a mockery of childhood wonder, a carnival-themed nightmare dressed in bright colours to disguise the horrors lurking beneath. Bright, playful, festive—designed to look inviting.  

It felt wrong. All of it. A grotesque parody of something that should have been safe.  

You couldn’t move for a moment. Couldn’t do anything but take it all in, your mind scrambling to understand the twisted logic behind it. Your pulse quickened, a faint ringing beginning at the base of your skull.

Beside you, the others walked forward slowly, but still caught in the same silence. You quickly averted your gaze back to the group and followed them with hurried steps.

Then, the voice came.  

“The game you will be playing is Mingle.”  

Your stomach lurched. Your steps slowed as your group neared the edge of the platform, exchanging wary glances.  

“Let me repeat: The game you will be playing is Mingle.”  

Your fingers twitched. You swallowed hard. Another game you didn’t know.  

The announcer continued, her voice detached and clinical.  

“All players, please step onto the centre platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds.”  

The words felt like they had weight, pressing down on your chest, squeezing.  

Your blood ran cold as the instructions sank in. This was life and death.  

Your hands curled into fists at your sides as your mind started racing. This game wasn’t just about moving fast. It was about forming alliances in real-time, making split-second decisions. Who would be left behind? Who would hesitate? Would people break alliances to save themselves?  

Your breathing quickened. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.  

Jung-bae’s voice cut through the mounting hum of voices. “Oh, this game? We used to play something like this on school trips. We’d form groups by hugging.”  

“Yeah,” Dae-ho muttered, scanning the room. “Except now, instead of hugging, we’re going into those rooms.”  

Your group instinctively tightened into a loose half-circle, drawn together by sheer survival instinct. But it wouldn’t be enough. You knew it wouldn’t.  

Your eyes widened and you turned to Young-il. You lowered your voice so only he would hear you, “If I turn away for a second and you’re gone, Young-il, you better pray I don’t survive.”

Young-il huffed a quiet chuckle, tilting his head.  

"Oh? So now my biggest threat isn’t this game, it's you?" His lips quirked up at the corner. "Terrifying."  

You shot him a look, a wide smile appearing on your face. "You should be scared. Very scared."  

He exhaled through his nose, amused. "Right. And what’s my punishment if I disappear?"  

You crossed your arms. “You’re one move away from seeing stars."  

Young-il let out a low hum, tapping his chin in mock thought. “Damn. I’d like to see you try.”  

Your glare sharpened. “Oh, yeah? Go on then.”  

His smirk deepened, but this time, his eyes lingered on you a little longer. Then, with an easy shrug, he murmured, "I won’t."

Young-il’s fingers curled around your shoulder. The panic that had been climbing your throat long forgotten. Not gone, but suddenly contained. He didn’t pull you in, didn’t tighten his grip—just held you steady. A quiet reassurance. His fingers curled slightly, like he was anchoring you just as much as you were anchoring him.

His voice was soft, but steady. “On a more serious note, I won’t leave you. Nothing will happen to you. Or me.”  

You trusted him, no matter how scared you were.  

You nodded stiffly, forcing your breath to steady, forcing your body to still. Gi-hun was already strategising. “If the number is bigger than six, we’ll just grab the extra people we need. We’ll stick close together as long as possible.”  

“But what if it’s smaller?” Dae-ho asked, voicing the same fear that had been sitting in your gut. “What if it’s four or five?”  

What if I was the one left behind? Worse—what if Young-il was?  

His hand moved from your shoulder to your waist and pulled you closer to him, like he knew you were thinking it. Like he knew exactly where your thoughts were spiralling.  

“No matter what happens,” Young-il said, calm and sure, “don’t panic. Let’s stay calm. We will make it out together.”  

It wasn’t an if. It was a statement. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides, clenching and unclenching. Young-il noticed. His gaze flicked to yours, sharp, assessing.

Then, his head lowered to your ear and he whispered, "You're thinking too much," he said simply, tone softer than usual. "Stop."

You exhaled, shoving the thought aside. "Just do as I say and you’ll be fine.”

The certainty in his tone did something to you. Slowed the panic just slightly, just enough for you to breathe again. He turned to the others again and extended his right hand toward the centre of the circle.  

For a second, nobody moved. Then, slowly, you reached out first. Your palm pressed against his, cold against warm. His fingers twitched slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to be the first to take it.  

The others followed soon after, hands stacking over one another. The breath between you all felt heavy, like the moment just before a storm hit.  

Young-il spoke first, voice low and steady. “One, two, three…”  

The response came in unison, whispered but strong.  

“Victory at all costs.”  

The moment stretched for just a second longer before your hands fell away. The platform stood before you, waiting. The lights above seemed brighter now, the doors looming like silent threats.

The rules had been given. The game was about to begin. And all you could do was hope you wouldn’t be the one left behind.

As Young-il let go of you, all of you stepped onto the platform, moving as one, instinctively drawn together amid the growing sea of players. Bodies pressed in from all sides, the air thick with tension, with the unspoken fear of what was to come. Your group stayed close, forming a tight knot in the chaos, an unspoken pact holding you together.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted them—Hyun-ju and her group.

They were positioned right beside you, their presence impossible to ignore. Their postures were tense, their expressions guarded, scanning the room the same way you were.

After the last game, there was a quiet understanding between you. Having them close felt almost… reassuring.

Your gaze wandered through the arena once more, when your eyes landed on a peculiar screen. The numbers displayed were bold, impossible to ignore. 255. 

Dread curled low in your belly.

It was a countdown. A tally of everyone left. Of everyone still breathing. And you knew what it meant. Another way to remind you that the numbers could—and would—drop. You swallowed hard, pulse hammering as you stared at it, heart lurching with a sudden, sick realisation. It wasn’t just a tracker. It was a tactic.  

A constant, looming reminder that at the end of this game, people would be gone. That every time you looked up, the number would be smaller. And it could go down, because of you. 

Your breath came faster, shallow, uneven. This was psychological warfare. Just like the piggy bank, just like the first vote. Fear bred desperation, and desperation made people dangerous. You could already feel it in the air, in the tense way players glanced around, already sizing each other up like potential liabilities. Like obstacles.  

You clenched your fists, trying to steady yourself, but your chest felt tight, constricted.  

No, no, no. Not now. Not again. 

But the panic was creeping in anyway, slithering under your skin, curling tight around your ribs. You barely heard the announcer’s voice over the ringing in your ears, your thoughts spiralling as the weight of the situation settled, reallysettled.  

What if I'm alone?  

Your breath hitched, and suddenly, the platform felt too small. The bodies pressing in around you, the hum of anxious murmurs, the overwhelming sense of being trapped—you couldn’t breathe.  

A touch. Warm. Steady. Grounding. Fingers curled around your waist, firm but not forceful.  

"Nothing will happen to you," Young-il murmured, voice low, meant only for you.

Your body locked up, but your breath stilled. He wasn’t looking at you, his attention still fixed forward, his grip not tight but assured. Like he meant it. Like it wasn’t just empty reassurance. Like he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, no matter the cost.  

And for the first time since stepping onto this platform, since seeing that goddamn screen, you felt like you could breathe.

“Let the game begin.”  

A sharp inhale caught in your throat as the platform beneath you jerked to life, moving with a slow, deliberate spin. Around you, players stumbled, muttered curses and sharp gasps filling the space as everyone fought to steady themselves. The motion wasn’t violent, but it was disorienting—just enough to throw you off balance, to remind you that you weren’t in control.  

And then the music started. Bright. Nostalgic. Sickly sweet.  

It snaked through the air, light and playful, curling through the space like a taunt. A melody pulled straight from childhood, but wrong, twisted in the way it didn’t belong here. A wave of nausea rolled through you.

“Round and round.  

Round and round we go.  

Turning, turning in a circle as we dance along.”  

Something cold settled deep in your stomach. The song continued, high-pitched and cheery, the kind of thing meant for playgrounds and skipping ropes—not for this. Not for this nightmare dressed up in carnival lights. The overhead bulbs flickered in a rhythmic pattern, casting shifting colours across the room, making everything feel even more surreal.  

The dizziness clawed at you, the spin, the lights, the music— It was too much.  

Your eyes darted around, searching for something, anything to ground yourself, until they landed on him. Young-il.  

He was standing right beside you, steady as ever. Completely unfazed. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture loose. The artificial glow from above carved sharp shadows across his face, making him look impossibly calm.  

How was he so calm?  

His eyes met yours before you even realised you had been staring. You forced yourself to swallow, to breathe, but it wasn’t working. The numbers on the screen above the entrance loomed in the back of your mind, a constant, gnawing reminder of what was coming. They wanted you to see it. The number of players dwindling. A visible countdown to ensure panic and desperation.  

It was working, at least on me. Good for them.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Your breath came too fast, too shallow, and you knew what was happening, you knew, but that didn’t make it stop. You reached for him before you could think about it. Fingers curling around his sleeve. Holding on. Tight.  

Young-il glanced down immediately, his gaze flickering to your grip, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He just let you hold on. Then, after a beat, he nodded once.  

Your heart slammed against your ribs. That nod was everything. The music carried on.  

“We will go hand in hand

And have fun jumping around

Round and round

Ring-a Ring-a Ring”  

Your grip tightened. You weren’t sure if you were steadying yourself or clinging to the only thing that felt solid in this moment. Maybe both. 

“You’re breathing too fast,” he murmured, voice low, even. “Slow down.”  

Your pulse thundered in your ears, but you forced yourself to follow his words, pulling in a shaky inhale, then another. His fingers pressed just slightly against your waist, grounding. “Good. Just like that.”  

Then—everything stopped. The music. The platform. Everything.  

The sudden halt sent a jolt through your body, your balance thrown before you could react. You stumbled, the ground feeling like it had been ripped out from under you, panic crashing through your chest in a violent wave. But before you could fall, a hand caught you. Warm against your waist. His other hand caught your elbow, his grip solid, keeping you upright. His thumb brushed against the dip of your waist, a barely-there motion, but enough. Enough to anchor you.  

A second passed. And then the voice of the announcer rang through the silence.  

“Ten.”  

The overhead lights pulsed in rapid bursts of red and purple, casting the arena in a dizzying, disorienting blur. Your pulse spiked, as the urgency in the air thickened, heavy and suffocating. Then, chaos.  

Voices rose around you, sharp and desperate. Bodies moved in frantic bursts, hands grabbing, pulling, shoving as players scrambled to form their groups. The panic was contagious, spreading through the crowd like wildfire, feeding into itself, turning rational thought into raw desperation. 

A sudden grip on your arm made you jolt. You turned sharply, breath catching, only to find Young-il’s hand wrapped firmly around your forearm. His fingers pressed just enough to ground you, to remind you he was there with you.

Around you, your group was already moving. Gi-hun’s gaze snapped toward Hyun-ju and her people nearby. Without hesitation, he stepped toward her, hand brushing against her shoulder.  

“How many are you?” he asked, voice steady despite the rising panic.  

“Four,” Hyun-ju shot back immediately.  

Gi-hun’s head turned sharply toward the rest of you. “We’re ten now!” he called out, his voice slicing through the noise.  

“Come with me and don’t let go,” Young-il commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. Then, he moved. Fast.  

Before you could think, before you could process, his grip tightened, pulling you with him as he cut through the crowd. You barely had time to register the others falling in step behind you, Hyun-ju’s team blending seamlessly with your own as Young-il led the charge. Your feet barely kept up, your breath was sharp, uneven, but you focused on the tug of his hand, on the way his grip was certain.  

Ahead, a door loomed. One of many.  

Young-il reached it first, yanking it open with a sharp motion. His body twisted, gaze locking onto yours. “Get in.”  

You didn’t hesitate. You darted inside and stood near the entrance, the rush of bodies following closely behind. One by one, they poured into the room. Young-il was last.  

He lingered at the threshold for half a second longer than necessary, scanning the arena one last time before stepping inside and pulling the door shut with a firm, final click.

Silence.  

The room was small, barely large enough to hold all ten of you, but compared to the chaos outside, it felt like a fortress.

Overhead, a timer glowed on the wall, the numbers ticking down in bright, merciless red.  

2… 1…  

Your chest rose and fell too fast. You couldn’t look away. The sound of your heartbeat thundered in your ears.  

0.  

Young-il’s hand reached out to you and gave the faintest squeeze. A long, piercing beep rang out, the finality of it sinking into your bones. Then, the lock clicked into place.  

The screams started almost immediately.  

Muffled cries and sobs seeped through the thick wood of the door, bleeding into the tense silence of the room. You barely had a second to process before your gaze caught on something—a rectangular slot near the centre of the door. A viewing panel.  

Gi-hun stepped forward and looked through. You hesitated. You knew you shouldn’t look. But morbid curiosity clawed at you, sinking its hooks in deep. Before you could stop yourself, your feet carried you forward. You peered through the slot, alongside Gi-hun.  

The sight outside turned your blood to ice.  

They’re dying.

That was the first thought that cut through the static in your brain. The first thing you managed to grasp in the overwhelming, suffocating chaos.  

They’re dying. One by one.  

Collapsing like puppets with their strings severed, bodies hitting the pristine floor with dull, wet thuds. The sound was barely audible over the gunfire, but you could feel it. The way the ground beneath you seemed to tremble. The way something inside your chest coiled so tightly you thought you might snap in half. Your and Gi-hun’s body jolted as if you had been the one hit.  

They’re dying.

Not players. Not numbers on a screen. People. People who were just standing there moments ago, eyes darting, hands scrambling, looking for an escape that didn’t exist. Now they were still.  

The first few had been too fast, too sudden for your mind to register. But then you saw one—really saw one.  

A man. Maybe in his forties. You hadn’t spoken to him. Hadn’t even noticed him before now. He had his hands pressed against a door that wouldn’t open, his nails digging into the metal like he could pry his way inside if he just tried hard enough. You could see the desperation in the set of his shoulders, in the way his breath hitched.  

And then a single shot. He jerked violently. Then crumpled. Just like that. 

A high-pitched scream cut through the air, raw and wrong. You flinched. Someone stumbled. Fell. Their hands outstretched toward nothing, their lips forming words they never got the chance to say. Another shot. Another body.  

The number on the screen was already dropping.  

Don’t look.

You forced yourself to turn away, to stare at the floor in front of you, at the people in the room with you. The ones who made it. The ones still breathing. Your legs felt locked in place, stiff, heavy. Your hands trembled where they curled at your sides.  

I made it.

That should have been enough. But the thought lingered, curling around your ribs like something rotten.

What if I hadn’t? What if my foot had slipped? What if my hand had missed his? Would I still be out there? Would he have even turned back?

The gunfire was slowing now. The screams were fading.  The arena outside was quieting. Bodies littered the floor, unmoving. Not players. People. And you watched.

You stumbled off to the side, your shoulder slamming into the wall. You didn’t realise your legs were shaking until you nearly lost your balance. The images were already burned into the back of your eyelids. You couldn’t stop hearing it. The shots. The screams. The silence that followed.  

A firm hand found your waist. Fingers pressed lightly into your side, just enough to remind you where you were. Who you were with.  

“Breathe.”  

The voice was low, even. But when you looked up, Young-il’s face was full of concern, his lips pressed in a firm line. His grip on you didn’t tighten, didn’t waver. Just remained there—present, unwavering. His voice dipped lower, quieter. Just for you.  

“None of that is happening to you,” he murmured. “Do you understand?”  

You swallowed, throat tight, nodding slightly.  

“Say it,” he pressed, not unkindly.  

You swallowed hard, forcing the words past your lips in a mere whisper. “It’s not happening to me.”  

Young-il held your gaze for a beat longer before giving a small, approving nod. And just like that, the moment passed. His hand fell away, taking his warmth with it. But the steadiness it left in its wake remained.

“The following players have been eliminated: Player 013, 043, 049, 054, 060…”

You try to drown out the mechanical voice as best as you could. Minutes passed in heavy silence, the only sounds filtering through the door were the distant shuffling of boots, the scrape of bodies being dragged, the wet splatter of something you refused to name. The metallic scent of blood hung in the air, even from behind closed doors, seeping into your lungs, clinging to your skin like something permanent.   

Click.   

The lock disengaged with a dull, mechanical sound, the finality of it settling over you like a weight. One by one, your group stepped forward, filing out into the arena. You followed, your legs stiff, your pulse drumming against your ribs.  

The moment you crossed the threshold, the smell hit you harder. Coppery. Sharp. It clung to everything—the floors, the walls, the very air you breathed. And then you saw it.  

The blood. It was everywhere.  

Dark pools stretching across the pristine floor, smeared in streaks where bodies had been dragged away. Some of it had begun to dry, thickening in ugly patches, while fresh streaks still glistened under the harsh lights. Footsteps tracked through it, careless and indifferent, as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience to be wiped away. A fresh wave of nausea curled in your stomach, but you shoved it down, locked it up, buried it beneath something colder.  

Get it together.  Focus on your breathing. In. Out. Keep it steady. Don’t let them see. Don’t make yourself an easy target.

You squared your shoulders, forced your muscles to relax, forced your face into something neutral—something unreadable. The same way you always had. The same way you always would. Fake it till you make it.  

You stepped forward, deliberately avoiding the larger pools of blood, careful not to let your shoes smear through it. Not because it mattered—it was already everywhere—but because you refused to let it touch you. Not more than it already had. You exhaled a loud sigh, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well. That sucked.”  

Young-il’s gaze flickered to you. He didn’t answer right away, just studied you with that quiet, infuriating patience of his. Like he was waiting for you to drop the act.  

Then, finally, he hummed. “That's what we’re calling it?”  

You stepped over a streak of blood without breaking stride. “What else am I supposed to call it?” Your voice was steady. Casual. Too casual. “We didn’t die. Could’ve been worse.”  

His eyes didn’t leave you. “You were shaking.”  

Your jaw tightened for half a second. Then, with a careless shrug, you shot him a look. “And now I’m not.”  

It was a lie. You were still shaking. Just… on the inside. He tilted his head slightly. You caught the way his jaw ticked, the way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides before curling into a loose fist. He saw right through you. Of course he did. But he didn’t call you on it.   

He saw the tension in your shoulders, the way your hands twitched like they wanted to curl into something solid. He saw the way your breath came just a little too fast, the way your muscles were coiled just a little too tight. Instead, he let out a low hum. “Guess that’s one way to look at it.”  

The rest of the group moved forward. You kept your chin up. Kept your steps steady.  No one had to know that every inch of you was still trembling beneath the mask.

The second round passed in a blur, tension clawing at the edges of your mind even as you forced yourself to move, to react, to survive. The number had been four. Your group didn’t stay together and you were forced to part ways with Young-il and Gi-hun. It all happened too fast. The moment the number was called, the platform erupted into chaos, bodies moving in every direction, scrambling for safety. Young-il shoved you in Dae-ho’s arms and told you to go. His face said everything; Don’t argue and go. 

But he promised me? 

No time to think about that right now. You grabbed the nearest person—Jun-hee—and barely had time to latch onto Jung-bae before the frantic rush toward the doors began. In those thirty seconds, you lost sight of everything but the desperate need to make it through. Not everyone would. The buzzer blared. The doors slammed shut. Gunshots soon followed.  

You stopped flinching at the sound—mostly. But as you leaned against the closed door, breathing hard, the weight of it pressed down on you. It was impossible not to think about who was still out there. Who might not have made it.  

Young-il. Gi-hun.  

You hadn’t seen where they went. You hadn’t seen if they found two more people. The thought made you want to throw up, panic gnawing at the edges of your mind. Your pulse was a hammer, each second stretching unbearably. You tried to tell yourself they were fine. That they had to be fine. That people like Young-il didn’t just disappear in an instant. But you knew that wasn’t true.  

The seconds bled into minutes. The screaming outside died down. Then, silence. The mechanical whirr of the clean-up. The guards moving with calculated efficiency. You barely registered it. You needed the doors to open. You needed to see them.  

Finally, the locks clicked open. You swung the door open, and you pushed through, your head snapping up, eyes scanning the thinning crowd with frantic precision.  

Jun-hee was by your side, holding her belly and trying to control her frantic breathing.  Soon, Dae-ho appeared by your side, ”Do you see them?"  

No. No.  

The empty spaces where bodies had once stood made the room feel impossibly vast. Your gaze swept over every face, your heart slamming harder with every second that passed.  

"(Y/N)!"  

You held your breath. You spun around so fast you almost lost your footing. There. Across the arena. Young-il, standing at the edge of the crowd, Gi-hun beside him. The relief hit you so hard it was almost painful.  

You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Didn’t stop yourself. You ran.  

Not like yesterday. Not like after the second game, when you had forced yourself to freeze, to pull back at the last second, to pretend that the instinct wasn’t there. This time, you didn’t stop. Your feet barely touched the ground as you closed the distance, pushing past other players without care. And then—finally—you reached him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in before you could think twice. Warm. Alive. 

Young-il stiffened for a half-second, caught off guard, but then he pulled you in. 

His grip was firm, grounding, one arm tight around your waist while the other slid up, fingers threading through your hair, cradling the back of your head.

He wasn’t a man easily shaken, but the way he pulled you in, the way his hand curled just slightly against your spine, told you enough. He had been just as scared as you were.  

You buried your face against his chest, breathing him in, heart still racing against your ribs. You didn’t care how it looked. Didn’t care if anyone saw.  

Young-il exhaled, a slow, steady breath against your ear. His voice was quieter than usual. Less controlled. "I told you not to worry."  

“Doesn't work like that. Not with you. Don’t ever do that again. You promised.” 

Young-il's grip on you tightened just slightly, the warmth of his palm pressing firm against your back. His breath hitched—barely, but you felt it.

"I know," he murmured, his voice lower now, edged with something almost regretful. "I know."

You clenched your fists against his jacket. "Then why the hell did you let go?"

"I had to," he admitted, his voice quiet but unwavering. "But I won’t again."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your pulse still hammering in your ears. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—dark, sharp, searching—were anything but indifferent. He was watching you too closely, like he needed to make sure you believed him.

And maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t.

Either way, he deserved this. Without thinking, your fist shot out and smacked his arm—hard.

Young-il lurched back slightly, like you’d just stabbed him instead of hit him. He grabbed his arm with an exaggerated wince, staring at you in open-mouthed betrayal, eyes widening in mock betrayal. "Ow—what the hell?!”

"You deserved that." You flexed your fingers, shaking out your knuckles. "And if you ever pull that shit again, I swear I’ll make it worse."

Young-il blinked, still clutching his arm like you’d actually done damage. "I just risked my life getting us both through that round, and this is my reward?"

"Your reward is that I didn’t aim for your face."

He scoffed, rubbing his arm in slow, exaggerated circles. "I think you fractured something. I can’t move my shoulder."

You rolled your eyes and laughed loudly. "You’re so full of shit."

He gasped, feigning offence, but you could tell that he was fighting a smirk. "You hit me with intent. I felt malice. There was rage in that punch."

You raised a brow. "You’re about to feel it again."

Young-il immediately dropped the act, hands up in surrender, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. "Okay, okay. Point made."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "Good. Let’s keep it that way."

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer. Then, softer, quieter— "I really won’t leave you again."

You sighed, the weight of the moment settling between you. "You better not."

A sharp mechanical beep cut through the dormitory, signalling the next round was about to begin.

"Come on," he murmured, voice softer now. "We have to go again."

The words sent a fresh wave of unease rippling through you. Again. The game wasn’t over. Not even close. The fear that had gripped you moments ago wasn’t a one-time thing—it would happen again, and again, until there was no one left to lose.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move. To focus. To push past the lingering warmth of his embrace and the way your chest still ached from the last thirty seconds of sheer panic. Because the carousel was already spinning again, the music was starting, and another number would be called.

The third and fourth round was much worse. People weren’t just scrambling anymore—they were fighting. Someone shoved you in desperation, nearly sending you to the ground before Young-il pulled you back. The numbers were three and six this time, and you barely managed to make it inside a room before the buzzer blared both times.  And the gunshots on the other side were getting less and less per round.

The first time someone died in front of you, it had felt like your own lungs had been ripped out. The gunshots had echoed in your skull long after they stopped, rattling your bones, your breath hitching every time the trigger was pulled.

But now?

Now the sound barely registered. The fourth round had ended, another group of players executed in the middle of the arena, and you didn’t even flinch. You barely even looked. Just kept walking, stepping around the fresh blood without a second thought.

You caught Young-il watching you. His dark eyes flicked down to your hands, curled loosely at your sides—steady, not even trembling. He didn’t say anything. But you could feel the thought lingering between you.

When had you stopped reacting? You didn’t have an answer.

For hopefully the last time, all of you shifted back to the platform. This time, your group and Hyun-ju’s group stood together, with player 246, 280 and 333 joining you as well. But the relief of finding each other didn’t last. Something felt… off.

A quick scan of the faces around you sent a cold weight pressing into your chest. One was missing.

Young-mi.

Your stomach dropped.

“Where’s Young-mi?”

No one answered. A silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. 

Hyun-ju’s face said it all. 

Your stomach twisted, but it was distant. Muted. You should cry. You should feel something more than this quiet, dull acceptance. But the tears didn’t come.

Instead, you just nodded.

"Okay," you murmured under your breath, as if that was all there was to say.

Something inside you cracked.

The platform beneath you groaned as it started to rotate once more, the familiar, sickly sweet melody curling through the air. That same eerie, high-pitched cheerfulness, now warped by everything that had happened. The contrast was unbearable.  

The announcer’s voice rang out, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade.  

"Now, the final round will begin."  

For a second—just one fleeting second—relief crashed over you. Final.  

This was it. The last round. One more number. One last push. One last chance to survive. But relief was a fragile thing. It barely had time to settle in your chest before something colder, sharper, meaner replaced it. Because final didn’t mean safe.  

Final meant when this round ended, more people wouldn’t be standing here. That whatever number was called next would carve names into the floor in blood. That the game wasn’t ending—it was culling. One last round.  

Your gaze flickered up—drawn to the screen hanging above the entrance.  

126.  

Your stomach dropped.  

One hundred twenty-six players left. But only 50 rooms.  

A slow, creeping dread curled up your spine.  

Two. The last number is two. That means 26 people would die this round. Maybe more. If someone hesitated. If someone got left behind at the last second. Pairs.  

Your body moved before your mind caught up. Instinct. Pure, primal instinct. You reached for Young-il’s hand without a second thought, fingers latching onto his, tethering. Like hell you were letting him wander off again.  

Jung-bae stepped in closer, voice taut, strained. “What do you think it’ll be this time?”  

Gi-hun was already deep in thought, brows furrowed, but before he could open his mouth—  

“Two.”  The word left your lips at the exact same time as Young-il’s.  

A sharp pause. Like a crack in the air.  

Every pair of eyes in your group snapped to you both. But you were only looking at him.

Jung-bae frowned. “Why?”  

Young-il’s expression didn’t shift. His thumb caressed your hand. “There are 126 people left,” he said, voice even. “And only 50 rooms.”  

Your throat felt tight, but you forced the words out, finishing his thought, “That means there’s only enough space for 100 people.”  

Dae-ho stiffened. Jun-hee sucked in a sharp breath. The weight of it settled. Tangible. Crushing.  You swallowed hard, the words tasting like lead on your tongue, “The rest will be killed.”  

“Everyone pair up right now," Gi-hun urged, voice tight, sharp.

"And move to the edge of the platform so you can run as soon as they announce it.”, you added.

Everyone quickly grabbed someones hand. Without thinking, Player 333’s hand found Jun-hee’s, his fingers curling around hers. She went rigid for a moment, her eyes darting to his—uncertain, searching. But she didn’t pull away. You’d seen them talk before, distant. But never like this.

Was he the father of her child? God, how tragic.

Your own grip tightened around Young-il’s. His fingers curled back just as firmly, solid, grounding.  

“Come on,” he murmured, voice low, urgent. Then, he moved. And you followed, letting him pull you toward the edge of the platform, where the moment of truth awaited.

“Round and round

Round and round we go

Turning, turning in a circle as we dance along

We will go hand in hand

And have fun jumping around

Round and round”  

Suddenly, the platform lurched to a stop.  

The rotation ceased so abruptly that it sent players stumbling, gasps ripping through the crowd as the music cut out. But the silence barely lasted a second before the fast-paced melody blared back to life, louder, shriller, more urgent.  

The overhead lights pulsed violently—red and purple, turning the arena into a dizzying, chaotic blur.  

Then, the voice.  

"Two."  

A tidal wave of movement exploded around you. Without hesitation, Young-il tighten his grasp on your hand and ran. The platform swarmed with bodies, the scramble for survival more violent than ever before. You barely had time to register anything beyond the crushing urgency in your chest, the way Young-il’s grip on your hand was unrelenting as he pulled you through the madness.  

From the corner of your eye, you saw the rest of your group scattering—Hyun-ju and 246 sprinting toward a blue door, Gi-hun and Jung-bae pushing through the crowd. Everyone was desperate to make it out.  

You could barely breathe. Could barely think. 

Suddenly, a force slammed into your side, so hard it sent you reeling. Your fingers slipped from Young-il’s grasp. You didn’t even have time to scream before you hit the ground. Your hands smacked against the cold, blood-slicked floor, the force rattling through your bones.

"Young-il!" The scream ripped from your throat, sheer terror clawing at your chest as you stumbled.  

He was there in an instant. His grip latched onto your arm like iron, hauling you forward with so much force that your feet barely touched the ground. You barely caught sight of his expression—livid—before he was dragging you through the chaos again.  

You blinked at him, slow. He was saying something, you could see his mouth moving, but your brain was sluggish, like your thoughts were wading through molasses.

Your arms ached. Your legs burned. Somewhere, you were pretty sure you had a gash along your shin, but you couldn’t feel it.

Actually, you couldn’t feel much of anything. Weird.

Then you came back to your senses. A door. You needed a door.  

You saw one ahead—a red one, slightly ajar. Relief surged. Then it slammed shut.

Occupied.  

You turned immediately, heading for a different one. A mustard yellow door stood open a few meters away. Two players were scrambling toward it—too far, too slow.

You could reach it first. But only if you—

The thought slithered in before you could stop it.

Shove them out of the way. Take the spot. They wouldn’t be fast enough anyway.

Your breath hitched. The moment you registered it, disgust curdled in your stomach.

What the hell was wrong with you?

But you didn’t shove them. You just ran. Still, the thought didn’t leave. It lingered, curling around your ribs, whispering. Next time, would you?

Once you reached it, you realised that a player was standing in the threshold. Player 285.  

Young-il let go of your arm and ripped him out. A choked gasp. A flash of panic in the man’s eyes. His hand clamped around his throat like a vice, and with terrifying ease, he tore him away from the doorway and threw him onto the floor.  

"Get in, (Y/N)!” His voice was steel.  

You didn’t argue. You bolted inside. Young-il followed a second later, slamming the door shut, locking it with a harsh, final click.  

The relief was so intense that it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. But then—you turned. And your blood ran cold.  

Player 343 was still inside.  

The man was already backing up against the farthest wall, eyes darting between the two of you, chest heaving. "Wait, please. We were here first." His voice cracked, raw with desperation.  

Young-il stepped forward. His stance was lethal.

"Get out."  

The timer above the door flickered.  

15 seconds.    

The man flinched, raising his hands in surrender. "Please."  

10 seconds.  

He stepped forward, fast. Before you could process what was happening, his arms snapped around the man’s throat. A strangled wheeze—the sound of air being cut off instantly.  

Player 285 lunged for the door, desperation twisting his face as he shoved against it with all his strength. But you were faster. You threw your entire weight forward, slamming it shut with enough force to rattle your bones. Your hands locked onto the handle, gripping it so tightly your knuckles burned.

A furious bang against the wood. Then another.

"Open the door, you bastards!" His voice cracked, raw with panic. "I was here first!"

Another sharp thud. The door trembled under the assault, but you didn’t budge. You pressed harder, chest heaving, every muscle locked in place.

Young-il crouched low, pivoting with terrifying precision, manoeuvring 343’s body into submission with ease.  

You froze, eyes wide, unable to do anything but watch.  

The man clawed at Young-il’s arms, his legs kicking wildly, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. His muscles flexed as he tightened his hold, squeezing.  

3 seconds.  

The world had narrowed down to the sharp, wet sound of Player 343’s gasps, to the way Young-il’s muscles flexed as he crushed the air from his lungs. But he was taking too long. The thought came out of nowhere—quick, instinctive, cold.

Just do it yourself.

Your fingers twitched. Your breath felt too slow, too steady, like your body had already decided before your brain caught up. You could end this in half a second—snap, clean, efficient.

One twist. It would be so easy.

And then it hit you. The sheer horror of what you were thinking. It crashed down like ice water, washing away the haze. You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to step back, fingers curling into fists at your sides. 

What the hell is wrong with me?

The man struggled, hands clawing at Young-il’s arms, eyes wide with pure, animal panic. It was instinct. Desperate. But it didn’t matter. Young-il adjusted his grip, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of his throat—tighter, harder. The gurgling turned to choking, then silence. It didn’t happen fast. That was the worst part.

Young-il’s grip shifted. Sharpened.  Then—crack. The man’s body jerked once. Then stilled. Your breathing stopped as Player 343’s head rolled to the side at a 120° angle.  

The timer hit zero. A piercing beep.  

"Game over."  

The silence after the snap was worse than the sound itself. For a second, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was your own heartbeat, roaring in your ears like a war drum. Young-il let the body fall and pushed it off his own. It hit the floor with a dull, final thud.  

You lurched back, spine pressing into the wall—not because of him, but because of the thoughts twisting, snarling, sinking their teeth in.

What the fuck was wrong with you.  

Your eyes snapped to Young-il. He was only looking at you. His breathing was even, unlike your own. Like he hadn’t just snapped a man’s neck in three seconds flat.  

Then, the speaker crackled overhead.  

“Attention. Due to a technical error, the doors will remain locked for longer. Please remain calm as we fix this problem. Thank you."  

Trapped. In here. With him and your thoughts. And the body.

Oh, how nice. Fantastic.

You should feel something. Horror. Guilt. Revulsion. But you just… didn’t.

The exhaustion settled deep, thick and all-consuming, swallowing up whatever part of you was still supposed to care. It should have scared you, how easy it was to let go, how numb you felt.

You slowly turned your head to Young-il, who looked about as calm as someone waiting for a bus, then down at the very, very dead man at your feet. 

Your heartbeat was steady. Too steady.

The realisation was slow, creeping, like a sickness curling through your veins. You waited for the horror to hit. For your stomach to churn. For something, anything, to claw its way up your throat.

But it never came.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temples.

“Cool. Love that for us.”

“Why are you so calm?” His voice wasn’t mocking—just genuinely perplexed. “You usually have a panic attack.”

You stared at him. Then at the dead man. Then back at him.

And something in you just… cracked.

A laugh bubbled up, sharp and humourless, slipping past your lips before you could stop it. You ran a shaky hand down your face, exhaling hard.

“I don’t know, Young-il,” you muttered, voice hollow with exhaustion. “Maybe I ran out of tears to cry.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that answer.

You let your head tip back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I think I just lost my last fuck to give. You choked the guy out, I didn’t stop you, and now we’re locked in here with a corpse like it’s just a normal Tuesday.” You let out a breathy, almost delirious chuckle. “So, honestly? I don’t even care anymore. Welcome to my breaking point.”

Silence. Too long.

You opened your eyes again, expecting another dry remark from him, another roll of his eyes. But what you found instead— It wasn’t that.

Young-il was staring at you. His expression had cracked, just slightly, just enough to let something else slip through the fractures. And then—he took a step back.

Not much. Barely an inch. But you noticed it. Young-il shook his head slowly, breath leaving him in something too soft, too unsteady.

“No,” he murmured, almost to himself. His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be.” His voice was lower now, rougher, like the words themselves scraped against his throat. “I knew you’d change in here. I knew you’d have to.” A pause, as if the weight of his own words hit him mid-sentence. “But not like this.”

His eyes flicked to the corpse. His fingers flexed at his sides. Then, finally, his gaze landed back on you.

"You were supposed to be the one thing that didn’t rot."

Something sharp twisted deep inside your chest. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because what could you possibly say to that?

Young-il dragged a hand down his face, eyes shutting for half a second before he let out a slow, measured breath. Then, when he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

“I didn’t want this.” His gaze flicked toward the body, the blood. Then back to you. “Not for you.”

A strange, uncomfortable lump formed in your throat. You swallowed it down. Or at least, you tried to. But it sat there, heavy, lodged deep in your chest.  

Because the thing was—he was wrong.  

You weren’t rotting. You weren’t turning into some hollowed-out thing, some soulless husk that no longer cared. You still felt everything. You just… couldn’t afford to let it swallow you whole. Not now. Not when you were still fighting to survive.  

But how could you explain that to him? How could you make him understand that this wasn’t you breaking, not really? That this numbness, this eerie calm, wasn’t some kind of irreversible descent into nothingness—but rather your brain’s last-ditch attempt to protect you?  

You couldn’t. So instead, you just exhaled slowly, your gaze flicking to his, searching.  

“You think I don’t care,” you said quietly. Not a question. A statement.  

Young-il’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.  

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? That I’m just… gone. That I don’t feel anything anymore.”  

He didn’t answer. Not immediately. But the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands twitched at his sides—  That was enough.  

You inhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair before shaking your head. “I do care, Young-il. I’ve cared all my life. I care so fucking much it hurts.” Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “I just can’t afford to show it right now. Because if I do—if I let myself actually feel this—” Your voice wavered, just slightly. “It’s gonna break me.”  

Young-il’s gaze searched yours, like he was trying to pick apart your words, to find a lie hidden somewhere between them. But there wasn’t one.  

After a moment, his shoulders slumped slightly, tension bleeding out of him, but not completely.  He sighed, running a hand down his face.  

“So that’s it, then?” His voice was quieter now, edged with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’re just gonna go numb until it’s over?”  

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much.”  

Young-il exhaled a humourless chuckle, shaking his head. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I hate this place.”  

You huffed out something close to a laugh. “Yeah. Welcome to the club.”  

For a while, neither of you spoke. You weren’t sure how much time passed. The scent of blood clung to the air. The corpse remained between you, an unmoving reminder of how far you’d already gone. Then, finally—  Young-il stepped closer.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice steady now. “If that’s how you have to get through this—fine.” His eyes met yours, unwavering. “But don’t shut me out, alright?”  

Something about the way he said it made your throat tighten. Your lips parted, instinct telling you to crack a joke, to keep the mood light, to deflect. But for once, you didn’t.  Instead, you just nodded. “Okay.”  

Young-il held your gaze for a second longer. Then, he sighed. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled you in. It wasn’t careful, or hesitant, or any of the things you might have expected from him. It was rough, desperate—his arms wrapping tight around you, like he was holding onto something solid before the ground completely gave out beneath him.

Not because you needed it. But because he did.

You barely had time to react before your face was pressed against his chest, his scent surrounding you. You breathed him in. His fingers curled against the fabric of your clothes, grip unyielding. His breathing wasn’t steady. It wasn’t uneven either. It was just off. A fraction too deep. A second too slow. Like he was still trying to get control of something that had already slipped through his fingers.

You blinked, your hands hovering slightly at your sides, caught off guard. But only for a second. Slowly, you let your arms come up, hesitantly returning the embrace. 

Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It just was. Then, finally—his voice, low and raw against your ear. 

“You don’t get to lose yourself in here.” The words were quiet, firm. “Not you.” 

You swallowed. “I’m not.” 

His grip tightened, just slightly. “You better not be.” 

You exhaled softly, letting your eyes slip shut for just a second. “I promise.” 

Another beat of silence. Then, a breath. A slow, heavy inhale. 

“I fucking hate this place.” His voice was strained now, rasping at the edges. “I hate what it does to people. I hate what it’s done to you.” 

You swallowed hard but didn’t answer. You hated it, too.

Slowly, he pulled back, just enough to look at you. A long, controlled inhale. Then, a slower exhale. His hands shifted—one sliding up, the other following, cupping your face with a carefulness that made your chest tighten. His thumbs brushed lightly along your cheekbones. His breath hitched, just barely, like he was fighting something back. 

“I won’t let you lose yourself in here.” he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher. “Not you.”

You swallowed, your hands instinctively gripping at his wrists, not to pull away, but to hold on. “I’m not losing myself.”

His fingers twitched against your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze. Dark. Intense. Like he was searching for something.

“You better not be,” he murmured

His grip tightened, just slightly, and something unspoken crackled between you—something thick, electric, thrumming under your skin. You were too close. His breath fanned across your lips, warm, uneven, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he was going to pull away or close the distance.  

The air between you was thin, charged. You could feel every inch of him, the way his chest rose and fell against yours, the heat of his hands on your skin.  

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”  

Your breath faltered. His grip on your face didn’t waver. Your heart pounded, too loud, too fast. He was still so close, his lips just barely parted, his fingers brushing lower, skimming the edge of your jaw.  His grip didn’t loosen. Neither did yours.

You weren’t sure which of you moved first—if it was him, if it was you, if it even mattered. But the space between you had never felt smaller.

"Attention all players. The technical issues have been resolved. You may now step out of your rooms and follow the instructions of the guards." 

The words sliced through the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. Young-il froze, just a mere centimetre away from your lips. For a moment—just a fraction of a second—his fingers twitched against your skin, like they weren’t sure whether to tighten or release. Then, as if burned, he let go.  

He stepped back. Once. Then again.  

His expression shifted. The heat in his gaze, the raw intensity that had been there just seconds ago, vanished. It was like watching a flame snuffed out in an instant. His posture stiffened, his face smoothing into something unreadable.

You blinked, your breath coming out in pants, your body still tense from the moment that had almost—almost—happened.  

But he wasn’t looking at you anymore. He turned toward the door, his movements sharp, controlled, his back straight as if nothing had happened. As if none of it had meant anything.  

The sudden shift was jarring. Just seconds ago, he had been right there, holding onto you like you were the only thing tethering him to reality. And now? Now he looked at you like you were nothing at all.  

A lump formed in your throat, but you forced it down, watching as he reached for the door. His voice, when he finally spoke, was distant. Detached.  

"Let’s go."  

That was it. No explanation. No hesitation. Just a command. Without another glance, he stepped outside. The cold air of the arena seeped into your skin as you followed him, but it wasn’t just the room that felt empty. It was the space between you.  

Something had changed. Something had broken. And you had no idea how to fix it.  

[dejwritesarchived]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀recovery, nanami kento

the shibuya incident shook the sorcery world (and japan) drastically and nanami kento is slowly transitioning back into the world. the dreadful feeling of not being able to help the youth he worked to protect sits heavy in his mind as his scarred hands tremble to do simple tasks. but nothing causes his stomach to twists in the most horrendous knots until he have to face his five year old daughter and the world again with his new battle scars. but as a good wife

♔ ˖ ✧ — general warnings: female reader, her/she pronouns, female anatomy described, black reader written in mind, physical descriptors, canon verse but also a what if nanami survive au, jjk spoilers, established relationship (reader and nanami are married), mentions of ptsd, mentions of scars and burn scars, cane usage, mentions of therapy, reader and nanami have a daughter named yu, same reader & nanami from family affairs series, first half is told in 2nd/reader pov & other half in nanami’s pov // smut warnings: cowgirl/riding position, breasts play, pet name usage (baby), finger sucking, praise kink, // word count: 4.4k, minors dni.

OCTOBER 31ST WAS A DAY THAT CHANGED YOUR LIFE DRASTICALLY. You remembered dropping your five-year-old daughter Yu off with a friend after an emergency call for many sorcerers to the Shibuya district. You remembered kissing both sides of your daughter’s cheeks because whenever her father wasn’t with you to drop her off, he always told you to make sure you gave her as many kisses as he would give her until she was a giggling mess begging for you to stop. You recalled how your fingertips were imprinted with the fragrance of blood despite you wearing latex gloves the whole time—with the number of deaths you marked down, perhaps that scent just was in your mind. You remembered having a drag of your first cigarette (complementary of Shoko) after the long day of horror—you hated it. You thought it would ease your growing anxiety when you didn’t know where your husband was at. You recalled how you noticed Shoko’s whole demeanor changed as her quick strides towards you seemingly were used to push you further away from seeing the horror that was soon displayed in your view.

You remembered how disoriented you felt. You couldn’t keep much food down and practically slept at the hospital. You just didn’t feel like yourself—but who would when they knew that the events at Shibuya had nearly killed their loved one? It broke your heart lying to your own daughter. Your tongue stinging, even uttering out the words that mommy and daddy had to take a work trip and will return as soon as possible. Your daughter thought you were away at work, but here you were, staring at the monitor in Nanami’s room beep. You didn’t want to lose him; you didn’t know what to do without him. You didn’t know what Yu would be without him, she was such a Daddy’s girl, and it would crush your soul for her first love to be taken away from her. 

Nanami was strong. He pushed through. He wouldn’t be the same, but he pushed through. It was quite a journey of physical therapy, support groups, and even him deciding to stay at a hotel for a while, fearing how his daughter would react to seeing him like that. It took him two weeks and your constant encouragement until he finally decided to return home. Even when he decided to let his daughter see him eventually, you still basked in silence in the car, waiting until he was comfortable. Although your daughter wasn’t home yet, Nanami hadn’t stepped foot into your shared home in what seemed like a year—when it only had been a couple of months. The words of what he would say to his daughter swirl around his mind like a carnival carousel curling around. He had to do this. He couldn’t avoid being in his daughter’s life because of the triggering aftermath of Shibuya.

He refused to give Mahito that much power over him.

“I’m just afraid of how she’ll react.” Nanami lets out a sigh as he packs up his clothes. His scarred hands trembled as he folded his clothes to put them in his suitcase neatly. Nowadays, it takes him longer than usual to do simple tasks like buttoning his shirt, and he now attempts to fold his clothes.

“Our daughter is extraordinary; she’ll understand what we do when we explain it to her fully.” You grabbed Nanami’s trembling hands to get his full attention. “We told ourselves that we want her to enjoy her youth. We’ll protect her just so she can do that, but she‘s growing and becoming more curious—we can’t shelter her from a life that she could soon be interested in pursuing.” 

You watched as Nanami’s lips formed a straight line. He couldn’t argue against your words because they were true. His daughter was five. It was no point to stir her away from the lifestyle her parents (and a good portion of people she interacted with) were so familiar with, especially when she could possibly already see the ghoulish creatures that haunted his nightmares when he closed his eyes. 

“You’re still her father, Ken,” You mumbled as your eyes glanced up at him. “No matter how you look right now, she will still know it’s you because of this.” Your index finger pokes his chest where his heart is. 

During some moments within the day, you watched Nanami do simple tasks around the house as the two of you were waiting for you to have to pick up Yu from your friend’s house. Deciding to do what you guys usually do on a bright Sunday morning: clean the house. Your eyes couldn’t help but shine in worry seeing his right-hand shudder while he tried to do something like help you cut up vegetables for dinner. You knew this took a toll on him because cooking dinner together was your thing. A form of love language created when you first started dating blossomed into a tradition—it was just something you two did together. Even after long days of work and raising a very bright personality five-year-old—you two always met in the kitchen, whipping up dinner together and sharing subtle kisses here and there. 

Your lips parted to ask if he needed help, but it was as if he read your mind—Nanami shook his head as he continued to cut the vegetables. This time he had a better grip on the knife and was doing it perfectly. If you looked closer, you could even see a twinkle in his eye at him being able to do such a task. Your lips curve into a small smile before you return to doing what you were doing. The two of you moved in sync in the kitchen as if you were competitors in a cooking show—managing to finish dinner and set the table just in time for you to have to pick up Yu. You kissed Nanami’s cheek, mumbling about how you’ll be back as soon as possible. Your friend only lived about fifteen minutes away and didn’t mind dropping Yu off, but you felt it was best for you to talk to her first. 

You hated to admit that you were afraid of how Yu would react at the sight of her father—especially considering that you never went into detail about what you two do. She knows you’re a doctor and heal people, but that was it. She had no clue about curses, cursed energy—any of that. Was it wrong to shield her from that, considering that her parents would die? Maybe. But you and Nanami wanted to do everything to protect her youth and her ability to be young. When you picked Yu up, you couldn’t help but smile, seeing her bright smile as she skipped out of your friend’s house with her belongings in one hand and taiyaki. She hugged your leg as you opened the car door, rambling about her adventures with your friend. You helped her in her booster seat and strapped her in before climbing back into the car and returning home. Your mind is running with thoughts of telling your daughter that her father was back from the work trip, but he got hurt. He didn’t look like the last time she saw him. 

“Yu, we have to talk.” You said while stopping at the red light. You look in the rearview mirror, watching her snack on the sweet treat. Mentally, you’re cursing your friend for giving her sweets so close to dinnertime—but maybe that would help her process the burdening news. 

She glances at you with a smile. A toothless one because Nanami lost one of her front teeth after biting an apple while she was going. Another moment Nanami has missed. You broke eye contact with her to continue to drive, and you could even see the familiar driveway of your home. 

“Is daddy finally coming back?” Yu asked. You could hear her kicking her feet, and you simply sighed. 

You were turning into the driveway and parking the car. You unbuckled your seat so you could turn to look at her. Her curious expression looked rather adorable with the taiyaki crumbs on them. You knew you couldn’t lie to her. Ignoring her question, you exited the car and helped her out. You figured it would be better to be closer to her when you dropped the colossal bomb that could alter how she sees her father. Closing the car door and kneeling to her height, “Sweetie, I need to tell you something about your father.” 

Yu’s head tilted in confusion, and her eyes shone with curiosity and fear. Your hands would give her a comforting squeeze, tugging the coils out her face that fell out of the red headband Yuji brought her on one of his free days from being a sorcerer student.

“Daddy got hurt badly at work.” You tried to explain, but your voice seemed to crack in the back of your throat as you tried not to cry. This hurt.

“Your dad was hurt really bad, and I just wanted to let you know that you must take it easy on him. He’s still your dad, who will protect you no matter what.” You rubbed your thumb against her cheek brushing away any crumbs off her face.

Yu only give you a nod. The five-year-old had to comprehend that something happened so quickly that she didn’t even know if she should be asking more questions. She was one curious kid that always had a question about something. You opened the front door holding onto Yu’s hand, and the house seemed too quiet other than the sounds from the dining room. You glance down at Yu and lead her to the kitchen; you can’t help but chuckle at the sight. 

Nanami set the table slowly; he didn’t even notice that two of his favorite girls had returned. You felt Yu grip your hand harder at the sight as you cleared your throat to get his attention just in time as he set the last place at the table. When he looked up and saw the two of you, you gave him a reassuring smile. It was okay. It was a huge step, but it was okay. The skin on the right side of his body was bare and burnt and could be considered quite distracting to people who walked by him when he went to physical therapy. His mangled scars traveled up from the side of his face and down to his foot. His right eye was covered with a black eye patch as he stared at his wife and Yu. 

Yu’s mouth gasped open as she clutched to your pants leg. You didn’t want to nudge her forward; you were aching to know what was running through your daughter’s mind. Yu’s eyes seemed to be eyeing Nanami, who was standing before them. Nanami feared what his daughter would do and how she would react. He was afraid that his daughter wouldn’t recognize him due to the permanent scars he now had on his body. His palms grew sweaty at the silence in the kitchen. He still remembered the conversation you two had before all of this. He couldn’t shutter away in fear in a situation like this, and it was something Mahito would want. 

Yu finally detached herself from your pants, dropping the snack she once was eating and running to hug her father’s leg. The sight shocked you as you watched Nanami lift her in his arms and pull her close. Yu’s small arms wrapped around Nanami’s neck as she started to cry. Your eyes began to burn with your tears, quickly going to swipe them away before you became an emotional wreck. You were happy to see her show that emotion to you and Nanami. 

Yu lifts from the crook of Nanami’s neck to say through sniffles, “Daddy, I can’t believe you’re a pirate now.” 

You chuckled at her statement before speaking, “How about you two go get cleaned up, and I’ll put the food on the table.” 

Nanami put Yu down, and he extended his hand for her to take so she could lead him to the bathroom so they could get ready for dinner. A warm feeling overwhelmed your heart watching Yu drag him away, but she did it so gently, considering that Nanami still used a cane to help him walk better to his destination. You let them get cleaned up while you cleaned up the snack your daughter dropped and finished setting the table. 

Dinner felt like a nostalgic feeling—a nice nostalgic feeling that made you smile so hard. Yu was telling you about all the adventures she went on while you were away, from going to the countryside with Nanami’s parents to going to a pig cafe with your friend. She had so many stories to tell that she must have been holding in to tell the two of you.

“And I lost my tooth.” She grins at the two of you as she lets her tongue glides across the place where one of her teeth once was. 

“I’m sure the tooth fairy came and visited you,” Nanami adds.

“Yeah,” Yu placed her fork down to dig into her pockets, and she pulled out her yen bills. “Then I also made a new friend at school.” 

“You’re one social butterfly,” You said aloud, sipping your water.

“He’s so nice but has an ugly imaginary friend.” Yu shoved her mouth with vegetables leaving both Nanami, and yourself stunned at her words.

“Sweetheart, it’s not very nice to call someone ugly. Even if it’s an imaginary friend.” Nanami glances at his daughter, who lets out a familiar dramatic sigh he has heard from you. 

The blonde-haired male tends to forget that his daughter had a carbon copy of your personality. He watches as she pushes her vegetables around her plate before speaking again, “It’s just his imaginary friend who makes weird noises, and it looks like they make my friend unhappy.” Yu explained 

Nanami’s head tilts in curiosity, hearing his daughter describe something he was acquainted with. His hold on the fork tightened as he realized what his child was describing, and his stomach formed the most monstrous knots. He took a sip of water as he watched you grab hold of his hand and give it a nice squeeze. 

“How long have you been seeing this imaginary friend?” You asked.

“Hm, since Monday,” Yu admitted. 

“How about we invite your friend over? Hm?” Nanami asked. 

“Really?” Yu questioned excitedly. 

You made eye contact with Nanami. You didn’t want him to push himself so much that he was uncomfortable. “Are you sure about that?” You questioned as you collected Yu’s plate in front of her.

“It’s okay.” Nanami gives you a grin. “We’ll just have to ask the little guy's parents, that’s all.” 

Dinner continued with laughs and stories. Yu was so excited just to see her two parents together again. She couldn’t stop discussing everything she wanted to show you and Nanami. Even as you wrapped up dinner and told her to get ready for bed—she begged Nanami to help her. Due to Nanami being the girl dad he was, he couldn’t resist that charming smile and the puppy dog eyes Yu gave him when she wanted her way. 

“I’ll meet you in our room when I’m done. Make sure she brushes her teeth.” You smile as Nanami pecks your lips and watches him disappear towards the stairs with your energetic daughter. 

NANAMI’S FINGERS GRASPED AT THE FLUFFY PINK TEDDY BEAR  AFTER HE HAD TUCKED YU IN. Nanami Kento hasn't done this in months. He hadn't tucked his daughter in and placed a soft kiss upon her forehead in months, and the feeling felt so foreign to him even though he had held her so close when she was only a tiny baby. Or the fact that he witnessed her take first steps towards not him or his lovely wife Y/N, but freakin’ Gojo. Then Nanami couldn’t forget holding her hand as he walked into her first dance class. 

Yu looked at him as if he was the whole world—as if he was her protector and knight in the fairytale world that she dreamt about. Now, the guilt and the harsh stab in his heart hit him that he possibly wasn’t strong enough to protect her however he wanted. How can he protect something he promised to protect when she was just a baby now that his scarred hands shook doing simple tasks like tying his shoes, and when he closed his eyes, his nightmares were filled with him. 

“Daddy?” Yu broke the blonde-haired male out of his thoughts as she looked at him. “Where’d you go? Mommy said you went away for work.” 

He sits on her bed, and his weight causes the mattress to sink. He felt that question was coming; she just didn’t feel comfortable asking just yet. “Yes, I did. I just got hurt while doing so,” His lips form a reassuring grin that he hopes she will return.

Instead, her chocolate brown hues only lit up in curiosity. It was a look he had seen in Y/N’s eyes many times when he stepped into the medical room at the Kyoto school. Yu snuggles closer to the teddy bear in her arms before asking, “Does it hurt? Mommy can make you feel better with her mommy powers, or Auntie Shoko can help you..” She then flashes Nanami a smile, and it just hits Nanami that his little girl was missing one of her front teeth. 

She extended her hand, and Nanami’s scarred one held on to it. He watched her small thumb rub against his hand with a small smile. “I missed you, Daddy.” Her eyes start to water, and the waterworks begin. 

He cradles her in his arms so tightly, similar to when she was only a tiny baby in his arms years ago. Nanami didn’t want to let go. He held onto his daughter until she fell asleep with dried tears staining her cheeks. When he tucked her in tightly with her favorite stuffed teddy bear next to her, he placed a kiss on her forehead. 

“I will protect you forever, no matter what, princess.” 

After those words, he knew she probably wouldn’t remember, he turned off her room light. The only thing that illuminated Yu's room was a nightlight plugged up near her bed while Nanami closed the door just a bit for it to be cracked. 

Nanami settled in bed after showering. With one of his favorite books in his hand, he didn’t even notice that Y/N had skipped into the room after checking on Yu one last time before bed. The oversized Star Trek shirt that once was owned by Nanami hugged your figure, and with each step, you took to climb into bed—Nanami could get a glance at the cup of your butt. 

Y/N climbed into bed, and Nanami expected her to snuggle up close to him like she usually does when he reads before bed. She’ll always tell him how comforting his voice is when he reads aloud to her. Subtle jokes about how he could have been a speech coach or something instead of fighting curses. He wished his life was as simple as that. Instead of being scouted to go to a school to fight curses, he would have lived an everyday life. He would meet Y/N in a hospital in another life because now that he’s been married to her for years, he couldn’t fathom another life where she wasn’t a part of it. 

Nanami’s chocolate brown hues scanned over the words of the book he was wearing as he felt the weight of Y/N climbing on top of him. Her tummy was now supporting his book as she glanced down at him, and when his eyes finally looked up from his book—his lips formed a crescent moon-shaped smile at the sight. She hadn’t wrapped her hair yet, so her kinky coils were sprawled all over her head like a golden crown. 

“I missed you, you know? I missed this.” She says as her teeth grind against the plump lower lip. 

Nanami folded the corner of the page; he stopped reading and closed the book. He placed the book on the oak-colored nightstand, and his hands found comfort on Y/N’s waist. “Me too.” He answered truthfully. 

“I can tell, Ken,” Y/N says lowly as her hips rock against Nanami’s bulge, which displays how much he had missed his wife since his months of being away.

His fingers tiptoed up the shirt, but he soon snatched his scarred hand away in embarrassment. The insecure feeling of his rough and tainted fingers caressing something so soft as his face grows red. Y/N’s eyebrows raised in confusion because he didn’t want to touch her. She didn’t take offense to it, considering that she knew this was something Nanami would have to get used to. That half of his body was permanent with scars that she would help him love.Y/N tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it on the floor. Her hand grasped Nanami’s scarred one and she kissed his knuckles before placing his hand on one of her breasts.

“It’s okay. I want your touch. I crave your touch.” Y/N says. She guided Nanami’s hand up and down her soft brown skin before she began to rock her hips again. She knew Nanami was enjoying because, through the curls that fell in her face with each rock of her hips, she saw how his chocolate brown eyes lit up. “And I can tell you’re craving my touch also. You’ve missed me so much, didn’t you?” 

Nanami’s words were so caught up in his throat that he didn’t even know how to respond. His mind couldn’t focus on everything all at once because he wanted to do so much for Y/N. His scarred index and middle finger rolled her nipples in between them, gaining a moan from her, and it hit him hard at how much he missed this. He missed seeing how Y/N’s eyes fluttered close in pure bliss when he touched and kissed her. He’s so eager to get out of his boxers that he didn’t even catch the way she had some shit-eating grin on her face. 

But it was another thing that Nanami adored. He adored seeing that expression on Y/N’s face when he finally slid in. The way she would chew on her lower lip to muffle a moan when he had only slipped his tip inside her. Which only would cause Nanami to finally shove his cock further inside her just to hear her yelp out his name and have that dreamy expression on her face. 

That same expression she had on her face right now that Nanami’s cock was inside of her. A look of affection that the retired sorcerer missed so much. His hand grasped her waist, guiding Y/N’s hips in a pleasurable, rhythmic pace for both of them. Y/N props her hand on Nanami’s chest to help her balance upon riding him. Moans trembled out her mouth with each roll of her hips, and she had only had Nanami on her mind. It was quite strange how he could plague her brain like a catchy summer tune. That was just the type of spell he had on her. 

Nanami tried his best to thrust upward just to hit the spot that had Y/N speaking one of the languages she knew, but it had only taken a toll on his body, and Y/N noticed immediately. 

“I got it, Ken. Just relax.” Y/N’S leaning down, kissing at the corner of his lips (specifically the side that’s decorated with burn marks and soon his lips as she cocked to bounce upon his cock. “I know you want to ensure I’m getting more out of this than you.” She adds. 

“Y/N…” Nanami breathed out. “I just want to make—”

His words were cut off by her, “Make sure I orgasm; when do you not make me orgasm?” She glances down at him.

“Can I take care of you for once? Hm?” She asked that question with a roll of her hips for each word and syllable that left that pretty mouth of hers. 

And Nanami’s brain turned into mush, his face got so hot, and his balls grew heavier. The only answer he could give to Y/N was, “Fuck.”

“Good answer.” She cockily responds before her hand reaches at the headboard to help her ride him some more. 

The mess built between their naked bodies was driving Nanami insane but in a good way. After months of being touch-deprived due to surgeries and physical therapy, he needed this. He relaxed under Y/N; he let her take control until he could feel himself about to cum. 

“I’m about to—Shit,” Nanami uttered. Before he could say anything else, Y/N could feel the thick ropes of cum shooting inside of her. She’s leaning down, capturing his lips upon his and slowly grinding against him to ensure his cum stays inside of her. 

When the kiss broke apart, Nanami looked up at his wife as if he had hearts in his eyes. “I fuckin’ love you.” 

“I love you too,” Y/N giggles through her subtle pants. 

With the Star Trek shirt back on Y/N’s body, which was now stained with the scent of Nanami and sweat, she glances over at her husband, who is sincerely thinking about something. She hoped he still wasn’t thinking about the scars on his body. “What’s on your mind?” She glances up at him through her eyelashes.

“Yu can see curses now.” Nanami looked at his wife. “She’s only five.” He adds with a sigh.

Y/N hated to admit that her assumptions of what their daughter told them during dinner were accurate. She felt like Yu was too young to see them and finally realized that her world was much different than her friends in class. But Yu had two amazing parents. Two parents would guide her through this. Due to Nanami being the wonderful husband he was, it was as if he read Y/N’s mind. 

With a sly grin and a quick, playful peck on the tip of Y/N’s nose, he says, “We’ll guide her through it, though.” 

​━━ ♡ // @maydayaisha @eiflawriting @unknownspecies @violxtbxbyy @kama-star @superluckystar @minniecums @neesiewrote @lisia-primary @plopifuee @discobeachbarbie @yeagerfushiguro @dontmockwhatilove @omb-lnn @sukunasdirtylaugh @zu8her @loveupeople @atiny-dazzlinglight @p00pdev1l @macxera @onlybambibambi @dior-fawn @sleepysnorlaxsblog @mstsukii @jujutsukaisenfan @adcree @aichaaa @sexlapis @syomi @si00p @madness1999sworld @pt6dio @daisynik7 @woahhajime @blaxxbutterfly

thanks for reading, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Love on the brain chapter 3

Master list

CW: please check master list

Jabari sits stiff on the back porch of his house. He has one ear trained on the noises inside the house, the other on his sisters as they chatter on about something that happened at school. He's listening for even the slightest raise of a voice, body poised to jump up and hop the fence. He's not sure if he could get his sisters inside to safety, and he knows they don't have the upper strength to climb the fence. He glances at the shed in the backyard and decides that it's a good alternative. The back door swings open, and it's the heavy steps of his father that he hears. The groan of a tired body sitting next to him.

“Hey sport.” His father pulls him in for a side hug and ruffles his hair. Kenny, yeah, Jabari thinks, is a bit rough with his head pats. “I wanna apologize for you and your sisters seeing your mum, and I fight.”

Jabari shrugs his shoulders, “it's fine, dad.” He whispers.

“Next time, I don't want you getting between your mum and I.” Kenny says quietly, “innit a proper place for a child.”

Jabari looks up at him and nods his head. There's still a frown on his face, and even though he wants to force a smile, he can't. So instead, he looks back across the lawn towards his sisters. The two of them are playing a hand clapping game, and it looks fun. They look oblivious to the fact that Amazon just delivered a brand new TV, it's fancy and curved, boasting all the new bells and whistles. Oblivious to the new PS5, and there's two of them, a promise that he and his dad…Kenny will play games together. Oblivious to the obnoxiously large doll house that waits for them in their bedroom, already put together. Oblivious to the new plants in their clay pots with ribbons tied around them, replacements for the ones Kenny poured bleach into out of spite.

The girls are laughing and singing.

Jabari, for the third time in his life, feels older than what he is.

You sit at the dining room table and trace your fingers across the shiny green leaves of your new gardenia plant. It's one of the few plants he decided to replace. You're not sure how he was able to find one, Kenny made it a point to not know much about gardening and your flowers. He always said it was because he didn't understand nature, but he was lucky to have a bird that did.

You understand nature, alright. You understand nature.

You understand.

You.

You're? Nature.

Your? Nature.

Yes, your.

Nature.

Understands.

Nature understands you.

You and nature are often hand in hand, and you understand each other. You understand him and his nature, too. Kenny makes no effort to understand you or your nature, and his nature will always come screaming at you. His nature is all fists, sharp edges, scorched earth, salted soil, and then he begs for you to bring life into degraded land; he fancies himself Hades, and you are his Persophene.

That's what that display today was, begging and crying and praying. Jesus himself would have whipped Kenny, his mother, and the pastor for that act. Jesus would have flipped over the new gifts and berated everyone, including you, for this shameful sham. Your Bible is opened to 1 Corinthians 13:4–8a, it's highlighted in blue highlighter, the thin paper dog eared. It's mocking, really, because in your heart, you feel as if you could curl up and die. The std is slowly going away, and the discomfort of sex is the only thing that saves you from opening yourself up to your husband.

It's not related to the fact that you can't bring yourself to even pretend to orgasm. It's not related to the fact that you don't want to have him grunting above you, lying to your face that he won't do this again. Telling you that he loves you, that you're too good for him, he doesn't deserve you…(He's a dog. A liar. A no good son of a bitch! You secretly hope he dies. You hope you both die, a punishment for making the kids needlessly suffer.)

You simply want to get off this carousel, take off your clown makeup, and leave this three ring circus. You're angry that you can't and even more angry that the audience is your children and whoever else just happens upon this display. You want to flip over tables and trash the house and leave with your children.

Maybe even go across the lawn and stay with those sweet men that all seem to have kept an eye on your family.

The back door swings open, and Kenny walks in, Jabari is trailing after him. You watch as your baby boy moves stiffly, and you move to follow, already tensing because you feel like a fight is gonna happen.

“Sit down and relax.” Kenny says with a laugh, “We're gonna set up those new game stations and see what we can get into.” He throws his arm around Jabari and brings him close.

You shake your head and smile, “Don't go spending more than a few dollars. What are we feeling for dinner?” It's all pretend.

Your husband gives you a knowing smile, “I'd like to have you for dinner-”

“Gross dad!” Jabari whines.

“But I don't want you cooking, why don't we order in, whatever the kids want and why don't you finish going through that gardening book of yours and order the stuff for those new raised beds you want me to build. Maybe even look into those chickens you want, and we'll see what we can do.” He then ushers his son towards his office, talking about how he doesn't understand the new games other than mine craft.

You sigh heavily and go to call the girls inside so you can show them their new doll house.

The bastard doesn't even stay that night when you turn him away for sex. You won't even touch him until he gets tested, and you see the results in his patient portal. So tonight, you sit on the back porch nursing a glass of wine. The cool air is relaxing, and the sounds of your kids enjoying their Friday night makes you smile. The gardening magazine is open, and you're slightly interested in the articles, but your eyes keep drifting up towards the fence. They linger when you hear your neighbor's back door open and the sounds of conversation.

A smile slowly spreads across your lips, “Hey neighbors!” You call out to who you suspect is Simon and maybe Johnny. The chatter stops, and Johnny is leaning over the fence.

He is grinning ear to ear, his bright blue eyes reflect the dusk of the evening. “Miss Bonnie!”

“Miss Bonnie?” You chuckle and snap your magazine closed, “I've told you my name.”

“Yeah, but Miss Bonnie sounds cuter.” He is such a flirt you end up thinking. “Amazon was practically struggling with all of those boxes today.”

You nod, “Yeah they were.” You sound a bit clipped in tone, but it can't be helped at the mention of that bribery. “How's my daughter's baby doll doing?”

“She's doin’ just fine.” Simon is at the fence now. A cigarette resting between his fingers, arms folded over the fence. His mask pulled up to rest over his nose.

“Those cancer sticks will kill you.” Eyeing the cigarette with distaste clear on your face. “My own father smoked and then had the nerve to be shocked when he got cancer and died.”

“Cancer got him?” Simon asks.

“No, cancer didn't get him, but he was speeding to make his doctor appointment, flipped his car, and died that day.” You shake his head, “may he rest in peace, I guess.”

Johnny is slack in the jaw and Simon in all morbid humor chuckles. “Was it a cancer appointment he was racing to?”

The noise you make is a cross between laughter and choking. “Yeah!” And that allows Simon to laugh in earnest with you. There's a crash in the house and then followed by screaming. The back door opens, and out runs Jayla and Jada with Jabari hot on their trails.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” Jada squeals as she's tackled to the ground by her brother. “Mom, get him off!”

You laugh and get up to separate the two of them. “What's going on?” Immediately, they both start yelling and arguing with each other. “Enough! Jayla?”

“They were fighting over the last slice of pizza, but Jada knocked it on the floor so nobody could have it.” Jayla whispers, a shy smile on her lips.

You only shake your head, “Jesus be a fence…there's more pizza in the house.”

“Traitor!” Jada shouts, pointing a finger at her twin.

“You're the one who wouldn't share the last slice of pizza!” Jabari is irate about this.

“But mom” Jada whines, “That's dad's nasty pizza, and he gets mushrooms on purpose!”

Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose, and all you can hear is Johnny laughing and the low chuckle from Simon. Johnny climbs over the fence, and he digs in the pocket of the oversized hoodie he is wearing. He pulls out a few suckers and offers them out. Jada is quick to snatch one and tearing open the wrapper. You are absolutely mortified. Johnny is only laughing louder.

“Jada Nicole! Please and thank you!” You scold her.

“She's a kid wit’ candy Miss Bonnie.” Johnny opens another sucker and hands it to Jayla. She smiles and says thank you before ducking back behind her sister. “Ye wan’ one?” He offers Jabari.

“Nah Soap, I prefer sour patch kids.” He smiles and rocks back and forth on his feet. “Hey, are you guys busy?”

“Jabari-” You go to say.

“Actually!” Jada looked at Simon “How's my Anni doing? I hope you haven't had to spank her. Sometimes, she acts out and just won't shut her mouth when she cries, so you gotta give her something to cry about.”

You are distraught because why are your kids deciding to show their asses at this exact moment? On second thought, where did she learn about the concept of spanking? You've certainly never hit her a day in your life.

Simon is looking at Jada, and he grins at her, “Anni has been nothing but an angel.” He assures her, “went down for her naps just fine and ate all her vegetables.”

“Good,” Jada nods her head, “because she can be a handful at times. Can I have her back?”

“Yeah little lady.” He puts out his cigarette and heads into the house.

You, on the other hand, are absolutely over your children and their lack of filter, “I'll wait for Anni. You three get inside and change for bed. We've got a long day tomorrow.”

There's a chorus of “But Mom” in whiney little tones accompanied with stomping feet. After a stern now, Jada and Jayla head inside, Jabari staying to linger.

“I actually wanted to ask if Soap and his friends wanted to come to my soccer game tomorrow.” He gives you such a puppy dog look as he shuffles his feet. Eyes going from between you and Johnny, genuinely hopeful.

“Ah donnae mind. Sure, tha guys would like tae come an’ watch.” Johnny ruffles his hair, and Jabari leans into him. “But ye really should call it football.” He laughs.

“Ugh Soap, you're on American soil!”

You watch the interaction feeling some type of emotion. It's convoluted, strange, a certain type of longing that settles heavily in the pit of your stomach. Seeing your son lean into such a sweet and loving touch, when a few hours ago he barely would look his own father in the eye, it made you freeze up with guilt. You so desperately wanted this moment to be with Kenny, and at the same time, you wanted that man far away from all of you. Seeing Simon come back with your daughter's doll and all of the little accessories made that feeling intensify. Kenny had never certainly cradled that little Anni doll sweetly and carefully. He often didn't even acknowledge the doll.

You take the doll and its things from over the fence, fingers brushing against Simon's gloved hands. “Sweetie.” You interrupt Jabari's and Johnny's playful banter, “Take this to your sister, and please, all of you be dressed for bed by the time I get in there.”

He takes the toys and gives Johnny a smile “Night Soap, night Mr. Simon!”

Once he is inside and the door slams shut, you look at Johnny. He's got this infuriating smile on his face as he leans back against the fence, hands shoved into that oversized hoodie. Actually, upon closer inspection, it looks like it belongs to Simon. Before you can say anything, Simon speaks up.

“You've got tha’ house to ya self t'night?” He crosses his arms over the fence again.

“Kenny will be back in the morning. Think he went to his mom's.” You know it's a lie, and you don't miss how both men seem to sneer at this. “Don't let him call you Soap.”

“It's fine, everyone does.” Johnny smiles again, “he's thinking of a cool nickname for us to call him.”

“Nothing inappropriate, please.” You warned him, “Jabari, if he does something, his sisters are bound to copy.”

“Sounds like mah kinda kid!” You genuinely think Johnny is a bit cooky in the head.

Simon shakes his head, “An’ you?”

“What about me?”

The look he gives is assessing, picking you apart, searching, “you'll be fine t'night?”

“I will be.”

“Call if you need to.” Simon's eyes are intense, smoldering.

That look makes you squirm and avoid eye contact, “The match starts at two. I'll text you guys the address.”

“Thanks Miss Bonnie.” And in a surprising turn of events, Johnny pulls you into a hug. It's tight, the kind you get from a friend you haven't seen in forever. It also lingers a bit long. He lets you go and nudges you on to the house. Both of them wish you a good night and that they will all be at the game tomorrow.

When you're alone for the night, kids put to bed, and you reread your Bible passage that is highlighted. The only thought on your mind is the fact that Kenny got mushrooms on the pizza despite Jada and Jayla asking him not to. A stark contrast to how effortlessly Simon and Johnny treat any of your children.

a.n: this one took a bit. But I did enjoy writing it. Oh and the verse that was used to council reader (if you wanna call it that) is below.

1 Corinthians 13:4–8a

"Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth”

Tag list: @leahnicole1219 @uraeus56 @royalty-cashinout @chickennuggetuwu @gazsluckyhat

[nyoomfruits]

25, landoscar!

25. “Can I just keep you?” “It doesn't work that way.”

Oscar finds Lando on the curb outside of the club, hunched forward, a little ball of black fabric and curls. “Hey mate,” He says, stepping off his bike, parking it against a wall before making his way over to him.

“Bleh,” Lando says, to his knees. “Lea’ me ‘lone.”

Oscar nudges his foot against Lando’s thigh. “Can’t, unfortunately. Promised Max I’d get you home safe.”

Lando’s head shoots up, his eyes bright and mouth slightly parted. “Oscar?”

“Yeah, bud. Max called me, said he needed someone to take you home. You okay?” Oscar kneels down in front of Lando, eye sight. Checks him over. He looks okay, aside from being absolutely fucking sloshed.

“’M fine,” Lando mumbles, tips forward a little, towards Oscar. “It’s just. Everything’s spinning. Like. Fast. Sooooo fast.”

“Oh no,” Oscar says, rather deadpan, trying and failing to subdue the smile that tugging at his lips. He should be annoyed, maybe, about being dragged out of bed at 3 in the morning because his flat mate is ready to pass out in the middle of the street and there’s no one else to get him home safe. But like, it’s Lando. He hasn’t really figured out how to be annoyed at Lando yet.

“Yeah,” Lando says, miserably, looks up at Oscar with big, sad eyes. “Like those horses. That go in a circle. You know? They’re like on a platform and they just go weeeeee,” Lando makes a spinning motion with his finger.

“A carousel,” Oscar says, getting up and extending a hand towards Lando. “C’mon, let’s get you up, yeah? I’ll take us home.”

“Home,” Lando sighs wistfully, taking Oscar’s hand in his and letting himself be dragged upright.

And god, it gets Oscar every single time, how fucking beautiful Lando is. Even now, with his shirt buttoned up wrong and a mysterious stain on his jeans and his hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes slightly unfocused he’s the most gorgeous think Oscar’s ever seen.

Life would be so much easier, Oscar thinks, if he didn’t have such a truly embarrassing crush on his flat mate.

“Bike’s over there,” Oscar says, tearing his eyes away from the curl stubbornly stuck to Lando’s temple.

“Ah yes, take me to your mighty stead. Wait, actually, does that make you my white prince on a charming horse? Wait, no, white horse on a charming… No, that’s not it either.” Lando frowns deeply.

“Sure,” Oscar says, smiling fondly as he pushes his bike in front of Lando and Lando clambers on. “I’ll be you prince charming. Now please hold on tight, yeah? No ‘King of the world’ shenanigans like last time.”

“Boo,” Lando says, but dutifully wraps his arms around Oscar’s waist, slipping his hands into the front pocket of Oscar’s hoodie. “Nice. Hand warmer.”

Oscar merely rolls his eyes and kicks off the curb, ignoring the flutter his heart makes at the feeling of Lando’s hands on his stomach, almost burning through the fabric of his hoodie. There’s only a little wobble before he gets the bike properly going, getting better and better at biking places with someone on the back mostly because Lando doesn’t have a car and Oscar has a hard time saying no to him.

Lando lets his head flop forward, against Oscar’s back, sighs happily into the fabric of Oscar’s hoodie. “You’re the best, you know. Like, an angel. Prince Charming. Prince Angel Charming.”

Oscar snorts, steers the bike down the abandoned streets towards their apartment.

“I wish I could like, keep you,” Lando says, leaning his head on Oscar’s shoulder, his breath only inches away from Oscar’s face, brushing against his cheek with every exhale. “Like, make you small and put you in my pocket and then I could take you out if I was sad.”

Oscar shakes his head, smiles to himself. “I don’t think it works that way, mate.”

“Bleh,” Lando says, rolls his head off of Oscar’s shoulder and flops it against his back again. “The world sucks.”

“’M sorry,” Oscar says. He steers the bike into an alley, narrowly avoids a fallen over trash can.

“’S okay. Sucks a little less with you in it,” Lando mumbles into his hoodie.

Oscar smiles a little sadly. Lando says things like that sometimes. Most often when he’s drunk. It’s. Nice. But it’s not. He doesn’t mean it the way Oscar means it. Which is fine. Oscar’s made his bed and flopped the fuck down onto it from the first time he met Lando and thought oh. It happens, when you pine for someone who can have whoever they want.

But still. He wishes, sometimes. Hopes. It’s stupid, anyway.

“Yeah,” Oscar says, pulling the bike to a stop in front of their shitty little apartment, savoring the feeling of Lando plastered against him for one last second before they have to step off the bike. “Same.”

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Yandere Professor Hannibal Lecter x Female Reader

Chapter: Dog Days.

When your ex Professor Hannibal Lecter kidnapped you after you finished your school semester as his student, you were at first rebellious. Quite the fighter.

The first meal Professor Lecter cooked for you was none other than Oxtail Soup. He wouldn't let you feed yourself. That annoyed you.

Smiling, he used the spoon to fill it with the tasty liquid and held it to your lips. "Say 'ahh'.''

You blew into the spoon and it caused the hot water to splash onto the face of Professor Lecter.

He hissed in pain. He then put the bowl and spoon down. He slapped you hard across the face.

You were shocked. You clutched your face and felt a bruise forming on your cheek. No one ever raised their hand to you. Not even your own father.

"Listen, Bitch." Professor Lecter grabbed the bottom of your chin to make you look up at him. "I am trying my best and I will not tolerate disrespect."

For you whimpered as tears flowed down your eyes. How frightened you were of this man.

Professor Lecter's expression softened in pity and you think regret. He sighed as if he was tired. 

"Please cooperate." He held a spoonful of soup again. 

Slowly, you opened your mouth and sipped.

The next morning, you felt weird. You couldn't understand the feeling. It wasn't pleasant. It was, in fact, ugly. Your head hurt and it was spinning like a dark and creepy carousel.

Your throat itches and feels dry. The worst was your temperature. Both overly warm and then cold. Switching on and off. Causing you to be confused. You were sick.

Lecter wanted to make up for slapping you. He knew this was to be expected. I mean he did kidnap you and it was natural to be scared. He felt foolish for losing his temper.

But, his whole life he was respected. His parents spoiled him and would never refuse him. He was popular at school. And when he became an adult and then a successful Psychiatrist, he was always worshiped and respected.

He didn't like this new treatment.

He wanted you to love him back.

Lecter wanted to remove that chain you were wearing and live a normal life with him as his wife.

Well, he wants you to homeschool his future kids. Other than that, he wants a normal life.

Lecter had to wake early to go grocery shopping. He doesn't eat sugar. Only meat and vegetables.

He got the ingredients to make heart shaped pancakes.

He went to Pinterest to cook simple pancakes. He never cooked pancakes before and didn't want to screw it up. This was new to him. 

Lecter tried his best. He assumed it was okay. He added strawberries and powdered sugar. It looked decent.

He felt nervous. Normally, he was always confident in everything. With you, it was the opposite. He felt insecure. Oh, well. He shrugged his shoulders. Maybe it is because he loves you. In novels and movies, he read that people feel stupid all the time around their crush.

Taking the tray, he added soy milk and gummy vitamins. He walked down the stairs to the basement.

He saw you curled in bed. "Wake up, my dear. It is time to eat." Lecter announced in an authoritative voice.

When you didn't answer, he clenched his jaw in annoyance. The hard way again? So be it. Lecter settled down the tray on the expensive glass coffee table and walked over to you.

He ripped the blanket off your body. And to his surprise, you were still as a stone. That confused him. He felt your forehead and to his horror, you were burning up.

That caused his heart to pound in fear. You were sick! He then checked your pulse and opened your eyelid. A high fever you had. Lecter then covered you back with the blanket and went upstairs for medicine. 

Over the past two hours, Lecter tended to your every need. He gave you pain killers and fed you chicken soup instead. You got better.

But, still weak. Your ex Professor was currently sitting next to your bed pressing a wet rag against your forehead.

You poor thing. He thought. He held your hand lovingly and watched you. 

To his surprise, you began talking in your sleep. He blinked in curiosity. He didn't understand what you were saying at first. Now, he heard it loud.

"Mummy."

Ouch. You missed your mother. Lecter sighed. First you wouldn't accept his love, you reject him, he hits you, and now you are sick.

Everything was going wrong.

He is lost and doesn't know what to do.

Covering his face with his hands and resting his elbows on his knees, the stress and worry of your health caused something strange to him.

He felt tears sliding down his wrinkled face.

The thought of you dying was the worst thought. He cannot imagine you leaving him permanently. That was why he took you away in the first place.

"Why are you punishing me, Name?"