#though it still has a loooong way to go

[sub-k-pop-archive]

do you post for Enhypen?

Hi, apologies for the belated response, but no!! In fact, I don't post on this blog at all anymore, sorry!!

No but seriously, this blog has been inactive for 2 years now and like... I might revive it? Though it would mostly just be reblogging sub!idol content and not actual archiving like I used to do. While the archiving was fun, a lot of writers kept deleting their blogs and their works along with it, which became pretty demotivating after a while (this is also why I personally refuse to delete any of my blogs even after abandoning them).

I am still semi-active, though!! I write sub!idol (sfw and nsfw) content on my two blogs, @kp-alice and @seohwang! Though those two have also been kinda inactive for a bit, as I'm working on a pretty big sub!Ateez series and want to at least half-finish it before I start posting the thing.

So, uh, yeah. Sorry for leaving this side blog in the dust, life events just kept happening and I eventually didn't have the energy to continue doing this. But hopefully we'll see each other soon when that Ateez series is ready!! <3

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

bed chem | m. murdock

a/n: hey guys guess who's back with a matt one shot! i started this a loooong time ago so i decided to finally finish it!! not much to add other than hi guys i've missed you so much and am excited to be back in my writing weird and quirky readers era. so. enjoy!! maybe if anyone's interested in reading a part two, i can write one. warnings: 18+, Smut, lots of flirting and pining, reader being emotionally unavailable and way too insecure, matt being flirty and dom, lots of pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, one kid), no one's ever made the reader cum, reader is super effing poor, has two jobs, hates her job, age gap, lowkey just strangers hooking up. lots of teasing, lots of banter, reader says 'hooker' a lot, matt makes you an offer you can't refuse, probably some other stuff i'm forgetting but isn't that kind of our deal by now? wordcount: 4.6k summary: A handsome stranger makes an otherwise dull and annoying night worth your while. pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: bed chem - sabrina carpenter "come right on me, i mean camaraderie/said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be/where art thou? why not uponeth me?/see it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy."

You meet Matthew at a party.

Your story starts like so many do.

Music is playing, people are chattering all around you. More than that, you feel out of place. You clutch your champagne glass immaturely, unsure how you’re supposed to hold it.

How did you get dragged here, anyways?

Wasn’t there some shitty early 2000’s apocalypse movie and an edible that you needed to attend to? Didn’t you long to order shitty bar food and use your vibrator for hours? Wasn’t there something, anything more important than your attendance to this party?

It’s too fancy for you, anyways.

Yeah, sure, your degree sits framed on your wall, but your soul tells you that you’re no academic, that if you wanted to go to a party, you deserve to be at a house party in your shitty neighborhood, the village that raised you, where your mother, the girl who gave you your first hit of a joint, and the teacher that taught you to read still lived, reliving the same high school gossip you’ve known for ten years. You’d be wearing ripped jeans and a too revealing top that your friend talked you into.

Instead, you’re trying to recall facts from your undergrad education that you haven’t thought about, trying to figure out how to impress these people.

Didn’t Ernaux write about the transition from being poor to being an academic? Didn’t she write about—

“You sure like this bar.”

The voice you hear makes you turn your head—You’re faced with a handsome man, red glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. There are whisps of grey in his scruff. He holds a glass of.. Something.. maybe resembling whiskey? You’re not sure.

“I’m sorry?”

And you are. Men don’t really talk to you, and in your brain, maybe this blind man—you assume he’s blind based off his glasses and his cane but you don’t dare say this assumption out loud, maybe this blind man is playing some sort of trick on you.

“You like this bar. You’ve been standing here for a half hour.”

You struggle to find anything clever to say.

So, maybe because it’s all you can think, or maybe because you think it’ll get the handsome stranger to leave you alone, you respond,

“I’m just trying to figure out if everyone at this party can tell I grew up poor or if it’s all in my head.”

And though you’re one hundred percent serious, handsome stranger laughs.

Something sparks. Deep in the confines of your soul where you’ve locked away any routes to passion or excitement, having thrown away the key when you got your mind numbing poorly paid office job.

“I’m Matt.” He holds his hand out for you to shake, and you give him your name. At least you shake his hand properly. “So, if you feel so out of place, why are you here?”

“My boss told me I had to.” You respond, your voice carrying a bored edge as you mention him. “Told me I needed to come to make the company look good, because everyone brings secretaries to this thing to show their appreciation. Like it’s a privilege to have these men talk down to me, to have them coo and aw at my lack of money or maybe my lack of intelligence and have them go,” You lean over to this man who told you his name two minutes ago, and put your hand on his thigh—“Don’t worry honey, I’ll happily sit here and explain basic government systems you learned in eighth grade while you worry about paying your rent because you had to buy a dress for this stupid party and you only make enough money to choose between the dress and your rent,” You explain, your thumb rubbing his thigh for a little extra emphasis on your point.

Matt blushes.

That spark grows.

“Sounds like a nightmare.” He hums.

You withdraw your hand to take a sip of your drink.

“Just exhausting.” You sigh, neglecting to mention that you’re further unable to pay your rent because you had to take off your second job to be here. The job you’ve had since high school. The job you swore to quit one day. “Anyways. I’ve probably annoyed you, Sorry.”

“No, no, I appreciate the honesty. I grew up poor too,” He answers, “And now I feel like part of the problem.” He shrugs.

You look to him. In his finely pressed suit, his expensive scent.

“Prove it.”

His face twists into something of amused confusion.

“Prove it?”

“Yeah. Tell me something only someone who grew up poor would understand.” You request, daring him. He knows this is serious to you, that if he’s lying to you, whatever he hopes to get out of this is not going to happen. So, he sips his drink and goes to the dark corner of his mind to when his dad was alive.

“Well, besides the fact that I grew up in an orphanage,” He starts, and you feel like an asshole, “When my dad was alive, I used to have to do my homework in the laundry mat, moving over our clothes, while he was at work. Then I’d wheel the load home in this laundry basket on wheels.” He told you. You smile, comforted—You can see through the graying hair and fine pressed suit. At his core, he is just like you.

At that shitty house party you don’t go to, he’s smoking a cigarette in a tee shirt and cargo shorts, and you’re just as attracted to him there.

“Alright, I trust you.” You promise. You take another sip of your champagne, looking around the room. The party is starting to dwindle down and bosses are taking their secretaries to dark corners. Your back hurts.

“Good.” He takes a sip of his drink and stands up, leaving the now empty glass on the bar counter. “How much?”

“How much what?”

Matt grins and holds a room key card to one of the many rooms in the hotel above this stupid fucking party.

“How much do you trust me, sweetheart?”

-

His room is on the 8th floor, and it’s.. bigger than any hotel room you’ve ever stayed in. It’s clean, the lights are warm, and you’re pretty sure you could sink right through the bed. You step into the room and find yourself taking off your heels, with no real idea if you were allowed to stay the night.

“Nice place,” You admire, and you predict his words before he says it,

“Thanks. Smells pretty fancy, I guess.” He shrugs. He listens to as you jump onto the bed, stretching out. Matt slips out of his shoes, and he lays next to you, groaning a bit as he lays down.

“Can I ask you something?” You wonder, just admiring his face. Your hand comes up to touch his cheek.

“Anything.” He hums, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“How old are you?” You wonder.

“Forty-two.” He responds, and he goes to say something else, but you lean in to kiss him. But just before he can gratify you, before you can learn the taste of his lips, his hand, quick as lightning, comes up and grabs your jaw, holding you in place, “Really, sweetheart? The fact that I’m forty-two turns you on?” he asks.

You can’t help but defend yourself—

“Well, just kissing you doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m turned on or anything—”

“So if I snuck my hand up this pretty dress of yours, you’d be what? Not soaking wet?”

You just look at him for a long time.

“Okay, what do I have to do to get you to kiss me, instead of just talking to you?”

“Why? I like the sound of your voice,” He smirks, and you roll your eyes. You feel defensive, like he’s making fun of you. Like he knows how badly you want him, and he’s withholding it from you on purpose, just to see you squirm. As your mind starts to spiral, you pull away from him, the lustful heat in your cheeks being replaced by hot, bubbling rage.

“You know what, I don’t need this shit—” You move to get off the bed, trying to find your heels when Matt grabs your wrist—with gentleness he’d use to care for a skittish animal—and pulls you back towards the bed, trying not to laugh when you stumble over your feet, now standing between his legs.

“Stop.” His voice is gentle, but firm. He hears the way you inhale, the way you try to mask your anger. It turns him on. “You really want to kiss me?”

You hesitate to respond—you want to kiss him so fucking badly. You can’t remember the last time you wanted anything other than wanting to pay your rent or wanting a new chair at work.

“Yeah.” You finally breathe. “I want to kiss you so badly.”

“Yeah?” He smiles. “Well, if I ask you a question, are you gonna try to leave again?”

You clench your teeth.

“You just asked me a question and I’m still standing here, aren’t I?” You see him smile.

“Okay, when was the last time you kissed someone?”

“..A while ago.”

“How long ago since someone’s made you cum?”

Your silence is deafening—it’s revealing. Matt starts to chuckle.

“Oh, fuck this—” You turn to leave but Matt pulls you in, and then his hand is on the back of your thigh, pulling you close.

“C’mon, sit on my lap,” He starts, and hesitantly, and admittedly clumsily, you sit on his lap, your legs resting on either side of him, while his hands hold your sides, as if they were made for him to hold. “So, no one’s ever made you cum before?”

“No one except my vibrator.” You say, and Matt just shakes his head.

“I’m a lawyer.” He starts, and you groan, your head tilts back,

“Jesus Fucking—”

Matt’s hand squeezes your side.

“Don’t use the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart—”

“Is this some sort of joke? Am I being—”

Matt comes forward to kiss you, his lips silencing your thoughts. He tastes like whiskey and vanilla, and it eggs you on. You deepen the kiss, any anger or frustration slowly melting. And when he pulls away, his teeth catch your bottom lip and he tugs just enough to drive you crazy.

“Are you going to listen now, sweetheart?” he asks, and all you can do is stare at his pretty pink lips.

“Sure.”

“Good.” He clears his throat. “I’m a lawyer,” he says, “So part of my job is to help deliver justice. And it is..” He laughs a little like his plans to fucking ruin you are funny, “a fucking injustice that no one has ever made you cum. That all you know is some battery-operated thing instead of my fingers or my cock,” He sighs, “So how ‘bout we deliver some well-deserved justice, sweetheart? How’s that sound?”

It sounds like you could die. What is happening? Weren’t you just complaining about how badly you wanted to get away from this whole scene? Why do you want him so bad?

“..Sounds like you have all the power in this situation.”

Matt grins like he knows it.

“Does sound like that, huh? Here, I’ll tell you a secret,” He leans in, his lips grazing your ear, “You have the power here. You say the word, and I’ll stop. I’ll stop, and you can stay here for the night, or you can leave, I’ll pay for your cab, or..” His hands begin to gently rub up and down your sides.

You smile. He’s trying to make you feel better, and it’s working.

“Or..?” You prompt.

“Or.. I could teach you how good it feels to cum from something with a pulse. And not something.. battery operated,” and the way he says it, you know he’s repulsed by the idea that your vibrator is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

And it makes you smile wider.

“My vibrator is very good to me, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh,” He chuckles, “Not nearly as good as I’ll be to you.” He promises.

It’s a big promise.

You just look at him for a long minute, trying to decide. As if there’s even a choice to make. You’d let him break your heart if he asked nicely.

“Can I take off your glasses?” You ask softly, and Matthew nods, and you find yourself taking them off and just holding them for a moment. You stare for a long time, to the point where you start to nibble on the ends of his glasses, and he smiles. He likes how authentic you are. How unable to hide yourself from him you are.

“So, what do you say?”

“Hm..” He suspects you’re fucking with him. “Well, I’d have to—”

“Yes or no?”

“I thought I had all the power here.”

“You do. But I’m running out of patience here, and,” He brings your hand down to his pants so you can feel his bulge, “I am way too hard to wait for much longer.” He confesses. He thinks he might die if he can’t feel you clench around him, so he quietly, desperately hopes you’ll say yes.

“Okay,” You smile, “Alright, let’s do it.”

“Not very enthusiastic—” You inhale, and he knows you’re close to leaving, so he tries to entice you, “C’mon, just.. humor me, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

“Making a whole lot of promises, Mr..?”

“Murdock.”

“Matthew Murdock,” You hum, “Okay, Mr. Murdock. I want you to fuck me, just like you’ve promised. Make me forget all about my vibrator.”

And before the words finish leaving your mouth, his mouth is against yours, swallowing any insecurity you had earlier. His fingers begin to slowly move up and down your sides, and you already know that whatever is about to happen will ruin your vibrator for you forever.

You could see yourself becoming addicted to this feeling, to him, to the feeling of being wanted.. You could feel yourself already slipping down that rabbit hole.

As you kiss him, he lets out this soft moan into the kiss, and in response, your hands come up to play with his hair. You start to roll your hips a bit, as if you want to tease him. Matt’s hands squeeze your sides, and he pulls away from the kiss just for a second.

“Safe word?” He wonders, and you scoff.

“No one’s ever made me cum, you think I have a—Woah!” You cut yourself off, because Matt suddenly flips you over so you’re beneath him against these too expensive sheets.

“So, if things go too far, you’re uh.. you’re gonna say Lava, okay?” He wonders out loud.

“Yeah, Okay,” You nod, “Lava, got it,” and then he’s kissing you again, and his hands are slipping off his jacket, and then he starts to loosen his tie as he kisses you, but then he gives up on that to put his hands on your thighs and then beginning to travel up. You shiver as his hands travel up your dress,

“Pretty fucking dress..” He mumbles, between kissing you silly, “Pretty girl, too..” He mumbles, “Gonna need to rip this dress off you—”

You fully pull away from the kiss to say,

“Rip this fucking dress and I’ll leave so fast,” And Matt knows you’re not joking, but he smiles and says,

“How about I buy you a new one?” He asks, “Or two or three—”

“Oh, my god, just leave the dress intact,” You request, and Matt’s smirk begins to grow.

“Then how about I just fuck you in the dress, huh?” he wonders, “How would you like that, sweetheart?” You nod, letting out a soft ‘mhm’, but Matt shakes his head, “No, no, I gotta hear you say it, baby. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you in this dress. Maybe I will.”

You stare at him for a long moment, wondering where your dignity went.

“Matthew,” You start, “If you don’t fuck me in this dress, I think I’m gonna go crazy. I can’t.. I can’t remember the last time I wanted anything this badly,” You confess, and the words start tumbling out before you can stop them, “I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel pretty like you have, and I can’t ever use my vibrator again because I already know how much better you’re going to be, and holy fuck¸ yes, it turns me on that you’re forty two and—”

Matt kisses you again, this time only for a short time, because he pulls away after a moment to tell you—

“I think we should work on your dirty talk, but, good. Was it so hard to just do what I asked?”

“..no.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” He says softly, and then his lips are against yours again, while his hands explore, and when his fingers brush over your panties, you moan against his lips, barely registering it as he slips your panties off and stuffs them in his back pocket, because his fingers are caressing your folds, slipping inside you as you moan and writhe beneath him.

“Holy fuck,” You whine, “Matt—”

“Sh, sh, sh..” His lips press a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure the first time someone else makes you cum is on my cock.” He tells you, and he chuckles when he feels your folds flutter around him at that. “I’m gonna fuck you in this dress now, okay?” He wonders, and you nod,

“Yes, please.”

“Aw, pretty girl does have manners under all that brattiness, huh?” He smirks, and before you can retaliate, he kisses you.

When he slowly eases your cock into you, you moan against his lips, and you try to really just feel it. You try to really remember how full you feel, the feeling of Matt’s breathless pants against your lips and skin, the feeling of being wanted by him.. and you know you can’t quit him.

His thrusts begin slowly, and that becomes a feeling you want to remember too. He thrusts into you while burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Wait, hold on, Matt,” but when his thrusts don’t stop, you say, “Okay, Lava,” You offer, and Matt’s thrusts stop, and he very hesitantly pulls his head out of the crook of your neck,

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I just..” Your hands come up to rest on either side of his head, and you just stare at him for a moment, “I just want to memorize your pretty face so I can live in this moment forever.”

Matthew blushes.

You know you’ve won.

You’re not sure what you’ve won, but you definitely feel like you’ve won whatever it is.

Matt presses his forehead against yours and while you stare into his pretty brown eyes, he whispers,

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” Then, after a moment, he asks, “Can I keep going now?”

“Yes, please.” Matt smiles and kisses you again as he begins to thrust into you, and you realize how dirty this entire situation is—an older man, still mostly dressed, fucking you in your expensive (rent stealing) dress just after meeting him, and it makes you want him more. Your hands move to play with his hair as his thrusts increase, one hand gripping the bottom of your chin and the top of your neck, the other sneaking up your thigh to rub circles in your clit.

You’ve never felt closer to God.

This is so much better than your vibrator.

Matt can feel you clench around him, and it makes him chuckle, so, in the most condescending tone he can muster when you are being so good for him, he asks,

“Wanna cum, sweetheart?” He wonders, and when you just whine in response, he continues, “C’mon, use your manners, I know you know how to respond properly,” He reminds, and if you didn’t want him to cum inside you so badly, you’d tell him off.. maybe.

“Please,” You manage out, “Yes, I wanna cum,” and Matt begins to kiss your cheeks, your jaw, and your neck, and only after leaving quite the bite mark on your collarbone, does Matthew say,

“Alright, pretty girl, let me feel you cum on my cock,” He says, and you do, and the way you clench around him makes him moan against your skin, his speed increasing, “Fuck.. Fuck, kid, I gotta..” He sighs.

“Inside,” You beg quietly, “I’m on birth control and—”

“Are you.. sure?” He asks, but his voice is shaky from how badly he wants the answer to be yes.

“Yes, please, please—” And before the third please can leave your mouth, he lets out the prettiest moan against your lips, cumming deep within you, filling you in ways you never thought possible. His hips roll a few more times, just to help you through your high (and just a little bit because he can’t think of anything clever to say that isn’t ‘Will you be mine forever so I can keep fucking you like this?’) but after a few moments, he whispers,

“So.. what did you think?”

You feel amazing. You could die happy. You can barely think, so you respond,

“I think I’m gonna throw out my vibrator.” And it makes him laugh, and you think he’s even prettier when he laughs than when he cums, so you kiss him. And in between kisses, you say, “We made a fucking mess,”

And he finally pulls away with a sigh.

“Well..” A smile tugs at his lips, “Wanna.. check out the shower, sweetheart?” He wonders.

“Do I have much of a choice, Mr. Murdock?” You smile.

“Nope,” And before you can say much else, Matt is grabbing you and swinging him over his shoulder to carry you to the most expensive bathroom you’ve ever stepped foot in.

-

In the morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee, and the sound of the shower running again. You slowly blink away your sleep, rubbing your eyes. You have a bit of headache, the consequence of a long night of drinking.. and bad decisions.

You blink, and anxiety begins to well in your chest. Your heart beats out of your chest quickly, and you kind of feel like you can’t breathe. What did you do last night? Well you know what you did, you weren’t that drunk, but if Matt was at that party last night he must’ve been important or—

Your eyes drift over to the side table, and you see a delicious smelling coffee next to an envelope, an envelope that is sloppily marked with your initial, the sign of a blind man attempting to write. You find your bra and then find yourself unable to find your underwear—whatever, you’ll deal with it later, you decide, so you begin looking in drawers and find a pair of Matthew’s boxers. You pull them on, and then take a long sip of the coffee that’s been ordered for you.

Then, you pick up the envelope, and halfway through the sip you stop. It’s an envelope full of cash, it would cover your rent and then some..

So naturally, you put down your coffee and then begin to bang on the bathroom door, hitting it over and over again,

“Matthew! Hey, we need to talk!” You demand, and you hear some shuffling as the shower turns off, and the door opens, and you see Matthew with his hair, and scruff, damp, and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

And you have to admit, in the middle of your anger, he is so hot.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” He smiles, handsome devil. “Everything—”

“What the fuck is this?” You ask, smacking the envelope against his chest, “I’m not a fucking hooker,” and your voice matches how badly you want to smack him.

“I know,” he starts,

“Well, only hookers get left an envelope of cash after they fuck some stranger,” You snap, “And I’m not a fucking hooker.”

“Are you wearing my boxers?” You see him smile.

“Do you think I’m a fucking hooker?”

“Boy, you sure like saying fuck and hooker.”

“I’m being serious,” You remind, “I’m not a hooker. I don’t need your money.”

Matt, although he won’t tell you this, doesn’t need his super senses to know that last part is a lie.

“Can I talk without you accusing me of thinking you’re a hooker? Because I don’t think you’re a hooker, I know you’re a very distinguished young woman, and—”

“Alright, I’m not president, I’m a secretary, relax,” You scoff, and start to move around the hotel room, trying to find your shoes, dress, accessories.

Quietly, it turns him on that you’re so difficult.

“Can you just—” he sighs, finding his own boxers and pants, and then starting to put his button up back on, but it hangs on him without being buttoned up as he sits down. “Can you please sit, so we can talk about this?” He wonders.

You’re still holding the envelope.

“Fine.” You grumble, walking over to the bed and sitting next to him. He’s really hot, so you just admire him, and wait for him to talk.

“I know you’re not a hooker.” He starts, “But I am a lawyer, like I told you last night. And.. I make more than enough money for me,” and You want to tell him he doesn’t need to brag about it, “And.. I’m not really looking for a serious relationship right now, but.. I really like you.”

Your face flushes.

“You do?”

He smiles gently.

“I really do. So, here’s the deal, sweetheart—And you can’t get mad at me just for offering, okay?”

“Okay.” You concede.

“Let’s keep seeing each other.” He starts, “Nothing committal, we’ll just hangout, sleep together, I’ll get to hear your pretty noises.. and I’ll pay your rent, and.. and buy you things.” He shrugs.

You blink.

“You want to be my sugar daddy?”

Now it’s Matt’s turn to blush.

“That makes it sound so.. dirty,” he starts, “Which it is.. But you never.. have to do anything, I just.. want to hangout with you. Fucking you will just.. be a nice benefit. A really.. really nice benefit.” He breathes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?”

You consider it for a long moment, thinking. You’d be able to quit your shitty second job, the one you’ve had since high school, the one you swore you were going to quit. And last night was amazing. You really do want to throw out your vibrator, but maybe you could convince him to show you some of his favorite toys.

He’d tell you that you are his favorite toy, and then you’d have to fuck him like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

“I’d like that.” You smile, “But on one condition.” You say, and he nods.

“Anything.” He smiles.

“You can’t fall in love with me.” You say, “And I can’t fall in love with you either. We can be friends, and we can fuck, but no being ‘in love’ with your sugar baby.” You request, and he nods.

“Deal.” He holds out his hand to you, “Shake on it?”

Your fingers wrap around his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Deal.” You echo. “We won’t fall in love with each other.”

Yeah, let’s see how long that lasts.  

[bunni-v1]

Lighter Relationship Headcannons

🍓Hi. I'm a liar. I sat down to write more of the alphabet requests and got possessed. This was the result. Anyway, he's so fucking everything to me. I hope the two zzz fans that follow me enjoy this because I'm going insane keeping all these thoughts in. Not putting this under the cut because I can't be bothered sorry gang. Gn.

Tw: NONE LIGHTER IS PERFECT!!!!

Info: Lighter x Reader; Headcannons; Fluff

-Lighter is, and I mean this with my entire being, the biggest walking green flag in the history of ever. Ironically, considering he’s the red scarf, but it’s the truth.

-He’s such a well-meaning guy, always considerate of others and incredibly caring to those he considers close. It’s hard not to imagine that he’d be a fantastic romantic partner, but like, how is he really in a relationship? (Lucky you, I’ve been obsessively fantasizing about it, so now you get to find out!)

-Lighter has most likely had a few partners, though none of them he would categorize as “serious”. Most of them were when he was significantly younger and way more stupid, and he cringes looking back at how he acted.

-He was a good-hearted and sweet kid, just… really fucking stupid about love. Most of his relationships either didn’t end well or were just nothingburgers that left him and his partner unsatisfied.

-As he got older, specifically after everything he went through, he didn’t want a relationship. Especially when he was still, you know, fighting because he quite literally wouldn’t have been able to maintain anything meaningful. (He’s well and convinced he would’ve been a miserable partner to have during that time, and he’s definitely right.)

-Even after joining the Sons of Calydon he’s not really looking for a relationship. The idea is nice, sure, someone to call your own. 

-Someone you can love and care for and who will do the same for you, it’s all lovely on paper, and Lighter would never say he wasn’t a romantic… but he’s gotta be realistic about it. When the hell is he gonna have time to maintain a relationship?

-He loves the girls, but they keep his ass busy – and that’s not mentioning everything else in his life that either gets in the way or would put a potential partner at risk.

-So, Lighter is okay just enjoying the thought of a relationship, not pursuing it.

-And… then he meets you.

-Meeting you felt like taking a punch to the gut, hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

-It’s not like it was love at first sight or anything, but it was definitely a whirlwind of something that Lighter had never experienced before, and it scared the shit out of him. He’s patient and reasonable, and he does his best not to let too many people in too quickly, but damn you were something weren’t you?

-It takes him a loooong time to feel comfortable feeling the way he does about you, and he’s really awkward around you – not that you can tell, because Lighter's “awkward” just makes him seem aloof, like the strong silent type. 

-You think that’s just how he is, but the girls know better, which only makes it worse for him. Expect lots and lots of forced alone time with Lighter because everyone ‘suddenly remembered’ they had something to do.

-You’re none the wiser about their scheming, but Lighter’s actually losing his mind because you are… really fucking cute to him.

-Now, regardless of how long it takes him (or you) to talk about how he feels about you, the relationship is going to be slow and steady. 

-He hasn’t been with anyone in a long time, he wants to do it right this time because he cannot – and I must emphasize this – he cannot lose another person. 

-This relationship is going at Lighter's pace, not yours, and if you don’t like that you’re probably not gonna last long with him. (So genuinely do not bother, for his sake.)

-It isn’t like he doesn’t value your thoughts and feelings, though. If you feel like you’re ready to move onto something else with him, he’s gonna sit and talk it out with you because he’s not a fucking prick. He just needs a partner who is willing to be patient, because he has been through a lot, and a long-term dedicated relationship is very new and very intimidating to him.

-It’s a series of slowly warming up to each other, getting comfortable with all kinds of affection, and learning what each other is and is not comfortable with.

-Once you learn about each other, everything is so incredibly smooth, and I promise on my life Lighter is the best partner you could ever ask for.

-His only issue and I say this very lightly (heh), is that he’s kinda bad at confronting issues he has head-on. 

-Normally he lets his fists do the talking but… he’s not really the biggest fan of socking you in the jaw sorry.

-He’s bad with words, and he’s only eloquent when he’s not trying to be, but he also knows that leaving an issue unresolved can be a death sentence so he will talk to you about things that bother him. Just give him a little time, even if you notice something is off. Patience is a virtue with him.

-Now, if you come to him with a problem he’s all for it. He’s clumsy about it, and he doesn’t know what to say depending on what it is, but he’s more than willing to change some things or work together to find solutions with you.

-Now, with that background established, let's talk about the fun stuff before I explode.

-Lighter is the best. Maybe I’m biased, but he’s so fantastic because he’s done a lot of work on himself as a person, and he values the relationships he has so much.

-To him, as your partner, you are his number one priority all the time no matter what. If you need him (and it’s an emergency (to him everything you need him for is an emergency)) he will be there, or he will ensure that someone will be there until he can be.

-No, this doesn’t mean his setting aside his responsibilities as Champion, and he isn’t going to set down every task he’s doing to answer your beck and call. He has a life outside you that’s important to him, but if something is wrong and you need him he’s going to be there. Always. Unless he physically cannot stop what he’s doing.

-Needless to say, Lighter is protective of you. Incredibly so. 

-He’s aware you can handle yourself and you’re not some feeble damsel in distress, but he worries a lot. He’s got a lot of targets on his back, and if a single one of those ever shifts to you he’d tear apart the entirety of the outback to ensure you were safe and sound.

-He can control his anger pretty well, but if anyone laid a hand on you I’m pretty sure it would take all of the Sons of Calydon and then some to pull him off whoever did that shit to you.

-He’s also the jealous type, believe it or not.

-He doesn’t care that much when mutual friends of yours are cuddly and cutesy with you. He knows those people, he knows you, there’s nothing to worry about. Someone he doesn’t know, though? Good luck.

-It doesn’t matter if they’re your friend, he doesn’t like it at all. He abandons his usual post of watching from the distance to be right up in your space. Constantly. 

-It’s so easy to tell when he’s jealous because suddenly there’s a gloved hand on you all the time and you can’t quite seem to get it off. How odd. Oh, there’s a pouty (intimidating) man attached to it, who would’ve thought.

-He doesn’t want to lose you, and he won’t apologize for that.

-He’s so cute, trying to keep the intimidating persona while clinging to his partner. (It’s really scary for anyone not in your close circle of friends).

-Speaking of, Lighter really struggles to keep up the cool guy look around you. He’s so incredibly weak to your whims and wants, he can’t help but let you cuddle up to him.

-All you have to do is bat your eyes at him a few times and usually, he crumbles like chalk. If this were a sport he’d be the champion of giving you whatever you wanted all the time.

-When he goes to the city to run errands for the girls or any other reason, he picks you up cute little trinkets or things that remind him of you. He does it without even thinking too. One second he’s on task, the next he’s buying you flowers and he doesn’t even realize it.

-You occupy a very big chunk of his everyday thoughts, he can’t help that you bleed into things.

-Speaking of, he sends you a ton of messages when you’re out. He likes keeping up with what you’re doing, where you’re at, who you’re with, etc.. He does the same for you, constantly telling you about what he’s up to and sending you little pictures of things he sees.

-He’s a helpless sap, okay.

-Unfortunately, though, he is at war about PDA. He likes it, obviously, but not too much, please?

-He has a reputation that he needs to upkeep, which means you can’t always hang off him, as cute as he finds it. Time and place.

-He’ll hold you at your waist if you’re just standing or walking around, sometimes an arm around the shoulder depending on what’s comfortable. If he’s just with the girls he’ll let you cuddle up to him as much as you please, but if there are a lot of people around he can’t do a ton of cutesy shit.

-Not that he dislikes doing it, but the embarrassment would actually kill him if anyone pointed out how weak the great “Red Scarf” was for his partner. (Everyone already knows this anyway, but it’s the principle).

-Genuinely the only exception is when he’s jealous because the only thing that crushes his pride more is having his relationship disrespected right in front of him.

-Behind closed doors though, Lighter is such a fucking idiot for you. He love love loves sappy romance films and he wants to recreate all those cringy moments that make you sick to your stomach with how sweet they are.

-Chasing you around his or your place, play fighting, twirling you around, or slow dancing in the kitchen to some oldies. He loves all of it, and he wants to do all of it with you, please indulge him. It’s not often he gets to be so free.

-He does the cutest thing when he tells you to get all dressed up packs up a picnic basket and takes you out on his bike to watch the sunset together. You lay there for hours after the sun has set just talking because his favorite thing is talking to you.

-He isn’t much of a talker himself, but he can listen and listen and never get bored of your voice. Just spew random bullshit at him, he’s fine with that, he just likes watching your lips move.

-If he gets tired of listening (which he never will) he’ll just kiss you until you shut up, so don’t worry too much about him.

-Also, I feel like this goes unsaid, but he takes you on plenty of rides on his bike. If you compliment it he’ll get all puffed up like a proud cat, it’s really cute.

-He stares a lot, by the way. Does this come as a surprise?

-He does a lot of standing around and watching, if you happen to be in the vicinity, he’s watching you most of the time. You’re just nice to look at. Lord help him if you turn and smile at him, or give him a wave.

-He allows you to play with his hair in private. He’ll lay his head down in your lap and let you rake your fingers through it, massaging his scalp and ruining his perfectly fluffy hair.

-He will also let you play with his sunglasses, so long as you’re careful with them. If you put them on your face and pretend to be him you’re in for some tickling though.

-Oh, please wear his clothes, pleaseeeeeeee wear them. If you walk out in his shirt he has to do a factory reset. You look so good in his clothes he can’t handle it.

The only thing that might be a little off-limits is the scarf, but even then he might wrap you up in it just to see you wearing the symbol of his strength. His two biggest prides in one? He likes the sight more than he’ll admit.

-Genuinely, he is such a good partner and I could go on and on and on about him, but this shit is like so long already so I have to put the breaks on.

-He’s just such a caring, loving, fun guy to be in love with and he will treat you like a goddamn king/queen all the time because he believes that's exactly what you deserve.

[kianamaiart]

I just wanted to tell you that I love idwtbamg and am especially blown away by the character designs for aika and zira!!!!!! their colour palettes compliment each other really well and are soft while still having some contrast and I would love to know how you came up with the designs or if you don't feel like sharing that, your favourite parts of their designs and what you're most proud of? Good luck with the pilot, by the way!!! ^^

Aw thank you so much! Character design was initially what I wanted to do when entering the industry so I love whenever I'm able to do it~

I talk about my process for picking colors here a bit!

Design process under the cut (loooong post ahead)

Whenever I'm designing a cast of characters I always start with the main character and build off of them. I started specifically with Aika's normal girl design. I wanted a star theme, and the star hair was the first thing I knew I needed. With her hair being the most eye catching and important part of her design, I wanted to make sure whatever else she had going on wasn't gonna distract from it too much. So I went for a more top heavy, but simple look with a big tshirt, small black pants. Aika was initially fully blonde but the stark black pants was starting to pull the eye. That gave me the idea to use the stark black in her hair (for the bottom half)! Made her hair even more eye catching and highlighted the star pigtails in a nice way.

For her magical girl design, I wanted to make it feel over the top and overwhelming to contribute visually why Aika wouldn't want to be a magical girl. Big poofy dress, ribbons poking out everywhere for a crazy silhouette and tall, tall platforms. I also wanted to give her longer hair in this form so I went with goddess locs! I was able to do an easy shorthand with it (long thick strands with lil curls at the end) I like the kinda biblically accurate angel look she has. My favorite part of this design was the ribbons in her hair that make the star pigtails look like shooting stars heehee

With Zira I knew I wanted her to be opposite to Aika. So sticking with the space thing, I gave her a moon motif and that was my jumping off point. With Aika having high pigtails, I decided to give Zira low pigtails and give them a vaguely crescent shape (like crescent moons get it?). Continuing with the opposites thing, I wanted to make Zira's design bottom heavy as opposed to Aika's top heavy one, and also color-wise, go on the opposite side of the color wheel from yellow for its complimentary color, purple! I didn't want Zira to feel too stylish (she's a loser after all) but also didn't wanna make her design ugly. I tried toeing the line of out of style but lowkey trendy with the grungy skirt, jeans combo. Also went with the stark black shirt under the tshirt to lean harder into the 2000s look. On top of that it helped tie her design to Aika's more (this is where I decided the stark black was gonna be an essential part of the design language of this show). My favorite part of her design for me is the mangled ends of her pants. It's a small detail but I think it says a lot about her as a character (she drags her feet, she's a little careless, kinda messy, etc.)

Hoshi is star. There's not much more to their design haha. I did give them wings to mirror Aika's dress ribbons. With their human design though, I just knew I wanted to make sure that they'd be able to make a star shape with their silhouette. Thus the hoodie and stubby limbs. Gave them the stark black pants (again at this point, it's part of the design language of this show). I tossed around the idea of giving them eyes that matched more with Aika and Zira, but it just didn't look like Hoshi so I stuck with the same face in their star design and I just thought that was funny hehe. My favorite part of Hoshi's design is just the overall fact that I managed to make them look like a star in their human form still haha

Eclipse was the hardest design for me. You would not believe how long it took me to decide whether I wanted to make him a boy or a girl. Eclipse was also gonna be named Void (and DeVoid was gonna be Eclipse) but it didn't feel quite right. I knew I wanted him to ALSO be opposite from Aika, but in a different way that Zira is. Looking at it that way helped me land on the name Eclipse because I thought it'd be fun to give both Zira and him moon motifs (as Aika's love interest and alleged love interest respectively). Similar to Zira I wanted to have purple be in his design to contrast the yellow in Aika's design. Due to his name now being Eclipse, I figured going dark with his design would make the most sense but my friend/roommie Bri @/ghostbri (who is a professional painter/color designer) suggested going pastel instead and it worked perfectly. It matched his personality and also plays on the fact that he cares more about theatrics and aesthetics than actual villainy. He completely misses the point of being the servant of darkness. He's heavily inspired by Tuxedo Mask. I wanted to make it feel like he saw a cool character once in a tv show and he decided to make it his whole persona. So he's got the suit, he's got the cape and he's got the mask. My favorite part of his design is his cape, intended to also have a crescent moon shape but then also have that stark black on the inside so his silhouette really pops against it. It's funny bc it ended up being like a reverse eclipse where the light is blocking out the dark.

DeVoid was the easiest for me to come up with the design for LMAO. Like obviously. I wanted to make her feel slick but prickly but also slightly over the top like a lot of old school magical girl villains. I thought it'd be a difficult balance to strike but it actually wasn't too bad! I gave her a sort of form fitting cocktail dress and at this point the stark black was a must so it worked out that the "void" character would just be in that all black look. It really helped her feel slick like I wanted (also gave her the slicked back hair for this reason). To give her some edge, I gave her the giant pointy shoulder pads, giant pointy horns, pointy ears, sharp nails and bat wings! Oh also worth mentioning she's the one main cast character I didn't use Aika as a jumping off point for. I designed her to look good next to Eclipse since they'd be the ones interacting the most. I made her wings white to contrast with her black dress (opposite to how Eclipse has a black cape but then mostly white outfit). To ensure that her design wasn't too dark and that her arms would read against her body, I gave her those bright silver bracelets~ While her design was easy for me to come up with, my god figuring out what color to make her hair was killing me. Tbh I was avoiding pink/red like the plague. I didn't want her to look toooo much like Jessie Team Rocket LOL. I tried white, I tried purple, I tried a more pastel pink but none of them worked well in a lineup with the rest of the characters. Bri helped talked me through all this haha. Pink/red worked the best especially there was no pink/red in the entire lineup. The Jessie influence is still there but I feel like she looks different enough! Favorite part of her design is her big ass horns)

Finally Miss! Miss was an interesting case because I designed her as I was storyboarding the pilot. She was intended to be an incidental character that we'd only randomly see once in a while. She had a veeery generic teacher design in my first pass but then as I was hiring VAs I got the idea to cast Michele Knotz to play her and that was enough for my brain to start going and come up with a backstory for her and a role that could tie in with the rest of the cast in a more meaningful way. Because of this, I designed Miss to the voice I imagined Michele would use for her. She does a great groggy and tired voice so I gave her those tired eyes, she has a darker color palette, her posture's a little more sluggish, etc. Her design still felt bland in the board so I gave her a couple piercings which helped. But then! The stark black! I gave her the half dyed hair which worked phenomenally and is probably my favorite part of her design. It leans into the tired feel (too tired to dye her roots) and also was a nice way to get the black in her design without just having to give her black pants or a black shirt or something. I'd only figured out her color palette way later and after recording Michele. The VA announcement image was the first time I'd fully drawn and colored Miss. I went with green since there was no green in the lineup! Also green's my favorite color so I had to.

PHEW that's it! Hope it was an interesting read and look into my brain.

[melanchoire]

#thinking of our beloved g!p chaewon… she’s so cute and girlfriend’y but she somehow switches to being a possessive loser that only thinks with her di- :( reader who loves bringing this side out of her by flirting with her older teammate sakura for giggles but somehow that ended with reader getting fucked on all surfaces in the dorm :(

cw: face fucking, deep throat, hair pulling, throat fucking.

pupu being the cutest and sweetest girlfriend until you suddenly decide to be mean to her and chaewon doesn’t understand why :( ignoring her all day and barely answering or looking at her and all thanks to the fact that you were too busy giving all your attention to sakura 😒 obviously kkura is a loser with no female affection so she is completely oblivious to your plans because she just thinks maybe she can get some pussy today but no! it’s just you playing around and using a dumb unnie to make your girlfriend jealous, and boy does it work, because chaewon always looks like she is trying really hard to keep your gaze on her eyes and not on your tits because she was slowly getting hard and chaewon knew it

although when you cross the door of your shared apartment with her your attitude ends because chaewon almost instantly pushes you against the wall and presses her body against yours, looking at you with cute eyes that had fire in them, but were still beautiful! bad idea that you wanted to make fun of her and tell her she looked cute angry, only for her to force you to get on your knees and suck her cock 😊 looking so cute looking at you with a frown and trying to act tough when only pathetic moans come out of her lips as you bob your head up and down when you’re swallowing her cock completely and you look her straight in the eyes every time the tip hits the back of your throat… obviously chaewon can’t let you win, because even though she may not be a complete dom, she is powerful! so she ends up pushing you against the wall until your back hits the cold material, taking advantage of the fact that you have no way out to move, she shamelessly fucks your face to the point that you start to choke on your own saliva and it starts to drip down your chin 💕 xhaewon couldn’t care less because every time she thinks she has a little empathy for you she remembers that’s the same mouth that was giving sakura comments, so she chooses to fuck your mouth until you feel like your jaw will fall off your facial structure

and chaewon loves it when the instant she cums inside your mouth and as she withdraws her cock she sees how a thick thread of saliva and semen combined connects from your lips to the pink tip of her cock without even breaking when she already withdrew from your mouth seconds ago 😵‍💫 obviously chaewon doesn’t lose the option of continuing to teasing you, wrapping the string around her tip and forcing her cock back into your mouth, making you swallow the whole mess you made

and you know you’re beyond screwed when she again, upon leaving your mouth, doesn’t let you take a breath or ask you if you’re okay, but she abruptly takes a hold of your hair and says “get up and go to our room” and you know it’s going to be a loooong night

[lemotmo]

Okay 911 fandom...

I feel like I've been very nice about this before and I always figured it would all just disappear after a while, but this insane Ryan Guzman hatred is getting out of hand. And frankly? It is pissing me off!

So, let's get something very clear here:

This whole concept some people have in their head that Ryan is the reason why Buddie won't ever go canon? IT IS WRONG!

The man has screamed Buddie from the beginning. He came up with the name for Christ's sake. Just because some of you only joined the fandom after 7x04, doesn't mean you get to shit on this guy. You don't know the lore or the history. So shut up!

This idea that Ryan is a bad actor and he is botching up his scenes with Oliver, because Oliver clearly plays Buck as in love with Eddie?

Again... WROOOONG!

Buck is sooo much further on the Buddie path than Eddie is. All he has time for right now is his son! Ryan is NOT going to play Eddie smitten with Buck, because he isn't there yet in the narrative. He obviously cares deeply for Buck though and we see it in everything Ryan puts into his acting. He is obviously a talented actor and artist. So again... SHUT UP!

If I see any of you threaten the man over a fucking fictional ship on a TV-show? I will report you on whichever platform you are on and I'll make sure that everyone knows who you are so they can block you accordingly. Are you insane?! You cannot threaten people for doing their job.

And NO! Nobody is going to recast Eddie because you have it in your stupid little ignorant dumb minds that the man is a misogynist, a sexist, a racist, a terrible father (ARE YOU CRAZY! YOU CANNOT CALL A MAN YOU DO NOT KNOW A BAD FATHER! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING!?) and a whole other slew of things that are simply made up in your own head!

He made one single mistake a loooong time ago. He admitted that he was in a very dark place around that time. He even talked about trying to take his own life at a certain point. How much more honesty do you need?

After that mistake he apologised and he has obviously worked really hard to become a better guy. We can hear that in every interview he does. Stop spreading the narrative that people can't be forgiven after they apologise. What age are you? Four??? Of course people can be forgiven. It's called growth. This insane cancel-culture that has been growing rampant for the last couple of years has gone to all of your heads. Wake up and SHUT UP!

Stop these ridiculous claims and please do everyone a favour! Move on to another fandom where miserable people like you are welcome.

For years now this fandom has been a great place to be in. I love it here! But I've had it with the insane hate-campaigns against a guy just doing his job.

I won't even go into the insane Eddie hate I have seen lately.

This has got to stop!

I am still not a Ryan stan, but I am a decent human being and admirer of his work. So whatever has been going on lately? It is NOT right and we should all shout that from the top of our lungs.

If anyone is reading this and recognises themselves in what I have written here? Please step outside, touch grass, look at the sky and if you are following me? Kindly unfollow me. Thank you.

If anyone is reading this and feels the same way? Feel free to follow. I promise that I don't often make posts like this. I try to spread the fandom positivity as much as I can. So expect lots of that here.

Can we now just go back to enjoying what is really important here? Buddie is about to go canon. Let's celebrate and have fun! We've been waiting years for this. This is our time.

[akanemnon]

I was bored, so I decided to create Dark World versions of DR!Asriel and DR!Chara! (Even though they’ll never actually go to the Dark World in Twins Runes… but details).

Of course, since I love making my life more complicated, instead of just showing them to you, I’ve decided to write out my entire "creative process" as well.

Brace yourself, because this is gonna be loooong.

---

• Asriel

At first, I thought about making him look similar to Asriel from Deltarune Chapter Rewritten, adding a few details from an old Dark World design of Asriel you made a while back. It would have been simple, effective, and overall made perfect sense...

But obviously, NOPE.

Taking the easy way out? Couldn't be me.

So instead, I went for something a bit more "colorful", still taking inspiration from Asriel’s "God of Hyperdeath" version in Undertale.

For his class, I went with bard. Something like this:

[Bard for D&D]

I don’t know why, but the idea of a bard in Deltarune has always cracked me up. Plus, I think it fits his personality as a "fake tough guy with a heart of gold."

Now, onto his weapon. I took Asriel's Chaos Buster from his "God of Hyperdeath" form and turned it into… a lyre.

I know, not exactly a groundbreaking idea, but I can’t stop laughing at the thought of a lyre that, every time it hits someone, plays a dramatic music note… or maybe an electric guitar riff. I haven’t decided yet.

---

• Chara

If I had a lot of inspiration for Asriel, Chara was a whole different struggle. There aren’t many reference images (and no, UT!Chara doesn’t count, because from what you told me, they should have a completely different outfit).

The only real starting point was this drawing, which was super helpful:

[By @Unabashedconnoisseurtwitt / @UCNSFW (One of these should be fine...)]

Aside from that, I had to improvise, taking inspiration from Deltaswap Kris’ outfit:

[By @panpan]

For their class, I went with thief/assassin (kinda like UT!Chara). Something like this:

[D&D Assassin]

Now, let’s talk about their weapon.

This part was easy: a knife.

But not just any knife.

A knife shaped like the Delta Rune. (No clue why, but I thought it looked awesome.)

I picture them having a dynamic similar to Susie and Ralsei in Chapter 1: Asriel happily playing music to spare enemies, while Chara… just stabs them repeatedly.

---

And that’s it! After months of pure artistic nothingness, I finally managed to draw something Twins Runes-related!

I really hope you like the drawings and that my endless explanation didn’t bore you too much.

Now, after this sudden burst of creativity, it’s time for me to disappear for another 3-4 months, just for consistency.

BYEEEEEE!

(PS: Thank you again for creating Twins Runes! It’s been forever since I worked on something this detailed, but your art really inspired me!)

These are really nice! I like the thought process that went into these! Really like the idea of turning Asriel's blaster into a lyre!

Funnily enough, I HAVE already created Dark World designs for these two, but never showed them off. Maybe some other day and definitely not under this ask. Don't wanna take away from your lovely fanart!

[ereawrites]

Hey gurl✨ I’m in my wife era rn so maybe some Shisui and/or Tobirama husband/jealous husband hcs?🫣 I loooovee your writing and tbh your thoughts are my thoughts so no pressure😩 If you not feeling it feel free to ignore me babe🧚🏻‍♀️

YOU HAVE FED ME SO GOOD MISS GIRL! under the cut for length

shisui

this isn't too relevant but I have to include it. it's too cute. I definitely see shisui getting married pretty young, like early 20s. if he finds his person he's going for it. probably gets a lot of shit for it from his family, but he doesn't care

loooong honeymoon period. in part because they're still a young couple but also... shisui is just a really devoted husband. he loves the married life. insists on kissing her goodbye every morning, eating together every night, stuff like that

LOVES DECORATING THEIR HOUSE are u kidding me. let's say they get a kinda shitty place right after they get married, and put a tonne of work into doing it up. he gets so into painting, building the furniture, even starts up a little herb garden in their kitchen

finds so many ways to drop his wife into conversation lol. he's down bad even after the honeymoon period ends, so he wants to show her off. his FAV is when she swings by his workplace to bring him his 'forgotten' lunch. he turns around to the rest of the guys like. yeah. that's my WIFE. isn't she hot.

very much a believer in keeping the romance alive. he wants to keep making the effort with her until the day he dies. veryyyy good at remembering anniversaries, scheduling regular date nights, etc. always makes sure she has fresh flowers in the house

obviously it isn't all perfect though. especially while they're young (and presumably both still active, high-ranking shinobi) their schedules keep them apart a lot. and this hits shisui really hard tbh. he hates coming back to an empty home after a long mission, knowing he might not even see his wife before he has to leave again

work is probably where most of their arguments stem from, actually. I don't see it being a regular thing, but it's easy for resentment to build in those kinds of situations. shisui is very torn between his love for his village, and his love for his wife, and the fact he can't prioritise both. thankfully shisui is a good communicator so they make things work.

in terms of jealousy... I don't see it being a common thing. maybe before they get married he tends towards it a bit more, but once she's his wife, why would he worry? she's his entire world and he knows she loves him just as much

the only way I rly see him getting jealous at all is if they're going through a bit of a rough patch for the reasons mentioned above. maybe they haven't seen each other in weeks, and they both get back from a mission on the same day. and there's some kind of event/function that evening that they have to attend

so they barely have a chance to acknowledge each other, before they're pulled apart again by the crowd. so if shisui sees some random guy getting a little too close and flirty with her, he gets more annoyed than he'd like to admit

even then though.. he's not necessarily jealous as much as he is upset. like goddamn just let this poor man have his beloved wife to himself for a night. in this situation he's more likely to behave more rashly than usual, and he might just make some excuses and take her home lol. he gets a little bit pouty until she gives him some attention

overall, though, he's very chill. he trusts her implicitly, and expects the same from her. they need to have a very honest, respectful relationship if he's going to wife her up

god okay and in old age they're so cute together. I bet they have a bunch of kids (probably accidentally tbh lol) so then they end up with a whole squadron of grandchildren. he's that fun grandpa who sneaks them sweets when the parents aren't looking. all the grandbabies want to sleep over at their house. and they LOVE it.

to sum up: very good husband. very relaxed, communicates well, makes her feel loved every day. why did he have to die I want to throw myself off a bridge.

tobirama

first of all. good job to this woman. wrangling tobirama into marriage is not an easy job. he's so fucking ANNOYING. it probably takes him years to confess he even has feelings for her, let alone ask for her hand in marriage

but once he gets there. it's pretty cute. he doesn't really act very differently for the most part - he'd already decided his heart belonged to her well before they married, and wholly committed. so his behaviour doesn't change much, and there isn't much of a honeymoon period. sorry. he's like marriage is just a contractual agreement why would it change anything between us

he does make a few little indulgences though. he gets this smug little look every time he introduces her as his wife. he's actually just a lot more prone to 'showing her off' in general, and more likely to show some physical affection in public. for tobirama that's maybe a peck on the cheek lol. but it's progress

he's definitely a lot.... gentler?idk. with her once they're married as well. he makes an effort to be more patient and less snippy, and shows his appreciation for her in a lot of quiet little ways. for example, he'll be sure to leave work on time no matter how busy it is if he knows she's putting a lot of effort into dinner that night. or if she spends a second too long looking at a new dress in the store, he's buying it for her

on that note. tobirama is such a provider once they're married. he does have that traditional idea of providing for his wife. he'll probably ask her if she wants to become a stay at home wife tbh. if she says yes, he still expects her to get out in the community of course. he'd love if she did volunteering work, maybe at the hospital or with kids or something. but he's also equally happy for her to keep working. power couple vibes very strong

they have a nice, quiet little house away from the village where no one bothers then and they loooove it. especially tobirama, his wife and their home are his sanctuary. everyone else gtfo

other than that, not much is really different from before their marriage. they probably actually lead quite independent lives, to the point where people don't even know they're married until tobirama drops it into conversation a few months later. they're very private and lowkey.

unfortunately for her, tobirama's paranoia also persists. he's a bit delulu sometimes lol and she knows this going in. but it does inevitably cause some issues, especially if she's headstrong (which is definitely the type of woman he ends up with)

he trusts his wife more than anything. he would never doubt her for a second. but other men? the enemy. not to be trusted. they're all dogs. it drives him absolutely batshit crazy to watch them ogling her, or god forbid trying to flirt with her. which is actually kinda common bc they're such a lowkey couple, so people assume she's single

tobirama isn't one to make a scene per se, but this definitely leads to a few awkward situations in public, and she probably ends up embarrassed a few times. and there's 10000% arguments behind closed doors. I don't see either of them being good with this lol. he acts like she's his political enemy he's ridiculous

but because he loves her so much, and he actually really wants to put work into the longevity of their marriage, he'll come around. he's a lot softer and more willing to compromise when it comes to her. but she can't point that out because he's mortified

over time, he chills out a lot more. they're one of those couples that just get stronger and better with time. they grow a lot together, and although they probably continue to disagree a lot throughout their marriage, it's always in a way that leaves their relationship stronger. and he only gets softer for her. people (hashirama) even start to point out how devoted he is and he can't even deny it. cute

overall a kind of difficult husband, because he is an exceptionally difficult man, but my god he loves her so much. he would do anything to make her happy.

[zukosdualdao]

i actually remember thinking when i was watching as a kid that the pupil jeong jeong was talking about was zuko, only to be Very Surprised when it was actually zhao but it actually makes so much sense that i'm not totally convinced it wasn't intentional on the writers' part. it's a microcosm of zuko trying to be the main antagonist of this book, only for zhao to show him up in that regard, but there's also very much a thematic idea that zhao is who zuko could become if he gives into his father's worldview fully and lets his rage and hate completely overtake him and uses his firebending only for destruction. in a way, zhao is who iroh is trying to prevent zuko from becoming. and the thing is, though zuko obviously still has a loooong way to go, by zhao being the main antagonist of this episode and zuko, in fact, not showing up at all, the episode sends the subtle message that zuko isn't there yet, that there is still hope for him to break away.

[scoutofmymind]

re a trois-lasan possible fic: all three of them are bisexuals but reader has only been with women before 🫣

As the World Caves In — {Hasan x Luigi x Reader}

Tags: bisexual!everybody, roommate reader, hurt/comfort, m/m/f, threesome, sexual orientation invalidation!!!, come eating, handjob, boys kissing, fluffy, sortofvirgin!Reader, everyone is a streamer, pet names, TURKISH pet names, there’s too much going on to tag everything

Wc: 8,240

🎪⭐️AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT⭐️🎪

Uhh yall ever seen that stream where Hasan’s dad sets off the fire alarms and he goes “ahhh c’mon Baba” ?? Bc if you haven’t here it is. I think it’s so cute idc so I made his dad bring him back candy from home 🇹🇷 (bc he’s a sour bitch)

This is a LOOOONG one. I also added texts and a tweet (NOT X ) because idk why not. This has only been edited and proofread once.. do not blame me for mistakes teehee. Enjoy angels 🪽💋

"You've only been with women," Hasan muses through a mouthful of Turkish sour candy his Baba brought back from a visit back home, sprawled across the couch like he owns it (because he does), one leg dangling off the arm. "How do you even know you like guys?"

You catch yourself shifting between staring at him in disbelief and looking to Luigi for backup, but the latter hasn't even glanced up from his phone, though there's a telling tension in his shoulders that suggests he's listening.

"Lu," you appeal, gesturing at Hasan with barely contained exasperation, "are you hearing this bullshit?"

Luigi hums softly, "mm?" glancing up momentarily from his phone where he's engrossed in Trotti's latest article, Designing for Mars' Harsh Environment; and the way his brow furrows suggesting he's been lost in the technical aspects of atmospheric pressure design and radiation shielding.

"Hasan is implying that I'm not actually bisexual." You watch as Hasan's shoulders lift in that theatrical shrug of his, lips pursed in feigned innocence, expression saying 'who, me?' but the slight tension in his jaw betrays him. "As if he's somehow appointed himself the grand arbiter of everyone's sexuality. Like he's got a PhD in Who Gets To Be Bi, or some shit."

Hasan sucks his teeth, and it's the same dismissive sound he makes when dealing with trolls in his chat.

"Well, I've sucked dick and eaten pussy," he says, tilting his head at you with that same combative energy he usually reserves for debate lords on twitter. His voice has that edge to it, the one that says he thinks he's won something. "Can you say you've done that?"

The silence stretches between you, thick with irritation and something darker, his "Right" landing like a challenge, smug and entirely too self-satisfied.

Something twists in your chest — an achingly familiar sensation, echoing that first moment of realization about your sexuality.

It's that same cocktail of emotions; fear threading through your ribcage, confusion clouding your thoughts, but this time the shame hits harder.

It's different when it comes from someone who should know better, someone you considered safe.

You let the silence stretch, not trusting your voice to remain steady while part of you wants to list every crush, every lingering glance, every moment of clarity that brought you here — another part, the part still nursing that old wound, refuses to justify your identity to someone who should know better.

This is different — this is Hasan, and somehow that makes it worse.

"That's enough." Luigi’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and final. He doesn't even look up from his phone this time, just delivers the words with the kind of casual authority that suggests he's already bored with Hasan's take.

But his dismissal, however effective at silencing Hasan, skims right over the damage already done.

He misses the way your jaw is still clenched, how your fingers haven't loosened their grip on your arms, the slight tremor in your breathing.

The wound is already open — Hasan's words finding that tender spot where doubt used to live — and Luigi's quick defense, while appreciated, doesn't quite reach the deeper hurt settling in your chest.

"I'm going for a drive.” you say, voice steadier than you feel. Your keys are already in your hand — you don't remember reaching for them on the hook by the door, but there they are, cool metal looped around your pointer finger.

The house you all share suddenly feels too small, too close.

Usually, the lived-in chaos of three people's lives tangled together is comforting — Luigi's engineering journals scattered across the coffee table, Hasan's streaming room, your plants in every window.

Right now, though, it's suffocating.

"Hey, wait-“ Hasan starts, but you're already closing the front door behind you, pretending not to hear the way Luigi mutters "nice fucking job." as you leave.

The driver's seat of your car feels like refuge, and you start the engine before either of them can think to follow you out, though you catch a glimpse of movement behind the living room curtain as you pull away.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket almost immediately.

Then again. And again.

It's not even about Hasan's ignorance.

Not really.

It's about how quickly you were thrown back to being fifteen again, questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself and how easily someone you trust can make you feel like you're still trying to prove something.

You're not angry exactly, but you're not ready to face Hasan's awkward apology or Luigi's well-meaning but slightly detached attempt to mediate.

Your phone hasn't stopped its intermittent buzzing.

At a red light, you glance down to see multiple notifications from Hasan.

You switch the phone to silent and toss it onto the passenger seat.

The light turns green, and you take the coastal route automatically, muscle memory guiding you toward the overlook where you used to come and think before you all moved in together.

The overlook is empty when you pull in, just your car and the endless stretch of ocean ahead. You cut the engine but leave the keys in the ignition, letting the residual heat from the vents fight against the evening chill.

Below, waves crash against the rocks in a rhythm that's more felt than heard through the glass.

Your phone screen lights up again on the passenger seat — a separate message from Luigi this time.

The thing is, you know Hasan.

Know how he gets when he thinks he's right about something, how that energy sometimes bypasses his better judgment. Know he'll probably spend the next week trying to make it up to you with coffee just how you like it and random acts of thoughtfulness.

And you'll forgive him, because that's what you do in this weird little unit you've built together.

But right now, watching the last of the sun sink into the Pacific, you let yourself sit with the hurt.

Let yourself remember every dismissive comment, every raised eyebrow, every "but how do you know?" that came before this moment.

Let yourself feel fifteen, sixteen, seventeen again, just for a minute, before you have to go back to being an adult who understands that sometimes the people we love can be thoughtless without meaning to break something.

The dashboard clock blinks 7:43 when another text comes through. This time it's a photo from Luigi — Hasan sitting at the kitchen table looking miserable, clearly mid-rant about how he's "such a fucking asshole." And there’s something both comforting and irritating about seeing him process his guilt in real time.

Like, yes, you deserved better than his casual invalidation, but also, this isn't actually about making him feel better about feeling bad.

You switch the engine back on, more for the heat than anything else.

A few more cars have pulled into the overlook —couples and others seeking solitude, all keeping their respectful distance; It reminds you of the first time you came here, after telling your best friend you thought you might like girls, too.

How she'd said "cool" and kept painting her nails like you hadn't just shifted your entire world on its axis.

Your phone lights up again.

Despite everything, you feel the corner of your mouth twitch.

Trust Hasan to stress-cook his way through an apology, knowing full well the way to your heart will always be carbs.

You rest your forehead against the steering wheel, letting out a long breath that fogs the lower windshield.

The irony isn't lost on you — how Hasan, of all people, managed to trigger this particular flavor of insecurity. Hasan, who once went on a two-hour stream rant about bisexual erasure in media. Hasan, who literally has a pride flag hanging in his streaming room.

Your phone buzzes one more time. Luigi again.

The laugh that escapes you is small, but genuine.

The door barely clicks shut behind you before Hasan's there, all frantic energy and guilt-ridden affection. His hands find your face immediately, thumbs gentle against your cheekbones even as words tumble out of him. "I'm so fucking sorry," he breathes against your forehead between kisses, "I'm an absolute dickhead, I know, I'm the worst-“

You stay still in his hold, not pulling away but not melting into it either.

Over Hasan's shoulder, you catch Luigi watching from his spot on the couch, his expression careful, assessing whether to intervene.

Hasan's still murmuring apologies into your hair, and something in your chest aches at how genuinely distressed he is, but another part of you wants to hold onto the hurt just a little longer.

"I made pasta," he says softly, almost pleading. "And I swear to god I'll never say stupid shit like that again-“ He stops when you open your eyes to meet his, really seeing the hurt that still lingers there. "Fuck," he whispers, thumbs still moving gently across your soft skin. "I’m sorry.”

You suck in a slow breath and nod at him, side stepping toward the kitchen to grab a bowl from the cabinet, filling it with pasta that looks promising while behind you, Luigi and Hasan both stare at each other, coming to realize this likely won’t be fixed in a few hours time, or even a day.

And they were right.

You retreat into solitude, not exactly avoiding them but not seeking them out, either.

The ocean becomes your hiding spot — paddling out alone into the early morning swells, finding peace in the rhythm of waves rather than Hasan's encouraging calls or Luigi's excited whoops. When hunger draws you into town, you choose quiet corners in familiar cafes, picking at your food while mindlessly scrolling through social media, the empty chair across from you a silent companion.

It's not running away, you tell yourself.

It's just... processing.

You finally acknowledge the inevitable — you can't keep playing specter in your own home forever.

Still, when you push through the front door, exhaustion pulls you straight to your room like gravity, the soft click of your bedroom door feeling like surrender as you sink into the bed that's become both refuge and prison these past forty-eight hours.

The immediate gentle rap against wood is inevitable, like thunder after lightning.

Luigi's voice filters through, soft and hesitant, accompanied by the dull thud that tells you he's resting his head against your door. "Hey," he says, the word carrying the weight of two days' worth of unspoken conversations. "Can I come in?"

You remain curled in your defensive position, watching shadows shift under the door.

Part of you wants to maintain the silence, but Luigi's always been the easier one to face.

Your exhale feels heavy in your chest as you answer, "Yeah."

When the door opens, Luigi navigates your room like he's crossing a minefield, each step measured and deliberate until he settles beside you on the bed where his arm finds its way around you with practiced ease, and the familiar weight of him against your back is like a raft in the endless sea, pulling you back from the depths you've been drifting in.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable yet charged with everything unsaid.

His fingers brush your hair back with a tenderness that makes your throat tight, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. "You been taking care of yourself in here?" he asks softly, and you can hear him taking in the hurricane aftermath of your room — clothes scattered like debris, yesterdays coffee still on your nightstand, the general entropy of someone who stopped caring about order two days ago.

"Depends, is taking care of myself a spectrum that needs validating, too?" The words come out dripping with acid, but Luigi doesn't flinch. He's weathered your storms before, knows the difference between lightning meant to strike and lightning meant to illuminate.

"I think yes, actually.” he murmurs, continuing to card gentle fingers through your hair.

Each stroke pulls away another layer of your shield, exposing you inch by inch until you're left with nowhere to hide. Still, you keep your gaze fixed on the wall, as if the cream-colored paint holds answers to questions you haven't even formed yet.

It's easier than meeting his eyes, than seeing the understanding there that you're not sure you deserve.

"Fuck off," you whimper, retreating into your sweater paws like a wounded animal seeking shelter, waiting to die. "Just leave me alone." The words lack their usual bite, suddenly sounding more like a plea than a command.

Luigi's arm tightens around you in response, a silent refusal of your request. You can feel his resolve settling in like a physical weight — he won't budge until he's at least patched the surface wounds, even if the deeper cuts still need time to heal. "I'm just fucking with you," he whispers, and normally this would be fine — you've always been able to take his jabs, throw them back harder, even.

But something fundamental has shifted, like a fault line finally giving way, and Luigi recognizes the tremors. Now isn't the time to prod at fresh bruises, not when the initial impact is still reverberating.

"What he said wasn't right." Luigi burrows his face into your back, his words vibrating against your spine through the worn fabric of your comfort sweater, which just so happened to be one you’d stolen from Hasan’s closet ages ago and never gave back. "He was incredibly wrong for it. And I promise, he realizes that." The sincerity in his voice only feeds the bitterness coursing through you.

You wrench away enough to fix him with a glacial stare, lips curling into something cruel. "Oh, did he say that while he was bending you over the kitchen counter again?" The words come out like shards of glass, designed to cut. "Claiming he's so fucking bisexual when the only pussy he's gotten in like two years is yours."

It's a low blow and you know it — weaponizing their romance, their secret-to-everyone-else-but-you intimacy, turning it into ammunition.

But right now, you want it to hurt.

Luigi sucks in a sharp breath like your words branded him, but you catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "There she is." The fondness in his voice only makes your chest ache more.

You curl tighter into yourself, letting him pull you back against his chest, his arm around your middle feeling like the only thing holding your pieces together. "His bullshit god complex is fine when he's talking to a billion eighteen to twenty-somethings thirsting after him on the stream, but-“ your voice drops to something vulnerable, something raw, "there's no room for it at home."

You feel Luigi's chest vibrate with a low hum of agreement, his chin dipping in a slow nod against your shoulder. In that moment, you both understand that some boundaries, once crossed, require more than just an apology to rebuild.

"And he cancelled his fucking stream because he has to 'sort some shit out'?" Your laugh is all broken glass and razor wire. "Are you fucking serious?"

Luigi shifts behind you, and you can feel the moment he realizes you haven't seen what he has — Hasan pacing holes in the living room floor, running hands through his hair until it’s mussed into wild curls, the self-loathing written in every line of his body.

"You know, he only said that becau-"

But the dam has broken now, two days of silence exploding into sharp-edged storm of words. "One and a half million people losing their shit over his armpits, and he has to come at me for never fucking a dude?" Your voice cracks with the absurdity of it all, the hypocrisy burning in your throat.

The irony isn't lost on you — Hasan, who built his platform challenging toxic masculinity, somehow becoming the very voice he fights against in your own home.

"Well, baby, I think it's-"

"What does that have to do with him, anyway? Other than the fact that he was trying to prove he was more bisexual than me." The words taste bitter as they leave your mouth, and you hear their childish edge even as you speak them, but the floodgates have already broken.

"He's not even fucking out, either. And if I wanted to hit below the belt like he hit me, I would tell him that much." Your breath catches, sharp and painful as you teeter on the edge of something unforgivable. "That at least my audience knows-"

"It's because he wants to fuck you."

Your tirade dies in your throat, jaw clicking shut as your brain frantically attempts to process what you've just heard and the anger that's been fueling you suddenly stutters, like an engine running out of gas.

"He what?"

Luigi's sigh is gentle against your neck, his hand moving in soothing strokes along your thigh. "Did you actually not hear me, or-" There's a hint of knowing amusement in his voice, like he's watched you slam headfirst into a wall you didn't even know was there.

"No - I -" The words catch as you wrench yourself upright, staring down at Luigi who's sprawled on his back now, watching you with that impossibly gentle expression that somehow makes this whole thing worse. "I fucking heard you."

"Oh. Ok." His response is casual, almost lazy, but his eyes never leave your face as you both fester in the silence. It's a peculiar moment — you, processing this seismic shift in understanding, and Luigi, looking like he's finally set down a burden he's been carrying for ages.

The dynamic between the three of you had always walked a blurry line — something your viewers had picked up on long before you'd bothered to examine it.

Your Twitch chat would explode whenever Hasan wandered shirtless through your frame, or when Luigi's casual touches lingered just a breath too long when he offers to feed you a bite of his croissants.

Their viewers weren't any better, clipping every loaded glance, every playful flirtation, crafting theories about the true nature of your household's relationships on its own SubReddit.

You'd never felt the need to define it, to box it into labels. The kisses shared with Hasan had come easy — pressed against kitchen counters after too many drinks, or sprawled on Hawaiian beaches with tabs of acid dissolving on your tongues. With Luigi, it was even more natural, affection flowing between you like an old married couple at times.

But you'd always attributed it to the comfortable freedom of chosen family, to the way certain substances and settings made loving your friends feel as natural as breathing.

Now, though, you're forced to wonder if you've been willfully blind to something your audiences saw clearly years ago.

"So all those times..." you trail off, mind racing through months of interactions with new context — the lingering touches, the heated arguments that felt more like foreplay, the way his eyes would track you across rooms. "When chat would spam those emotes during our streams..”

Luigi's laugh is soft, knowing. "You mean when your chat goes feral every time Hasan walks by and flexes? Or when his chat loses it whenever you wear his merch to sleep?" He props himself up on an elbow, gesturing to the sweater on your body in that very moment, watching your face process. "They've been seeing it for months.“

You think about the clips that circulate — moments caught on stream that seemed innocent at the time but now feel charged with meaning.

The way Hasan's hand would find your waist during group photos, how he'd get particularly aggressive in defending you from chat's criticism, those late-night streams where his gaze would linger just a bit too long.

"But you and him-“ you start, then stop, uncertain how to frame the question.

"Me and him what?" Luigi prompts gently, though his expression suggests he knows exactly what you're struggling to articulate. "Are together? Kinda. Not really. But that doesn't negate-“ He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Look, we've never been conventional, the three of us. You know that."

You sink back down beside him, mind spinning. "So when he came at me about being fake-bisexual-“

"He was projecting. Hard." Luigi's fingers find your hair again, resuming their soothing rhythm. "You know how he gets when he's fighting feelings he's not ready to deal with. Don’t forget, he spent a whole week two years ago ranting about parasocial relationships on stream right before he realized he actually had his own fucked up obsession with me before we met.”

"So this whole identity crisis meltdown was actually about-“

"About wanting you? Yeah. And feeling guilty about wanting you, because of me, because of his public image, because of a million other things his anxiety-riddled brain came up with."

You let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling. "Jesus Christ, we're all fucking idiots."

"Speak for yourself," Luigi's tone is playful, but there's an undercurrent of something more serious. "Some of us have been very aware of what's going on. Just waiting for the other two to catch up."

The thought of Luigi watching this whole dance play out, understanding both sides while you and Hasan circled each other like cat and mouse makes you groan. "How long?"

"That stream where you both got into it. The one that ended up all over LSF.” His fingers continue their gentle path through your hair. "The way he looks at you when you’re fired up, passionate — I knew. And I knew you were just as drawn to him, even if you were both too fucking stubborn to see it."

As if beckoned, there's another tap at the door — lighter than Luigi's had been, less confident, but heavy all the same. "Hey," Hasan begins, his forehead pressed against the door just as Luigi's had been moments before, "can I come in?"

You look at Luigi, and then at the door, hoping that maybe he'd make the decision for you, but it seems he's in no mood to rescue you any further. His dark eyes meet yours with quiet understanding — this is your move to make, your decision to call. The weight of it settles in your chest, alongside the echo of Hasan's voice, uncharacteristically small through the wood.

“Come in.” You decide eventually, your voice light, unsure, terrified of ruining anything further than it may have already been.

The sight of him when he opens your door is warm, his body as large as usual, but he looks much smaller somehow, his features soft with solemn, his cheeks stained red from the last two days of worrying — it’s breathtaking in a way, seeing him in a new light, bound to you with new purpose.

Luigi stays propped on his elbow, his fingertips grazing gently over your forearm as he waits for his world to heal, or to cave in.

"Please forgive me." Hasan scrubs his hands over his face, glasses abandoned somewhere in his room, leaving him looking strangely naked and boyish without them. "Or tell me you'll never look at me again. Just-“ he sucks in a shuddering breath, "Let me live or put me out of my misery."

You can't help but note his theatrics, the way he wears his heart on his sleeve like a Shakespearean tragedy.

But there's nothing artificial about it — this is purely Hasan, who's always felt everything at maximum volume; you’ve seen it countless times in the way he rants about politics until his voice goes hoarse, how his eyes follow Luigi across rooms, and how he throws his whole body into laughing at your jokes.

Despite how deeply his words had cut you two nights ago, despite the ache that still sits heavy in your chest, you know his pain is just as real. He's been wrestling with his own demons these past few days — torn between his undefined limbo with Luigi, his growing feelings for you, and the fear of destroying the delicate ecosystem the three of you have created.

"Come here." Your voice comes out barely above a whisper, softer than you've ever spoken to him, but your arms reach out with more certainty than your words. He stares at the offered embrace like it might be a mirage, like you might snatch it away the moment he moves and the hesitation in his usually confident movements makes your heart clench.

Finally, he breaks, crossing the space between you in those long strides of his. The bed dips under his weight as he slides in, fitting himself into the space between you and Luigi like he's afraid of taking up too much room — so different from his usual sprawling presence.

Then he's folding himself around you, his broad frame covering yours completely, face buried in the crook of your neck as he holds you like he's memorizing the feeling, like you might dissolve into smoke if he loosens his grip.

The quiet settles around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft sounds of breathing and the distant hum of city life through your window.

Hasan's weight should feel suffocating, but instead it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the last few days where everything felt like it was spinning out of control.

You feel Luigi's hand slide up your arm again, a tender point of contact that bridges the gap between all three of you, and then his fingers trail higher until they tangle in the short hairs at the nape of Hasan's neck, and you feel the larger man shudder against you at the touch.

It's intimate in a way that makes your chest tight — not with jealousy as it might have been before, but with something else, something expanding and undefined.

"I'm sorry," Hasan mumbles again into your skin, his lips brushing against your collarbone with each word. "I didn't mean to- I wasn't trying to-" He struggles to find the words, and you feel his frustration in how his fingers curl tighter into your (his) sweatshirt.

You wait, patient now in a way you couldn't be during the argument, letting him find his way through the tangle of his thoughts.

"I know," you murmur, because you do. You understand now what you couldn't see through the red haze of hurt before — how his fear of disrupting the careful balance between the three of you had made him lash out, pushing you away before you could reject him first.

How he'd been watching you and Luigi dance around each other for over a year now, the same way you'd been watching them, and Luigi and been watching the two of you, everyone too afraid to acknowledge the growing tension, the deliberate touches, the prolonged glances across the dinner table.

Luigi's hand leaves Hasan's neck to cup your cheek, turning your face toward him. His eyes are dark and serious in the dim light of your bedroom, searching your face for something, and whatever he finds there makes his expression soften, the corner of his mouth lifting in that quiet way of his that always makes your heart swell.

"You could have just told me." The words come out softer than intended as you look at Luigi, one hand absently trailing along Hasan's spine where he's still draped over you. "Both of you."

There's a weighted pause, and Luigi meets your gaze with that gentle steadiness of his, though you catch the slight tension in his jaw. "Well," he says finally, "I just did."

His voice carries a note of something — not quite defense, not quite apology. His fingers trace abstract patterns against your shoulder, and you know he's thinking of all the times he'd tried to bridge this gap before.

It was never his place to unravel Hasan's heart for him, though Luigi had always been the bravest of you three when it came to matters of love — quick to affirm his feelings for you both, ready to acknowledge the way his affection spilled over boundaries you'd all pretended to maintain.

Even now, watching him watch Hasan, you can see that same careful love in his eyes, patient and unwavering.

Often, Luigi would wonder if you truly didn't see it or if you were choosing to look away — if maybe that was easier than acknowledging the way Hasan's eyes would linger on you both over morning coffee, the way conversations would stretch into loaded silences, the way touch had become its own language between the three of you.

A year of each of you being just out of reach.

"Tell you what?" Hasan lifts his head from your neck, and this close you can see every detail of his face — the constellation of freckles across his nose, the slight crease between his brows, the vulnerability raw in his eyes.

He looks at you first, then Luigi, and you feel the moment his heart rate spikes, the thundering pulse where his chest meets yours. It's strange, you think, how someone so large can suddenly seem so fragile, caught between fight and flight.

You look between them — Luigi's knowing half-smile, Hasan's deer-in-headlights stare — and something warm unfurls in your chest. Your arms tighten around Hasan instinctively, leg hooking over his thigh as if to keep him from bolting. "You handle crushes like a middle schooler," you murmur, and the words should be teasing but they come out tender instead, wrapped in all the affection you've been carefully compartmentalizing.

Hasan's breath catches audibly, and you feel the tremor that runs through him, see the way his pupils dilate as he processes your words while Luigi huffs out a soft laugh, reaching over to brush his knuckles against the dimple in your cheek, the gesture achingly familiar.

You throw caution to the wind, tired of the performance, tired of pretending. With one arm still wrapped around Hasan, you reach for Luigi, fingers curling into his shirt to draw him closer. His eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning just before your lips meet his.

It's nothing like your previous kisses — those hazy moments colored by tequila shots or mushrooms on a beach in Hawaii, always with plausible deniability come morning.

This is deliberate, clear-headed, a statement as much as it is a kiss.

You feel Hasan's breath hitch against your neck, feel the way his fingers tighten in your sweatshirt.

But he doesn't pull away — if anything, he presses closer, like he's afraid to miss a moment of this as Luigi makes a soft sound against your mouth, something reverent and wanting.

When you finally break apart, Luigi's eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. His thumb traces your lower lip, and you feel Hasan shudder against you at the gesture.

"Fuck," Hasan breathes, and the raw want in his voice makes you shiver. His eyes are fixed on where Luigi's thumb still rests against your lip, tracking the small movement like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. There's color high on his cheeks, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his tshirt.

Luigi turns his attention to Hasan then, and you watch the silent communication pass between them — years of friendship and something-more-but-not-quite spiraling into this moment. "Your turn," Luigi murmurs, and the gentle command in his voice makes something warm pool in your stomach.

Hasan hesitates for just a moment, his eyes darting between you both as if seeking permission one final time, and you answer by sliding your hand up his neck, into his hair, guiding him down until his lips meet yours.

Where Luigi was sure and steady, Hasan kisses like he's drowning, like he's been holding himself back for so long that now he can't help but pour everything into it. His weight shifts fully onto you, pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you feel Luigi's hand slip between your bodies, resting over Hasan's thundering heart.

When you break apart, Hasan's eyes are glassy, his lips parted. Luigi makes a soft sound, something between appreciation and want, before he's leaning in to capture Hasan's mouth with his own.

You watch them kiss above you, mesmerized by the way they fit together, by how right it feels to be caught between them like this.

"Mm," you hum, fingers finding the hem of Hasan's shirt. You lift it slowly, deliberately, giving him time to object if he wants to. "I get to prove my bi-ness to the king himself." The words come out soft, teasing but tender.

Your hands smooth up his sides as the fabric rises, and you feel the shiver that runs through him, see the vulnerable look in his eyes that says he can't quite believe this is real as his expression shifts from dazed to stunned, the full meaning hitting him, his eyes darting between you and Luigi as the pieces click into place. "But you haven't-"

"I know," you murmur, nuzzling against his cheek, feeling the slight rasp of stubble against your skin. “No need to remind me again.”

Your right hand finds Luigi's shirt, drawing him in for another kiss — brief but full of promise, and when you pull back, you meet Hasan's wide-eyed gaze with a soft smile. "Who better, though?"

Who better than these two men who've become so integral to your life, who make you feel safe and wanted and understood?

Hasan makes a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "No pressure or anything," he manages, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays how affected he is by the idea.

Luigi's hand slides up Hasan's back, steadying in its nature. "We'll take care of you.” he says, and though his words are directed at you, you feel Hasan relax under his touch.

"Please," you whisper, and you're not sure what exactly you're asking for — their hands, their mouths, their patience as you learn their bodies. Maybe all of it. Your fingers return to the hem of Hasan's shirt, this time with more purpose. "Off. Both of you.”

Luigi's smile turns knowing, and he sits back just enough to pull his own shirt over his head in one smooth motion and Hasan follows suit, though with less grace.

The contrast between them; Luigi's lean elegance and Hasan's broad strength, it makes your core rattle and your teeth chatter.

They're different from what you're used to — where women were soft floral notes and gentle exploration, Hasan and Luigi are warm spice and intent. Their hands are familiar, but transformed now by purpose and care.

You find yourself cataloging the contrasts.

The slight roughness of palms, the broader spans of fingers, the way they move with a reverence that's both tender and hungry. It's new territory, but you're finding that different doesn't mean daunting.

Luigi notices your contemplation. "Still with us?" he murmurs against your shoulder, and you nod, tilting your head to catch his eye.

It truly feels like time slows and speeds all at the same time and eventually, there’s nothing left between the three of you besides skin and eager breaths — there’s a mouth pressing kisses to your side, right across your ribs, and another pair of lips trailing down past your hip bones, right between your thighs that are nudged apart with an eager chin.

When you open your eyes to look down, you're met with a sight that would make renaissance masters weep — Luigi's elegant hands mapping the curves of your body, his green eyes dark with desire as they hold your gaze.

Hasan worships your inner thighs with desperate, reverent kisses, his usual boundless energy transformed into something achingly tender, and they work in perfect harmony — Luigi steadying one trembling thigh while Hasan lavishes attention on the other, both of them treating you with a gentleness that they always have, but different now.

"You ok?" The question drifts up through the fog of anticipation, and though their voices are usually so distinct, right now you couldn't say which of them asked. You manage a nod, fingers finding Hasan's wrists and holding on like a lifeline as your brows draw together with barely contained want; you can feel the heat in your cheeks, the desire making your blood sing.

"Mhmm," you whimper, the sound more desperate than you intended. "I - fuck. I'm ok." The words come out breathless, broken.

They interpret your response as permission, their worship transforming instantly into raw hunger.

Luigi's mouth traces a passionate path across your body — lavishing attention on your nipples before trailing heated kisses from chest to neck and back again. Meanwhile, Hasan's strong hands encircle your thighs, spreading them wider as he tastes you. His tongue works in deliberate patterns, the wet heat traveling slow from your entrance to your clit.

Each touch is a careful study of your reactions — the way you arch when teeth graze skin, how your breath catches at the perfect pressure. They decode you like a language, discovering which caresses make you shiver and which make you melt. Every mark they leave feels intentional, every kiss calculated, as if they're composing and using your body's responses as their score.

And you love all of it.

Luigi's fingers trail through Hasan's hair as he works between your thighs, the tender gesture drawing a deep hum against your sensitive flesh. "You sound so pretty like this," Luigi murmurs against your ear, his voice honey-warm and intimate. “Still ok?” Your only response is yet another desperate and trembling nod as Hasan slowly presses a single finger inside you, his touch careful but insistent.

His lips worship the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and when he looks up to meet Luigi's gaze, there's something primal in their shared glance that makes your pulse quicken. "Fuck, Lu," Hasan breathes, his voice rough with desire.

Your body betrays your limited experience — every flutter and tension around his finger confirms what you'd thought was just a myth about first times. The way you instinctively clench around him has Hasan moving with exquisite care, his concern for your comfort evident as he presses sweet kisses to the rest of you, as if to apologize.

He lavishes gentle attention on your most sensitive spot, his tongue eventually moving in careful circles while he watches his finger ease in and out of you; the sight of your body gripping him so tightly, combined with the velvet heat of you, draws a low sound from his throat, “Tell me if it’s too much, baby.”

The stretch when he adds a second finger makes your breath catch — his thick digits creating a fullness that your own explorations never prepared you for. Instead of voicing the keen building in your throat, you anchor yourself by gripping Luigi's arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath your trembling fingers.

Luigi presses close, his temple hot against yours, each ragged exhale searing itself into your memory. "That's it, sweet girl," he breathes, his voice dark velvet against your ear. "Tell me how good it feels." The raw need in his tone makes your entire body flush with heat, caught between his whispered encouragement and Hasan's relentless attention below.

Your breath comes in sharp gasps as Hasan's rhythm intensifies. His gaze remains transfixed, drinking in every reaction while Luigi cradles you, murmuring devotions as if you're something precious and divine. "I- fuck — so fucking-“ The words fracture as pleasure builds, your thighs trembling wider as your fingers reach to tangle desperately in Hasan's dark curls. "Please, I'm about to-"

He withdraws his touch with careful reluctance, making a show of bringing his glistening fingers first to his own mouth, then to Luigi's waiting lips.

The sight of them sharing the taste of you sends electricity down your spine, almost enough to tick you right over the edge.

“Not yet.”

Clearly, this is merely the prelude.

"Please," tumbles from your lips once more, the uncertainty crystallizing into clarity. "Fuck me."

They move in perfect synchronization, a wordless understanding passing between them.

Luigi takes position while Hasan settles beside you, his hands mapping gentle paths across your skin, lips trailing warm kisses from your cheek to the hollow of your throat.

The stark difference in their sizes suddenly illuminates their choice — Luigi's perfect proportions versus Hasan's overwhelming abundance.

Luigi teases you with exquisite patience, drawing his length along the slick of your entrance to your clit until you're trembling, your fingers instinctively seeking out Hasan's curls, pulling him closer as your breath catches with each careful stroke.

Hasan's hand slides between your thighs with purposeful tenderness, guiding you to open wider, his touch is steady and sure as he helps position you for Luigi, who's transformed into a vision of desire — cheeks flushed pink, breath coming in soft pants as he aligns himself, and when he finally presses forward, it's with such care that your heart nearly rips in two.

He treats you like something precious, something that could shatter with too much force; in this moment, their strategic decision becomes even clearer — they've chosen the gentlest possible introduction to this new pleasure.

Despite Hasan's innate gentleness, he knows his limits — the decision to let Luigi guide you through this first experience speaks volumes of his devotion to you, and in turn, his devotion to Luigi.

The recognition of his own intensity, and his choice to put your comfort first.

Both boys release deep, resonant sounds of approval as Luigi settles fully inside you, his eyes searching your features intently, reading every micro-expression as pleasure begins to eclipse the initial discomfort. "You doing alright, askim?" Hasan's whisper is tender against your ear, and your eager nod is accompanied by your hand finding his cock, hard and desperate beside you.

The evidence of his arousal coating your fingers only emphasizes how much restraint he's showing for your sake, but Luigi’s response to you is electric — both from being buried inside you and watching you come undone.

His grip on your hips tightens as his thrusts grow more confident, more purposeful, and your plea for more sends a visible shiver through him, though your strokes along Hasan's length are uneven, the combination of your touch and the scene unfolding before him draws deep, guttural sounds from his throat.

The initial discomfort melts away entirely, replaced by waves of pleasure that have you making sounds you've never heard from yourself before — soft whimpers evolving into breathless gasps and high, needy cries as Luigi finds his rhythm.

"We should have had you like this ages ago," Luigi breathes, dipping down to capture your lips before turning to kiss Hasan, who's come completely undone beside you, his usual composure dissolving into heavy breaths and desperate sounds. "Taking it so good.” Luigi praises, his voice thick with adoration.

A sharp breath hisses between your teeth as an absurd thought flickers through your mind — what those dedicated internet sleuths would make of this scene, those who parse every glance and gesture between you three.

How different from their careful analyses is this reality.

Then again, you know there’s plenty who have imagined this exact scenario.

Luigi's breathing grows increasingly erratic, and you instinctively pull him deeper, wanting to feel every tremor, every twitch of muscle; Hasan reads the signs as clearly as you do, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth as he whispers, "Gonna make Lu come, hm?."

Your brows knit together as you watch where your bodies join, mesmerized by the sight of yourself taking his cock like your body was built for it.

Hasan's voice is rough with need when he asks, "Where do you want him?”

Your wordless answer comes in the form of clinging arms and a pleading look at Hasan, who considers only briefly before giving a subtle nod. "Oh," Luigi breathes, understanding washing over his features. "That’s my baby."

The sensation is foreign but instantly addictive — the flood of warmth deep inside your body, Luigi's movements becoming languid and tender as he works through his release. His kisses turn messy and desperate against your lips, punctuated by breathless praise. "Y’did so good," he pants between kisses, "so perfect.”

Their transition is seamless again — Luigi settling beside you while Hasan returns to taste the evidence of what came before, his tongue moving with dedicated purpose, savoring the mingled essence of you both. "Ready to go again?" Luigi murmurs against your skin, teeth grazing your chin with playful intent, his satisfied smile suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Mhmm,” you find yourself mirroring his expression, every wall you’d ever built long gone now, washed away downstream, never to return.

Hasan feels different from Luigi, the stretch making your thighs tremble as a low whine ripples from your core, your hands grabbing for anyone, anything to hold onto as you curse, “Jesus fucking-“ your lungs filling with ragged breaths, the fullness you feel this time different from his fingers, or even from Luigi. “Goddamn.”

“You’re ok,” Luigi whispers, reaching to smooth your hair out of your face again, his thumb grazing your cheekbone with a tenderness he’d only reserved for the two of you. “Just takes a minute.” He assures, and Hasan barely has a quarter of himself inside you then, only taking it inch by inch every few moments that pass, watching as your expression shifts. “Doing so good, sweet girl.”

Eventually, Hasan begins to move his hips, his rhythm achingly slow but surprisingly controlled, his eyes cast over you like you’ve always meant everything, and finally, he gets his fill — again, the ache that settled and washed away with Luigi does the same after a few minutes getting adjusted to the size of Hasan, your hips in his hands as his pace becomes a bit more substantial, his eyes still scanning over you like you’re sacred.

“So fucking-“ Hasan hisses softly, his jaw slack as he watches his cock disappear inside of you, only to reappear again, the slick heat you’re imparting onto him glistening between you. “Fuck, baby.”

There’s more worship done to your body than you’d ever experienced before, kisses to your chest, your neck, hands holding you tenderly wherever they possibly can and eventually, Hasan holds back nothing, his hips rutting into you with a newfound purpose.

The purpose?

To completely wreck you.

And that’s exactly what he does, your eyes becoming unfocused, your body harnessing a mind of its very own, the same squeals from earlier eventually becoming silent, dying in the back of your throat before they can see daylight.

Everything blurs into soft kisses and sweet murmurs before Hasan's control finally breaks. His hips snap against yours with years of pent-up longing — all that time spent holding back, terrified of losing what matters most.

When the next dose of warmth floods you, it's the final push that sends you tumbling over that precipice you've been hovering near for what feels like forever, shattering into a symphony of sounds you never knew you could make — soft whimpers dissolving into desperate cries, every nerve ending sings an alien song you hardly understand.

Their instant kisses trace delicate paths across your flushed skin while lingering aftershocks ripple through your body like electric currents, each tender touch and whispered affection wrapping you in waves of pure adoration as you bask in feeling more cherished, more completely loved than you've ever known possible.

Luigi nuzzles against your ear with feather-light tenderness, his lips brushing your earlobe as he whispers words that feel like sacred devotion, each syllable a prayer offered at your altar — holy, yet tinged with sweet desperation as he trails kisses along your jaw, "We love you so much, would never let anything hurt you."

And Hasan presses close on your other side, his face nestled against yours as if trying to memorize every detail — your scent, the softness of your skin, the gentle rhythm of your breathing — etching this perfect moment into his soul like capturing light, his whispered words mirroring Luigi's devotion, "Never want to know a life that doesn't have you in it like this."

Your mind drifts hazily through the layers of his meaning — whether he's speaking of his long-standing connection with Luigi, this moment you're sharing, or perhaps your chosen path in an industry that puts you on display for the world to dissect.

Which pieces of your intertwined lives is he holding closest?

Scattered across the internet are countless interpretations of your dynamic — elaborate theories spun from fleeting glances, artwork born from imagined moments, stories woven from fragments of on-stream interactions, and you’d always dismissed it as background noise, just the natural consequence of putting yourself in front of an audience, the predictable result of human nature seeking patterns and meaning.

But there's an unsettling truth that rises to your chest — somehow these strangers on the internet had pieced together what you couldn't see in yourself, had mapped the contours of your heart before you'd even begun to explore them.

And that is more than enough to cause anyone to spiral.

(I’m sorry I’m afraid you crash out after this)

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

There She Goes (2)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Bucky Barnes x AFAB!Reader

You're a bright superhero popstar, and he's a quiet, brooding ex-assassin who seeks redemption. The two of you are like sun and moon. When Bucky suddenly moves in with the Avengers, you stop at nothing, trying to become closer with him. What could possibly go wrong?

Au!Post Civil War where all the Avengers are alive. This story is a slow-burn romcom!

Title and story inspired by the song There She Goes by The La's

Series tags: sunshine x grumpy trope, strangers to friends to lovers, 2000s romcom vibes, crackfic, reader is a bold outgoing flirt and Bucky is a self reserved shy?man, fluff & crack fic, some angst, bucky is trying to heal and you try to help him, maybe future smut?

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chapter summary: You try to get to know the new kid on the block and notice that he has Steve's little brown notebook.

chapter warnings: none. although has a bit of angst!

A/N: i have SOOOO many ideas for this fic i'm actually excited for once lol

also, sam wilson is sooooo best friend coded but one of these days i'm going to make him an x reader fic. he's so underrated and needs more love.

Word count: 2k-ish?

Bucky frowned as his spoon of cereal lingered midway from his bowl and his mouth. His eyes bore into your figure as he watched you plop down on the dining table and sat across him. The books and papers that you once held on to scattered throughout the kitchen table. The brooding man watched as one of your pens that escaped your pencil case roll into his cereal bowl with a small ‘clink’.

‘Good morning Bucky!’ you greeted cheerily. With your elbows propped up on the kitchen table, you set your face between your two palms as you stared at him with a cheery expression. 

Was the sun rising even higher this morning or did the room suddenly get unbearably bright?

His left eye twitched.

Ignoring your greeting, Bucky shovelled the spoon of cereal into his mouth and returned his focus back to his breakfast bowl.

The cold demeanor didn’t phase you at all. You were determined to become Bucky Barnes' friend. He was tall and handsome. You just had to add him to your collection of himbos, which currently consisted of Thor, Steve and Sam.

Maybe Bruce Banner too on a good day.

‘Did you sleep well on your first night here?’

A long pause before he answered. ‘Not really.’

‘Hm. How do you like the Tower?’

‘It’s okay.’

‘You’re lying. You used to live in this super ugly and run down apartment in Bucharest. Trust me sweet stuff, Stevie showed me photos. Don’t pretend that you don’t enjoy this insane upgrade.’ you huffed as you crossed your arms.

Bucky’s eyes flickered up and squinted at you when you called him sweet stuff. The nickname didn’t sit right with him.

‘Don’t you ever stop talking? God, you’re worse than Sam.’ he groaned.

‘Why thank you! Always wanted to one up him in something.’

The man stared at you incredulously, annoyed and slightly impressed that everything he did did not phase you at all.

You leaned in closer. ‘Wow, Sammy was right. You do have a staring problem. Not that I mind though. You’re very handsome and your blue eyes are stunning.’ you blurted out suddenly.

The super soldier flinched back. He knew that you were straight forward, but this was just crazy for him. It was too much for him to bear.

You blinked at his sudden action. Then a laugh escaped your stomach. 

‘Alright, I know you’re from the 40s and during that era women were still prissy little dames, but there’s now way you can’t be foreign to an idea of straightforward women!’ you said between your fits of laughter.

Bucky warily watched you laugh as he began to eat again. He needed to finish his bowl of cereal. He had to get to his therapy session with Dr. Raynor. Not that he wanted to go anyways, he had to because of his pardon. 

It was going to be a loooong day for him.

Once you calmed down from your laughing fit, your eyes made their way towards a small brown notebook resting next to Bucky’s bowl of Lucky Charms.

‘Hey, isn’t that Stevies? Why do you have it?’ you inquired, pointing to the book.

Bucky made a ‘hm?’ noise as his eyes followed to where you were pointing at.

You found that particular action of his cute.

‘He gave it to me. No longer has a use for it, scratched out all the things he did on the list.’ he answered.

Your mouth made an ‘o’ shape in response. But before he could blink, your hands snatched the book from his side.

‘Hey!’ he yelped as he hopelessly tried to snag the book back. 

‘Nice try Buckaroos, but they call me Sunshine for a reason!’ you gleefully said.

‘Don’t call me that.’

Ignoring his last sentence, you opened the notebook. The pages were slightly yellowed and crumpled on the edges, meaning it was well used. Your fingertips skimmed through the small pages until you landed on the list. Scanning down the written words, your eyes stopped at something you knew Sam brought up.

‘Ah, of course. The Troubleman by Marvin Gaye. Tsk tsk, Sammy, your taste could be better.’ you tutted, shaking your head at the same time. ‘Bucko, have you listened to the Troubleman yet?’

‘I like 40s music.’ he responded.

‘I get it, Bing Crosby is the goat. But let me do you one better; Stevie Wonder - Songs In The Key Of Life. You won’t regret it.’ 

Bucky regretted looking up at you. Your chest was puffed up like a bird trying to attract a mate. You looked really proud at your suggestion.

It was so stupid it almost made him laugh. Keyword; almost.

‘Sunshine, are you downplaying Marvin Gaye right now?’ Sam called out as he shuffled next to you. In his hands were two iced lattes, one which he gracefully slid over in front of you.

A small smirk danced on your lips as you dramatically clutched your chest, letting out the fakest gasp Bucky has ever heard. 

‘You wound me! Why would I ever downplay Marvin Gaye? He made Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, which is a brilliant song by the way.’ 

‘That song wasn’t even on the Troubleman album!’ Sam exasperated as he threw up his hands in the air in frustration. 

Bucky watched as you and Sam bickered about who the superior artist was; Stevie Wonder or Marvin Gaye. He wanted to slip away quietly and leave, but strangely he kept his place and sat through the whole debacle. 

Maybe it was because he secretly found the two of you amusing. But he would never admit that. 

‘Of course I would know better! I'm a singer after all!’ you scoffed, throwing a diva fit towards Sam.

Now that interested Bucky. 

‘You’re a singer?’ he piqued up slowly.

A sudden silence suddenly filled the dining area as you and Sam slowly turned away from each other and faced the super soldier. A bright smile replaced your scowl as Bucky’s sudden interest in your career made you ecstatic. 

‘Why yes I am! Do you want to see one of my music videos? Hold on, let me put on Spotify for you and show you my newest hit!’ you excitedly proposed to him. 

‘Hold on, run that back. Bucky, you're asking questions about people? Sweet Jesus this is an amazing development!’ Sam praised. 

James Barnes regretted opening his inquisitive mouth. 

‘Nevermind, forget what I said.’ he sighed. 

Bucky tried to get up from his chair and move somewhere else so he could eat his Lucky Charms in peace, but your flailing hands got in the way as you ran to his side (how did you get there so fast?)

‘Come on Buck! Don't leave yet! You asked if I sang, so I gotta show you that I do sing!’ you pleaded. 

‘Listen (Y/n), don't call me Buck. Only Steve can call me that. Also, I need to leave, I'm going to be late with my appointment with Dr. Raynor.’ 

His strong arm gently moved you out of his way as he quickly turned the corner to the bedroom area. The two of you simply watched as he disappeared down the hall.

You left a small sigh of defeat. So much for making an acquaintance.

Sam gave you a sympathetic look. ‘Listen Sunshine, I know you’re ecstatic about another hot man living here but you gotta give him some space. He's been through a lot.’

‘And you think I haven't?’ you snapped back. ‘Sam, it may look like fun and games but believe me, I know what it's like to be alone. And I don't want him to be alone.’ you quietly finished. Your fingers timidly grazed your left arm as a pathetic attempt to soothe yourself.

He softened his gaze with your confession. ‘Look at you, so empathetic and understanding. Is that why you were so adamant on befriending Thor as well?’ 

A teasing look suddenly appeared on your features, replacing the once sad smile that once danced on your face. ‘Nah Sammy, I was just hellbent on seeing his big blond beautiful self everyday.’

An aggressive eye roll and a playful smirk was all you got in response from Sam. ‘Anywho, I see you got your papers scattered again. Writing a new song?’

Your fingers lightly tapped against the cool marble dining table. ‘To be honest with you, it's getting harder these days to write a good authentic original piece of music.’ you sadly confessed. 

‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with sampling a few hooks here or there you know.’ Sam piqued. 

‘Oh?’ you said, raising your eyebrows. ‘So I supposed I can sample some Marvin Gaye?’ 

You were met by a light push of Sam's shoulders against yours as he gave you a painful smile. ‘Now you're pushing your luck Sunshine. I don't give you permission to tarnish his work.’

‘You wound me, and here I thought you were my best friend!’ you mourned mockingly.

A light laugh passed his lips, with you following after. 

—------------

God he hated public transit. Everything was too loud. New York subways has to be one of the levels of hell that he was taught as a young boy, because that's how he felt right now sitting in the rickety old subway car on the way to Dr. Raynor's.

Hell. He was in hell. Like he already wasn't living in hell for the past 70 years. 

His eyes met with the homeless man sitting across from him. The old scrawny dude stared back at him, unblinkingly with eyes that looked like they were popping out of their sockets. Bucky felt like there were holes being burned into his eyes.  

Maybe he did have a staring problem. 

A sigh left his lips. Breaking away from the homeless man’s burning gaze, Bucky hung his head low as he rummaged his metal fingers through his brown mop of hair. He just wanted to live in peace, after continuously fighting for almost a century without a break. Steve’s proposition for him to live at the Avengers tower didn’t exactly warrant the peace he wanted. But even if he didn’t want to admit it, he needed to stop pushing people away.

The rest of the ride was a blur and before he knew it, he found himself on that uncomfortable couch in the office room, facing the empty chair in front of it. Dr. Raynor was yet to arrive, so he sat in silence waiting for her.

The quiet tick of the moving clock was the only thing Bucky heard, until his super hearing picked up a song being played by the radio in the reception area. It was very faint, but he could hear it clear as day; it was your voice singing.

A fraction of an inch of his eyes widened as he carefully listened. Your singing voice was not what he expected. While he was introduced to your boisterous and outgoing talking voice, it contrasted to what he was hearing right now. A beautiful melody ripped through your throat as you sang with passion, with a catchy tune accompanying you.

He would hate to admit it, but it wasn’t terrible.

Actually, he really enjoyed it.

He zoned out as he listened through the whole song, not noticing that the therapist walked and took her place on the seat in front of him.

‘-es Barnes? Are you ready to start?’ Dr. Raynor started.

Bucky snapped it out. It was almost like your voice called to him like a siren singing to a sailor.

He warily looked up at Dr. Raynor and let out a tired smile. ‘Sorry doc, was out of it for a second.’ 

She shot him an incredulous look before she started the session.

…

A half hour painfully passed by. The therapy session came to a close.

Dr. Raynor sighed. ‘James, you need to stop pushing people away. You only contact Steve, and you don’t even answer Sam’s texts. That is so sad.’

The super soldier clenched his jaw but said nothing. She was right. Steve was right. He was given a chance of redemption, something he felt he didn’t deserve. There were people who wanted to reach out to him. Steve, Sam, some others.

And you.

‘Yeah.’ he croaked. 

The doctor closed her notebook and got up to leave. ‘I’ll see you next week Bucky.’

A small click of a door is all he heard.

Walking out of the room and into the reception area, he slowly made his way towards the exit before he paused, then reached out of the pen sitting at the counter of the check in desk. Pulling out the brown notebook from his breast pocket, he flipped his fleshed fingers to a fresh page and began to scribble something down.

(Y/n). Sunshine.

Stevie Wonder -  Songs In The Key Of Life.

As quickly as he wrote, Bucky shut the notebook and shoved it back into his breast pocket of his leather jacket and walked out, with a new song of yours faintly playing in the reception area once more.

He would have to ask about your favourite song in that album when he got back to the Tower.

[nightdivinity]

Drink Responsibly: Chapter 2

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only!

Platonic!Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Bad life choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o, they're vampires, loooong age gaps, no proofreading, we die like men, reverse harem. This is getting sexual. I’m sorry.

Writer's Note: I live, I die, I live again. I’m trying to keep an even pace when publishing, I promise. It’s just that finals week knocked me on my ass. I’ve basically got to prepare week 9 and 10 before it. Graduation is also right around the corner. Besides school and work though, this has also been my only focus. Also, sorry to everyone who reached out. I promise I’m not ignoring the kind messages and everything. I just keep forgetting. I’m so sorry. I’ll try to do better. Also got to write a bio and start publishing the other things I’ve been cooking up. This series is still a top priority though. I’m going to be more consistent from here on out.

When you finally make it back to the manor after a day of detours and horrible karaoke that makes your insides warm and fuzzy, Duke doesn’t let you open your own door. All the being nice was making you itch, and you kind of were missing being a strong independent person. It’s also not that you didn’t give it the good old college try, desperately jiggling the handle to open the door that he child locked as you look out the window in disbelief as he laughed his ass off outside your door.

To get back at him, the both of you ensued the pettiest game of unlocking and locking the doors. You, holding the door closed when he unlocked it and tried to pull it open, and scrambling to the driver’s seat to keep that door closed as well. Would it be bad if you admitted you liked the way his smug pretty face grew determined and slightly irritated? Never mind the dimples, the tick in his sharp jaw had your mind skipping a beat.

It was all fun and games until Alfred, who undoubtedly was watching you from the window, opened the other door just as you held yours shut and taunted Duke. “Can’t even open a wittle omega’s door?”

You’ll never forget the feral boyish smile he gave before sliding over the moving van’s hood and gently pushing Alfred out of the way.

His big frame wedged the door open letting wind into the cabin with enough pheromones to make your eyes water. In a panic you start trying to move away from him as far as possible. Cue, Alfred opening the other door your back was against, and you almost tumbling out.

“(L/N)? Just what on earth are you doing?”, Alfred questioned.

You stare up at the old Beta and your savior. His gloved hand on your back keeping your from tumbling out of the truck cab and busting your head on the gravel. Something all three men on the property were undoubtedly worried about as they watched you dangle too close to the ground. Not that you ever saw the curtain drawing closed from the third story. All you saw was help. Because surely Duke would knock it off with Alfred here.

“I’m poking the bear”, you tell him.

A large mitt, exactly like a bear’s, wraps around your ankle and tugs you out of Alfred’s hands and towards the open car door with a slightly pissed alpha waiting. Oh no. New employment be damned, you are not going out like this.

You scramble for purchase as your dragged across the leather seat. Your fingers digging into the crevice between the driver’s side and middle cushion for dear life. Desperately you try to shake Duke’s fingers off your one good ankle.

“(Y/N), get out of the car. You’re probably hurting yourself right now while doing this”, Duke warns.

There was an unspoken “Are you stupid?” that hung in the air. With Alfred here, the big, dimpled grin has disappeared, giving way to grim determination as Duke looked as though he was five seconds away from peeling the truck’s metal frame apart just to get at you better. You didn’t know what to do, it was better when you two were playing. The air was lighter, and you could breathe and believe he had best intentions at heart. Now you couldn’t keep playing, because he seems to be getting angrier every defiant second you spend clinging to cushions. Which made you want to burrow under the seats even more, away, and safe from the anger.

What you hadn’t noticed was how his anger started the second Alfred intervened. It’s not your fault, a lot has been happening and pissed-off Alphas take priority. The old man did though, and backed the adequate amount of steps away after ensuring you would not tumble out of the cab. If it wasn’t for the promise he made to Bruce to chaperone, and to you when he hired you, Alfred would have taken up the offer the others had given him. A nice vacation, the first he would have taken, just to give you and the rest space to figure each other out. Based on the messages from the family’s missing members, it would have been smart to leave Gotham. Or the continent.

“Don’t tell me what to do” you say.

“Get out of the truck”, Duke replies.

“No. Fuck off. I’m grown up, I can get out if I want.”

“I’m seriously running out of patience (y/n)”

“Good. Leave me alone Duke.”

“Terrible things are about to happen to you.”, Duke warns.

You squint at him and stick your tongue out at him. You know he’s just full of shit and would never do anything to actually hurt you. Nor would he allow you to be in any real danger. He’s got a trick up his sleeve and the muscles in your stretched leg were taut, waiting for release so you can roll and limp away to safety.

There was hardly anytime for you to plan your next step before Duke wrapped his hand around your ankle and starts untying your sneaker.

“Don’t”, you squeal.

He ignores you and gives you another bright smile full of sunshine and mischief. Dear God, he was going to kill you with that look on his face. Totally disarming and distracting as you barely register the shoe and sock getting tugged off.

“I mean it Duke! I give up! Look, see? I’m letting go!”, you beg.

You unclench your fingers and start waving your hands in his face. Trying like hell to sit up and defend yourself. Unfortunately, the hood on your hoodie was caught on the seatbelt latch in the cushion. Preventing you rolling farther away or sitting up and smushing his face away with your freed hands.

“I will never forgive you”, you solemnly vow.

“Yes, you will, look at your face, you’re smiling. You’ve already forgiven me.”

“They stink, I haven’t changed my socks in five days.”

“That’s another lie, I know for a fact that your laundry has been washed.”

“And that’s weird. We’re going to revisit that later though. Let my foot go. I also haven’t taken a shower yet; I ran a five K this morning.”

“In what? Your dreams? You know, I think we should go back to begging.”

You give an enraged shriek that devolves into panicked laugh as he starts torturing every available space on your foot. It was not an enjoyable experience. You were scrambling and flailing to get away but couldn’t since he seemed to have super strength. He also barely swatted your thick cast covered foot you tried to jam in his face. Tears start leaking out the corners of your eyes as you giggle and beg and plead for him to release you. Not that he listened to any of it. He seemed perfectly happy watching you writhe.

The merriment came to about as abrupt and end as it started as a sleek black muscle car growled into the driveway. Duke dropped your ankle and crawled into the truck cab with you. As defective an Omega as you were, you still picked up on the spike of adrenaline and what you thought was panic although it was smothered by anger. You scrunch your nose at the onslaught of pheromones that made you want to bump up and rub against him and soothe in any way you could. Because no. You’re not that kind of Omega.

“Duke?”, you ask.

He must have picked up on the nervous twitching from you. Or the tell-tale patter of your little heart trying to produce enough pheromones to get you out of this situation. Enough to tell the Alpha that’s laying on top of you, tantalizingly close, so close you could hear the clack that the wooden beads in his dreads made as he pressed flush against you. I’m in danger, help me. Is what should have been leaking out of every pore. Yet, you were broken.

“Shh, don’t let him see you.”, Duke says.

That didn’t help the matter. Especially when Duke used his freakishly long limbs to pull both sets of doors closed as quietly as possible. What was happening? Was someone trying to attack Bruce Wayne, billionaire-philanthropist and notorious Alpha who also seems to be in close contact with the most frightening infected Alpha in the country. Merely the thought of the shadow you often saw cast on buildings as dominance battles were fought all over in the different Gotham territories was enough to make you shake. You never saw Batman. No one whoever truly interacts with him lives to tell the tales. So just what is Bruce Wayne that he seems to be in an alliance with such a monster?

“Bruce! Get out here you chicken-shit piss-poor excuse of a sire”, a booming voice shout outside.

A seismic level shockwave rocked through you, and you couldn’t suppress the litany of whines that escaped as you dug your claws into duke’s yellow and black muscle shirt. It was embarrassing, you felt like a pup again.

In all your years you had never come anywhere close to that amount of dominance that was coming out in waves that even rattled the windows. Whoever this was, he was bad news. Even Duke knew it.

Duke’s eyes were flashing gold in the sudden darkness of the cab. You were once again struck by the oddity, but this world is full of strange things. To be fair, you were mostly preoccupied with other things, and you had a feeling that if you started digging into what was going on at the place you were hired then you would truly fall down the rabbit hole.

“Stop moving”, Duke whispers.

His hand wraps around one of your wrists that you had thrown up against his chest. Just for a little breathing room, rather than being pressed face first in a scent gland that would have you dry humping everything in sight. Despite the abject terror at the situation unfolding outside.

“Where do you get off siccing Dick on me in the middle of a meeting?”, the man demands.

You didn’t hear the heavy manor door creaking open. So you had no idea just who this man was talking to. During the struggle with Duke earlier and the tickle fight, you didn’t see Alfred. You doubt the man stuck around during the shenanigans. Which begs the question. Just who was he talking to?

“Really? The silent treatment. You really are too scared to face me huh?”, the unknown man says.

Oh no. That sounded right outside your moving truck. No, nonononononono. You could feel the anger coming off him as it made your teeth chatter.

Your worst fear came true as the driver’s side door, above your head, was ripped open. No. It was ripped off the truck cab in a screech of metal that had you cringing and trying to burrow farther into Duke away from it. You were still stuck on the damn seatbelt thing that was jammed into the back of your neck. All you could do was look up and try not to burst into tears.

Because the man who just opened your door was death. You were teetering between pissing yourself from fear, and trying to control the inappropriate lust that was starting to ride you hard. Because damn. That voice, that dominance, paired with that attitude and face. My God, it’s like he was made perfectly for you. Or any Omega really. A fact that was cemented when the stern bluish-grey eyes that stare down at you flash a crimson red. Sploosh. You seriously needed to get your head checked.

“(Y/N)?”, mystery man says.

“How do you know my name?”

“Bruce told us he got you. Shit. I thought he was just pulling his usual shit”, he swears.

You were about to question who he was and what all was going on, but Duke beat you to it.

“(Y/N) this is Jason. I’m sorry, I didn’t think he would ever come back home. Speaking of what are you doing here Jason?”, Duke says.

Jason straightens, his eyes flashing another dangerous candy apple red color that brought another bout of hot oozing warmth where it definitely didn’t need to be. Not that you needed to worry about it. Like you said, you were broken. Although you couldn’t help but wonder if being by lethal amounts of Alpha fueled testosterone would kick your damaged hardware into gear. Food for thought at a later time.

“I have just as much of a right to be here, if you checked your phone you would know what was going on. Bruce… interfered with a business interaction of mine when I refused to come back to the Manor.”

“So you decided to just go ahead and give him what he wants, really Jay?”

“No. I’m going to kill him. First though, get off of her.”

The callous way he mentioned killing your employer was chilling you to the bone. You bet he could do it to. From the heavily muscled frame that was subtly flexing, his old brown leather jacket creaking as it strained. He took to cracking his knuckles as he stared down at you both. Too make matters worse, there was a small scar that twisted the left side of his face in a permanent smirk as it ran up from the corner of his slips, across his high cheekbones, and disappeared above his ear and into that thick black hair. Hair that contained a curious white streak that made you want to take a closer look. Not that you would. You were smart. Everything about this man shouted danger.

While Duke was massive in his own right, Jason looked as though he could rip linebackers in half for funsies. You believe that those thick corded thighs that your eyes had zeroed in on, the ones that his frayed jeans were struggling to contain, those are rugby thighs. Once again, it’s not your fault, you were born to be this pervy to those of the Alpha secondary gender category. Just like Deltas were made for Betas. This is all evolution's fault that you wanted to climb a psycho killer like a tree and purr. Ooooh, maybe you could get Duke to wear a firema- nope. Annnnnd you’re done. You seriously need to focus if you’re going to somehow finesse your way out of this situation.

“What are you going to do? Make me?” Duke says.

You almost think he’s teasing Jason, then you hear the bite of a challenge to an invading Alpha. Dear God, it’s almost like you’re a kid on the playground again. This was so not fun nor was it sexy. Especially with you sitting so close to the crossfire.

“I said, get off.”, Jason start growling.

Oh good, now we’re slowly becoming dogs. This is great. Totally not borderline psychotic in any way.

“You didn’t want to come back, so you don’t get to have her. Back off Jay.”, Duke warns.

“No one here gets to judge me; you know the reason why the family is so broken is sitting up there. Plotting. If I had known- well- doesn’t matter. Get off before I rip you to pieces. I might till do it, send a fun little message to our psycho father by spreading his precious new pet’s blood all over the front steps.”

“Isn’t that what Dick said to you when you met?”

“Say his name again and I will make good on my promise.”

“Can I just say one thing?”, you ask.

The tension was getting so thick you could cut it with a cheap plastic spork. Honestly, you suspect they could’ve just kept going all night if they had to with the witty one-liners. You were getting tired though, and all this negativity was not good for your heart.

“Hon, not right now, I’m winning.”, Duke tries to shush you.

First of all, how dare he shush you. You had just as much of a right to talk as they did. Duke is different from most Alpha’s you’ve met. The silent prejudice was still hanging in that back of your mind though. Omegas are useless without Alphas. So be a good little one and sit there and be pretty. Don’t ever think of talking. You know he’s not like all the other assholes you’ve encountered. What he just said though started ringing those little alarms that told you he might be though.

“No, you’re not.”, you pause and notice the slight smirk across Jason’s scarred face, “Neither of you are. Can I please get up and get my boxes in while you two have your pissing match?”

Jason lets out a surprised bark, and you give him brownie points for keeping his mouth shut besides that.

“I’ll let you up, once he goes inside.”, Duke tells you.

“No. I want to get up now.”, you say.

Duke’s next response gets cut off as you watch Jason reach over you and grab Duke’s dreads. There was a slight struggle, but the comforting weight of Duke’s body between your thighs is gone within seconds. You almost miss it. You almost feel bad when you finally wrench your hoodie free and look out the truck door and see Duke on the ground with Jason’s hand around his throat. It was ok. You can tell no real weight was being put behind it. It was just one Alpha gently reminding a younger one to submit. You’ve seen this shit all the time.

You also weren’t going to lie; the dominance was definitely starting to rev your engines.

“Please don’t kill him, I need his help with the boxes and my wheelchair”, you call out.

Jason turns to look at you, the red in his eyes damning as he stares into you. Oooh. You can have a lot of fun with that. Maybe you can ask him to pretend to be your sleep paralysis demon that has his wicked way with yo- nope. No roleplaying. No playing with these Alphas in any sexual manner. You need money and a place to stay, and while sex is nice, everyone always moves on to more compelling Omegas that aren’t broken. Besides, you’re pretty sure these Alphas don’t know their strength. Nope, you’re good without all the heartbreak and hospital visits if you go down that route.

“Boxes?”, Jay asks.

“Yeah, I’m moving in, didn’t anyone tell you?”, you ask him.

“No. They just told me- nothing. I’ll help, you don’t need shit-for-brains”, Jay says.

He gets up, slightly pushing Duke’s face to the side and into the muddy wet gravel. You can’t help but wince and give Duke a sympathetic look. Not that he was paying you any mind. His lovely brown eyes were now a liquid gold that screamed revenge. You just pray that he can hold off long enough to get your wheelchair from the back.

“What- what happened to her?”, Jay asks.

“Motherfu- get my chair”, you boss.

“She got chewed on at one of Cobblepot’s clubs”, Duke tells him.

“Shit, none of the others know huh.”, Jason sighs.

He runs his hands through his hair, and you’re stuck looking at it again. It looked fluffy and silky. Of course, it would put you in a trance, the same as the wood beads in Duke’s dreads. You might actually have a thing for hair now that you thought about it.

“No, we’ll have a war when they do.”, Duke replies cheerfully.

“Why?”, you ask. You were genuinely confused as they kept talking circles around you.

“Don’t worry about it Hon. Let’s get you inside”, Duke groans as he gets up from the dirt.

Jason reaches in and lightly grabs your good wrist as he pulls you out. You willingly let him, marveling at that the body made from the gods. Would it be bad if you reached around and gently pinched his ass? It’s just curiosity. So much muscle, how much fat?

Duke looks slightly peeved when he grabs the chair from the back and notices you in Jason’s arms. You couldn’t help but give him a slight smug wave from the safety of King Kong’s arms.

“I like the bell, maybe we should find some streamers for the back too. There’s no way she’ll get lost.”

And just like that, you lost it as Giant 1 and 2 dissolved in a fit of giggles. I’m going to kill them. Hopefully before your hormones and pheromones killed you first. Because damn it, you did seize the opportunity to smack the ass of the jack ass.

That ass is not only iconic and slightly hard, but it jiggled a little too. This is going to be so much fun living here.

[hypnobeauty]

a chance encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 13)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. masterlist cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, squid games, blood, violence, gunshots, hurt/comfort, dtr. a/n: hello lovelies! don't have much to say today lol day 2/game 2, their silly little group getting together. i hope you like it! might be a loooong while before i post again. i’ve started teaching in a new school and im still getting the grip of how things work there, and also am preparing for a big exam - aiming for my mandarin hsk 2 certificate pls wish me luck—alsooo my inspiration has been running thin tbh—if you have any ideas or suggestions, do tell me. i fear the story might have gotten too long :B enjoy xx taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia @antisocial-aina @googie-jeon @christinamadsen @deernat @vvlwvvy @psychobitchsthings @dikeu-yoiz

part 13. team up

the night had been a brutal, merciless torment, your mind trapped in an endless cycle of terror, the same nightmare replaying over and over again like a cruel loop from which you couldn't escape. no matter how many times your body twisted, no matter how much sweat broke out along your brow despite the cold air of the sleeping quarters, your subconscious refused to let go of the horrors you had witnessed. 

the first game had left its mark, burrowed deep into your bones, into your senses, into the fragile space between sleep and waking. the gunshots rang in your ears, the dull, wet thud of bodies collapsing onto the ground reverberated through your skull, the thick, metallic scent of blood suffocated you. the fear, the helplessness—it all clung to you, poisoning even your rest.

hyun-ju barely slept either. the weight of the situation alone was enough to keep her mind alert, her body poised for anything, but it was you who kept her from slipping into even a moment of true rest. every time she closed her eyes, your soft whimpers, the restless shifting of your body, the way your fingers clenched and unclenched in distress, pulled her from the edge of sleep. she had tried waking you gently at first, brushing the back of her hand against your cheek, whispering your name—but you were trapped, too deep inside the nightmare’s grip to hear her. and so, instead, she did what she could—watching over you, wiping the dampness from your forehead with careful fingers, whispering reassurances even though you couldn’t hear them. at some point, she had simply pulled you closer into her arms, holding you against her chest, hoping her presence alone could tether you back to safety.

but in your mind, there was no safety—only darkness at first, suffocating and endless, before the nightmare bled into clarity, forcing you back into the sandy field of the first game. it was exactly as it had happened. hyun-ju, breaking away from you, rushing back into danger to help 456 carry the injured man. your screams, the raw desperation in your voice as you tried to break free from the arms restraining you, the feeling of your own body betraying you, held back while she risked everything. then, the relief when they made it across, the frantic way you had scrambled to the ground, to her, pulling her close—just like before.

but this time, the nightmare twisted the memory into something worse, something unbearable.

the gunshot rang out, a sound that rattled through your very being, and you felt the warm splatter of blood against your face. but when you looked, it wasn’t the injured player who had been executed—it was hyun-ju. the breath in your lungs vanished, replaced by a piercing, soul-crushing scream as her body slumped against you, her weight suddenly unbearably heavy. her head lolled, eyes glassy and unfocused, and the hole in her temple wept crimson, the blood trickling down her cheek, pooling onto you. you shook her, screamed her name until your throat burned, but she was already gone.

and then, a voice—cold, detached, uncaring.

"yes. one less to compete for the money."

your mind shattered.

the world went black.

and then it started again.

over and over, an unrelenting cycle of horror, the moment replaying itself without mercy. each time, you tried to stop it, to change something, to move faster, scream louder, but the ending never changed. hyun-ju always died, and you were always left holding her lifeless body in your arms, drowning in grief, in rage, in helplessness. it could have lasted minutes, hours—you had no sense of time, only the suffocating repetition of loss.

and then, suddenly, you were ripped from its grip, gasping, a silent scream dying on your lips as your eyes flew open. the room was dark except for the dim yellow glow of the piggy bank overhead. your heart pounded violently against your ribs, your entire body rigid with the lingering echoes of the nightmare. for a brief, disorienting moment, you weren’t sure what was real—if you were still trapped in that hellscape or if you had finally broken free.

but then you felt her.

hyun-ju’s arms were wrapped securely around you, her steady breathing warm against your skin, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. she was here. she was alive. the relief hit you so hard it nearly crushed you, and before you could stop them, silent tears slipped from your eyes, dampening the fabric of her shirt as you buried your face against her. you inhaled deeply, grounding yourself in her scent, her warmth, forcing yourself to believe it. she was okay. she was here. she was breathing.

everything would be fine.

at least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself of as sleep slowly pulled you under again, this time free from the nightmare’s grasp—though peace was still far from reach.

when morning came, hyun-ju stirred before the lights even turned on. even after everything, after the exhaustion weighing her limbs, her body remained tethered to its strict routine. her eyes opened at precisely 5:50 a.m., her mind instantly alert despite the haze of weariness still clinging to her. but as she turned slightly, what she saw made her pause.

at some point during the night, after she had finally drifted into sleep herself, you had shifted closer, curling into her warmth as if seeking safety in the unconscious state. the tension that had lingered between you since the vote seemed to have melted away, at least for now.

hyun-ju exhaled softly, adjusting her hold on you, her fingertips brushing lightly over your back. and though she didn’t say it out loud, she was grateful. grateful that, for the first time since this nightmare began, you had finally found even a sliver of rest.

you woke up the same way as before—blinding lights flashing on without warning, classical music swelling through the speakers, and the ominous glow of the enormous piggy bank above, now even heavier with stacks of money.

the only difference was that hyun-ju was beside you today.

she lay on her side, facing you, one arm draped protectively over your waist. her eyes were already open, alert. it was definitely past six—hyun-ju never slept past that. her internal clock was annoyingly precise, honed by years of routine. most mornings, she was up even earlier, quietly stretching beside the bed or watching you with that small, knowing smile as you clung to the last remnants of sleep.

you shifted slightly, intending to murmur a groggy good morning, but a yawn hijacked your sentence midway, stretching your mouth wide. hyun-ju chuckled at the familiar sight—this happened every morning. you were not a morning person.

“morning,” she murmured, her voice soft as she ran gentle fingers across your cheek. “how did you sleep?”

you let out a small, tired sigh. “as well as anyone can sleep in a goddamn death trap.”

she gave you a soft smile, though something in her expression tightened ever so slightly at your words. she shifted, propping herself up on one elbow as her fingers trailed absently along your arm. “i’m sorry about yesterday,” she said after a beat. “for the vote.”

there was a sincerity in her voice, a gentleness, but you only sighed, stretching your arms above your head. “there’s nothing to do about it now,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. then, attempting levity—albeit bitter—you added, “let’s just hope the next game isn’t russian roulette.”

it was meant to be a joke, dark humor to cope with the horror of it all, but the moment the words left your lips, you saw something in hyun-ju’s expression shift. it was brief, a flicker of something wounded in her eyes before she masked it, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to respond but thought better of it. instead, she simply nodded, sitting up fully and stretching her arms over her head.

you almost said something—almost acknowledged that look, that pause—but instead, you shoved it aside, dismissing it as nothing. you were both on edge. it didn’t mean anything.

the sound of doors unlocking snapped you both out of it. pink guards marched in, their presence swift and efficient as they wheeled in carts filled with neatly arranged bento boxes and water bottles. “let’s grab some food,” hyun-ju said, standing and offering you a hand. you took it, squeezing briefly before letting go, and followed her down the stairs, standing in line among the other players.

as you made your way down the stairs, hyun-ju naturally fell into step behind you, assuming her usual “bodyguard” position. it wasn’t anything new—this was just how she was in crowded spaces. at concerts, city festivals, even at the grocery store on a busy weekend, she always positioned herself slightly behind you, her presence solid and reassuring, ready to shield you from a pushy crowd. you loved when she did that. it was dominant, protective, and entirely her. once, you had joked about it, singing a bit of "i will always love you," and it had been the funniest thing when the reference went right over her head.

you smiled faintly at the memory as you grabbed the food, hyun-ju picking up hers right after. together, you settled on the bottom stairs, bento boxes balanced on your laps. the food was surprisingly... fine. it wasn’t home, but it was edible. you hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until you downed the entire water bottle in one go, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in your throat.

you were halfway through your meal, idly scanning the room, when movement caught your eye—a small crowd was gathering around player 456.

you swallowed your last bite and stood, curiosity overriding caution. hyun-ju noticed immediately. “where are you going?” she asked, her voice low but firm.

you waved a hand behind your back dismissively. “just listening,” you murmured, weaving through the players toward the group.

“you know what’s next, don’t you?” player 001’s voice cut through the murmurs. his tone was almost… teasing. oh, you hated him. “oh, yeah. you won this whole thing before, so you must know what game two is.” murmurs of agreement rippled through the players. 

your gaze flickered to 001, taking him in—his presence, his unreadable expression. he had pressed o last, single-handedly making sure you all stayed. you hadn’t liked him since the moment you saw him. there was something off about him, something cold.

and yet, you found yourself staring. and as if he felt your eyes, he turned to look at you. his gaze was empty, unyielding. you tried to hold it, tried to match his stare for a few seconds, but it was too much—or maybe it was too little. he wasn’t challenging you, wasn’t engaging with you. he was simply watching.

it sent a shiver down your spine. you looked away first, back to 456 as he finally spoke.

“the second game last time,” he said carefully, “was dalgona.”

you didn’t waste another second. you spun on your heel and made a beeline back to hyun-ju, weaving through the crowd until you reached her side.

“the game,” you murmured under your breath. “it’s dalgona.”

hyun-ju, who had been watching you with a mixture of mild amusement and worry, immediately straightened. “are you sure?”

you nodded. “i heard it myself. and the easiest shape is the triangle.”

she exhaled through her nose, nodding slowly. you hesitated, glancing down at her. 

“are you any good at it?” you asked.

she hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, “not really, but i’ll try my best.”

you exhaled, standing in front of her, your hands on your hips. “me neither,” you admitted. “i was never patient enough for it, always broke the candy.”

she listened carefully, her gaze unwavering, absorbing every word, then, without a word, she set her empty food box aside and gently tugged you forward by the hands, guiding you so that you stood between her legs as she sat. automatically, your arms came to rest on her shoulders.

her soft brown eyes gazed up at you, the remnants of her makeup from yesterday completely gone, leaving behind nothing but the bare, unfiltered warmth of her expression. she exhaled softly.

“i’m sorry,” she murmured.

you sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “don’t start that again,” you warned, trying to keep your voice amused but the way she kept bringing it up was starting to make you feel annoyed. “otherwise, i’ll remember i’m supposed to be mad at you.”

she smiled—small, but genuine, then she rested her head against your stomach, letting out a deep, quiet breath as you ran your fingers through her hair. her shoulders relaxed slightly, some of the tension draining from her frame. she tilted her head up to look at you again.

“i love you.” the words came soft, steady. a quiet confession and your heart squeezed.

you bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “i love you too,” it was brief and tender.

you sat back down beside hyun-ju, the warmth of her lingering touch still humming against your skin. without a word, she reached for your hand again, lifting it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm, then another to your wrist. a quiet reassurance. you sighed, leaning into her shoulder, letting your body relax against hers. the room was still too cold, the air too heavy, the fluorescent lights too harsh—but in this moment, pressed against hyun-ju, it was bearable.

but… you needed to talk.

“yesterday,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “when we played red light, green light… i—” you hesitated, exhaling shakily. hyun-ju didn’t rush you, simply shifted closer, thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles.

“i was terrified,” you admitted. “not just because of the game, but because…” your throat tightened. “because i thought i was going to watch you die. i had nightmares through the night, i… i spent the whole night watching you die.”

hyun-ju tensed beside you, but she didn’t interrupt.

“i know you’ve seen worse,” you continued, voice raw. “you were in the military. you’ve held a gun, you’ve probably—” you stopped yourself, shaking your head. “but i haven’t. i don’t know what it’s like to see someone get shot right in front of me. i’ve only been to a handful of funerals in my life, and every single one felt unreal. like grief was something distant, something i could keep at arm’s length.”

hyun-ju remained still, though her grip on your hand tightened.

“but yesterday,” you murmured, “there was no distance. it was right in front of me. the blood, the bodies, the gunfire. the way people screamed.” you swallowed hard. “i’m afraid, hyun-ju. i don’t want to go through that again. i don’t want the next body to be yours.”

or maybe, it would be yours. the thought settled in your chest like a stone, heavy and suffocating. you turned your head, searching her expression. “does it even make sense? you winning all this money, only for me to—”

“stop.”

her voice was firm. she didn’t look at you, instead staring down at her hands, fingers curled into tight fists.

“hyun-ju—”

“i said stop,” she repeated, sharper, a little louder this time. “don’t say things like that.” her reaction was immediate, instinctual. a kind of raw, unfiltered denial.

you exhaled softly, reaching for her, placing your left hand over hers, your right gently cupping her cheek. “i’m not being pessimistic,” you whispered, coaxing her to look at you. “i’m being real.”

her gaze finally lifted, meeting yours. and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. a quiet, trembling kind of understanding. then, her jaw clenched, and her dark eyes hardened with something fierce. “i will protect you,” she said, voice unwavering. “we’re leaving this place together.”

you wanted to believe her. god, you wanted to believe her.

so, you nodded. “let’s hope so, but… you know you can’t guarantee that.”

she looked away, shaking her head slightly, and you two stayed like that for minutes, just looking ahead, in silence. after a while, hyun-ju spoke.

“you know,” she began, her voice steady, but with an edge of something careful beneath it, “i understand why you’re upset. and i understand that you’re scared. but…” she exhaled, shifting her body so she was turned slightly toward you. “the way you talk about it sometimes—it hurts.”

you froze, caught off guard. she hesitated for only a second before continuing. “i don’t want us to tear each other apart in here. i don’t want to hijack what we have so easily.” her brows furrowed slightly, voice dipping softer, more vulnerable. “i don’t want this place to do that to us.”

a wave of guilt coiled in your stomach. you hadn’t thought much of your words before, hadn’t considered how she might interpret them, how they might sound coming from you—the one person she had always relied on, just as much as she was your anchor. you had been so wrapped up in your fear, your exhaustion, your anger, that you hadn’t realized you were taking it out on her.

you turned to fully face her. you opened her mouth to reply, but she shook her head, offering you a small, tired smile.

“i get it,” she said. “i do. but just… don’t push me away while we’re here. please.”

she wasn’t looking at you. her eyes were on her hands, fingers wringing together in her lap, restless and anxious. "i don’t know how to say this without sounding selfish," she admitted, barely above a whisper, "but i need you. i need you to believe we’re going to make it. because if you stop believing, then i don’t know how i’m supposed to keep believing either."

your throat tightened, a sharp sting burning behind your eyes.

"hyun-ju..." you murmured, guilt swelling in your chest.

she gave a small, breathless laugh, one that didn’t hold any amusement. "i don’t want this place to take everything from us," she said, voice raw now, unguarded. "i don’t want it to turn us against each other. i don’t want to be scared of losing you and scared that you’re already slipping away from me."

your breath hitched and reached for her hands, stilling them with your own.

"i’m sorry," you whispered, and your voice cracked under the weight of it. "i didn’t realize… i didn’t mean to make you feel like that." you swallowed hard, gripping her fingers a little tighter. "i’m not giving up. i swear. i’m just... scared. and i know you are too, even if you don’t want to say it."

hyun-ju exhaled shakily, finally meeting your eyes.

"i am," she admitted. "but i can’t—" she broke off, shaking her head. "i won’t let this place take you from me. i can’t even think about that. and when you make those jokes, when you talk like it’s inevitable, like we won’t make it out together, it feels like you’ve already made peace with leaving me behind."

the words crushed you.

you reached up, cupping her face, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your palm. "i could never make peace with that," you said, your voice firm even as your throat tightened. "i don’t know what’s going to happen, hyun-ju, but i do know that if something ever happened to you... i don’t think i could survive it."

hyun-ju's breath caught, her eyes shining with something unspeakably fragile.

"i need you too," you continued, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "i need us. and i need you to know that even if i’m scared, even if i don’t always know how to handle this, i’m not giving up on us. i’m sorry for making you feel like i was."

hyun-ju let out a breath that sounded almost like a sob, her fingers trembling as they cupped your face. "i’m sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "i’m so, so sorry."

you shook your head, placing your hands over hers. "i know," you murmured, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself feel her. "i know." you exhaled, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist before looking at her again. "just… no more decisions without me. no more trying to carry this alone. we do this together, okay?"

she nodded, her thumb brushing over your cheek as if memorizing the feeling of you. "together," she promised, her voice trembling but sure.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, then pulled her into you, wrapping your arms tightly around her. she held you just as fiercely, her face buried against your shoulder, breathing you in.

for the first time since this nightmare began, you felt something close to peace settle over you. whatever came next—whatever horrors this place threw your way—you would face it together. and that was the only thing that mattered.

but before either of you could say anything else, the fragile moment shattered. a sudden commotion erupted from the center of the room, sharp and violent, the unmistakable sound of fists colliding, bodies hitting the ground.

you jerked your head up just in time to see two men throwing wild punches at another, their movements fast and aggressive. hyun-ju’s arm shot out in front of you instinctively, a barrier between you and the scene unfolding. it wasn’t necessary—the fight was contained, the men too caught up in their rage to pay anyone else any mind—but still, her protective instincts kicked in.

your eyes darted across the struggling bodies, catching a flash of bright purple hair. you recognized him instantly—player 069, the rapper thanos, as he called himself. you had always thought he looked like an asshole, and clearly, he was proving you right.

the scuffle intensified, the two men ganging up on the third, fists landing hard, breathless grunts filling the air. the violence of it made your stomach churn. but then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped as player 001 stepped in.

one moment, the fight was wild, uncontrolled—the next, it was over. 001 moved with precision, stepping between them, intercepting blows, disarming the situation quickly. actually, he didn’t just step in. he moved like someone who had done this before, someone who had calculated the perfect moment to strike. his technique was sharp, efficient. he wasn’t just breaking up the fight—he was winning it.

you watched uneasy, however hyun-ju looked impressed. she had always been drawn to skill, to discipline, to technique, it was part of her nature. she murmured something under her breath, something about his form, speed or strength, but you weren’t paying attention anymore, because something about him unsettled you.

you didn’t like him, you never had. from the moment you saw him, from the moment he pressed the o button, keeping all of you trapped in this nightmare—you hadn’t trusted him. and now, watching him, seeing the ease with which he dismantled the fight, the way his gaze remained cold, empty, unaffected—a chill ran down your spine. you didn’t say any of this to hyun-ju.

*

the heavy main doors creaked open, and a flood of pink-clad guards entered the room in perfect formation. their faceless black masks made them look inhuman, mechanical, as they stood in eerie silence, waiting for the players to fall in line. a tense hush settled over the room as everyone understood what was coming next.

you felt hyun-ju’s fingers tighten around yours as she pulled you up with her, her grip firm but comforting. without a word, the two of you fell into step with the others, joining the slow-moving crowd heading toward the exit. the same winding staircase loomed ahead, leading you through a maze of pastel corridors—bright, almost playful, but suffocating in their endless turns.

when you finally emerged into the game area, it was different from before. the same sandy floor stretched beneath your feet, but this time, the center of the vast space held two circular, colorful tracks painted onto the ground. it almost looked like an oversized children’s play area. the tension in the air, however, was anything but playful.

a woman’s voice echoed through the space, cool and detached.

"welcome to your second game. this game will be played in teams. please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes."

you turned to hyun-ju immediately, brow furrowing. “dalgona isn’t played in teams.”

she shook her head, her expression serious. “it’s not dalgona, then.”

hyun-ju straightened, her hand squeezing yours just briefly before she shifted into something more focused, more determined. “we need to find people,” she said firmly. “three more.”

you both turned toward the rest of the players, scanning the crowd, trying to find anyone who wasn’t already locked into an unspoken alliance. people were moving fast, pulling each other into small groups, securing their chances before time ran out.

but as you and hyun-ju approached different clusters, the reaction was the same. some people had already formed their teams and dismissed you quickly, barely sparing a glance. others looked you both up and down—eyes lingering too long on hyun-ju’s appearance, or your joined hands—and turned away without a word.

you gritted your teeth, frustration curling in your stomach. you weren’t surprised, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating. i hope you all fucking lose.

hyun-ju, ever composed, let out a slow breath beside you, the only sign of her own frustration being the tightening of her grip on your hand. “we’ll find someone,” she murmured, and you could tell she was saying it more for you than for herself.

you were about to turn to hyun-ju, to suggest splitting up just to form a team faster, when a small weight bumped into you, snapping you out of your thoughts. you turned, expecting to see someone pushing past in a hurry, but instead, you found yourself looking down at a girl.

petite, wiry, her frame smaller than yours—she looked no older than a teenager. she had wide, almost too-big eyes, framed by unruly curls of frizzy hair. her uniform bore the number 095, with a large x printed on the front.

she hesitated before speaking, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “excuse me…” she murmured, fidgeting slightly under your gaze. “would you like to team up with me?”

something in your chest eased.

you didn’t think twice before offering her a reassuring smile, the warmth genuine even in the middle of all this chaos. “of course,” you said, looping your arm through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. the tension in her shoulders melted slightly, and you could tell that she hadn’t expected kindness here.

with her, now you were three.

"team selection will end momentarily." the pa voice jolted you into urgency. time was running out.

“we need two more,” hyun-ju reminded you, her voice low but firm.

“i know,” you murmured, scanning the dispersing players. most people had already formed their teams, clumping together in tight circles, talking in hushed voices, some sizing up their teammates with open skepticism. others had their backs turned, purposefully ignoring the stragglers still searching for a group.

hyun-ju was taller than you, giving her the advantage of a better view, so you turned to her. “aein, do you see anyone alone?”

she was already looking, eyes narrowing as she swept the field with practiced precision. “no… there’s no one i can s—oh wait, there.”

she lifted her chin, subtly gesturing toward two figures standing near the edge of the group. you followed her gaze, and the moment your eyes landed on them, your breath hitched.

your eyes followed her direction and landed on the old woman from the first day, the one whose voice had cut through the murmurs like a blade, asking why people like hyun-ju existed. standing next to her was her son, player 007. you had never told hyun-ju about what the woman had said. it hadn’t felt necessary; you had long since learned to bear the weight of ignorance in silence, sparing her when you could. if hyun-ju had heard it herself, she hadn't let it show. but now, faced with the decision of approaching them, your stomach twisted slightly.

for a split second, you hesitated, fingers twitching against 095’s arm. still, it wasn’t time for that. “do you think they’ll want to team up with us?” you asked, voice hushed.

“only one way to find out,” hyun-ju said, already moving toward them. you followed, with 095 close behind.

“excuse us,” hyun-ju said smoothly, her voice polite but firm as she stopped before them. “we need two more for our team. would you like to join us?”

007 barely hesitated before responding. “of course!” he said, a note of relief in his voice, as if he had been waiting for someone to extend a hand. he seemed eager, cooperative. you almost sighed with relief—it was done, your team was complete.

but you didn’t miss the way his mother’s brows furrowed, the way she exhaled sharply, her mouth barely parting as if she wanted to object but thought better of it. nor did you miss the way 007’s gaze lingered just a fraction too long on hyun-ju, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. it made your spine straighten involuntarily. but right now, it didn’t matter. what mattered was that you had a team, a real chance at winning whatever this was.

you turned to hyun-ju and let out a slow breath, offering her a small, relieved smile which she returned without hesitation, just as the pa system came to life again, its impassive voice cutting through the last murmurs of team selection.

“team selection has ended. all players, please sit in a line inside the designated circles.”

with a final glance at each other, your newly-formed team made their way toward the marked area. you took a seat between hyun-ju and 095, your body still thrumming with leftover adrenaline. the others settled in around you, and silence fell as anticipation weighed heavy in the air.

“the game you will be playing is six-legged pentathlon,” the pa voice continued. “you will start with your legs tied together. each member will take turns playing a minigame at every ten-meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. here are the minigames: number one, ddakji. number two, flying stone. number three, gonggi. number four, spinning top. number five, jjegi. your goal is to win all the minigames and cross the finish line in five minutes. please decide players for each minigame.”

a low murmur spread among the teams as everyone quickly assessed their skills.

“what are you good at?” 007 asked, eyes flicking between you all, his tone eager, as if he thrived on strategizing.

you exchanged glances.

“i’m good at jjegi,” hyun-ju offered. “i used to be able to kick more than twenty times.” there was a faint note of pride in her voice, but it was laced with humility.

“more than twenty?” 007 sounded impressed. “that’s solid. you should definitely take jjegi.”

you nodded in agreement. “then i can do ddakji,” you said. “i won more times than the man who recruited us. is that okay with everyone?”

095 nodded immediately, eyes shining slightly. she had been quiet so far, observing you closely, hanging onto your words like you knew more than you really did. there was something about the way she looked at you—not just trust, but admiration. it made your chest feel strangely tight.

the old woman, 149, spoke next, adjusting her posture. “i grew up playing gonggi,” she said with a quiet confidence, her voice carrying the wisdom of years. “i’m really good… though i haven’t played in a long time.”

“you’ll be great, mom,” 007 reassured her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. his words were encouraging, but there was something else underneath them—something personal.

“i can do flying stone,” 007 added. he seemed sure of himself, and no one objected.

that left one game. you turned to 095, who had been sitting quietly beside you. “are you okay with spinning top?”

her big eyes flicked up to yours, hesitant. “…yes,” she said, though the lack of conviction in her tone didn’t go unnoticed.

you lowered your voice slightly. “we can switch if you want,” you offered.

she hesitated for a split second before shaking her head. “no, it’s fine,” she said, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “i can do it.”

you studied her for a moment, sensing the nerves beneath her resolve, but you decided to trust her. you nodded. “alright. then it’s settled.”

“let’s do this!” 007 pumped his fist in the air, grinning. you all gave a small but determined cheer, sealing your fates together.

the pa crackled again. “all players, remain seated as game instructions are finalized.”

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. there was no turning back now.

*

shortly after, the game began. the first two teams had their legs strapped together, their bodies swaying slightly as they adjusted to the restraints before they found their rhythm. in unison, they started chanting, "one, two, one, two, one, two," their steps carefully synchronized, the sand beneath them shifting as they moved forward.

you watched intently, eyes locked on the team competing on your track. the first challenge—ddakji—was completed flawlessly, and they advanced to the flying stone segment. the player assigned to the task picked up the stone, throwing it towards the target. it missed. groaning in frustration, he hurried to retrieve it, but with every second lost, so was their hope of finishing in time. his second throw connected, but his foot was over the line, disqualifying the attempt. he hesitated, hands shaking, sweat glistening on his forehead under the artificial lighting. you leaned toward 007, voice low but urgent.

"you need to watch the line when you throw," you murmured, keeping your gaze on the struggling player.

007 nodded quickly, eyes wide with understanding. "got it," he whispered back, determination settling into his expression.

the man continued to try, each failed attempt making his movements more frantic, more desperate. and then—humiliation. his body trembled, his breath hitched, and you saw the dark stain bloom across his pants as he pissed himself, sheer terror taking hold. your stomach twisted. you could feel the team unraveling, frustration and panic taking over, sealing their fate.

the room buzzed with nervous energy. only ten seconds remained. in a last-ditch effort, the man hurled the stone with every ounce of strength left in him, and this time, it hit. his voice cracked as he stammered, "i did it, i did it!" the relief in his voice was unmistakable. but it wasn’t enough.

the buzzer sounded, and the tension in the room snapped, replaced with something much, much worse. you saw the pink-masked guards approaching before you fully registered what was about to happen. they moved with eerie precision, their guns cradled against their chests. dread pooled deep in your stomach. "oh no," you whispered, fingers digging into hyun-ju’s arm. "they're gonna shoot them."

hyun-ju said nothing, but the solemn nod she gave you confirmed the unspoken truth. you turned away before you could see it unfold, eyes snapping toward 095 instead. she looked paralyzed, her small frame shaking. instinctively, you reached for her, pulling her close, shielding her from the horror that neither of you could escape. and then, hyun-ju’s arm wrapped around both of you, solid and unwavering, her presence, as always, anchoring you in the storm.

but nothing could muffle the gunshots.

the sound ripped through the air, sharp and unrelenting. you squeezed your eyes shut, hands clamping over your ears, but it was useless. the echo rang inside your skull, each shot landing like a blow to your already frayed nerves. how many times did they fire? it felt endless, a merciless execution stretched into eternity.

when silence finally fell, you forced yourself to look.

bodies lay sprawled on the track, twisted together, their lifeless forms unnervingly still. blood seeped into the sand, staining it dark. the guards moved mechanically, untying the cuffs from the corpses with the same indifference they’d show clearing an obstacle on a course. and then, as if that wasn’t enough, a guard stepped forward, lifted his gun, and fired twice into one of the black coffins with a large pink bow.

each shot made you flinch violently.

a man nearby broke first. "we should have left!" he screamed, his voice raw with grief and fury. "now we're all gonna die! we're gonna die because half of you said you wanted to keep doing this!"

you agreed with him. oh, how you agreed with him. but it was too late for regrets. too late for rebellion. you could only move forward.

the voice on the pa rang out again, calm and unwavering. "will the next two teams please rise?"

you felt the weight of it settle over you, the moment sinking in as you stood up on unsteady legs. your hands moved automatically to help 007 pull his mother up, your fingers gripping the sleeve of her tracksuit as you steadied her. keep a clear head. no panic. no animosity. if you let emotions take over, you’d lose.

hyun-ju turned to 095, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "hey, look at me." her voice was firm but gentle, a quiet command rather than a question. "my name’s cho hyun-ju." she motioned toward you. "this is my girlfriend."  you introduced yourself with a smile. then, softer, she asked, "what’s yours?"

095 hesitated for a fraction of a second before finally murmuring, "young-mi. kim young-mi." her voice was small, but it didn’t waver.

hyun-ju held onto young-mi’s hands, her grip steady and sure. "listen, from the moment you asked to play together, we believed in you. i could feel how brave you were, young-mi." her voice was warm, reassuring. "now i need you to believe in yourself the same way we do. can you do that?"

young-mi glanced at you, her eyes flickering with something vulnerable, searching. you nodded, rubbing a comforting hand up and down her arm.

"i’ll try," she finally whispered.

you smiled. "that’s good enough."

the old woman, 145, let out a breath that sounded close to a chuckle before straightening her spine, her voice cutting through the tension. “that’s right. i’m jang geum-ja, and i lived through the korean war. so i know a few playground games won’t kill me.” a wry smile followed before she turned to all of you, her dark eyes filled with an intensity that almost startled you. “all right, come on. let’s do this. together, we can win this.”

there was a quiet but unanimous nod from the group.

007, standing straighter now, adjusted his glasses with a little too much force, as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. “yeah,” he added quickly. “and i’m the son of jang geum-ja, who is a survivor. park yong-sik.” his voice carried a strange mix of pride and apprehension, as if he wasn’t sure whether to honor his mother’s strength or fear for her all the same.

hyun-ju took a deep breath, and just like that, her posture shifted. her shoulders squared, her chin lifted just a fraction higher. the transformation was subtle, but it was there—the sergeant in her stepping forward, taking command. “team, listen up.” her voice, rich and unwavering, drew all of you in immediately. was she like this in the military? the thought flickered through your mind as you instinctively leaned in, drawn by her certainty.

“we can get through this together. okay? let’s show all the other players here that these games are nothing to us. i know we can do it.”

she extended her hand into the center of the huddle, thumb pointed upward, and one by one, you all followed, gripping onto each other’s thumbs in a chain of silent agreement. a moment of quiet passed before, in unison, you all bounced once, raising your hands in a cheer—not loud, not overconfident, but filled with determination.

then, just as you were moving toward the track, assuming your places, young-mi’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unexpected.

“wait, wait! i need to change.”

you froze, turning to see her shifting nervously on her feet, her fingers twisting into the fabric of her sleeves.

“what?” hyun-ju frowned, concern flashing across her face.

young-mi swallowed hard. “i won’t do well at spinning top,” she admitted, her voice trembling as she turned to you. her eyes, wide and pleading, locked onto yours. “change with me, please.”

shit. shit. you pressed your lips together tightly, forcing yourself to suppress the immediate curse words threatening to escape. the weight of your team’s gazes burned into you, waiting for a response, for a decision.

you exhaled slowly through your mouth, your heart pounding against your ribs. “all right,” you finally said, nodding stiffly. “let’s change.”

it was the right call, the only call, but still, doubt curled at the edges of your mind. ddakji was supposed to be your game—the one you knew you could win. but now? now you were going into something uncertain. you have to be good at this. you can’t afford to fail.

the switch happened quickly, young-mi moving to the front while you took her place, wedged between geum-ja and hyun-ju. hyun-ju reached for your hand immediately, squeezing it tightly. “are you okay with this?” she asked, voice low, only for you to hear.

you hesitated, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “i—i have to be,” you admitted, the words barely above a whisper. her fingers tightened around yours for a brief second before letting go.

“i can do spinning top,” you continued, as if saying it aloud would make it more real. “yes. i can.” you breathed out slowly, steadying yourself.

the guards moved in then, their boots heavy against the ground as they began securing the cuffs around your legs, locking them into place. you flexed your fingers, willing yourself to stay calm. your left leg was tethered to hyun-ju’s right, your right leg bound to geum-ja’s left. it was real now. no more planning, no more adjusting. this was it.

a gunshot rang through the air—the signal to begin, and just like that, your team surged forward, a tangled collection of bodies and determination, pushing toward the only thing that mattered now: victory.

[sapphicscholar]

Hacks Episode 4.05 Thoughts

Okay sorry for the deluge of posting tonight, but I wanted to be all caught up so that I can just go episode by episode moving forward! So on to yesterday’s episode! Everything under the cut to hide spoilers! (Also this got loooong! Turns out I have a lot of thoughts!)

As with last episode, I found this episode better on rewatch (esp. on rewatch going straight through from ep. 1 to 5), though it’s still not my fave. But I do find this to be true of a lot of post-s1 Hacks where the middle episodes, which often feel comparatively weaker on first view (bc that’s almost always when we’re viewing them in isolation as stand-alone episodes), end up standing up better on a season-long rewatch because they’re not always made with the pacing, stakes, and/or plot and character development that feel appropriate to a single episode, but instead with an eye to the season-long narrative. And I don’t think Hacks is alone in this! It’s symptomatic of a lot of modern TV shows, even the ones that get released on a weekly basis instead of in a single, bingeable go. Anyway, onward to the specifics!

On my first watch, this felt like we were stepping back from where we left off at the end of the last episode in ways that didn’t exactly feel right. The hospital scene, while not a fix-all bandaid, felt like an important crack in the armor, a move toward a truce and eventual reconciliation. And by the end of this episode, we feel wrenched so much further back (more on that later). But on second watch, knowing where the episode was heading and therefore not perhaps having my post-ep reactions focused on the end as the most recent thing in my head and therefore the most important, I was able to better see the ways that their interactions in the earlier moments of the episode are a little more cordial (not friendly! But less overtly hostile) than they have been. And the ways the data would have thrown Deborah for a loop do feel realistic and true to who she is, especially the version of her that knows damn well they “need a hit.”

But now that knowledge is also where the episode loses me. Because here’s the thing: this is (at least per the end of season 3) the dream for Deborah and Ava alike. No matter what Ava’s suddenly saying or feeling, in the very recent past, JPL had her telling the woman doing her headshots that this was her dream job. And we know damn well Deborah has been fighting for this her whole career. Now, don’t get me wrong! It may be that the dream is crumbling in live time, that the fantasy is revealing itself to be hollow. But it’s still a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity, and I simply do not believe that they’d be this unprofessional and this willing to risk it all at this stage, especially post episode 4.2. This isn’t to say I think they’d be roses and butterflies and rainbows—absolutely fucking not—but screaming at each other in front of a live studio audience? Deborah calling another woman a conniving bitch essentially on camera? And all this after she’d been so quick to realize they were being surveilled at Winnie’s? I’m just not buying it, man. Deborah’s not good with hecklers, no. But she knows how to perform even under duress. Think about the hug on camera. Think about her letting them smear that soot on her face and fuck up her hair in the pizza parlor. For better or worse, she knows how to push it down when the camera’s rolling, and that was just a fucking pizza shop opening; this is Late Night on a top network at the do-or-die moment with her own name, career, and future on the line.

The content of their dispute…sure? It feels like we could be getting a little more incisive about Deborah’s relationship to womanhood, feminism, and politics at this point, rather than retracing old ground about Panera people vs. intellectual no punchline jokes (which we *literally* return to with the reliance on the implicit punchline of a photo of Sweden), but imo the show doesn’t actually want to go there. Which is fine, but it’s just an interesting thing how the show continuously dances around the question of Deborah’s relationship to other women, but always stops just short of true critique by side-stepping the consequences. Like in 1.69 Million we get this question of ladder pulling that gets resolved by a one-off stunt. In the cruise episode Deborah announces she doesn’t hate lesbians specifically; she hates women, and don’t we all, she asks. But we breeze on by it with no narrative impact. We get Deborah making it part of her new act (how many women do you actually have to care about to be a feminist?), which gets played as a joke in such a way that it insulates her from immediate pushback. The college student arc gets played through quickly without our ever having to return to it. We have Deborah disavowing her womanhood in the opening press event, and now we’ve got women who (shocker!) don’t like her! And I get the jokes of “well did they ask lesbians??” but I think we can adore her the way we do only because she’s a character, not a real person, and the show’s polls exist in-universe where you know what? Deborah Vance does have a women problem. Now, I don’t need (and I really so, so don’t want!) the show to go didactic fiction on me. I’m not looking for Hannah Gadsby here! But I do think they had the door propped open for this to be a clash that takes Ava and Deborah’s differences and pushes them further, rather than falling back on well-trodden ground, this time simply paved with market demo research. Because as is, it feels like…well, we know Ava and Deborah can come to a compromise on the terrain of “funny enough to appeal to a big crowd without going for the hacky shit.” And yeah, it was for a differently scaled audience, but reaching this true impasse feels like it calls for more as narrative justification, and imo, some of this unaddressed baggage feels like a pretty easy inroad because you could reasonably believe that Ava’s been hanging on to a frustration about some of these past moments that she’s convinced herself are fine or something in the past, only to have this newest thing (Deb going “mommy makeovers” as this condescending attempt at appealing to women ages 25-40) be the spark that ignites it into a big thing—especially when she’s comparing it to the writing room she was just in (bc right now it feels like Ava’s sitting there comparing apples and oranges when she knows goddam well they’re two different fruits, so she just looks petulant af).

Okay, I’ve rambled for a looooong ass time here, so a few final quicker things:

Let Ava own her throuple! She can be thrown by Deborah’s presence, but I don’t buy that the woman who confidently told Deborah literally just days into knowing her that sometimes she needs a dick to come but the sexual experiences are deeper with women is gonna stutter and stammer her way through saying she’s a third. Especially not in the queer LA scene in the year of our lord 2025.

Also, I felt two different ways on first, then second watch of this ep re Ava’s two restaurant scene lines about the not knowing Deborah very well / telling Dev and Emily to wait for the show to get good to watch it. On first watch, they felt almost breathtakingly cruel—especially piling on the show comment after we’ve already seen the hurt on Deborah’s face after the first line lands. But on rewatch, especially, like I said, rewatch from the start, the first line in particular feels more like a protective barrier—Ava learning to put up her own walls to keep from getting hurt. She held out her heart for Deborah at the end of season 3, crying and pleading with Deborah to treat her better than the world (which they both know is cruel), only to have Deborah tell her that she was willing to lose her. And even throughout this season, we’ve had several moments where we’ve seen Ava at least try—even when it’s meant caring about Deborah as a person, not the show (e.g., rushing backstage during the panic attack and then showing up to the hospital and staying to make sure Deborah didn’t miss the premier even when she found out Deborah didn’t ask the hospital to call her). And, largely, Ava’s been rebuffed. (Which isn’t to say we can’t feel for Deborah, too! But simply to suggest that there’s a point at which you have to put on armor if you want to survive—a lesson Deborah knows far better than Ava.)

Also, Stacey’s final snap was well deserved lmao

Of course Dance Mom is dancing to Katy Perry’s heinous AI album ripppp

And Dance Mom, much like Deborah’s dancing, does feel very, very daytime, big Ellen energy (right down to berating the staff!). But I think it’ll be really fucking hard for Deborah to move on from the high of the crowd’s enthusiastic energy and response. Which is gonna drive Ava up a fucking wall. Speaking of…that final expression from Ava? I wish we had known what exactly Deborah was scrapping for Dance Mom because it feels like, if it were something Ava wrote and felt good about (vs more of the vaguely hacky pandering shit), that response would have felt a little more justified? As is, it feels like Ava’s hitting a breaking point that we don’t 100% buy. Because I’m sorry, but they did need a victory after the audience witnessed that screaming match and faceplant! You need a strong (and, more importantly, distracting) finishing act to come back from that, and jokes about Sweden just aren’t gonna cut it!

[jeleynai]

Hii hope you're doing good! Wanted to ask some things if you don't mind, if you do issok!! Just avoid this and sorry 😅

But does your art style have a name and do you have any tips on learning this type of art style? Been trying but it's been really hard and idk where or what to start on. Thank you! Love your art btw it's so breathtaking <3

I got this question ages ago and totally forgot about it until now, I'm so sorry >.> I never mind questions though!! I love nerding out about art c:

I don't think my style has a specific name? Maybe like a semi-realism type thing? (If anyone has a better way to describe it please let me know haha)

As for learning I'd recommend learning from life for this type of thing! I did a ton of photo studies (and still do).

What helped me a lot when I was starting out was doing timed environment studies. Weird I know with how many characters I draw but hear me out: When you're on a time limit (I usually set 30 minutes) you have to be a lot more intentional with the marks you're putting down so you end up waffling around a lot less over time. This also helps really hammer home how to use all your tools properly and forces you to think about your brush economy.

Here are some 30-minute environments from 2020 (I should.. do some more again, I haven't timed my plein air in a while oops)

(showing old ass art always feels a bit scary haha I'm getting old)

They're really rough but they helped me try to nail down colours and learn how to best use my brushes! I actually made a brush specifically for that image on the right before I got started on it because I knew I was going to be drawing layered stone and I wanted to prepare myself for the half-hour mad dash these things always end up being. (I named him Francis)

For more character specific things - I actually did the 100 heads challenge a few years ago and it helped TONS with getting more confident in my lines and putting down features. I'm still not a line artist or a great sketcher by an means but it helped me feel a lot more loose and relaxed when I start things!

PAINTING wise I also learned from photos and I drew from life! A good reference is honestly 90% of the battle, just make sure when you're studying or working off a reference that you're identifying what makes the image appealing and capture that as best as you can. For me that's usually the light or the mood of a reference since I'm personally drawn to those things the most. Film studies can help you LOADS with this too! Cinematographers are the composition goats.

And the main thing is try to keep having fun! Motivation and drive are SO important and something I definitely still struggle with. I started drawing originally because I wanted to draw my D&D characters and then I wanted to get better so I could draw them better. Having small goals and passions does wonders for progress! Try not to aim TOO high either, I know from experience that 'waiting until I'm good enough' for an idea can end up with just.. nothing being drawn because I don't ever feel good enough for my own ideas, if that makes sense? Just remember you can always draw it again down the line!

Art takes a loooong time to learn so be patient with yourself!

ANYWAYS super long answer I'm so sorry if anyone is still reading: hiiiiii <3

[public-relations-representative]

finally getting brave enough to use this blog. hopefully will keep using it i make 0 promises though

anyway. BEHOLD. my winston headcanon designs

more extensive thoughts/headcanons and doodles belowww

i know a lot of people dont agree but as far as im concerned, shes always been a skelecog. she was built specifically for COGS inc pretty much as is

besides the radio head. that happened later, but still before they made moves into toontown. yes hes been a part of the company that long

has actual radio functions built into them. the intent is for him to be able to tap into existing radio broadcasts as a literal live advertisement. insidious!

i dont have many thoughts on this design because this is borderline "canon" winston. besides the eyelashes. which they should give him canonically.

no i havent figured out what the dagger is logically. its just a part of her ok

i guess i could talk about personality headcanons but i wont. yet. i need some content for other posts if i want to keep this blog alive

winston is in the dungeon for a LOOOONG time. im talking over 5 years baby. id make her more visually fucked up but i dont want to make details mcgee more complex to draw

if i was powerful id make more of her visually broken and those joint problems external in some way. thats for someone else to do though

several of her other not visible functions are long broken; plenty of her internal systems have long gone non-functional, including her radar, propellor, and ability to access some of her internal databanks (ie: memory)

her balance, visual and audio processors (sight/hearing) and control of her limbs fail occasionally too. her voicebox is broken (we know this) but it hasnt entirely failed.

system errors are effectively like an abscence seizure. BSOD for robots, basically

if im being realistic the whole glitching through walls shouldnt exist with how seriously im taking him. but it does anyway because i like fun

WHEELCHAIR WINSTON

this idea has lived rent free in my head for years its about time i got round to this

anyway while shes in the dungeon they do just effectively get fired on paper after a while; so when they show their face back up for real, he does just get fired officially for reals

he ends up finding refuge with old friends; william and alton. im not getting into my awesome dynamics with them here but they were close before the dungeon happened

he gets semi-patched up by will, whos learned some level of self maintenance thanks to his horrible leaky suit. will isn't familiar with skelecog maintenance though, so he could only fix some of his simpler problems

besides the external patch-ups, shes managed to get some simpler system fixes from him, enough to at least help with the frequent system errors and the glitching problems. theyre both still present, but not as severe.

everything else is still a problem though. in fact, some of them have gotten worse, particularly with his arms and legs. theyre prone to fail on a moments notice, and she tends not to go far without some sort of mobility device after a while.

IN SUPER DENIAL ABOUT BEING FIRED. he takes up a bunch of hobbies to keep himself busy now they dont have a job and makes herself a scarf in bootleg sellbot colours so they can pretend. they have to go through an arc before getting over that sorry.

can you tell this is the thing ive put the most thought into

okayyyyy thanks everyone who actually read alla that biiiiieeeeee