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2i1han · 23 days ago

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RƎVO⅃UTION: Underground Outlaws : M.J.H

con heartist | myung jaehyun

swindler!jaehyun x f!reader (as yeonsoo)

wc : 12k

plot : jaehyun is a street-savvy pickpocket and swindler surviving in a run-down street. when you, a rich girl, wander into his turf to visit your sick brother, jaehyun targets you for an easy con.

🎧 : gambler , formula , black madonna

contains : deception, illegal activities, manipulation, morally grey characters, gritty urban setting, reader is 'gullible', jaehyun is kinda musty lol, intentional plot inconsistency, little to no romance is happening in here (maybe if you squint a little) mainly focusing on crime

a/n : the first installment of underground outlaws is finally here! i actually began working on this even before posting the series masterlist, so y'all won’t have to wait too long between updates. i hope you enjoy it! i did quite a bit of research on how these illegal operations work in order to make the fanfic kinda accurate, so i hope this lives up to your expectations somehow.

UNDERGROUND OUTLAWS MASTERLIST

your life wasn’t always marble tubs and marble walls. it didn’t start with tailored dresses, floor-to-ceiling windows, and high-speed elevators that lifted you up to the top floor. no—your life began in a cramped, mildew-scented apartment with peeling wallpaper and thin walls that echoed your parents’ drunken fights deep into the night.

your parents drank more than they ate. they’d scream over overdue bills, then blow what little money they had on affairs, cigarettes, and the next bottle of cheap liquor. you remember the sound of shattering glass. the way your mother's perfume mixed with alcohol when she stumbled in late. your father’s boots stomping on beer cans in the hallway. it was chaos.

and through all that, your older brother—the one who was supposed to be your anchor—drifted too. he protected you, sure. he'd step between you and a blow meant for your face. but when the night came, he'd slip out with his hood up, joining the other lost kids on the street. he got in trouble, bruised his knuckles more than his pride, and stole from addicts to feed you both. he was your savior and your curse all at once.

while they lose sanity, you buried yourself in textbooks. worn, secondhand pages marked with someone else’s dreams. you memorized facts while sirens blared outside. you studied to the sound of your parents’ arguments and your brother’s heavy footsteps sneaking in before dawn. you worked your way out of that pit, climbing with nothing but raw willpower and bloodied fingernails.

and now, you lie submerged in warm water inside a massive marble bathtub. their froth clinging to your skin like milk. the golden lighting overhead casts a soft glow, highlighting the soft lines of your body beneath the surface. a half-finished martini rests on the polished marble side-table nearby. you earned this life. every piece of it through plain wit and patience.

the bath drains with a soft whirl, and you rise from the water, steam swirling around you. droplets glide down your skin, tracing along your collarbone and lower back. you grab a fluffy towel from the heated rack. one for your body, another for your long, dark hair. as you wrap yourself up, your feet sink into the warm plush of the rug beneath you. the bathroom smells of jasmine body wash, rosehip oil, expensive serums neatly arranged on the black marble counter.

you pause by the wide mirror, rubbing your hair dry, catching your reflection. your face is beautiful, refined, almost deceptive in its softness. beneath your eyes, no trace of the tired girl you once were. strong. fit. clean. you have everything now. everything except for one thing.

a sudden buzz cuts through the silence. the sharp vibration hums against the marble countertop. you glance down as you read your brother's name flashes on the screen.

your hand stills mid-motion, towel bunched in your fist. you don’t reach for the phone. you just stare at it, watching it ring until it stops. but then, it buzzes again. this time, you reach for it. you swipe right just before the last ring fades, lifting the phone to your ear, eyes still locked on the mirror.

you don’t say anything. you just waited for the other end to speak.

"yeon?" a gravelly, croaking voice spoke through the speaker. it’s hoarse, and ugly. a throat marinated in years of cheap beer and cigarettes. you almost don’t recognize it.

"what do you want?" you muttered, not out of malice, but just tired instinct. you’re ready to end the call. ready to hand over whatever it is he's after. money, maybe or bail, again.

"i don’t want anything," he says, coughing mid sentence, the sound making your throat itch. "i’m sick. and i just… i wanted to talk. before the inevitable happens."

your heart doesn't exactly break, but it weakened. the voice doesn’t sound like your brother. it sounds like a man decades older, worn down by a life he never escaped. your mind reels back to when his face shielded you from your father’s fists. the way he’d hold your wrist tightly when you cried, whispering "stay quiet" while the walls trembled from shouting. him skipping school to sell your mother’s hidden stash so you could afford exam fees and instant noodles.

you hated him for it. but you needed him. and he never let you go hungry.

"okay." you said plainly. eyes shimmering under the bathroom light.

"still the same place," he adds before you can ask. "the old apartment. same street."

you nod even though he can’t see you. your chest feels tight. the old apartment—a place raided by swat after your parents overdosed. he never left. he stayed in that cursed space.

"i’ll be there tomorrow," you say, and you end the call before the crack in your voice can escape your mouth. for a moment, you just stare at your reflection again. the woman you’ve become. the woman he once tried to protect.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

when you woke up, you didn't rush getting ready. you took your time, brushing through emails with a half-full cup of cold brew, clearing your calendar for the day.

you pulled together what you considered a "simple" outfit, though nothing about it was truly ordinary. a crisp white blazer hung perfectly on your shoulders, paired with a silk cream camisole that clung delicately to your figure. flared high-waisted trousers elongated your legs, the hem hanging by your nude heels. a pair of minimalist gold earrings caught the sunlight by the window as you clasped them on, along with a matching necklace around your neck. simple but undeniably expensive. your long, glossy black hair flowed in soft waves down your back, freshly curled and scented with oud. you slid on your shades, picked up your leather handbag, then walked out.

outside the high-rise building, the city shimmered. sleek, mirrored towers stretched endlessly into the sky, casting reflections on polished luxury cars gliding through the street. your own ride, a black sedan with tinted windows was parked out front. the valet tipped his head, opening the door as you stepped inside.

but when the car turned a few corners after almost half an hour of ride, everything shifted. as you pulled into the street of your childhood, the contrast hit you like a slap across the face.

the air was different here. thick with smog and cigarette smoke, mixed with the acrid scent of burning plastic from some trash fire nearby. garbage overflowed from bins, huge rats darting into alley shadows. the buildings were no longer pristine; they were hollowed-out carcasses of forgotten lives. shuttered shops, rusting fire escapes, graffiti-scarred walls. broken beer bottles glinted under the sun like jagged jewels scattered across the cracked concrete.

you stepped out. your heel sank slightly into the uneven, gravel-strewn ground. crunch, another step, more crunch. you walked without stumbling. your posture didn’t bend for the decay around you, nor you flinch when a group of sketchy onlookers turned their heads your way, eyes trailing over your figure like wolves spotting a doe.

familiar sights—if you could still call them that—passed by in your periphery. the old convenience store still stood, miraculously still alive despite being robbed too many times before. the same metal roller shutters, coated in old and fresh graffiti. most doors had been broken in, boarded up with planks, or just left to rot. you couldn’t even recognize some of the places anymore. this street got even worse, you thought bitterly. like it had been cursed to age faster than the rest of the world.

and, unbeknownst to you, you were being watched.

across the road, a man lingered on the edge of the street—a thin, scruffy figure with short black hair slicked back with grease and sweat. he wore a grimy denim jumpsuit with one strap hanging loose over a dingy white shirt stained from days of wear and rust. a spray bottle in one hand, a rag in the other. he’d been wiping windshields for money no one offered, scamming car owners by pointing them toward his crew’s overcharging "repair shop."

but the moment he saw you, it's as if he saw a pot of gold—no, a vault of diamonds

you obviously didn’t belong here. and in his eyes, you weren’t a person, you were an opportunity. a walking vault. he let the car he was working on drive off unpaid and began tailing you from a distance, like a predator quietly observing his prey. he stayed behind posts, shadowing your every step without you noticing. you looked too polished, and too clean. a rich girl with some mysterious agenda. easy victim.

then, he saw you halt on your steps. you stopped in front of a run-down apartment building. weather-beaten, its windows fogged by grime, one of the balcony railings bent as if twisted by brute force. he ducked behind a power pole and watched as you disappeared inside. what the hell is someone like her doing here? he thought. and in the time you walked up the building, he was already plotting. already building a strategy to rob you blind.

meanwhile, inside, you climbed each stair, creaking under your light weight, groaning with age. the metal railing looked sticky to touch, coated in years of rust and crud. the air grew heavier the higher you went.

then, finally, you stopped in front of a familiar door. twisted, rusted, and barely hanging on its hinges. the number "5" was bolted at the top, discolored and corroded. you raised your hand and knocked. the sound echoed like metal against bone.

then door creaked open. and there he was—your brother. you almost didn’t recognize him. his frame had rotted. cheeks shurnk sharply around his cheekbones, his skin pale and yellowed. hollow eyes met yours with surprise—then with subtle joy. his collarbones protruded like blades, and his spine seemed to show right through the skin at the back of his neck.

"sis," he rasped with a half-smirk. "come in—" he paused, eyes trailing down your outfit. a flicker of shame crossed his face. "i'm sorry... you might want to brace yourself. please, come in."

you stepped in. the door closed behind you with a groan, the rusty hinges creaking.

the stench hit your nose instantly—mold, rot, old cigarettes, and something else you couldn’t identify. the wallpaper had peeled off entirely in some places, the bare walls now streaked with black mold and water damage. a leak dripped from the ceiling into a bucket. the wooden floor was warped and splintering. the couch, if you could call it that, had stuffing spilling from every seam. springs stuck out like bones. the kitchen smelled like it hadn’t known real food in years.

he slumped back onto the sofa like opening the door had drained what little energy he had left. you stood there, taking it all in. and before you could say anything, his voice broke the silence.

"yes," he said, "this is how i live. i never moved out."

you swallowed, walking toward the opposite couch. it sagged beneath you when you sat, and the spring groaned under your weight. still, you kept your posture straight, legs crossed.

"so," you said evenly, "what do you want to talk about?"

he let out a soft huff. half-laugh, half-exhale. "just... anything." his smile was small and sincere. "it's been so lonely, yeon. if i ever die—i just wanted one last real talk with my little sister."

you stared at him, your chest tightening. he was still the same boy who shielded you from your father’s fists. the same one who fed you by selling stolen pills. the same boy who sent you away, told you to run, while he stayed behind to rot. and despite everything, you still remembered the warmth of his arm around you, telling you it’d be okay when it never was.

so you talked. about work, life, the world you now lived in. the people you met. he listened like he’d been starving for human connection, like every word you said fed something inside him that had long been dead.

and as time passed, you finally said the thing you hadn’t planned to. "i'm getting you out of here," you said firmly. "we’ll find a hospital. get you cleaned up. a new place. somewhere to start again."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

a few buildings away, the crook sat crouched beside a rust-stained post, biting at a fingernail while eyeing the apartment you'd gone into. minutes ticked by like hours. he shifted, restless, just about ready to call it off until he saw you stepping out of the building, still regal despite the filth around you. and that was his cue.

he scrambled up to his feet and bolted toward the corner repair shop, his homeboy's haunt. slipping inside like how he rehearsed in his head. he snatched the nearest wrench and took his place beside a jacked-up car, pretending to inspect the axle. he grabbed a busted phone from the cabinet they always used for schemes. his friend behind the counter gave him a puzzled look until the man winked twice.

as if some secret code, the friend blinked back, then nodded in understanding, giving him an "okay" gesture as he casually leaned into his role. all systems go.

then—his sharp hearing heard the click of your heels coming near.

tap. tap. tap.

he stepped out suddenly, just as you passed, timing it perfectly, and, bullseye. you gasped, your heel twisting on a crack in the pavement, and you lurched backwards. your bag swung, your hand flailed, and you completely lost balance. a phone them clattered to the ground with a sharp crack, screen shattering on impact.

before your body could hit the concrete, he caught you. a strong hand gripped your waist, stopping your fall. his face was too close you could smell him immediately—sweat, a trace of rust, and a strange musky perfume that somehow didn't make you grimace. his white shirt clung to his chest, nearly translucent with sweat and wear, each rust stain zoomed right in front of you.

you blinked up at him, caught in his eyes longer than you meant to. something about the sheen of sweat on his collarbone and the sharp cut of his jaw made your stomach flutter.

"are you okay?" he asked.

you snapped back with flushed cheeks. you shoved his hand off, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust off your clothes.

"get off," you muttered, half under your breath, but he heard it.

"sorry. didn't see you coming," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feigning sheepishness.

you nodded stiffly, still adjusting yourself when your eyes landed on the phone, lying face down and cracked.

"your phone..." you said, pointing at it.

he followed your gaze. for a second, his face gloomed, but then he forced a smile and crouched to pick it up, brushing the cracked screen with his thumbs.

"it's fine," he said. "was the only one i used for work, but... i'll figure something out. cheap replacements are easy to find."

guilt immediately swelled inside you. without thinking, you reached into your bag and pulled out your wallet. he saw this, and behind his humble smile, a glint of victory passed through his eyes but just as you started counting bills, he waved his hands, slipping right back into character.

"no, no, miss. don't. it's really my fault."

"how much?" you asked, already thumbing through the bills.

he was seconds away from naming a price, or maybe a sob story, but then he saw back to the way your eyes trailed on him. the blush in your cheeks. the small, unconscious tilt of your head. you weren't just guilty, you were charmed. his mind clicked fast. he just can't settle for a few bills, he needs more of you—plan b.

"really, it's okay," he insisted, reaching out and deliberately wrapping his hand around your wrist gently, lowering it back toward your bag. his skin was rough, but his touch wasn't.

"i have a job," he added. "i can find a way."

he looked tired, worn down, but sincere in your eyes. that look made the guilt in you twist harder. you slowly placed the wallet back, eyes still on him.

"can i at least make up for the phone?" you asked again, genuinely.

he grinned. this was the perfect opening. "no, really," he said, shaking his head. "don't worry about a dumb phone. you should worry about yourself. it's a seedy street, you know?"

he paused, then tilted his head a little. "miss...?"

"oh," you said, realizing. "nam yeonsoo."

"shin myungjae," he replied, with a charming smile. "i'm myungjae."

you then gave him a small nod. "well... then, mr. shin. i'd love if we could exchange contacts. just... in case you change your mind."

he chuckled, lifting the ruined phone and turning it in his hand. "well i would, if only i had a phone."

"oh... right," you said, lips pursing in embarrassment. "well... how about—"

"how about we go out for a meal tomorrow?" myungjae cut you off.

you narrowed your eyes playfully. "would that make up for the phone?"

"definitely," he said with a half-smirk. "i haven't had a proper meal in so long. i'd appreciate a good one."

"meal over payment, huh," you said, one brow raised. "sounds sus."

"just being practical," he replied, confident. "besides, i think a good meal with good company is worth more than a few bills."

you let out a soft huff. "if you call that practical, then i don't think you'll be living in places like this for much longer."

"we'll see," he said with strange confidence that made you flinch back subtly. you stared for a moment, blinking, then smiled. "so, i guess i'll pick you up here at dinner tomorrow?"

"nope," he said, "breakfast, lunch, and dinner. that'd make it fair."

you scoffed, laughing under your breath. "of course. alright, 8 a.m. sharp, right here."

"noted," he said, turning back toward the shop, then glancing over his shoulder.

"see you, miss nam."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

"good morning, miss nam."

myungjae’s voice came with a teasing lilt, his smirk curving on his lips as he stepped out from the same greasy repair shop he’d emerged from yesterday.

you stepped down gracefully, gravel crunching under your stiletto. sunglasses tucked atop your head, hair loose and tumbling like you hadn’t spent an hour perfecting it.

myungjae’s gaze skimmed down your figure to your bag, different from the one you carried yesterday, but still unmistakably high-end. then to the necklace, and the watch that are cooler-toned gold today, still minimalist. you weren’t flashy, but your appearance screamed money.

"you’re dressed up," you remarked, eyes sweeping over him.

his hair had clearly been washed, now worn down with bangs that gently framed his face. he had on a white sweater with bold black graphics scattered across it, paired with baggy, distressed jeans. simple streetwear but somehow looked handsome on him. he looked annoyingly good for someone who lived in the gutter.

myungjae looked down at his clothes, then back at you with a self-satisfied smirk. "it’s the best in my closet."

"you make any clothing suit you anyway," you replied with a faint shrug. "let’s get this over with. i already booked a café." you opened the backseat door, pausing. "front or back, your call."

without hesitation, he went to the front door, opening it before glancing at you with a smirk. the driver, a sharp-eyed older man with graying hair and a stoic expression barely blinked as myungjae settled beside him. you slid into the back, crossing your legs.

from the back seat, you caught a glimpse of myungjae’s composed expression and felt an involuntary flicker of approval. he knew how to move in spaces that weren’t his.

"vienne & co." you told the driver, who responded with nothing more than a nod before pulling out into the street.

the drive stretched long enough for myungjae to nearly doze off, the city changed the farther you drove. run-down alleys transitioning to clean sidewalks, high-end boutiques, polished glass towers. myungjae looked out the window, silently observing the outside while his mind was already in work mode.

the café was nestled between luxury flats and corporate buildings, its name etched in sleek white font above a wide glass entrance. as the car stopped, he stepped out and circled around just as you reached for the door.

you smirked as you stepped out. "hm. a gentleman, are you?"

"i’m just a mere peasant, miss—"

"yeonsoo," you cut in, glancing up at him. "just call me by my name."

a flicker of surprise passed through myungjae’s expression. then he nodded, smiling. "right, yeonsoo."

the two of you walked side by side toward the entrance as the driver pulled away to park. inside, the café was a blend of nordic minimalism and modern wealth. white marble floors, soft jazz, oversized windows that bathed everything in sunlight. patrons talked in crisp accents, tapping on expensive laptops, and sipping imported teas.

myungjae took it all in with a quiet awe he didn’t bother hiding. he followed you to a table near the window and sat across from you, still scanning the room in hushed awe. "this looks like a penthouse disguised as a cafe," he muttered under his breath.

"it’s my favorite in the city," you replied, already flipping through the sleek leather-bound menu. myungjae mirrored your action, brow furrowed.

"we don’t go up to the counter here?" he asked.

"no. just pick what you want."

he took a second longer than necessary, pretending to read while actually planning the next ten moves in his head. eventually, you lifted your hand, catching the attention of a server who approached with a smile.

"avocado toast with poached eggs and a lavender honey latte," you said. "and for you?"

he blinked, glancing down quickly. "uh... croque madame and an iced americano, please."

the waiter nodded, jotting it all down before retreating.

you leaned back in your seat, relaxed, and unbothered. myungjae, on the other hand, sat unnaturally stiff. even with his usual charm and swagger, he couldn’t stop the creeping feeling of self-consciousness. the bold print of his sweater and the distressed jeans suddenly felt flashy in this space. he glanced down at himself, then at the clean lines of the other patrons.

"hey," you said, noticing, voice low and careful. "you look cool. i like the outfit."

he looked up, caught off guard, then dropped his gaze again, a sheepish smile forming on his lips. "kind of eye-catching here but probably for the wrong reasons."

"no," you countered, propping your chin on your palm. your lashes lowered slightly, your voice softening like sugar. "it’s eye-catching for a good reason."

for a moment, myungjae forgot about his mission. your eyes looked through his, soft and glimmering. your lips, glossy and slightly parted, looked like twin berries. his gaze dropped to your mouth, then flicked back up to your eyes. he blinked, seemingly entranced by how you looked.

"oh-" he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit. "i don't think so..."

"if you insist," you replied with a small smile, letting him off the hook as you sat up straighter, reaching for your phone while waiting for the food to arrive.

myungjae turned his attention elsewhere, trying to distract himself and think. he gazed through the floor-to-ceiling window beside you. light poured in through the glass, glinting off silverware and polished surfaces. he glanced at you again, hair cascading over your shoulder, your profile peaceful, bathed in sunlight. calm, and serene

"is there something on my face?" you asked without looking up, already feeling his burning gaze on your forehead.

he blinked, caught again, and quickly recollected himself. he wasn’t here to beat around the bush, he was here to con you. he needed to get back into character.

"yes," he said smoothly, eyes narrowing just enough to make you curious.

you lifted your gaze from your phone, brows drawing together. "what?" your fingers gently tapped at your cheeks and chin, checking for smudges or crumbs.

then he leaned in. you didn’t move an inch. your eyes stayed on his, widening slightly as his hand came up, his thumb brushing along your temple in a gentle motion.

"beauty," he said, the word curling out of his mouth as he leaned back again, settling into his chair with ease.

you should’ve rolled your eyes, should’ve felt secondhand embarrassment and cringed to that cheap, corny line. but the problem was, it wasn’t cheap coming from myungjae. it wasn’t forced. his charisma is natural.

still, you made a show of grimacing and wiped the spot he touched with exaggerated disgust, but in truth, your fingers merely traced the place, trying to re-feel the exact way he did it.

"know your place, mr. shin." you said coldly, clearing your throat and blinking to gather yourself just as the waiter returned with your orders.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

to your own surprise, you had a genuinely good time with him.

after the breakfast, the two of you wandered down the tree-lined streets near the edge of the luxury district. you didn’t notice how long you’d been walking. laughing at his sarcasm, and exchanging stories. then you slowed beside a shaded sidewalk, heels clicking softly on the pavement.

"why..." you tilted your head toward him, expression curious but glimmering with intent, "do you live in that kind of place?"

he then looked sideways at you.

"you’re such a decent man to be living somewhere so dangerous," you added.

myungjae’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer, watching the way your lips curved with concern, your eyes catching the sunlight. something about you made him want to grin. not just because you were beautiful, but because you were so painfully naive.

he let out a breath and looked away, his expression fading into faux sadness. "my mom’s sick," he said, voice lower now. "she’s been bedridden for a while. and we’ve had debts piling up for years. it’s the only place we could afford."

he sighed again, slowing his steps.

"i work as a mechanic," he added, the story coming out so natural from his lips like it’s not rehearsed a thousand times. "barely scraping enough to cover meds. rent’s overdue half the time. and that phone? it wasn’t even mine. just borrowed it from a friend who probably wants it back now that it’s smashed."

you stopped for a second, brows softly furrowing, heart tensing at the edges. there was something about the way he said it all—honest, unashamed, raw. or maybe you were just letting yourself believe it, because it felt better than doubting him.

your hand reached out, almost instinctively, and tapped his back. "i’m sorry," you murmured. "you could’ve just taken the payment, you know? you didn’t have to act so noble."

his steps paused as he turned to you fully. there was a moment where his face changed. something between amusement and something more complicated. but he masked it perfectly.

"i wouldn’t feel right taking money for something i broke," he said, then gently reached out and patted your head. "you’re too kind, yeonsoo."

you flinched slightlt, then smiled up at him. "i’m kind because you are."

you stopped beside a quiet alley where sunlight spilled between the gaps in tall buildings, casting thin gold streaks onto the pavement. you turned to face him, full of sincerity that made something sharp twist in his chest.

"i find you really charming and nice, myungjae," you said, voice low and open. "i can feel it. you’re resilient. i can tell you’ve been through things, and still turned out to be someone good."

you reached up and gently tapped his arm, your thumb brushing along the edge of his sleeve. for a second, he didn’t know what to feel. the excitement of luring you in, of peeling open a beautiful, glittering vault of a woman was intoxicating. but now, feeling your warmth and sincerity, it suddenly felt messier. was he being greedy?

he forced a slow exhale,smiled again, then he kept walking. you caught up beside him, the quiet clicking of your heels syncing with his boots.

"can we keep doing this?" he asked. "even after today?"

you turned to him, beaming. "of course."

"i’d like to know you more," he added. it didn’t sound rehearsed this time. that was the problem.

"i’ll come to you often," you nodded. "or you can come to my place. we can hang out in my penthouse, maybe. i’ll show you around."

he smirked. "or both. i’ll visit you… and you can visit me."

you nodded again, lips curving. "sounds good."

it all went on with the two of you just strolling from place to place. after brunch, you both eventually returned to the car, sitting back into the plush leather seats, and the plan was simple: drop myungjae back to his street, say your goodbyes, and carry on with your day.

but just as the driver shifted gears, myungjae leaned in toward your window with gleaming, mischievous eyes.

"stay for the afternoon," he said, grinning. "there's more of my world i want to show you. besides..." he tilted his head. "you still owe me dinner, remember?"

you exhaled through a smile. there wasn't anything particularly urgent waiting for you.

"fine," you said, opening the door again. "seven. my driver picks me up at seven."

he stepped back as you climbed out, the air was thick with the usual gutter reek. smoke, rot, something burning far too close to plastic. you ignored it, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you walked alongside him. he led you through the sketchy neighborhood like a proud local tour guide, introducing you to buildings and corners as if you hadn't grown up just blocks away.

as you passed corners and alleyways, a few men called out to him—gruff voices from half-shaded doorways and broken porches. they wore tattered clothing, smoke curling from the cigarettes between their fingers, and their stares were the kind that’d make most women clutch their bags tighter.

but myungjae wasn’t fazed. he returned their nods casually. and even though he dressed like them, same style, same setting, rough and loose, he somehow radiated something more entrancing, and charismatic. he didn’t look threatening like they did, but rather magnetic, and that's his biggest advantage.

when you reached the repair shop, he gestured toward the entrance with a simple, "come on."

the inside was cramped, barely wide enough to fit two cars side by side. the floor was plain, worn cement riddled with hairline cracks and oil spills that had settled into permanent stains on the ground. tools were scattered in corners and bins, wires dangled from rusted hooks, and the whole place smelled of rust, metal, and machine grease.

"this is where i work," he said, rubbing the back of his neck again. an involuntary tic he always seemed to do when he was being embarrassed.

he then nodded toward the man behind the counter. a lanky boy who glanced up at your presence and immediately straightened.

"and this is my brother, inho." the man quickly bowed at you, his smile is polite, and almost cautious, like he was unsure how to act around someone like you. you then nodded back with the same polite restraint

myungjae nudged his head toward him. "inho, get her a chair."

without hesitation, the boy moved to grab a plastic stool. he gave it a quick, stiff wipe with a nearby rag before placing it in what was probably the cleanest spot he could find. somewhere near the wall, away from dripping tools and stained surfaces. you sat down, crossing your legs neatly.

"you alright over there?" myungjae asked as he pulled on a glove and started tidying up one of the shelves. the metal clanked loudly as he shifted through the pile.

you gave him a small nod, your eyes still scanning the room. eyeing every dent and stain.

"you're probably uncomfortable here," he added, glancing over his shoulder. "not used to this kind of environment. sorry about that."

"not at all," you said quickly, waving a hand to dismiss the idea. "i'm fine."

his brow lifted. "you coming here often?"

he looked at you then, not just curious, but with that confident face again. the way he narrowed his eyes made it feel like he was testing you, waiting to hear an answer he already knows before you could even say it.

you paused for a second, considering your answer.

"no," you said. "just once. it was yesterday, when i visited someone. nothing important."

he nodded, satisfied with your answer, then turned is attention back to the shelves. metal clanked against metal again.

"be careful around here," he warned after a beat, rising to full height with a smirk tugging at his lips. "swindlers are everywhere."

you smiled back, touched by the simple concern. "well," you said, propping your elbow on your crossed knee, "with you around, i guess i have nothing to worry about."

"that's right." myungjae nodded confidently. he looked too proud, like he had just earned your trust and was wrapping it around his fingers. "you’re in good hands."

myungjae kept you around for hours, entertaining you, and, you were genuinely entertained. the dinner also went better than you expected. conversation flowed easily, laughter came without force, and something about him made you feel at ease in a way most polished, proper men never could.

when it was time to leave, you told him you’d be gone for the next week. work business, meetings, boardrooms, the usual. he nodded, pretending to take it in stride, though his eyes lingered on yours for a second too long.

but less than twenty-four hours later, he spotted your black sedan pulling up by the auto shop.

he froze, then immediately ditched the half-flat tire he’d been flattening down for another trap. without even removing the gloves, he took off in a jog, cutting through the alley and around the corner, intercepting you before you could reach the door.

you stepped out of the car, hair pulled back in a low knot, shades perched atop your head. two wheeled luggage and a pair of designer handbags in tow. you glanced toward the repair shop only to find it momentarily empty.

then, from around the corner, myungjae came into view. sweat-slick hair swept back, still wearing the same dirty white shirt, collar stretched and faintly stained. the jumper slung over his shoulder, and a screwdriver still in hand.

"oh hey," you said with a smile. "why are you walking around with a screwdriver?"

"uh, fixing emergency tires on the next street," he replied, casually tossing it to the worktable behind him. "didn’t expect to see you so soon. thought we were doing this next week?"

his eyes flicked down to your belongings—two luxury suitcases, expensive leather handbags.

"you moving in or something?"

you glanced at your luggage, shrugging. "half of my penthouse is getting renovated."

"mhm," his lips curved into a smirk as he stepped a bit closer, eyes scanning the bags again, curious. probably imagining how many zeroes were attached to whatever was inside. "and what brings you here? couldn't find a better place to crash?"

"i needed somewhere to stay temporarily."

"right," he nodded, playing along. "hotels can be overpriced, and lonely too. at least here you’ve got... me."

"yeah," you smiled, looking around, "plus all this ambiance."

"come on," he grinned. "let me show you my crib."

he reached down and grabbed both suitcases in one swift motion, slinging one handbag over his shoulder as if they weighed nothing. then he led you down the sidewalk, just a minute’s walk from the auto shop.

you followed as he led you a short walk from the auto shop. the building you arrived at was, in a word, cooked. the brick walls were coated in grime and graffiti, the front door barely secured on its hinges. the metal fire escape above looked like one strong wind would send it crashing down on someone, and the single bulb inside was held together by black tape

but he didn’t take you upstairs, instead he went down underground, beneath the stairwell, past a rusted door that groaned open, into what you assumed would be a musty, basement-level hole. but to your surprise—his place wasn’t nearly as bad as you imagined.

the walls were a moody, deep brick red, lined with dark fixtures and the faint hum of led strip lights. there were no windows, but the neon glow gave the space a gritty charm. the sofa looked like it had seen better days. black, slightly worn, but intact. an old but functional mini-fridge hummed softly in the corner, next to a modest stovetop and a shelf stacked with mismatched mugs. the floor was clean. there was no rot. no stink.

it was cramped, sure, but not unlivable. myungjae saw the approval in your face and smirked.

"no bedroom," he said, dropping the luggage by one of the couches. "just the main space. we sleep here. but you can have that one."

he nodded toward the less ragged-looking couch, setting your handbag carefully on the armrest.

"thanks." you offered him a small smile. "do i have to pay for anything?"

"no," he said quickly. he could’ve taken that opening, charged you, leaned into your generosity, but something about the timing felt off. he was waiting for something bigger. "it’s all on me."

you nodded and set your other bag down on the couch, then took another moment to look around. that’s when his voice shifted.

"yeonsoo."

you turned, one brow raised.

he stepped closer, arms crossed loosely. "are you seriously choosing to stay at some random guy’s place in a shady neighborhood… instead of a luxury hotel? one you can afford? you met me four days ago."

his tone wasn’t mocking. it was almost concerned. like he genuinely couldn’t believe your choices.

"you could pay thousands for a suite with a view," he added. "i could be dangerous. you wouldn’t even know it."

you looked him straight in the eye, your expression steady and calm. no trace of hesitation nor fear. "i know you’re good," you said simply. "i can feel it."

then you walked past him, lowering yourself onto the sofa as if you weren’t in a questionably legal basement with a con man you barely knew. myungjae watched you blankly in contemplation.

you leaned back, crossing your legs. "and hotels are… soulless. empty. i’m already alone most of the time. but you," you looked up at him, eyes just faintly shimmering in the dim light, "you make me smile,and laugh like i haven’t in a long time."

for a moment, he didn’t speak. then slowly, he crossed the room and sat down on the opposite couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. he leaned in slightly, close enough that the lighting carved a soft glow across your face.

"you’re too nice for your own good," he said quietly, brushing a thumb across your chin without thinking.

"no," you said, gently grabbing his hand and clasping it between both of yours. "it's all because you're being good."

your sincerity hit like a blow to the chest. he almost felt guilty for luring you into a con, for planning to rob you clean. there was something in your eyes like you could see right through the lies, and still chose to believe in him anyway. it made him feel bare. weak, even.

you weren’t the bratty rich girl he’d expected. no arrogant nose in the air, no dismissive tone or designer-clad entitlement. just kindness and delicacy. a fragile feather wrapped in gold, for a hot second, he wondered if some cosmic force had sent you, not as a target, but as a sign.

"what’s wrong?" you asked gently, scooting closer beside him. his expression had shifted, softened, and vulnerable.

"i’m... not-" he faltered, looking down in shame, hands now limp in your hold. "i’m not good, yeonsoo."

"you are." you assured him. your thumbs brushed over the veins on the back of his hand.

he looked up, lips barely moving. "i’m sorry," he whispered. "i’m not shin myungjae."

you blinked. "what do you mean?"

"my name’s jaehyun," he exhaled. "myung jaehyun."

"myung... jaehyun?" you repeated, tilting your head slightly.

he nodded. "yeah. that’s my real name."

you paused for a second, then blinked slowly. "why didn’t you just say so?"

"i’m a con man," he said, locking eyes with you.

you processed it for a bit, then you smiled to yourself, looking down, your hands still wrapped around his. "okay, so? you’ve already come clean. that’s what matters now."

jaehyun stared at you, confused. "you’re not mad?"

you shook your head, eyes soft. "not at all."

before he could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. you glanced down.

"you…" you gestured to the source of the sound.

"right, sorry." he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before pulling the phone out and answering. it was inho. panicked, telling him to get to the shop immediately.

"i’ve gotta go," jaehyun said, rising to his feet. "stay here, make yourself comfortable. i’ll be back with inho."

"okay, be careful." you said, watching as he flashed you a grateful smile and turned to run.

by the time jaehyun arrived at the shop, it was chaos. the entire place was trashed. the mounted car was shattered, tools were strewn everywhere, shelves knocked over. not a single thing was spared.

inho was pacing, hands on his head, panic clear on his face. jaehyun stopped dead at the door, his eyes wide in shock.

"what the fuck happened here?!" he shouted, rushing inside, stepping over busted crates and broken glass.

inho spun around at his voice, guilt written all over his face. "dude- i don’t know! chul told me to check out a car left on the next street. said it was unattended, easy loot. but there was nothing. i searched every car, even triggered an alarm on one of them. i barely got away, and when i came back—this!" he gestured at the wreckage around them, breathing heavily. "it was already done."

jaehyun's face shifted, blinking. "chul?" he asked, huffing. "as in lee’s chul?"

inho winced. "yeah… i-i think so-"

"you-" jaehyun raked both hands through his hair, pacing in pure frustration. "you fucking idiot! you really thought it was a good idea to trust one of lee’s dogs?!"

"i- look, i didn’t know!" inho stammered, fingers fidgeting with his sleeves. "he sounded legit-"

"and you think anyone from lee’s gang is legit?!" jaehyun snarled. " for fuck's sake, inho!"

he turned again, surveying the damage. even the most expensive tools were smashed or stolen. they were done. screwed. the boss would have their heads.

"boss would skin both of us alive if this reaches him." he slammed a fist against the wall, then pulled open a drawer, retrieving a metal bat.

"jae- what are you doing?" inho ran after him.

"i’m going to their turf," jaehyun growled, cracking his neck as he stormed out. "i’ll break chul’s fucking jaw-"

"bro, no!" inho jumped in front of him. "you can’t just walk into their den swinging a bat! there’s, like, twenty guys there!"

"move," jaehyun snapped, shoving past him.

"are you trying to get yourself killed?!" inho grabbed him by the arms. jaehyun clenched his jaw but didn’t resist.

"i know i messed up, okay? i know i’m a dumbass for trusting that guy. but you picking a fight with lee’s crew is suicide!"

jaehyun then paused. he breathed heavily, bat still in hand, chest rising and falling. finally, he sighed. "fine, get off." he shoved inho’s hands away, tapping the bat against the ground like a warning before turning back.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the two returned to the wrecked shop. the sun had already set, and the place still looked like a war zone. they cleaned in silence for a while—sweeping, picking up shards, stacking whatever wasn’t ruined.

"what now?" inho muttered, crouching by a torn-up toolbox.

"we’ll figure it out," jaehyun murmured, eyes distant.

there was a moment of contemplation before inho’s expression lit up, like a lightbulb flickering on.

"your girl." he pointed at jaehyun, scooting over. "miss nam."

jaehyun didn’t respond, already knowing what's in his mind.

"dude. we need cash now. your girl has money, right? lots of it. use her."

jaehyun still didn’t look at him.

"just take what we need," inho pressed. "boss wants us to pay for this mess. then we dip after that."

"i can’t do that," jaehyun said under his breath. "she’s not a bank, inho."

inho stood up, throwing his rag to the floor. "what?! are you serious? that was the plan from the start!" inho shouted. "what happened? what changed?"

"i did." jaehyun finally looked up. "we’ll find someone else. not her."

inho scoffed, rubbing his face in disbelief. "bro, there’s an open vault beside you and you’re walking away like it’s nothing. don’t tell me you’re in love with that rich girl."

"i said shut up."

"come on, man!" inho sat down again, exhausted. "you think she’s gonna miss a few thousand? she probably spends that on candles."

"i said shut up!" jaehyun barked, standing abruptly. "i’ll figure something out. trust me."

the air hung thick with tension. neither of them spoke as they gathered what little was left, stuffing tools and fragments back into their places.

"come on," jaehyun muttered. "let’s go home."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you were peacefully going through your laptop when the door suddenly burst open. startled, you peered up, and there stood jaehyun and inho, both visibly pissed off. you didn’t need to be a genius to sense the tension radiating from their expressions.

rising from the floor, you greeted them cautiously. "something happen?"

inho opened his mouth, ready to spill everything, probably hoping to guilt you into covering damages, but jaehyun cut him off with a sharp glare.

"nothing," jaehyun said flatly. "just a rough day. some guys were being assholes." he collapsed onto the sofa with a grunt, the springs groaning beneath him. inho, meanwhile, stalked to the kitchen and downed a glass of water like he hadn’t had a drop all day.

setting the empty glass on the table with a dull thud, inho glanced back. "jae, i’ll be out front for a smoke." jaehyun nodded once. the door clicked shut behind him.

silence fell. you sat back down on the floor, staring miserably at your laptop screen. jaehyun cracked one eye open, noticing the troubled look etched on your face.

"what’s wrong?" he asked, sliding down from the sofa to sit across from you.

"work stuff." you sighed, pressing your palm to your forehead, elbow braced against the coffee table.

"you can talk to me about it," he offered. "i might not get all the technical stuff, but i’ll listen."

you gave him a quick glance, then exhaled. "there’s this other company," you began. jaehyun leaned in, listening with unexpected seriousness.

"they’ve been stealing formulas from my company. replicating them with cheaper, similar materials. then they sell them at lower prices and undercut us. our customers are buying those instead, and some are experiencing health issues. but i’m the one taking the fall because no one can tell the difference between ours and the knock-offs."

you leaned back, frustration heavy in your voice. "our stock’s tanking. we’re on the brink of lawsuits. if this keeps up, we’re finished."

jaehyun studied you for a moment, the weight of your burden sinking in. the privilege and wealth most saw in you hid the crushing responsibility underneath.

"is there... anything you can do?" he asked quietly.

you shook your head. "suing them’s risky. my past might be used against me. and there’s no guarantee their ceo hasn’t greased some palms already. even if we win, the controversy could still ruin us."

your voice cracked slightly as your eyes welled up. jaehyun scooted closer, placing a hand on your shoulder, his other patting your back gently as you leaned into him.

"so... the only way out is for that company to go bankrupt, huh?"

you looked up at him, worry etched across your face, quickly realizing where his mind was going.

"i’m not saying i want that," you murmured. "but yeah... if they fall first, i can fix things. rebuild. but- forcing them into bankruptcy? that feels…"

"let me handle it," jaehyun interrupted, finally having an idea.

you blinked at him as you looked up. "what?"

"i’ll con their ceo. extort him. drain his funds, he loses everything. we walk away clean, and you get your company back."

you stared at him, stunned. "but... does he deserve that?" you asked quietly. "the ceo, does he really?"

jaehyun met your eyes evenly. "you tell me. other than stealing your work, what else has he done?"

your mind replayed the facts. he plagiarized your formulas, cheapened them, sold them to the public, made people sick, and left you to take the heat. you clenched your jaw.

"i dug around," you said. "he’s neck-deep in underground gambling. word is, he’s blown millions already. keeps buying his way out of trouble."

jaehyun’s lips curled into a sharp, satisfied smirk. "then i won’t even have to break a sweat."

your brows furrowed. "are you really serious about this? jae, it’s dangerous. if this goes south, we’re both screwed."

"i know." he took your hands in his, his gaze steady. "but i need this. i’m drowning in debt. this is the only way i can help you, and save myself. the bad guy gets what’s coming, and we get a shot at justice."

you looked down at your hands, wrapped in his. "just... promise me you’ll be careful. pay off your debt. live a normal life after this, okay?"

"i will," jaehyun said, smiling softly. "i promise."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the light overhead flickered, casting the underground apartment in dim amber hues. you sat across from jaehyun at the narrow counter, the glow from your laptop screen illuminating your face. jaehyun flipped a matchbox between his fingers before finally pulling out a pen and scribbling names on the back.

"so you're telling me this silk-suited bastard sneaks into our street every thursday just to play cards?"

you nodded, eyes still on the screen. "that's what my brother found out. he keeps a low profile. baseball cap, no bodyguards. same rundown building, two corners from the old repair shop. thursday nights. same crew, same stakes."

jaehyun gave a low whistle. "didn't peg him for a street rat."

"he's not," you muttered. "he just likes the rush. no cameras, no records, no accountability. and it's packed with the kind of people who'd kill for a dollar."

he leaned back, matchbox still in hand. "then we give him what he's looking for. a rush, a game. and once he's deep enough, we cut the floor out from under him."

your eyes lifted. "and how exactly are you planning to do that?"

jaehyun tilted his head, like the answer was obvious.

"first, we bait him."

you raised a brow. the half-doubtful, half-intrigued look you gave him made his smirk deepen. he liked it when you looked at him like that.

"bait him... how?"

"i'll become the type he hates to lose to," he said, leaning forward. "flashy, loud, reckless. a guy who throws money like he doesn't know its worth."

he was already imagining it—expensive coat, fake rolex, stacks of cash, cocky grin.

"you don't exactly own a designer coat," you said dryly, lips twitching.

"that's where you come in." his eyes sparkled. "think your brother's guy can get me a forged id and a full rich-boy makeover?"

you paused. not because you doubted, but because part of you was afraid how good he'd be at it. "i can arrange it," you said.

"perfect." jaehyun grinned. "so i strut in, talk big, lose a few hands on purpose. let him think i'm just another rich idiot on a hot streak."

"and once he's confident?"

"i start winning," he said. "small at first, then a little bigger. i act like i've got some secret system, then make him chase it."

your fingers tapped lightly on the rim of your glass. "he'll take the bait?"

"addicts always do," jaehyun said. "winning isn't enough. they need to believe they can control it."

you nodded slowly. "so you dangle a bigger game?"

"exactly. higher stakes, bigger payouts. he won't be able to resist."

"and the game is rigged." you added up.

"from start to finish," he said. "your brother's guys play it clean, but they'll know when to lose, when to win, how to bleed him just right."

you stared at him for a moment. "and if he bets more than he can afford?"

jaehyun smiled. "that's the point."

you sat back, exhaling. "let's say it works. he loses millions. you walk away with the bag. what then?"

jaehyun tilted his head, pretending to think. "depends how greedy he is. if we play it right, he'll dip into the company's funds. when that happens, it's game over."

"but where do you even put that kind of money?" you asked. "you can't drop a few million into your street account. that'll get flagged in seconds."

"i've been thinking about an offshore account," jaehyun said, a little too casually.

you froze, the weight of the plan hitting harder now. "that's not a joke, jaehyun. if something goes wrong, you're not just a conman anymore. you're a target. a very rich one."

"i know." he met your eyes. "that's why i'll handle it myself. no slips."

you stared at him. "i might know someone," you finally said. "my brother used to work with a guy. helped launder money for people who make you look soft. i could reach out, but jae... if this fails- my name, my company, everything could burn."

"we won't fail," he said. "not if we keep our hands clean and stay five steps ahead."

you were quiet for a moment, then said, almost in a whisper, "just promise me, when this is over, you stop. no more games. no more schemes. pay your debt. disappear if you have to. but walk away clean."

jaehyun leaned closer, resting a hand lightly over yours. "i promise," he said. "again."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the first half of the scheme's day began with a soft knock at the door. not jaehyun’s usual guests.

you had called in your trusted stylist, one of the few people outside your world that you still relied on, and you gave him a simple instruction: bring jaehyun to life.

the stylist arrived twenty minutes later, horrified. he had to mask up and put on oversized sunglasses just to feel safe walking through the neighborhood. he stepped into jaehyun’s dim place like it was a crime scene, eyeing the walls as if they’d collapse on him.

"we’ll talk about hazard pay later," he muttered under his breath, then snapped into professional mode.

jaehyun stood up from the sofa with a raised brow, watching with mild amusement as bags upon bags were laid out like treasure chests being unlocked. one by one, the stylist pulled pieces from them. designer cuts, high-stakes color choices, patterns that screamed wealth with a punch.

every time a new outfit was held up in front of him by the mirror, jaehyun grinned. "this one?" he asked. "or this one makes me look like i already own the table?"

the stylist combed and slicked jaehyun’s hair back with precision, cleaned his look, worked magic with layers. when it was done, jaehyun stood from the chair and turned to you.

white loose-fit blazer. a black sheer tank top that flirted with elegance and sin. crisp white trousers. silver loafers that shimmered under the flickering lights. a leopard-print fur coat draped on his shoulders, and yellow aviator shades perched on his head

"how do i look?" jaehyun smirked, striking a pose.

you tilted your head slightly, arms still crossed, lips tugged into a grin. "you look good, jae." your tone softened. "i just- i’m still worried about all this."

he stepped closer, brushing off imaginary lint from his shoulder.

"don’t be. i told you, i got this."

you sighed, patting the fur on his shoulder. "just don’t get robbed or die out there."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

later that night, the location changed, but the tension doubled. the hidden gambling site was tucked beneath a building like a secret shame. down a narrow flight of stairs, a rusted door groaned open with the sound of a dying rat. the scent hit first.

cigarettes, spilled liquor, testosterone, and rotting dreams. jaehyun’s cologne sliced through it like a blade. everyone noticed. heads turned slightly, not out of curiosity, but out of animal instinct.

the smoke hovered at the ceiling like a gray, suffocating god watching over everyone. the lighting flickered. men hunched over card tables, drunk on beer and desperation, barely looked up as he entered.

"new guy?" someone murmured near the bar, not even glancing up from their hand.

jaehyun didn’t respond. he strode in cockily like the floor belonged to him, each step echoing sharply on the cracked tile, his rolex flashing beneath the sleeve of his coat. and at the far end is the real game.

a round table, tension dense in the air like humidity. there were five players, abnd piles of cash sat between them. chaotic, stained, unapologetically excessive. the ceo was there. cap pulled low. sleeves rolled up. face sour like he’d been chewing on failure for hours. clearly already losing.

"got room for one more?" jaehyun asked, flashing a disarming grin as he casually pulled a thick stack of bills from his coat and slapped it down on the table. "i’ve been dying for something exciting tonight."

one of the regulars snorted without lifting his gaze.

"you sure you know where you are, pretty boy?"

jaehyun slid into a chair with no hesitation. "i’m sure. i got bored beating spoiled heirs at rooftop poker. thought i’d try something... dirtier."

that line made the ceo look up. just a flick of his eyes. sharp, and cautious. a man used to predators, trying to figure out if this new one bit harder than he did.

the dealer looked around the table, shrugged once.

"your money. your loss."

jaehyun smiled. this is exactly what he came here for. and then, the game began.

the soundscape exploded. clattering chips, the crackle of cigarette lighters, bursts of hoarse laughter from men soaked in sweat and cheap liquor. the room echoed with testosterone and tension.

and jaehyun? he played like a moron as planned.

he raised too early. called bluffs he should’ve folded on. grinned after every loss like he enjoyed the punishment.

"keep feeding us, rich boy!" one older man cackled, pointing his cigarette like a dagger. "hope daddy wired you more this morning!"

jaehyun leaned back in his seat, casual, tapping his stack of chips like a bored drummer killing time.

"it’s just money," he cockily said. "can always make more."

round two, round three, same routine. he threw chips around like halloween candy. once, he even pretended not to understand the rules, drawing out laughter from the table. groans, jeers, slaps on the table.

but jaehyun wasn’t watching the guys laughing. he was watching the man across the table. quiet, cap low, hoodie up, and lips shut tight like a snake coiled and waiting. the ceo

by the time the fourth round hit, the dealer groaned and stood up, stretching his arms. "alright, break time," he muttered. "you’re up."

the next man stepped in. younger, and cleaner. but jaehyun knew him because he was part of the setup. planted, and paid by you.

the game then resumed. jaehyun looked at his hand. king, ace. still, he played it cool, letting the pot build.

then the river hit. ace. he won loudly.

"look at that!" he barked, flashing his cards like a showman.

the crowd clapped, hooted, mocked in disbelief.

then the next round, he folded, followed by a win, then another, then another until everyone grew frustrated.

now, jaehyun was building a wall of chips and money srash. his cocky grin was gone. he was all focused now.

the table noticed this as spectators leaned in.

"did he stop being a dumbass or what?" someone whispered from the shadows. "guy's hot now. he’s got some luck charm."

but jaehyun kept his head down, poker face on. the scent of sweat and suspicion grew thick. then, out of the corner of his eye, the ceo leaned closer, voice low but sharp as a blade.

"what changed?"

jaehyun didn’t even turn his head. "you’re saying?" he muttered nonchalantly, stacking his chips like bricks.

the ceo pressed again, this time with heat. "you were trash thirty minutes ago. now you’re on a streak. that ain’t luck."

jaehyun slowly licked his teeth and leaned forward. still not looking him in the eye. "dealer changed."

"you rigging it?" the ceo’s voice was gravel, now close enough to smell his breath.

jaehyun shrugged with casual defiance. "i’m not saying that." he smiled slyly. "but maybe i know someone. maybe i paid someone."

the ceo’s eyes narrowed, calculating, weighing risk versus greed.

jaehyun then struck the next blow smoothly. "you want in?"

the ceo finally replied, cautious. "how?"

"you pay me," jaehyun said, tapping his chips lazily, almost bored.

"let me call your plays. you win double what you gave me. you walk out richer than you walked in. that’s gambling, right?"

the ceo stared, eyes boring into him. "and if i don’t win?" he hissed.

jaehyun leaned back, rolling his eyes like the answer was obvious.

"you’re in a rat den on a dead-end street, surrounded by broke men with knives in their socks. you were gonna lose anyway. at least now you have a shot."

the tension thickened between them. the ceo dangerously skeptical. then, without a word, he slipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. with a glance around the table, he slid it under toward jaehyun.

"show me, kid."

jaehyun’s fingers brushed the envelope, and he smirked. he snatched the thick band with one hand, flashing a sly smile before leaning back in his chair like a king already counting his spoils.

"watch and learn."

the next round began. jaehyun tapped twice on the felt. the planted dealer caught it , it's the cue, and gave the subtlest nod in return.

beside him, the ceo adjusted his cap, still and silent. watching still with doubt until the cards were dealt.

and then, a win. then another, and another. with every hand, the ceo shoved more chips to his side, the pile growing. the disbelief in the room was audible, grunts, mutters, a scoff or two. but no one could touch him now.

the ceo leaned over, trying to hide the grin twitching on his face.

"shit, you weren’t bluffing."

jaehyun tilted his head, voice low and cocky. "nice guys never bluff."

by the end of the set, chairs scraped as the players stood, letting the next round of gamblers slide in. jaehyun casually approached the ceo, who was now seated in the corner with his cap still low, guarding his wins like a dragon sitting on gold.

jaehyun then sat next to him. "this place?" he said, eyes scanning the smoke-stained walls. "small pond. a couple grand, max."

then he leaned closer. "tomorrow night," he added, tone dropping. "i'm playing a real game."

the ceo’s gaze sharpened in intrigue. "bigger than this?"

jaehyun smirked. "ten times. real players, no cameras, no rules."

"you running it?" the ceo asked, curiosity now laced with greed.

jaehyun shook his head. "i know the people who are. dealer’s mine. couple of my guys on the inside. i win what i want."

"and you're gonna rig it again?"

"if you pay me now," he said smoothly, "i’ll rig it for you. winner takes all. but you only get in if i vouch for you."

the ceo stared at him for a long second, tension flickering across his jaw, then reached into his coat.

another envelope, fatter, and heavier. cleaner bills. without a word, he dropped it on the table between them. jaehyun slid it into his jacket discreetly.

"game starts at midnight." he stood. "i’ll send you the time and place. bring everything you’ve got."

the ceo leaned back, suspicion flickering again beneath the brim of his cap. "this better not be bullshit."

jaehyun was already turning away, throwing one last look over his shoulder with a smirk.

"you already won tonight," he said. "and that was just the free sample."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

when jaehyun got back home, the place was quiet. you were already lying on the sofa, curled up and still in your clothes from earlier. he paused by the doorway, eyes softening. you must've been waiting for him but sleep had taken over first.

with a quiet breath, he walked past you and headed to the bathroom. a quick shower, fresh clothes, a breath of steam and cold air to wash away the smoke and sweat of the night. when he returned to the living room, towel still around his neck, you were stirring.

groggily, you sat up, rubbing your eyes. "jaehyun?" you murmured.

he walked over and sat at the edge of your sofa, right by your feet. "it all went as planned," he said softly, reassuring. "and don't worry, i didn't get robbed."

you exhaled a deep sigh of relief, eyes half-lidded. "i can sleep soundly now," you whispered, lying back down. "good night, myungjae."

your voice faded with your consciousness, melting back into sleep. jaehyun smiled, quietly brushing his fingers across the sole of your foot. then, he stood and padded over to his own sofa, stepping carefully over inho who was snoring lightly on the floor.

the night, for now, was over, until tomorrow came.

and when it did, it arrived heavy and breathless. the air was thick with humidity clinging to jaehyun’s skin like sweat, same as last night. he ducked beneath the half-rolled gate of an abandoned warehouse.

downstairs, the den had changed. gone were the rickety tables and sticky floors of the previous night. in their place stood a sleek, circular table draped in fresh red felt, lit coldly by a steel lamp that buzzed overhead. the room smelled faintly of bleach like someone tried to wipe away whatever happened here last.

everything tonight was dressed for performance. everyone had a role. the host, the dealer, and the planted players. but the crowd the rest were all legit.

jaehyun arrived in a black button-up, sleeves rolled, slacks pressed just enough, a leather coat slung casually over his shoulders.

minutes passed, and tension grew in the room. then, finally, the ceo entered. same low-slung cap. same hood. same cold look, already calculating his cut. he carried two huge briefcases and the stench of silent arrogance. his gaze skimmed the room like a scanner. searching for any lie.

jaehyun caught his eye with a nod, easy and calm. "didn’t think you’d actually show," he said, casual as if they were just old friends.

"you said it’s rigged," the ceo replied, dropping one of the briefcases on the table with a dull thud. "i don’t turn down guaranteed money. don't mess this shit up. i got all my fortune in these cases including company funds."

jaehyun smirked hearing this. "that’s what i like about you."

then, they sat. the game began.

the same dealer from last night shuffled the cards, cleaner jacket, tighter smile, and sharper moves.

first round, second, third , jaehyun played it smooth. folded early, called safe bets, lost intentionally, and kept his composure steady. the ceo mirrored him, like a student shadowing his master.

by the fourth round, the ceo began to win. the fifth? he swept the pot. by the sixth, he sat taller. his hands were looser, and confidence is now totally blinding him. his mind was convinced this was his doing.

"feeling lucky?" the dealer asked, as he cut the next deck.

"i brought enough," the ceo muttered, cracking his neck.

the host then stepped forward. "final round," she said. "winner takes all. no splits. all-in only."

chairs shifted. stacks hit the table. one after another, the fake players pushed in briefcases and chips everything on the line. the ceo followed, adding both his briefcases and wins. jaehyun slid his stack forward like he was tossing pocket change into a tip jar.

the cards then hit the table one by one. the room was silent and breathless as the game went on. everyone is on the edge including the spectators.

then, when the host’s voice rang clear through the smoke and tension, announcing the winner.

"winner: seat three."

the ceo blinked. confused, in shock, and in denial.

"what!?" he grunted.

across the table, the man he hadn’t even looked at twice all night, soemone unremarkable looking, leaned back in his chair, smirked, and laid his hand face-up.

the dealer gave a single, decisive nod. the host gestured toward the vault. the chips, cash, and the ceo’s briefcases were all collected, silently rolled into crates and passed toward the exit. a van out back waited with the engine running.

the ceo’s panicked as realization sank in, hands clammy as he swung his head everywhere.

"what the hell is this?" he barked, standing from his chair, eyes wild, voice cracking.

he turned to his right, and found an empty chair. jaehyun was long gone with no trace of evidence.

"where the fuck is he?!" the ceo shouted, spinning around, his cap nearly falling off.

"you lost," the host replied without blinking. "take it like a man."

"this was rigged! you scammed me!" he yelled, pointing a trembling finger at her, face red, veins protruding on his neck and forehead, spit flying from the corners of his mouth.

the host only raised a brow. "you paid for a win," she said. "you paid him." she nodded toward the empty chair. "you didn’t pay me. welcome to underground gambling."

meanwhile, back in jaehyun's apartment, the door flung open with a clang.

"i'm back, baby!" jaehyun's voice echoed through the apartment as he kicked off his boots and slid across the smooth floor like a giddy kid.

"it's a success!" he yelled, fists pumping in the air, the elation bouncing off his skin. he twirled once in the middle of the room, breathless and glowing with adrenaline, then looked over at you.

you leaned against the kitchen archway, arms crossed, an amused smirk curling on your lips. the dim lights of the contained apartment reflected off your soft cheekbones.

"as expected from you," you said simply.

jaehyun beamed. he charged toward you, wrapping you in a brief, bouncing hug before pulling away to half-dance his way toward the living room.

"where’s inho?" he asked, voice still giddy, jacket sliding off his shoulders as he moved.

"he said he’s heading out," you replied plainy, pushing off the wall and strolling toward the kitchen. not a single excitement in your aura.

"you’re out of stock here anyway. grab some liquor. we should celebrate, right?"

you punctuated the words with a smirk, hopping onto the marble counter. one leg crossed over the other wifh relaxed posture. jaehyun paused for a second, his smile faltering slightly.

something about your tone felt unusually approving. you, who had voiced hesitation about the plan at every checkpoint, now suddenly basked in its success. he couldn’t tell if it excited or unsettled him.

still, he nodded. "alright. i’ll change and head out quick."

he disappeared into the bathroom, removing layers of clothes. you stayed perched on the counter. when the front door finally shut behind him, the lock clicking into place, your entire body shifted.

the smirk vanished. as your eyes sharpened. you hopped off the counter, striding across the apartment. your laptop was already open on the dining table, a string of transaction logs glowing across the screen in rows of numbers and crypto wallet ids. two billion dollars, broken across dummy wallets, scattered through cold storage and encryption keys like digital breadcrumbs no one could follow.

you picked up your phone and dialed. a couple of rings, then a familiar voice crackled through the speaker. "hey."

you didn’t bother with pleasantries. "it’s done," you said flatly, eyes flicking across the screen again.

on the other end, your brother made a low whistle. "already? damn. he bought all of it?"

"the final game. the van. the stacked deck. every planted player. hook, line, and idiot. he thinks we’re celebrating." you smirked.

"he doesn’t suspect?"

you gave a lazy shrug to no one. "he’s a total goner. thinks he’s the mastermind. poor guy probably believes he's gonna keep everything."

"yikes." your brother huffed. "so... we moving?"

"yeah. order your boy. now."

"tonight?"

"right now," you said firmly. "i want the sorting to start before sunrise. get the vault cracked, split it. make sure mirage auto gets the first drop. no delays. and tell them to report to me, no middlemen."

"got it. what about the crypto?"

"i’m handling the chips already," you said, glancing at the open cold wallet interface on your screen. lines of encrypted code streamed "half through mine, half through yours. clean, and untraceable."

your brother exhaled on the line. "you’re scary when you’re efficient."

you cracked a smile. "i’m not scary. i’m just not wasting a billion dollar score on a guy who thinks he’s slick because he wore a leather jacket to a poker trap."

he laughed on the other end. "fair."

you then ended the call with a swipe, your phone screen dimming as silence returned. then you turned to the screen, the funds were still being broken apart.

somewhere across town, jaehyun was probably picking up a bottle of whiskey, still basking in the high of a win he thought he controlled.

you sat back in the chair, crossing your legs and exhaling slowly. he played his role perfectly. but the real dealer was always you.

then, the door clicked. you calmly set your phone down. a second later, the apartment door creaked open, slower this time, and in stepped jaehyun, a bottle of aged whiskey tucked under his arm, and that same cocky grin plastered across his face like it had never left.

"back," he called, voice easy as he kicked the door shut behind him. "got the expensive one. none of that cheap shit tonight."

the apartment was dim, lit only by the warm glow of a few amber-toned lamps and neon lights. shadows crawled up the walls. you moved through the kitchen calmly, already pulling down crystal glasses, their edges catching the light like sharp ice.

as jaehyun excused himself into the bathroom, you tore open the silver packet. a fine line of pale powder spilled neatly into one of the glasses. you stirred it in with a soft clink of glass on glass, the drug dissolving without a trace.

the bathroom door then opened. jaehyun reemerged, rubbing a hand through his hair. he slid into the chair across from you, picking up the drink, swirling it absentmindedly unknowingly mixing the last thing he should’ve ever trusted.

"cheers to you," you said, lifting your glass.

he raised his, eyes gleaming with pride. "to our big win."

you smiled, not because you meant it, but because his ego made it easy. you watched him sip as you slid your phone over, the screen glowing with a fake account in his name. thirty million, bold and pristine. he stared at it, wide-eyed, all in disbelief.

but less than ten minutes later, his confidence cracked. jaehyun blinked hard. his hand wavered. the glass slipped slightly in his grip as his vision started to warp.

"one drink," he mumbled. "no way i’m drunk..."

his voice slurred as he tried to push himself up, but his knees folded uselessly beneath him. he swayed, eyes fighting to stay open, before lifting his head toward you.

"what did you—"

thud. his forehead hit the counter with a dull knock, then silence. he's dead asleep.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the next thing he knew, a low, dull ringing echoed in his ears as jaehyun stirred. his head pounded. his mouth was sandpaper dry. cold sweat clung to his skin. something was definitely wrong.

when he moved, panic surged through him. rope cut into his wrists tightly. he was strapped to a chair. his chair. his own rug underfoot. his own walls. but now it all looked foreign to him.

then he saw you. you stood by the mirror, your coat buttoned, your two handbags and suitcases zipped and waiting by the door. you didn’t smile. not like before. your face had shifted into something colder than what you initially showed jaehyun.

"what the hell is this?" he rasped, trying to focus. "what did you do?"

you turned, heels clicking as you walked toward him slowly.

"just tying up loose ends," you said with a smirk.

"why?" his voice cracked. "why the hell would you- ?"

you tilted your head, gaze hardening. "come on. you’re supposed to be a smart conman, right? so think. what exactly is happening here?"

his mind scrambled through fog. the offshore account, forged numbers, and suddenly his face contorted with realization. "the company... the account... everything- "

"ddaeng, ddaeng." you clicked your fingers, pointing at him like he was a joke. "bingo."

you crouched in front of him, eye-level now. "i was never your rich ceo, jae. i mean, yeah, i’m rich. but not because i run some company."

you rose, slowly pacing. he followed you with his eyes, half-lidded and furious.

"i ran a job on that gambler ceo months ago," you went on. "but it was too risky. too many eyes. i needed someone disposable to sit in the spotlight and take the heat if it blew up."

you stopped in front of him again and leaned in. close enough to smell the fear beneath his cologne.

"and you?" you tapped his chin, and he flinched away. "you were perfect."

his jaw clenched, teeth grinding. "let me go."

you chuckled, shaking your head. "you really haven’t learned. the second you got soft, when you started thinking i was just another mark, that’s when you lost."

you stepped back, arms folded now.

"i saw through you the moment we met," you said. "that 'accidental' bump on the street, those superficial charm, the wrench in your left hand even though you’re right-handed, amateur. you thought i was easy money."

your smile faded into blade-thin. "but i’ve been running this long before you even knew the rules. i grew up in the gutters, jae. you should've realized the moment i told you that my brother is dirty."

jaehyun thrashed once, hard, rattling the chair. "you set me up."

"i offered you cash for that cracked little burner," you reminded him. "if you’d taken it, we wouldn’t be here. but you got greedy. you thought i fell for you."

you glanced at your watch. outside, faint sirens began to wail, still distant, but rising fast.

"the cops will be here in under a minute. you’ll be caught with fake ids, rigged ledgers, gambling chips," you said calmly, slinging a bag over your shoulder. "so i really should go."

jaehyun twisted in the chair, panicked now. "yeonsoo, please- let me go! we can still fix this!"

you paused by the door, hand on the handle, then glanced back one last time.

"where’s inho to help you now?" you said with a tilt of your head, cruel smile playing on your lips. and then, with the sirens loud in the hallway, you opened the door.

"but don’t worry, jaehyun..." you called softly, stepping into the dark hallway. "you were my favorite con."

the door shut behind you. and jaehyun, bound and betrayed, sat alone as he struggles to set himself free.

after the massive con, you vanished for eight months, laying low overseas with a forged work visa. your brother, now enjoying a life of luxury and vastly improved health, was with you, and you often reminisced about the successful plan you'd once talked about in his ragged apartment. with time on your hands, your thoughts drifted toward legitimate business ventures.

one calm evening, you sat in a refined restaurant, peacefully enjoying your dinner. your fingers hovered over your laptop, completely absorbed in your work. the gentle clinking of silverware, the murmur of conversations in a language you were slowly mastering, and the rich aroma of coq au vin filled the air.

in your periphery, you noticed a man in a fine suit settle into the table directly across from yours. you dismissed him as just another frenchman, perhaps a local businessman on his way home, your focus still. you were deep in thought, sketching out a preliminary business plan for a sustainable tech startup, a far cry from your previous, illicit agendas.

but then the frenchman spoke to the waiter, his voice sent a bell chiming off in your head. it was a familiar cadence, a hint of something you’d heard before, but you couldn't quite place it in the comfortable bubble of your new life. you paused, a forkful of perfectly seared duck hovering halfway to your mouth, a faint tremor running through your hand.

you calmly looked up. a familiar face was already smirking at you, leaning back in his chair with an unnerving calmness. the low lamplight caught the glint in his eyes, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.

"fancy seeing you here," jaehyun drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. you simply returned his smile, a quiet acknowledgment of the inevitable. you weren't surprised that he'd managed to evade the authorities, jaehyun was a slick con man, after all. but you knew his one true weakness, he always folded when it came to women.

"so, how does the billion taste?" he leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "na jiyeon?"

#boynextdoor #bnd #bnd x reader #bnd fanfic #boynextdoor fanfic #myung jaehyun #myungjae x reader #jaehyun x reader #bnd jaehyun #jaehyun boynextdoor #boynextdoor x reader #bnd myung jaehyun #jaehyun fanfic #bnd fic #bnd fluff #boynextdoor ff #myung jaehyun x reader

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yumenoberu · 2 months ago

Text

Verdict

Ibara Saegusa x fem!reader

summary: Ibara Saegusa is someone people close to him would describe as ‘emotionally constipated’. His unit mates’ sentiment on the matter, however, is challenged after witnessing his odd behavior around CosPro’s new lady producer.

word count: 2.1k words

warnings: none~

published: 5/4/25

author’s note: Aha! My latest hyperfixation 🥰 I love Ibara and all of Eden so much!! But truthfully I’ve got only a basic understanding of them since I’m still in the process of reading through all the stories from both eras 🥲 so if there’s any misinterpretations or mischaracterization, I’d like to apologize in advance. Please let me know if you want more Enstars fics! my requests are still open~ Enjoy! ⭐️

It was a pleasant midday in Ensemble Square. For those in Cosmic Production, the day felt rather slow and mundane when compared to their usual hectic work hours.

Many of the major seasonal events had either passed or were in their planning stages, making the past few weeks feel like a downtime to the idols particularly.

Within one of the CosPro headquarters’s many periodically unoccupied meeting rooms sat the agency’s golden child and leader of Eden, Nagisa Ran, who was peacefully passing his free time arranging the precious stones and minerals he’d accumulated from his excavations.

The silent soul reached for a stone across the adorned, bejeweled desk, examining its properties against the light that shone through the room’s expansive windows.

A reflection projected by the glass, however, split Nagisa’s attention. He set his stone back into the organized pile before him and he let his eyes travel across the see-through glass installations to the office area directly outside the room, catching a clearer view the scene unfolding.

“I noticed… Ibara’s been staring at her.” He muttered his mental processes aloud.

The sudden utterance—especially of such an intriguing allegation, caught the pair that made up Eve’s interest instantly.

“At who?“ Jun, who was seated next to Hiyori at the opposite end of the extensive table, sharply turned to his senior. His tone and expression made it seem as if he was unreasonably aggravated, though Nagisa knew better.

“Ibara has?” Hiyori bounced and chimed in, peeking from beside Jun to infer.

Nagisa signaled them to turn the same direction as his gaze. They obliged, and like their leader implied, their group’s producer and fellow member, Ibara indeed occupied the adjacent office area.

Ibara simply stood against a cubicle divider with his usual polished stature alongside two other employees who shared his space.

At first glance, it would appear that the trio were all actively contributing to the discussion they were having, however, if one would take a prolonged moment to observe, it was clear that one of the three was staying out of the conversation. And to their surprise, the silent member was their self-proclaimed “socializer”.

“Ibara hasn’t spoken since I began watching him.” Nagisa relayed.

Ibara’s attention seemed to be fully fixated on the woman across from him. Though he maintained his routine business posture, his performative smile lacked the sharpness it usually carried. Even when his smile never reached his eyes, it was apparent, at least to the other members of Eden, that his demeanor felt irregular, to say at the least.

Jun blinked, having difficulty articulating his thoughts while scrutinizing the interaction, “Is he tryna—is she his type… or something?”

Hiyori shuddered, face contorting to one of displeasure as he faintly tugged at Jun’s sleeves, “You’re too trusting Jun! She’s the new producer, it’s obvious he’s sizing her up—ah! How pitiful~”

Unfazed by Hiyori’s theatrics, Jun continues, “She must be skilled enough to get into CosPro as a producer. Knowing Ibara, he won’t allow to be threatened in his own turf.”

“How heartless, that Viper gives me more reasons to disapprove of him everyday! Warui hiyori…” Hiyori pouts with tears seeping into his waterline, he sobs into his hand.

The pair eventually return to whatever task they’ve bestowed upon themselves before Nagisa’s interruption. But Nagisa’s eyes lingered, his curiosity keen on analyzing his partner’s intentions.

Hiyori and Jun posed a fair assumption, Nagisa acknowledged. Though he had to dispute their claims even despite their credibility. Somehow, he felt this instance was really one of its kind.

The look Ibara was subjecting the lady to was one Nagisa has never particularly seen his unit-mate display in the open, most especially toward someone he’s presumably never met.

What is normally a glare of imposing superiority, arrogance, or judgement was instead replaced by a gaze that unveiled the hidden softness deep within Ibara’s jagged, distorted mindscape.

He appeared murky, a glossed-over version of his usual self, Nagisa could tell. It couldn’t be from the lack of rest he’d often hear Ibara complain about when he’s reaching his limit. All things considered, Eden was more unoccupied than they’ve ever been these past few weeks. Ibara’s even had time to prep and cook all 3 of Nagisa’s daily meals recently, so fatigue can’t possibly be the cause.

Curious.

He continued to observe Ibara even after this initial encounter, and it gradually became apparent that interactions like these became more commonplace.

Like Hiyori mentioned, the woman was indeed a new staff member employed as an idol producer. He figured that being in the same position as Ibara, it was only natural she should train under him—the top, most influential producer in their company. And he was right to assume that. More and more of Ibara’s hours were dedicated to guiding her, which made this self-imposed operation all the more plausible.

And so Nagisa, roping in Hiyori and Jun, took this arrangement as an opportunity to investigate further. Perhaps this operation would keep him occupied until a new rush of idol work will come their way, he thought. So for now, he declared this mission is of Eden’s highest priority!

Days have passed since they decided to uptake this charge. Within the timeframe, little interaction between them and Ibara took place, well at least for Hiyori.

Among Eden, Hiyori had been receiving more work and so he found himself frequenting their office less. But today, he figured he’d visit to check up on their agenda’s progress for the lack of anything better to accomplish.

Hiyori turned a corner to meet with Nagisa at their usual spot when he caught Ibara and the lady producer entering an elevator. He rushed, as discreetly as his shining being could, to the nearest wall to watch them at a closer distance.

He saw Ibara hold out the door for her before entering himself and navigating the elevator controls before curiously stepping out himself and sheepishly waving her goodbye even after the doors slided shut.

Sheepishly.

It was unmistakable.

He was like a lovesick adolescent, all with his palm behind his nape, a bashful gummy smile, and hands jittering.

Ibara Saegusa, the tyrannical mastermind that Hiyori grew to despise for all his shameless faults, was.

“What is going on?” Hiyori shrieked at himself, truthfully stumped at what he just witnessed.

It just doesn’t make sense in Hiyori’s head. What would Ibara gain from buttering up to her? If this was one of the snake’s new schemes he’s executing it frighteningly well, he thought. As far as Hiyori’s knowledge goes, she was really a fresh idol producer with truthfully nothing tied to her name, so what was all of this for?

“Ohii-san, please keep it down.” Jun brought a saucer holding a teacup up to Hiyori, setting it before the man who was sprawled on the plush office seat, defeated and winded after he recounted what he had seen to his two companions.

Jun slumped down the seat across Hiyori, running his hand over his mouth, “There’s no way—“

Hiyori leaped out of his seat with a surge of energy, stomping at the ground, “You doubt my judgment, Jun!?”

“Please give me some grace—it’s hard to believe, is all.” Jun sighed.

“Have you noticed anything, Jun?” Nagisa joined, kneeling by the coffee table to level with them.

“Actually…” Jun grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes, Jun! You must have!” Hiyori cried, bending over in anticipation.

Jun recounted an exchange he had with both Ibara and the new producer. He detailed that the day prior to this, Ibara had pulled him aside to discuss his next activities. While they conversed, the woman in question appeared and smoothly entered their conversation.

Ibara wasn’t necessarily acting differently, Jun explained. However, it was when their conversation ended when he picked up on an irregularity.

“Iba-kun.”

“Iba-kun?” Hiyori and Nagisa tilted their heads.

“She called him Iba-kun.” Jun said it plainly, but one could notice the color draining from his face.

Hiyori’s breathing became panic-stricken, he yelped an unholy shout of despair.

Nagisa merely hummed. “They’re already on a first-name basis.”

“A-and he didn’t correct her?” Hiyori whimpered as Jun replied with a shake of his head.

“Ibara went silent after she called him that, then she said sorry afterward, but Ibara didn’t accept it. He just changed the subject.”

Jun continued, describing how Ibara even laughed it off. But his laugh was one that sounded fundamentally different. Usually, he keeps the toughness and grit that his voice would carry as a performative element to his businessman persona’s pleasantries. However, this laugh was hearty, light, unfamiliar to anything Jun had heard in his years of knowing the man.

“There’s no denying. There’s something there.”

They all sigh.

Jun bumps his fist into the table, “Ok, no. We have to confront him.”

“We have practice as Eden later today, we should ask him then.” Nagisa suggested, equally determined.

“Please! My heart cannot stand another day in ignorance.” Hiyori clenched his chest.

They all held their breaths until their practice time came. In true faith to his character, Ibara exceeded punctuality, arriving at the training room a half-hour early. The trio decided to enter all at once to interrogate him, and that they did.

After a short struggle, they managed to back Ibara to a literal corner at the edge of the practice room, guarding all the sides he could possibly slither to and escape from.

“Jun, Your Highness, Your Excellency.”

“What is this about?” Ibara gave them a ridiculing, cautious glare, his tone matching the same force.

Intimidated, they nearly shrunk. But they’re holding the power!

Hiyori held his chin up high, insulted at his targeted insistence, “Ibara!”

“Your Highness.” He replied coldly.

“You will answer my every question starting at this moment, understood?”

Ibara huffed and recovered, returning to his default faux upbeat and subservient attitude. He smiled at them, spectacles glimmering, “Certainly! However, you must also accommodate my own, what is this about?”

He doubled down with increased intensity and ferocity. The difference in his tone from his pointed words unsettled them.

“The lady producer,” Nagisa spoke gently but upfront, “How do you feel about her?”

A silence wrung between them, tension from amounting anticipation and stillness, strained the air they breathed before it was broken by abrupt fumbling,

“Ha-ha?” Ibara was unquestionably caught off guard, expecting he crossed them for some work-related reasons or issues, but this? About her? And…

Was that hesitation? Ibara?

“You flinched!” Hiyori wailed, “Now—don’t even attempt to play dumb!” He waved an intrusive, accusing pointer finger at the compromised man.

“Well?” Nagisa pushed further, remaining calm but adamant.

Ibara huffed, his eyes averted and brows knit together, and his last word strained. It was as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin.

“… I knew her from my time in the military camp. She lived nearby—that’s all.”

After a few moments of tense silence,

“… Did you miss her?” Nagisa suggests humbly, with ease.

Ibara’s eyes betrayed his calculated facade, its usual chill wavered. He was guarded, insecure.

Hiyori exhaled, dramatically fanning his bangs away as he relieved himself of an anticipated breath he held since Nagisa imposed the question.

“Nagi-senpai—“ Jun cuts in. But he’s stopped by a loud, imposing thump that quiets the room.

Ibara had slammed his palm against the table beside him that held the disposable water bottles, the harsh movements thrusted the bottles to the ground, sending them rolling away, rattling ominously as they went.

After a moment, Ibara bites back with familiar fortitude, “You are all being ridiculous.”

Ibara straightened his glasses, clearing his throat to reestablish the dignity he upholds as the group’s supposed dictator. He continued, with calm but anchored resistance,

“I am not emotionally invested in Ms. (L/n). Our relations are purely professional. I find her to be competent, efficient, and nothing more.”

He practically spat at them, “I’d prefer you stop insisting otherwise.”

The rest of Eden couldn’t articulate what to say exactly. One felt sorry his curiosity made him insist so far, the other regretted ever confronting him, and another was annoyed at his stubbornness.

“She is a producer and I am her superior—“

Ibara halts.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of heaviness, dread—regret. He exhaled, shaking off the growing migraine. Looking at the ground, taking a bit to re-evaluate. He realized what he just said, and how he said it—how it sounds.

He knows he doesn’t have it in him to deny her further. He can’t. He won’t.

Not after he’s waited this long to see her again.

As much as it hurts his ego to allow his unit members to subject him to such a compromising, vulnerable position, he’ll have to swallow his pride and profuse feelings of disgust to protect her own.

Just this once, he hoped.

“Aha!” Jun, Nagisa, and Hiyori exclaimed. Ibara cursed under his breath, turning his head away from them in his tenaciousness.

Jun sighed, relieved and content. Nagisa hummed softly, gratified and accomplished. Hiyori laughed heartily, holding his hands at his chest as he teased,

“You’re not as emotionally constipated as we expected, ‘Iba-kun’~”

masterlist

#Ibara Saegusa #Ibara Saegusa x reader #Ibara x reader #ensemble stars x reader #enstars x reader #ensemble stars #enstars #fluff #fanfic #oneshot #reader insert

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ethicaltreatmentofcowplants · 3 months ago

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"Everything went perfectly for this date" is what I would have said if only it had (sob). So since for some reason my renovated Waterside Warble lot wasn't permitted as a datetime destination (why EA, why), here are Pauline and Lilac at a San Myshuno bar instead.

At least they still got to sing.

Lilac was very pleased to be back in the big bad city - and on her home turf, no less. Not sure how enthused cowpoke Pauline would have been, but she was at least supportive.

She likely approved more of Lilac's serenading. Since winning the first round karaoke competition, Pauline's become quite the songbird, and has the highest SINGING level of anyone.

Yeah, I'd say she liked it.

Duets (🎵), massages and aww - Pauline gave Lilac a rose!

And then it was outside for the rare unicorn that is vanilla woohoo in this save.

Not everyone was going at it old-school, however.

I didn't install that mod just for it to gather dust, I suppose 👍

We ended with some fried beetles (surely Pauline's had worse as an one-time vampire), stories of Lilac's woof-woof era - and a cameo by our buddy Salim.

prev | next

build by @swagsimsfairy

@invisiblequeen

#simply lilac #simply lilac round three #lilac moon #pauline irwin by invisiblequeen #tw: gif #cw: gif #salim benali

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artificialturfexpress · 9 months ago

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Want a green oasis on your concrete patio? Learn how to install artificial grass on concrete with our detailed DIY guide for San Jose, CA residents!

#how to install artificial turf on concrete #how to lay turf on concrete #artificial grass on concrete #laying artificial grass on concrete

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sandclockbraiding · 5 days ago

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Part 2: Ben Bridges

What's In Your Soul? | A Hatchetfield Character Analysis of Paul Matthews

[< Part 1: Humanity] [Part 3: Egoism >]

The bridge of “Let It Out” globalizes the core of Paul's story (as in, details and extends it to every Hatchetfield timeline): across multiple installations and appearances, Paul's character is centered around the interrogation of a “happy life.” What it means, how it's achieved, who it involves, what it's worth.

I’ve never been happy

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Is this the secret?

Singing and dancing through life

It’s kind of been driving me mad that this line is so underappreciated and I haven’t seen anyone else comment on this because it was glaringly obvious to me the first time I heard it: “Singing and dancing through life” is a reference to the Wicked song “Dancing Through Life”, where the characters sing about being empty minded, about never questioning or examining anything, and revelling in the joys of ignorance and repression.

Stop studying strife

And learn to live the unexamined life

Dancing through life, skimming the surface

Gliding where turf is smooth

Life's more painless for the brainless

Why think too hard when it's so soothing?

Dancing through life, no need to tough it

When you can slough it off as I do

Nothin' matters but knowin' nothin' matters

It's just life

So keep dancing through

It's such a brilliant line because it reflects Paul's situation on a meta level that a portion of viewers watching won't even pick up on, which is entirely the point! If you're not familiar with musical theatre or Wicked in particular, how could anyone expect you to recognize what is being referenced and really said here? How could you be blamed for something completely unintuitive that you need to learn about? Is this the secret? Not understanding because no one will explain, but masking all your distress, going with the flow, accepting that you are viewed as stupid and lesser than and emptying your head of thoughts and resistance because “life is more painless for the brainless”? Life is fraughtless when you’re thoughtless. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“I've never been happy” is such a simple yet incredibly layered line. What does happiness mean in this context, in the blend of Paul’s innermost thoughts and the Hive’s coercion? Is it social acceptance? Is it unconditional love? Is this Paul admitting he is unhappy with his life, or is it him mourning the fact that he has never naturally fit in with society and him identifying all the things he hasn't accomplished as markers of unhappiness? The answer, at least in my opinion, lies somewhere in the middle of all these readings.

Paul is rather content with the life he lives, isn't he? He likes his routine of working a (seemingly) standard office job, walking to the same coffee shop and drinking plain black coffee everyday, wearing extremely similar suits everywhere even when he's not at work. He wants money to survive, a partner, maybe kids someday, but for now he's fine going to work, talking with friends, flirting with the barista he has a crush on. Is this a happy life? On some level, yes, but maybe not entirely. I mean, he gets by, surely. But he also doesn't exhibit much interest in… anything? If anything, he has a special disinterest in musicals. Paul is… not quite depressed. But not quite satisfied either. He's fine. He spends his days surfing the web, specifically pretending to do his job while scrolling through Facebook. We know he plays video games and board games, watches movies, and the closest we ever get to him leading that “happy life” is finding purpose through his relationship with Emma. He's completely fine with this. Or at least he would be, if he didn't keep having to justify himself, to act out unnatural social niceties, to deal with coworkers who are passive-aggressive about his boundaries, to listen to overstimulating musicals that everyone seems to like except him.

The reason Emma is his soulmate and he finds fulfillment with her is because she forces no judgement on the way he communicates or moves through the world, he doesn't have to constantly prove himself or mask his feelings, and they love each other as they are. Until she comes into the picture, Paul is certainly well-liked enough and has a handful of friends, but the people around him and especially strangers in passing aren't completely understanding of this; nice as they may be, they don't quite fully accept the quiet life he leads. The world isn't built for people like him. But Paul knows who he is. And if he wasn't constantly faced with these miniscule pressures, interrogations of his sincerity, disapproval of his integrity, then this life–even without a soulmate to “give him purpose”–could be happy.

The unfortunate truth, however, is that the world is outside of your control. Dealing with other people comes with the messy clash of personalities and opinions and circumstances that do not often have simple solutions. Life is made up of compromises. A lot of people won’t understand you, or accept you, and there will always be bargains that need to be made, work to do to move forward. But it’s so exhausting. Is it really worth the trouble?

This is based on my own interpretation because I’ve seen many people believe the contrary: When Paul asks, “Is my integrity worth anything at all?” this is not (primarily) a moment of pause and consideration where he debates joining the Hive. This is an existential question, in the same way you try to measure the objective merit of a sunset. In the same way you hit a low point and wonder if your life is worth anything when you are a speck of dust in this infinite universe. Paul asks aloud if his integrity, his beliefs, his principles, mean anything when faced with such a world where everyone but him seems to have figured it out. And the answer is “No.” You’ve finally learned the secret to happiness, so why are you so adamant and stubborn in your useless, worthless opinions when you can only join the rest of the world once you let go of your grip on them? Let your damn reasons go. Let your integrity fall. You can never be happy otherwise.

This is the lie that the Hive tells its victims and the lie it believes itself.

Remember this recurring pattern: Powerful forces will twist your wants to suit their own. The Hive proclaims its domination as the only answer to people's problems. Regardless of how varied and different the problems are, the Hive insists on the apotheosis as the final solution (a lyric which is horrifyingly on the nose). Given the rest of the Hatchetfield series, doesn't this sound familiar? Familial, even?

“You think Wiggly can fix this hole, but he can't. It's a trick. That's how it works, he promises to fix all of the holes, but he doesn't. And that's why it works on adults. Because you guys have more holes; you need more things and you need it harder. You gotta worry about your loveless marriage, or the kids that are gonna hate you, or your endless mortgage. I mean, you're, like, 40, you probably think your life is over! I don't. I'm gonna be an actress! Do you get what I'm saying, Mr. Houston? Wiggly is a fucking lie. And I think you know it. But I think you're scared. Because if he's not the answer... then what is?”

Rather than classic eldritch horror which inspires dread due to incomprehensibility, the Lords in Black are a different take on all-powerful beings, and are terrifying almost because they are comprehensible. They are representations of banal horrors in the modern world which are upheld by systems of power that may be difficult to confront, but can be understood. The Lords promise happiness via submission and the shortcuts to supposed success. Through worship, through consumption, through the sacrifice of others, through all the channels that lead back to their own power. But by implicating you in their schadenfreude, by promising vindication and privilege and the satiation of your hunger, you get lost in the spell, in this deep sleep where all the easy choices are justified and right. You lose sight of the cruel reality in front of you. You forget your wants. Your wants become subsumed by something bigger.The main overarching theme of The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals is the horror of conformity.

And the words will come to you

We swear we will teach you

What it means to love

What it means to OBEY, Paul!

According to the Hive, love means giving up what makes you you, obeying so you can be fully accepted, so you can join the party, so the world becomes unified with one Singular Voice. If what you truly feel is love, then “isn’t that worth a show-stopping fiesta?” Why aren’t you expressing it in a way we can all understand? Stop resisting. Stop disobeying. The very first line Paul sings in Nightmare Time is this for a reason:

No need to contemplate

How deeply that you're afraid

Don't question it. It's futile. Happiness is guaranteed when you succumb to the inevitable and become part of the predestined mold that we must grow accustomed to. Because it fills the holes in our soul. Because it tells us that we are great again.But there are no answers to be found in this solution. The Hive doesn’t actually fix anything in these characters’ lives, it only makes them compliant with the situation at hand. McNamara never resolves the problems he has with PEIP’s methods and instead becomes a soldier focused solely on ruthless orders. The Time Bastard is still tortured and unhoused, but now plays the part of a joyous chorus member, happy with his life on the streets. Hidgens never fulfills his dream of producing Workin’ Boys… but he joined the Hive willingly, did he not? Wasn't he asking for it? Wasn't he happy?

Hidgens’ heel turn is mainly used for comic relief and is iconic in that regard, but it's also emblematic of an unfortunate kind of reaction to authoritarianism. Something halfway between despondency and rejuvenation. When people have gone on for quite a while hoping for change but seeing none, it can become too tiresome to carry on. Some start to blame themselves for all the world's problems they cannot single-handedly fix, or they blame others and become bitter and jaded. And in this time, the enchantment of leaders promising a picturesque recreation of the past is too comforting to resist. For the same reason that retro pop culture regains traction during a recession, the apotheosis reawakens Hidgens’ love for musical theatre, as its presentation acts as equal parts distraction and dream-come-true. Finally, Henry can relive his college days. He can live without worrying about nuclear holocaust or climate change or any of the anxiety that comes with going outside and interacting with people you might not be in sync with. Because this new uniform regime is the true solution. It will bring world peace. And perhaps other people may find it difficult to sin and dance, but Henry? He was built for this. This won't hurt him like it does the others. It's his second chance.

As Lex Foster so aptly put it: adults have more holes. They need more things and they need it harder. Those simpler glory days of youth before become romanticized, idealized, and become a goal that is near impossible to reach, perhaps because it never existed in the first place. Perhaps what changed after adolescence has less to do with the past being better, but more to do with your awareness expanding and responsibilities growing. But your resentment must go somewhere. And it's harder to direct it at the authoritative, lest it bounce back from the force of their power acting as a shield. It becomes draining, all this accumulated life experience only contributing to a hopeless feeling in the pit of your stomach. And you recognize the apocalypse for what it is, but the euphoric idea of unity and living out your dream is simply worth the price. When the world is rebuilt, it will be heaven. It doesn't even cross your mind that it could be another man's own personal hell.

This mindset blinds Hidgens to the reality of the life he's chosen, the people he has to hurt if he wants this utopia achieved. He lets go of his integrity and readily accepts the puppeteered corpses pretending to be his boyfriends because it's better than the reality, and he doesn't want to acknowledge their deceitful dancing and hungry eyes. At the moment he asks to be made a part of the Hive, Henry Hidgens is completely blindsided by the pain of what he's chosen, what he believed would not harm him if he gave up the fight and instead embraced it with open arms. He chokes out, “Wait-” he cries, “Not my tummy!” because on some level he believed himself exempt from the violence of the force he's aligned himself with, believed that he could pick his poison and benefit from the aftereffects. And at the end of it all, he’s not happy like he thought he would be. He’s just dead. Just like everyone else.

In the audition tapes, Charlotte describes the signs of Sam’s apotheosis like this:

“But he didn’t seem drunk. He seemed… happier than I’d seen him in a long time. And in fact, when I went into the kitchen, he’d made me breakfast! A big pot of coffee and two eggs sunny side up just the way I like ’em! And it was so nice and, well, I hate to say this because well, he’d done it for me, but it was just so… unusual. It frightened me. So I left. Without eating. I didn’t even say goodbye. And… heavens to betsy, I… I don’t know why, but I just got so scared. Just, Sam seemed so happy, and… That song he was singing… how did it go?”Charlotte is unfortunately the least featured CCRP Tech employee in the Hatchetfield series so it’s difficult to definitively say a lot about her, but it seems that she tends to ask questions and push back when pushed too far. In Dream Machine, she questions why a mutagenic squirrel works at CCRP, while Ted gets upset and tells her to stop obsessing and just accept things as they are. In TGWDLM, Charlotte is the first friend of Paul’s to feel frightened by the apotheosis, and the first to be killed. She notices right away that Sam isn’t behaving like himself. Even if he acts out the perfect marriage she dreams of, she can tell that there is something wrong with the display of affection, and it frightens her. This isn’t genuine. This isn’t happiness. This is death.

Charlotte is not under the impression that the Hive offers anything but her doom. But the thing that lures her and Paul in, even if just momentarily, is the offer of happiness. Love. Belonging. The things which we crave and the things that can be used against us. The variety of reactions to the apotheosis among the main cast mean that we as audience members are likely to see ourselves in at least one of them, but if we think about what is considered an “average” response, it is simply becoming infected like all the extras we see before Paul even starts his work day. And as an extremely average joe, he would have been caught, too, if not for the people around him. Namely, (unsurprisingly) Emma. Paul is spurred to action and survives until he blows up the meteor because of her initiative, her connections, his desire to see her and be with her. Emma is the supervillain of the play because she is the reason Paul doesn’t like musicals.

Maybe you have a few passions, or perhaps you float through life aimless, but it is almost always because of other people that you might discover something new within you. It is because of Emma that Paul is the main character. More than just being smitten, Paul is motivated by Emma. He seeks understanding from her at Beanie’s, he comforts her during their heart-to-heart at Hidgens’ manor, he goes on a suicide mission so that she might survive. It is his want for her that gets him infected. And make no mistake, this motivation is not just exclusive to his love interest. He puts himself in harm’s way to warn Charlotte to get away from Sam. He knows that the chances of survival are slim, but guides Bill to his daughter. Paul is an exploration of the average person. Perhaps we can be unsociable or easily influenced or completely unremarkable, but however briefly, perhaps we can escape the horror of conformity if we become influenced and motivated by the people around us. That is what it means to live. To change others, to be changed.

Even if it wasn’t forever, it was for good.

[< Part 1: Humanity] [Part 3: Egoism >]

#paul matthews #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #nightmare time #hatchetfield analysis #hatchetfield #team starkid #starkid #mine

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 1 year ago

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*crying sobbing pounding on dazzle's chest* YOU'RE GONNA COME BACK WRONG AND AS CHAGGIE'S FUCKED UP CREEPY MEDICAL RAT PUPPETEER CHILD!! YOU HAVE NO CHOICE!!!!

Razzle needs a hug and i don't CAAARE if it's just from the reanimated body of what used to be his brother turned little sister >:(

this fankid brought to you by

Charlie running around with bandages after an Extermination trying to patch Sinners up, a thing that would inspire her new goat child and something her and Baffy would bond over.

Vaggie as a mom and also one of the only ppl around scarred by a permanent debilitating wound given by heavenly steel, a thing she and Baffy kinda have in common, and motivation for Baffy's research into healing heavenly injuries.

What if a kid was born from a failed attempt at resurrecting someone else and then had to live right next to said person’s memorial statue while watching their older brother sadly cuddling up to it sometimes? Baffy totally doesn't get trauma from this.

other random thoughts below

Having a health practitioner in the Pride Ring is kinda like installing fire detectors in Hell.

Not only is violence happened all the time everywhere but Sinners normally just pull themselves together afterwards and regenerate unless hit with a heavenly weapon, so what's the point of having someone running around stitching up wounds and treating blood loss?

Well.. what's the point of running around with a torn off arm if you don't have to? Or being in pain longer than you need to?

Baffy thinks that sounds pretty stupid.

Baffy is cheerfully chasing down her next VERY reluctant patient as we speak.

Baffy's heart is in the right place (she checked) but her medical practices and bedside manner are kinda lacking (ironic for a former plushie toy) and most Sinners would rather run screaming into a turf war than let her treat them. She's a little too fond of stiches and blood and excuses to see both.

(And what if not even heavenly steal could scar or permanently kill people...?) (Heaven is NOT happy someone is asking this question)

Hell’s creepy new health practitioner

Unlicensed

Self-taught surgeon via rat autopsies

Uses rat puppets to distract and calm her patients (doesn’t realize they find it disturbing)

Largest rat puppet also serves as her assistant

Craves apples

Can be bribed with apples

Reborn from Charlie’s blood and part of the Morningstar bloodline

Fav bedtime story is of how Charlie kept trying to help bandage Sinners up after Exterminations and how that eventually led to Charlie meeting, helping, and falling in love with Vaggie

Looks and acts a lot like her aunt Niffty

Aunty Angel Dust was the receptionist / nurse for kid Baffy's play pretend doctor fun, and he does it for real whenever Baffy sets up a makeshift clinic in the hotel lobby

Husk grumpily lets her try to help him stop drinking

Sometimes uncle Husk wakes up from a hangover with a YOWEL as Baffy gets him in the hindquarters with a syringe of her own healing blood

Cherri Bomb and Cherri Bomb's bombs are Baffy's main source of patients since they're usually in too many pieces to run away from her

Cherry brings them over when she remembers to

mainly so Baffy can assess the damage and unintentionally give Cherri tips on how to build her next bomb even better

Vaggie as the only one slowly picking up on something being very wrong with Baffy's whole heal people at any cost thing even if the price is her own blood and pain

Vaggie is trying to show Baffy that living with scars can be okay but hotel business and heavenly threats keep interrupting them

Baffy has an X shaped white scar where Dazzle’s mortal wound was

Her scar aches when she touches heavenly steel or when large amounts of it are nearby

Yes her head is on fire no it’s not a problem (for her)

Since she can't use heavenly weapons without hurting she mainly just headbutts people with fire when attacking or puppets her small rat army after them

Has to drink blood daily to survive

HATES the taste of blood

does think it's PRETTY tho

Scared of needles but keeps trying to use blood transfusions to help Sinners heal from heavenly steel wounds like her body did

Emily is her doting "guardian angel" / godmother who helped Charlie and Vaggie bring her into the world / failed at bringing Dazzle back

Lute thinks Baffy's 'birth' in an insult to creation and to her and wants the 'abomination' dead

Emily almost goes full seraph fury on Lute's ass for this

Instead Emily reminds Lute and Sera that, as a blood relation of Lucifer, Baffy has immunity from being targeted by heaven, an immunity Emily WILL enforce

Baffy has a running feud with Cannibal Town over whether devouring bodies counts more as recycling / waste management or robbery from the scientific community (which is so far just Baffy)

Since Dazzle died in dragon form Baffy can't shift into it without tearing open her mortal wound scar

she almost died the one time she tried it

Razzle knew she wasn't his dead brother brought back to life when new born her was given a choice between an apple and a donut and she did NOT choose the donut

He loves his new little sister so much and just wishes Dazzle could have somehow known her too

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #razzle hazbin hotel #dazzle hazbin hotel #razzle dazzle hazbin hotel #chaggie fankid #bedazzled au #needles #my art #fanart #ok i think i can be ok about dazzle dying now #maybe #we'll see

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lonestarsyntheticturf · 2 years ago

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budgetaus · 6 months ago

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I think it's funny I drew his anti version before I drew him. Anyways

Another installment in turning Undertale AU's Sonic! Welcome Fell!Sonic and his long post!!

Sonic with Scourge's personality but not his goals! He's a good jerk, peep the name! Sonic the Hedgehog! He calls his anti "Scourge" out of spite and vitriol.

A man-handling, pawning sleazeball who thinks he's both better and worse than everyone around who he both hates and cares so deeply for at the same time. He hates his shitty universe and the state it's in- constant war, bickering, drugs, traffic, depression, violence, etc etc, it's the red-skied, smoky cesspool he's live in all his life and he can't break from it so he has to fit in with it. Despite that- he actively tries to fix and protect it in valiant attempts to make it a better Hell. He's rough around the edges but he does occasionally show a good quality here and there, and while he's offensive and crude, he doesn't normally mean harm. He can be mellowed out but he still is an off-handed bully with a superiority complex- just a chill guy. It's just how EVERY Mobian acts on this Mobius. Terrible, mean, and downright awful. Even the kids. It must be a birth right or coded into their genes or something. Nature Versus Nurture...he saves to make it better, free-er. Though, he'd actively deny it- only leveraging his name as a "hero" (which he denounces) to get things- say he's not a good guy. Simple way cool loser. He knows manipulation tactics but he doesn't often employ them unless for things like "Redemption" or to con, nothing genuinely evil. He's more feral and wild with a brutal cunning in a fight and isn't opposed to getting down and dirty but he still has his own honor-system. He's always trying to be a better version of himself.

After certain events early in his vigilante career he received battle scars (a token of high respect and honor in this decadent society) and an upper hand when it came to Chaos Energy- simply a little more than the average Sonic. Nowhere near the level of his anti-counterpart, and he barely ever uses it unless he sees no choice. He doesn't know he can use Chaos Control and those of the likes without an Emerald.

His universe is under active siege from his Anti-counterpart, the desperate fight has been on and off. His Anti hates his guts because his universe has been the only one to fight back so hard like a dying animal. Fell-Sonic especially hates Anti for being a snake-in-the-grass he is and Fell-Sonic is one of the ones who Anti always drops his mask towards because Anti has already convinced his whole world that THESE are the villains and they could "better" it like he's done countless others. They actually HATE each other. Fell is secretly unnerved and creeped out by Anti and is just a tad scared of him.

He leads his own "Gang" of riff-raff called Anarchy Allegiance which he simply calls Clan Anarchy. He gives a new meaning to Anarchy as he challenges societal norms and fights for a better future. It has multiple subsections and bases with codenames such as The Revolution (The Resistance), The Revival (The Restoration), etc in order to maintain control and protection over his turf. Mob tactics are used but he mostly lords his ability to protect the innocence in exchange for some tribute. Knick-knacks, artifacts, rings, but also sweets. You could pay him a whole bucketful of sweets and he'd be like "Good enough" He's got a major sweet tooth. He's also willing to wait for his payment and when he gets impatient he usually tasks someone else to talk to them so he doesn't do something he regrets. He'll be as patient if he knows someone's in a bad sitch but he expects all of it plus interest and extra for wasting his time.

He recycles and does other things to try and improve the rotten environment around him. He loathes smoking (horrible for your health and it harms the lungs which isn't good for running) so he chooses to suck on lollies instead- he ALWAYS carries around cherry cola dum-dums. He also hates alcohol (The amount of child abuse on Mobius is CRAZY) and drug (especially specifically when in bad taste) and those of the likes. He especially hates it for his lil bro, Tails. Tails is an avid drinker and smokes despite having barely dipped his toes in tween-hood, barely past double digits. Whenever he sees Tails drinking or smoking he usually smacks whatever it is out of the foxes hand and gives a substitute. Lollies for cigs and root beer for alcohol. He's trying to get Tails to grow up better, with tolerance and understanding without a world of bad habits and self-destructive nihilism. He only wants the best for his protege.

His group- while outwardly mean- are built on true chemistry, loyalty, and understanding. He knows they would all die for each other and this substantial hope for a new world.

One without this pain and suffering.

Anyways, that's it for now on him. I will take him to digital and color him soon on popular request. I also got 2 other writing pens to ink with and one of them (gift from doctor) is the best drawing utensil I've ever used and I wish I knew the make and model...sigh.

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scotianostra · 1 month ago

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On June 4th 1977 Scotland beat the auld enemy 2-1 at Wembley, in the aftermath jubilant fans tried to take the football stadium home to Scotland with them.

I’ve scoured the internet and got first hand views from those that were there, including, Rod Stewart and Gordon Strachan, oh and a guy called Alec Torrance who went down in history, read on…….

Goals from Gordon McQueen and Kenny Dalglish meant Scotland retained the British Home Championship the 98,000 strong Wembley crowd contained huge Scottish contingent, it was like playing a home game, when the final whistle blew, thousands swarmed onto the pitch to celebrate.

The moment entered Scottish football folklore - that Wembley win on June 4, 1977 became the iconic moment - a Woodstock moment - for a generation of football fans from north of the border, the ultimate ‘I was there’ claim. I was only 12, but remember watching the match on TV and wishing I was there, it was defining moment for me, I was proud to be Scottish and part of a nation that knew how to party!

They reckon at least two-thirds of the 98,103 crowd at Wembley that afternoon were Scottish, revelling in the excesses of what had become a biennial pilgrimage to London to see their heroes take on the Auld Enemy.

Watching back the YouTube footage, you hear the extraordinary noise of whistles greeting every English touch of the ball inside their own national stadium and a deafening roar when goals from Gordon McQueen and Kenny Dalglish handed the Scots a famous win.

But it is the events after the final whistle that are best remembered. Thousands of elated Scots leaped from the stands onto the pitch - Wembley’s perimeter fencing hadn’t quite been installed - and raced onto the pitch.

Captain Bruce Rioch and his team-mates were carried shoulder-high, the hallowed turf was ripped up and stuffed into pockets to be carried back north, and over-exuberant fans snapped the crossbar.

The man that snapped the crossbar was 21-year-old Alec Torrance, who became something of a Scottish celebrity.

He later recalled: 'Those were Bay City Roller days and I’m sorry to say that I was wearing a tartan shirt, brown flares and platform shoes.

'I just started running towards the posts where the winning goal had been scored. Scots were climbing all over it, and I tried climbing up but it was difficult because of my platforms.

I was pulled up by some of those already on it and was just about to swing my legs over it when it snapped. I landed on my arse and then stood up and saluted the crowd.

'It was sheer ecstasy. I then started digging up the Wembley turf. I handed out hundreds of little bits of the turf and I kept some for myself.’

When Torrance passed away in 2010, one of those who sent flowers was Rod Stewart. The singer and die-hard Scotland fan was on the Wembley pitch that day and can be seen in photographs being lifted up by joyous fans.

The singer, clearly seen in the first pic, has said of the occasion: 'I was at Wembley in 1977 - and it is a day I remember well.

'At the end, I wanted to go on the pitch with the rest of the fans but I was there with my dad, who said 'No.’

'I said to him, 'just try and stop me’. When I got to the pitch, police were trying to stop the fans going on. I lifted my hat to show my face. and when the officer saw who it was, he said: 'Oh alright, go on then.“

Also on the pitch was the ex Scotland manager Gordon Strachan, who was in London on his honeymoon.

He recalled in 2013: 'Do I feel red-faced about it? Not at all. My wife and my best man were with me on the terraces and we were the only ones in that section still standing there.

'A policeman said to us, "Do me a favour and get on the pitch as you look silly standing there on your own”. So we just joined in.I was only a boy then, 20 years old. I was glad to be on the pitch. I didn’t wreck anything. Did I swing on the crossbar? I couldn’t reach it.

Sadly the English did not take our over exuberance too well and banned us from Wembley, it also more or less saw the end of the Home International Tournament.

#scotland #scottish #history #england #football

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 9 months ago

Text

The Internet Is Forever: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Summary: A man is going around killing women in their homes and filming it for all to see. It's heartbreaking to watch but you're determined to catch him before he can hurt anyone else.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

With the time now back in Penelope's hand, you're able to get an address for the woman the unsub killed. You head right over there with the police. You don't bother bringing the ambulance because the unsub took the body with him when he left. You don't have to see what happened through energies because you saw it in his live. Penelope is taking this hard because she wasn't fast enough even though Derek tries to make her see that it wasn't her fault. The reason why she's taking it so hard is because this guy is good at what he does and is all up on her turf about it. Hotch wants her to flag the viewers so you can bring them in until one of them gives you what you need--the unsub's name.

"Her name was Allison Kittridge, twenty-nine. This was her first house," Emily sighs.

"So, this unsub accelerated his timetable and his MO. He was moving faster because he was angry. The press conference told him something about himself he didn't like so he rushed. Which means he made a mistake. Now, what was it?" Derek asks.

"It wasn't the cameras. He remembered to take those with him," you say.

"It wasn't the body. He took that with him, too." Emily looks at Derek. "Hey, did Garcia find anything unusual with Allison's wireless?"

"No. Records show that it was a basic DSL installation." Derek looks at the desk where her computer sits and notices something off about the wires. "Y/N, help me move this table." You do and he kneels on the ground to inspect the wires. He holds one up with a gloved hand. "Do you see this? This is what brings the internet from the street into the house. This isn't DSL. It's a fiber-optic cable. It's a completely different type of connection. We just found his mistake."

You three head back to the station to tell the rest about it, and Emily lets the detective know over the phone.

"If there's already an internet connection in the house, why does he bring his own with him? Is it the upload speed?" Hotch asks.

"A fiber-optic allows him to stream large amounts of video and maintain a chat room. That's dozens of computers connected to him at once. He'd need a lot of bandwidth for something like that."

"We checked all the ISPS. Why didn't he turn up?"

"I get mail, phone calls, and people knock on my door all the time to see if I want to upgrade my internet. They'll offer to come inside and demonstrate how much faster their connection is."

"Do you think that's the ruse that gets him in the door?"

"It makes sense," Emily shrugs. "During his demonstration, he would have access to his victims' computers. On his way out, he might ask for a glass of water or something that serves as s distraction, something to buy enough time to plant that first camera."

"We need to find out what company owns this cable."

"Detective Fordham's already hunting that down, and there's an ID number on it so it shouldn't take long."

"We'll have Y/N and Reid follow up. I need you two to track down who was in the chat room."

"Did Garcia finish her sweep?"

"Yeah. Most were international, three were local. I bet one of them knows the unsub."

Hotch and Rossi went to talk to an older man named Austin Chapman whose name was one of the ones in the chat room. He denied having seen the video and was confused about the murder that took place. Derek brought in a man named Scott Burns, and Emily

Emily and Derek brought the other two men who were local back to the station as well as Austin who kept claiming he didn't know what video Rossi was talking about.

You and Spencer go to the place where the cable is manufactured, and one of the managers meets you down in the lobby. After a brief explanation of what is going on, you hand her the cable from Allison's house.

"Yes, this is our cable."

"Mrs. Hightower, we went over your records, and it turns out that none of the four victims signed up with your service."

"Four? God, those poor women," she sighs.

"We think it's an employee using your cable as a ruse to get into the house. Can you think of anyone that might be--"

"Mac Jones," she cuts you off. "He worked on one of our trucks as we laid the fiber in with the regular phone line."

"You're certain that's him?"

"We caught him hoarding it. He said it was for a home project until we got angry phone calls that he was going door to door offering free fiber-optic installation. We fired him on the spot."

"We need his information.

"Absolutely."

With the unsub's name, you and Spencer take it back to the station and call Penelope about it. She doesn't need a lot of time to bring up Mac's information on the big screen for everyone to see. The man on the screen doesn't match up with the ID you got from the phone company.

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet Mac Jones."

"That isn't the ID we got from the phone company," Spencer says.

"That's because last year, Mr. Jones had his identity stolen. The unsub took his license and his credit card, used them for two weeks, and then moved on. Now, I can't tell you who the unsub is pretending to be now, but since a picture's worth a thousand databases, I can tell you who he was." She pulls up another picture of another man. This one. This is your unsub. "Robert Johnson, three-time loser, and arrested for possession of torture videos. He spent some time in a halfway house before he disappeared. I found a blog of his online. Here's a quote: Next time you won't be able to stop me."

"That's his narcissism again," Spencer says. "He was furious that he got caught and remakes himself as a killer. It allows him to free the impulses that were always there. Garcia, is there a pattern to the identities that he steals?"

"No. He's really disciplined about it. Once he burns through an identity, he never uses the same one again. Do you know how I describe some suspects as being off the grid? This guy is totally the opposite. He's all over the grid. He's manipulating the grid. He never stays in one place for very long."

"How do we find out who he is now?" Hotch asks.

"I don't think we're going to. The man known as Robert Johnson is in the wind. If he's this flexible with his name, his real name, forget it. There's another way we can find him, though. His online name or his hacker handle. That's the name that matters to him."

"Wouldn't he have hundreds of those, too?" you ask.

"Most definitely, but remember how I said hackers are loyal? They stick to certain names. That's how you identify yourself to other hackers. That's how the FBI caught me. If you find the handle, you'll find the unsub. I'm on it. I promise."

You leave their side and walk into the room where the interrogation rooms are held. One window is to your right--the room where Rossi and Austin are in. Two windows are to your left--the one closest to you has Derek and his man. The one farther from you has Emily and her man. You cross your arms and observe all three.

"Look, I wish I could help you find the guy posting these videos, but I never visited that website, man."

"Right," Derek scoffs.

"Maybe somebody broke into my computer or something."

"See, Scott, we think it was you. We found some pretty interesting movies in your hard drive to back up our theory." He looks at the file and names the titles of the movies. "White Girls Can't Hump'. That's nice. 'Schindler's Fist'. I bet that's riveting. See, this one right here, this is the one that got my attention. 'The Erotic Awakenings of Sandy'. How old was the girl in that video? What was she, twelve?"

"I can explain," Scott stutters.

"Shut up! This is what's weird to me. Most of your files were locked away, but not the child porn. We found it in like five minutes. It wasn't password-protected or anything. How does someone who's supposed to be so smart with computers do something so fucking dumb?"

Scott looks around with a sigh before leaning in.

"Can we cut a deal?"

"You tell me what I want to know and then maybe we'll talk about a deal."

Scott relents.

"Before this guy accepts you into the club, he gives you the illegal stuff like kid torture. He has to know that you're risking as much as he is."

"Mutually assured destruction. If you rat him out, he takes you with him." Scott nods. "What's his name?"

"I don't know. We never met."

Derek slams his hand on the table, scaring Scott.

"Don't you try and play me, kid. His online name."

"Watcher89."

"Were there any other names?"

"Not that I could find. There's something else you should know. He sent out a message. He said tonight would be the best one yet."

"He's attacking tonight?"

"Of course. He knows you're watching him."

Derek turns his body toward the window, locking eyes with you. He knows someone is standing there. Emily walks out of her room without so much as a glance in your direction. Her guy must have said the same thing. You sigh and turn to Rossi and Austin.

"What's interesting, Mr. Chapman, is the two other men we talked to had a form of collateral on their hard drive."

"I'm sorry, collateral?"

"Hardcore porn. Illegal. Rough."

Austin's mouth opens and closes as if he's shocked.

"I would never look at something like that. You have all my computers. You must have searched them."

"Yes, and we found nothing."

"So, can I go?"

"No. You see, there's still that nagging question as to why you were logged on to that chat room last night."

"Look, Agent Rossi, I'm at a loss here. First of all, I'm all thumbs when it comes to computers. Second of all, my grandkids were at the house last night for a sleepover. They were in bed by 8:30. We were so exhausted, my wife and I were asleep by 9:00. Please! Ask her. She'll say the same thing. I don't think I even checked my email last night."

Damn, he's a good liar. You believe him when he says he doesn't have illegal porn on his computer but the unsub's energy is all over him. Rossi takes out a picture of Robert and hands it to him

"Do you know this man?"

Austin takes out glasses so he can see the picture better.

"Yes. He came into my store a while back."

"Why?"

"He said he liked my website, which my son designed for me, by the way. We chatted about appliances and he bought a few items and left."

"Did he have a name?"

"No idea. We talked for only five minutes."

"I'll be right back."

Rossi takes the file and leaves the room just as Hotch walks into the room you're in. He looks at you and you only nod to him.

"Do you believe him?" Hotch asks.

"I believe he doesn't fit the profile of the other voyeurs. They're good with computers. They have hacking experience."

"He wasn't lying about the computer stuff. He doesn't know them or anything. He does know Robert. His energy is all over him. I think if Robert sent child porn to the other voyeurs to shut them up, he's somehow involved with the victims. Their bodies have to go somewhere, right?"

"Garcia checked out the website. She said it was crude. You can't even order anything from it."

"Maybe Y/N's right. Maybe the unsub manipulated him for something else and used his network as part of his spoofing."

"Maybe?" you ask.

Hotch's phone rings and he answers Penelope's call.

"Go ahead, Garcia."

"I got Watcher89."

You three leave the room and head back to the team to see what Penelope is doing on her computer since she's still hooked to the WiFi here.

"Does he have his own network?"

"He doesn't need one. He's got a whole city to leech off of."

"He's doing this again tonight. Can you send me a list of networks he's hacked recently? Those are the potential victims."

Penelope pulls up the map and twenty red dots appear on it.

"I have twenty hits."

"Filter out men and families. He only kills single women."

Eight dots left.

"Eight left."

"Garcia, do you have any pictures?" Spencer asks.

"Coming your way."

Penelope puts all eight pictures on the screen so Spencer can study their facial features. He points to Lucy Masters who has short dark hair, green eyes, and high cheekbones.

"It's her. She's the one. She's the only one with facial symmetry that would appeal to him."

Once you get her address, you head over to her house quickly. You don't have to set foot inside to know she's not in there. Still, Derek and Emily walk in through the front and announce themselves.

"Lucy Master? We're the FBI. We're coming in!"

A quick sweep of the house indicates that she isn't here but her car is. You walk into the living room and look at the TV which suddenly turns on by itself. Lucy is on the screen with her hands tied over her head with two giant meat hooks on either side of her. She has a gag in her mouth to prevent her from screaming. She tries to struggle but she isn't going anywhere. You look at the top of the TV and notice a small camera perched on the edge.

"Guys? You might want to come see this." Derek and Emily walk into the living room. "See that camera? I bet he can hear and see us."

You look at her surroundings and see if you can determine where she is. What do you see? Metal walls. She's in some sort of metal container. A meta container fit for a person must be on a property that's big. It has to be at a secondary location. Maybe on Austin's property. What if that's why he keeps them there so he can use that as collateral for Austin?

"Look at that," you whisper to Derek. You point to the wall behind Lucy. "Is that ice on the walls?"

"It's a walk-in freezer."

Rossi immediately knew that Austin had something to do with these freezers. Rossi wasn't gentle on Austin as he called him out. Austin tried to deny it but the first thing voyeurs learn is how to cover their tracks, how to stalk between nine to five. That's why there wasn't any porn on his computer because he had something better.

Rossi basically threatened him with his grandkids. He said that the next time they Google him, he'll make sure they find out what a disgusting grandpa they really have. That's what set him off. He gave up his location to them.

1823 Hudson Street. You've got him.

You, Derek, and Emily make it to the place in three minutes but you're not sure Lucy has three minutes left. Penelope blocks his signal from streaming and denies his internet access altogether. If you're right, that will piss him off enough to want to kill Lucy out of spit. You jump out of the car before Derek can even stop. You know exactly which freezer she is in. You can feel her panic.

You slide the door open and see not only Robert strangling Lucy but every body he took hanging on meat hooks... frozen... for his pleasure. Derek jumps on Robert and struggles to get him off Lucy who is losing the fight.

"Get off her! Let her go!"

"No!"

Derek yanks Robert off Lucy and slams him into the side of the freezer before slapping cuffs on his wrists. You and Emily immediately tend to Lucy who is crying.

"You're going to be okay. It's over. He can't hurt you anymore," you say.

You get her down from her restraints and Detective Fordham takes her to get some help. It hurt to see Allison get killed like that but you're glad that you got there in time to save Lucy.

Once back home, you and Spencer are sitting on the couch watching a movie. You turn to face him and he lowers the volume so he can have a conversation with you.

"Is it weird that I wish I was in therapy right now?"

"No." Spencer reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm glad you found comfort in that."

"Thank Derek. He kind of forced it on me." You lean in and kiss him. "I'm glad to be back."

"The internet is the first thing that humanity has built that humanity doesn't understand, the largest experiment in anarchy that we have ever had." - Eric Schmidt.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite #criminal minds season 5

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