#and broken arcade machines

[mochacoda]

too nice | hjs

Pairing: Hong Joshua x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Joshua Hong is nice. Too nice. He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. The answer is, no. Problem is, he's your coworker and your neighbor.

Content: Fluff | Coworkers to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: slightly insecure reader, totally inspired by the youngji chocolate milk grandchildren interview, lots of elevators, lots of tension, a bit of drinking, mutual pining, "sweetheart" as a petname, gentleman agenda indeed, except he goes a bit mad at the end, seungkwan is a comedic genius, woozi is the wingman of the year, konglish w/ context clues, reader is scared of loud noises, no "y/n," loosely connected to python (seungcheol)

Word Count: 10K

────୨ৎ──── Monday

Joshua Hong is nice. Really nice. He opens the door for you every morning walking into work. He insists that he carries heavy file boxes from your boss’ office to your desk. He buys you coffee from the cafe down the street, knowing that the instant machine is almost always broken. Whenever he passes you in the hallway, he always smiles and mouths “fighting!” He notices when your enthusiastic mask slips and your tiredness peaks through. He tells you not to work so hard, and asks if you’ve been sleeping well. 

He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. 

But the answer is, no. 

“He’s just like that. He’s nice to everyone. Get a grip.”

You sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror hanging above your vanity. You’ve been absentmindedly rubbing moisturizer on your cheeks for the last three minutes, at least, thinking about your coworker. How have you gotten to the point of talking to yourself in attempts to rationalize the thoughts of him clouding your mind?

All of a sudden, your alarm rings. You jolt upright, reminded that you have to leave your tiny apartment and head over to your equally small office cubicle. 

You quickly stand up from your vanity chair, then walk over to your closet to grab a jacket. Relying on muscle memory, your hand moves toward the hook it always lies on, only to swipe at air. 

The one and only winter coat you own isn’t there. 

You groan, remembering that you’d put it in the laundry bin after staining it with beer over the weekend, at that disastrous company “bonding” event. You look down at the taupe sweater you’re wearing, pinching the material to guess if it’d be warm enough. It’s barely a centimeter of fabric. 

Glancing at the time on your phone, you decide that the thin sweater would just have to do. 

You turn back to the mirror to do one last check of your appearance, when something catches your eye. Sitting on your bedside table is the plushie Joshua had won for you at the arcade. The bunny stares back at you innocently. You’d placed it there last night before crashing out on your bed, fatigued from the chaos of the company outing—or, more specifically, the secondhand embarrassment recalling your attempts at trying to be normal around Joshua.  

You shake your head roughly. You could cringe at yourself on the way to work. Grabbing your work bag and shoving your shoes on, you rush over to the door. 

Squaring your shoulders, you open it and walk out. And for a moment, as you’re turning your key to lock the door, you think that you’ll be alone for the commute to work for once. 

But then you hear a familiar voice.

“Good morning!” 

You tense, heart beginning to race, then turn around with a weak smile.

“Hi, Joshua.” 

Somehow, you’re not only coworkers with your crush, but also next door neighbors. 

“Hey,” he says, then takes a sharp breath. “It’s pretty cold today. Is that sweater going to be warm enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, avoiding eye contact as you drop your keys into your bag. “It can’t be that cold.” 

You adjust the bag strap on your shoulder and walk toward the elevator on your floor, pressing the down button. It immediately opens.

“You sure?” 

You nod as the two of you walk inside the elevator. 

Hoping he’ll stop pushing you on your lack of a coat, you ask, “Did you look into the McKinley and Lee file yet?”

“Come on, it’s not even 9am and you’re already attacking me with work!” Joshua dramatically clutches his chest, then lightly punches your arm. “What’d we say about 워라밸, huh?”

You feel your face getting hot, your right hand reflexively going up to where he’d touched your left arm. Was it always this toasty in the elevator?

Meeting his eyes for the first time today, you say, “Yeah, yeah, work-life balance. You’re right.”

His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle into bright crescent moons. You find yourself smiling back at him, despite having tried so hard to avoid his stupidly sweet gaze.  

“I’m just teasin’, you know?” he says, leaning casually against the steel walls of the small elevator.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble again, rubbing the handle of your bag and tapping your foot to give yourself something else to focus on, suddenly aware that the two of you were alone. 

God, could the elevator move any slower? Fidgeting with the loose threads of your sweater, you were on the verge of melting from being near his vicinity for so long. 

Ever since Joshua Hong had arrived two months ago as a transfer from the Seoul branch, you haven’t gone a day without running into him. It was HR’s fault, really. The Human Resources department had placed him in yours, and also gave him the company-funded apartment next door to you. 

He’d spent so much time around you that, if you didn’t see the people who regularly flocked to him, you’d think you were his only friend in the States. It was, and still is, ridiculous. His constant presence has meant that you are constantly aware of yourself. Of how you’re breathing too loud, and how your heart is beating too fast, and how you were in too much of a rush to do your full routine this morning. He makes you care more than usual about how well you perform at work, and, worse, he makes you think about how happy and funny you appear to be. 

The way he teases you for being nervous (although that’s only because he’s around practically all the time) and the way he always notices when you aren’t feeling well—it’s as if he sees right through you. Yes, he sees right through you, and it’s incredibly scary knowing he could confront you at any time—maybe even in this elevator—and say that he’s known all along that you’ve had feelings for him. And what’s worse is that you know he’d be polite with his rejection. He’d be a gentleman, carefully letting you down with—

“Hello? Hellooo?” Joshua says, waving his hand in front of your face.

You jump, blinking rapidly. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“We’re here, sweetheart,” he says gently.

“Oh,” you reply lamely. 

He gestures with his hand for you to walk out of the elevator first. Inside the lobby, he walks by your side. As the two of you approach the door, he reaches it first, and opens it for you to head outside. 

You’re immediately hit with a blast of winter and harsh winds. Your arms instinctively tighten around your stomach, trying to prevent the cold air from rushing up your sweater. 

Joshua turns to you, brows furrowed. His eyes glance over your sweater again, and you can tell he’s about to say something. Certain it’s an I told you so, you quickly say, “Before you start, I’m fine. It’s really not that cold, and the bus is coming soon anyway.”

You march forward toward the crosswalk before the bus stop, knowing he’s following behind you. Once you reach the start of the white lines, you slow down to a stop, waiting for the signal to change. 

Still behind you, Joshua says, “거기 있어봐.” 

“왜?” Though confused, you listen to his request to stay where you are. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling somewhat awkward just standing with your back turned to him. 

He doesn’t answer your question why, but you hear a shuffle and the sound of fabric rustling. Then you feel a warm coat draped over your shoulders. 

You turn back to face Joshua with a start, opening your mouth to protest.

But before you can get a word out, he takes his pointer finger and lightly presses it against your lips. 

“Shh,” he says with a smile. “Tomorrow, wear a jacket, okay?” He pats the top of your head. 

Speechless, you barely bring yourself to nod, then remember to shut your jaw. Let’s just survive this bus ride, you tell yourself. God, it was unfair how nice he was. It only made it harder for you to believe he was like this with everyone—or to stop hoping that, somehow, you might be the exception. 

────୨ৎ──── Tuesday

Ever since you showed up to work on Monday wearing Joshua’s coat, your coworkers have been speculating nonstop about your nonexistent relationship with the man. More specifically, your two closest friends in the department, Boo Seungkwan and Lee Jihoon, have had a lot to say. 

Today would be no different. Huddled around the coffee table in the break room with Seungkwan and Jihoon, you’ve been roped into listening to their comments. 

Eyes darting between the two of them, you silently sip on your coffee.

“I’m a hundred percent sure now. I swear it’s real, he’s so into you,” Seungkwan says while staring at you, waving his hands in the air like a madman.

Jihoon raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Remember when you said that the delivery guy had a crush on this one,” he replies while pointing at you, “only for it to be me? Your 촉 is trash.”

Seungkwan scrunches his nose, and huffs in your direction, as if you’re going to defend his skill of guessing office relationships. (You’re not.)

“Your hunch is horrible, I said,” Jihoon says, goading him. 

“No,” Seungkwan frantically shakes his head. “That was a one off. Remember when I said the nepo baby in Finance liked Director Chun’s secretary? He kept staring at her and nobody believed me but I was right!” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Lucky guess.” 

“No, no, no, my 촉 is excellent, thank you very much.” Seungkwan turns to you, all pouty. “You trust my 촉, right?”

Finding the entire conversation ridiculous, you can’t help but shake your head and laugh. Though Seungkwan prides himself on his supposedly superior hunches, he is really only accurate half the time. 

You raise your coffee cup to your lips and sip on the liquid inside, a perfect state in between steaming hot and lukewarm. 

“Kkah, this coffee is great,” you say to Seungkwan, ignoring his question. 

His eyes suddenly widen, and he frantically waves his pointer finger at you. “Oh, oh! Another thing! He always gets you coffee from that expensive place next door, Cafe whatever. He never gets us coffee, but he always gets you coffee.”

Taken aback, you put the cup down, saying, “No way, he does that for a lot of people. He bought coffee for the receptionist like, last week.”

“That’s because it was her birthday,” Seungkwan says. 

“And how’d you know that?” you ask.

“Because there were happy birthday balloons next to her desk?” Seungkwan says matter-of-factly. 

“Well—” you retort, before getting cut off. 

“You know,” Jihoon suddenly interjects. “I hate to agree, but it’s true. Joshua doesn’t do that for anyone else.” 

“Right?” Seungkwan exclaims, nudging your arm with his elbow. “Come on, I’m so right. Woozi said I’m right. Trust the 촉.”

You rub your temples, feeling ambushed by your loud friends. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” You wave them off as you stand up from the little coffee table chair you’d been sitting on for the last few minutes. “I’m going to head out.”

“Where are you going?” Seungkwan asks.

“Away from you,” you joke.

“I know you’re going to the vending machine,” Jihoon accuses. "You always get a snack after coffee."

You raise your hands in mock surrender. 

“Can you get me a granola bar, then? You know the one I like, the blueberry one.” Seungkwan asks.

“Oh, and a Coke Zero for me?” Jihoon adds. “Y’know, not everyone has a coffee fairy named Joshua, like you do.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You know it’s not like that. Besides, you guys just love using my money, don’t you?”

“Guilty,” Jihoon grins.

“Come on, I paid for karaoke last Friday,” Seungkwan complains. “That was way more expensive than a granola bar and a Coke.”

“Coke Zero,” Jihoon says, emphasizing the “Zero.” 

“Tomato, tomato.” Seungkwan wrinkles his nose, enunciating the “ay” and “ah” in the two pronunciations of the word.

“Apples, oranges,” Jihoon insists.

“Okay, okay, let’s not fight, children. A blueberry granola bar and a Coke Zero, on your way.” You give a pretentious salute.

Grasping your coffee, you down the rest of it and get up from the table. You crumple the cup and toss it into the trash can before leaving. 

Walking through the main hallway, you pass the vending machines on your department’s floor, which are known to swallow dollar bills without offering products in return. Between the youngest employees in the department—people like you, Seungkwan, and Jihoon—you’ve discovered a secret spot that has better machines. 

Once you reach the elevator, you tap on the down button. When the doors open, you walk inside and press on the “G” and “Door Close” buttons. 

The elevator doors close smoothly, and you tap your foot as you watch the numbers at the top right corner go down from 8. It reminds you of the awkward elevator ride from Monday morning, but you quickly shake those thoughts out of your head. 

It’s best not to think of Joshua when you don’t have to.

The garage is a relatively far trek from floor 8, but it’s a worthwhile time sacrifice. The other floors (and by extension, their vending machines) are locked by key cards for employees of their respective departments, so it’s either you take a chance with the floor 8 machines or head to the basement. You, Seungkwan, and Jihoon have all found that you’d rather not take that chance. 

The elevator announces your arrival to the ground floor with a ding, and as the doors open, you make a beeline toward the machines. 

Seeing that someone is already using the vending machine closest to the elevator, you walk past it toward the machine closest to the doors leading out of the hall and into the garage. 

“Blueberry granola bar, Coke Zero. Blueberry granola bar, Coke Zero,” you repeat to yourself under your breath.

Coming to a stop by the vending machine, you scan the snacks inside. Grabbing your wallet, you fish some dollars out and double check the numbers of the items before lifting your right hand up to the combination pad. 

Jihoon first, because he was slightly less annoying than Seungkwan this morning: Coke Zero, number 405. You punch the numbers into the machine. When it flashes $2.00, your eyes widen. 

“Two dollars for a soda is robbery,” you groan. 

Still, you count two dollars out from the wad of cash in your left hand, then feed it into the machine. The machine begins whirring, the spiral in 405 moving forward. But just as you think the drink is going to come out, the spiral stops. 

“Oh, come on,” you mutter. 

You press on the small button next to the number pad that you guess is made for delivering change, but it doesn’t return your money. 

Maybe putting in two more dollars would make the machine move and spit out two drinks? Immediately acting on the thought, you punch 405 in the number pad again and feed two more dollars into the machine, only for it to whir without delivering the Cokes again. Another two dollars later, and the same happens. 

Taking matters into your own hands, you begin banging on the front of the vending machine. After around five seconds of failing to make the machine respond to physical force, your arms fall from the screen back down to your sides. 

Clenching your fists, you sigh and count out two more dollars from your left hand. Then, your right hand stalls. 

On second thought, you really don’t want to lose more money to the machine. Maybe you should try to force it out one more time? You shove the remaining cash into your back pocket. 

You raise your clenched fists again, but before your hands meet the vending machine glass, a voice suddenly comes from right behind you. 

“Whoa, whoa.” 

Unfortunately, you’d recognize that honey-coated voice anywhere. 

You spin around wide-eyed, coming shockingly close to Joshua Hong. His face is dangerously near yours, and his arms have wrapped around your body to clasp your hands in his.

“Shua? Wha—” Your voice is breathless, trailing off like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

“Hey, don’t fight the machine. You’ll only end up hurting your hands.”

His words are soft, but the way his thumb grazes your knuckles leaves a faint hint of warmth, like he’s lit a match against your skin. You should pull back—really, you should. But the closeness, the weight of his presence, keeps you frozen in place.

Your heart stutters in protest. This is nothing. He’s always like this. Always caring, always thoughtful. Always too close.

And yet, remembering what Seungkwan and Jihoon said, some part of you also wonders: Why does it feel different when it’s me?

Scowling, you drop his hands and take a step back, like distance will save you. "It's fine. I'm handling it."

His brow arches at your defiance, and for a moment, his gaze searches yours, like he’s looking for something you’re not ready to admit.

"Are you?" he asks, the words laced with amusement.

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, both in frustration and to keep them from reaching out for him again and betraying you. 

“I am,” you insist, though the heat rising in your cheeks threatens to undermine your confidence.

But then, just as quickly, he tilts his head, and his lips curve into a smirk—soft, upturned at the corners, with those faint dimples that could bring a fortress down.

And for a moment, just a moment, you wonder if you’re the only one feeling this way.

But before you can think of a sharp retort, his voice cuts through the haze in your head.

“You should’ve just asked me for help—like always.”

The softness in his tone, the familiarity, pulls you up short. It’s almost unbearable how easy it is for him to say things like this. Like it’s normal. Like it’s not turning your brain into static.

It’s too much. He can’t keep getting away with this, with being so nice to you all the time. It’s not fair.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you blurt out, clenching your fists tighter. You’ve got to hold your ground.

Joshua cocks his head slightly. “I thought you like it when I help you?” 

Your face gets, if possible, even hotter. 

Honestly, what can you even say to that? 

Desperately avoiding his face, you stare at the much safer collar of his shirt. It’s an off white color, like the fur of the stuffed bunny he’d gotten you at the arcade. It remains on your nightstand because you still have no idea what to do with it. 

Realizing that you didn’t answer him, you finally deflect. “Where’d you even come from? I didn’t see you.”

“Over there,” he says softly, pointing at the vending machine by the elevator.

“Oh.” You press your lips together, belatedly realizing that the person you’d passed on your way to this vending machine had been Joshua all along. 

“So, what’d you need? I’ll fix it for you.” 

You feel your face getting hot again. “Coke Zero,” you mumble.

“I thought you didn’t like Coke?” Joshua asks. 

He remembers?

“It’s not for me,” you explain. “For Woozi.”

“Woozi?”

“Oh, I mean Jihoon.”

Strangely feeling like you have to explain yourself to him, to let him know that you’re only friends, you say, “We went to college together. Me, Jihoon, and Seungkwan. We just happened to get into the same department here.” 

Joshua hums in acknowledgment. “No wonder, I always saw the three of you together. Made me feel left out.”

Your heart drops. Eyes wide, you cross your arms repeatedly, saying, “I never—we never meant to exclude you at all!”

“That’s okay, I have you to talk to, right?” he says with what you can only describe as an upside down smile. 

You swallow and nod. 

“Y’know I was just teasing,” he says casually. “I wasn’t offended.” 

Before you can confront him about the mental whiplash he’s putting you through, he grasps your shoulders and maneuvers you to the right, so that he can stand in front of the machine. His touch was fleeting, but your heart skips a beat anyway. 

You watch as he grabs two dollars out of his wallet, then punches 405 into the keypad. As the spiral whirs, he sends two precise kicks to the bottom left of the machine.

Doubting his method, you raise your eyebrows in uncertainty. But just as you do, the whirring is accompanied by the sound of the soft drinks falling.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! 

That actually works? 

Joshua bends down and sticks a hand into the bottom flap of the machine, pulling out the drinks that had just dropped from slot 405. 

“Four Coke Zeros, at your service. Anything else?”

“Oh, a blueberry granola bar for Seungkwan. And those chips for me,” you say with mild surprise, pointing at slots 201 and 302. 

“Sure thing.” He taps the corresponding numbers and slips some bills into the machine. 

Thankfully, 201 and 302 are very cooperative, unlike 405. 

“Thank you, you didn’t have to pay for those,” you say, your fingers brushing against his as you accept Seungkwan’s granola bar and your bag of chips. The faint contact sends an unexpected jolt through your chest, one you force yourself to ignore.

“Oh, it’s not for free,” Joshua replies, his lips curling into a smile that’s soft yet pointed. “You owe me a coffee from next door.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Tomorrow morning, then?”

He nods his head slightly, a gesture so casual it almost feels calculated. “How about today, after work?”

Your heart stutters. The way he’s looking at you—his eyes shining, eyebrows raised a little, with a faint crease between his brows—feels strange. It’s somewhat vulnerable, like he’s waiting for something.

No, surely not. Surely, he’s not—

The thought dies before it can fully form, drowned out by the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Sure,” you manage to squeak out, your voice embarrassingly small in the space between you.

His smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression. Relief? Satisfaction?

You swallow hard and grip the snacks in your hands like they’re a lifeline. You need to get a hold of yourself. Joshua Hong is not asking you out. He’s just nice. That’s all.

────୨ৎ──── Wednesday

“You’re joking. You’re actually joking.” Seungkwan’s voice rings throughout his waterlogged apartment. 

“Most unfortunately, I’m not.” You blink, feeling a droplet of sweat getting dangerously close to your eyes. 

You carefully wipe the sweat that’s gathered at your forehead using your forearm, since your hands are gloved up. You definitely don’t want the nasty residue from the rubber gloves getting on your face. 

Seungkwan glares. “You didn’t tell me that you were on a date with You Know Who! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have called you.”

“Well, you did,” you say exasperatedly, grabbing an antique-looking lamp and lightly placing it in the box of items to throw away. 

“Tell me what happened, exactly. Don’t leave a single thing out!” Seungkwan barks, waving at you from across the room, where he’s dismantling a chair to put in the box. 

In the middle of clearing out Seungkwan's damp furniture, your mind drifts back to yesterday afternoon, to the cafe where…

────୨ৎ────

…The soft hum of coffee grinders and the steady chatter of customers make you feel warm inside, easing the tension from earlier that morning. You sit across from Joshua at a tiny table near the main window, taking in how the late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over his face. He looks like royalty, and you think you could watch him for forever. 

He’s nursing a cappuccino, his slender fingers tracing absent patterns on the side of the mug, while you sip on a mocha latte, its foam already starting to lose its shape. Staring at the latte, you think it’s about time you moved on from small talk.

“You really didn’t have to pay for my drink,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction. It’s hard to argue with him when he wields his secret weapon every time. 

He smiles, that same boyish, disarming grin he always gives you. “It’s just coffee. I get you one almost every day, y’know?”

“Yeah, but I was supposed to—”

“Exactly,” he interrupts, eyes sparkling. “Think of it as payback. For all the mornings you made brighter just by showing up.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, heat spreading down your neck as you lower your gaze to the coffee table, suddenly fascinated by the faint scratch marks on its surface. “You’re too nice,” you manage, the words feeling as flimsy as tissue paper.

“Only to you,” he says, and though his tone is light, the words feel impossibly heavy. Like they’re carrying something you’re both too afraid to name.

Your heart twists violently as your eyes snap up to meet his. The way he’s looking at you—steady, unyielding—makes your breath hitch. This is Joshua, you remind yourself, the nicest guy you’ve ever met. And yet, you can’t ignore the way it feels like he’s waiting for something. For you.

“You don’t mean that. I don’t believe that.” The words spill out before you can stop them, shaky and uneven. But even as you say them, a part of you aches with the knowledge that it’s not entirely true.

Because deep down, you want to believe him. You want to hold onto the idea that he’s different with you, that the warmth in his voice and the way he looks at you isn’t just another facet of his kindness but something more.

But that hope is dangerous.

If you believe him and you’re wrong—if this is just Joshua being Joshua, warm and selfless to everyone he meets—it’ll break you. So instead, you tell yourself that it’s impossible. That he can’t mean it.

You clutch onto every reason why: the way he always holds the door open for others, how he buys coffee for the entire team sometimes, the way he seems to know exactly what to say to make anyone smile. It’s who he is, you think, not just with you.

The idea of reading too much into his words—of exposing your heart only to realize you’ve misunderstood everything—is unbearable. So you push it away, burying the small flicker of hope before it has a chance to grow.

But even as you deny him, there’s a quiver in your voice, a hesitation that gives you away.

He leans forward slightly, his arms resting on the table, shrinking the distance between you. “You should. Don’t you ever wonder why?”

Your breath catches. His words hang in the air, heavy and charged, and for a second, you think he’s about to say something that will upend everything you’ve convinced yourself to believe about him.

“Joshua, I—”

Before you can finish, your phone buzzes loudly on the table, shattering the moment. 

You scramble to grab it, breaking eye contact as you glance at the screen.

It reads: “Kwannie Kwannie Kwannie.”

You sigh deeply but answer the call, putting the phone to your ear. “What?”

“Help!” Seungkwan’s voice comes through in a panicked shriek. You take the phone a few inches away from your ear, wincing at the sound, then stiffen. His tone did not sound like one of his regular, made-up crises. Bringing your phone closer to your ear, you hear him shout. “My apartment’s flooding! There’s water up to my knees, my coach is floating! I don’t know what to do! Jihoon’s useless with this kind of stuff, and you’re the only person who knows where my emergency shutoff is—”

“Okay, okay, breathe. 4-7-8 method. I’ll be right there,” you say, shooting up from your chair.

Joshua watches you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Everything okay?”

“Seungkwan’s apartment is flooding. I have to go help him,” you explain, grabbing your bag. 

“I’ll come with you,” he immediately offers, already standing.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” You force a smile, though you’re still buzzing with the tension of whatever had just happened. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Before he can respond, you rush out the door, heart racing—not just from Seungkwan’s crisis, but from the words Joshua almost said. You hear him calling your name, but you’re unable to bring yourself to look back, afraid you’d cave. 

If you had, you would’ve seen a crestfallen Joshua still standing by the table, frozen in place...

────୨ৎ────

...Seungkwan drops a chair leg. 

If the water hadn’t already been drained (by you, yesterday, when you figured out how to use Seungkwan’s emergency shutoff valve), the metal leg would have made a small splash and floated in knee-deep waters. Instead, it fell obnoxiously loudly onto Seungkwan’s hardwood floor, ringing throughout the half-empty apartment with full force.

“Ah! Seungkwan!” You jump, nearly dropping your drill, which you had been using to unscrew the legs of the coffee table while retelling what had happened Tuesday afternoon.  

“He was about to confess,” Seungkwan says slowly and robotically, as if caught in a trance. 

You can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“He was about to confess,” he repeats.

Letting out a major sigh, you hop up onto the dining table, tapping it. “You know, we have to dismantle this too.” 

“He was about to confess!” His sudden shout startles you again. “And where the hell is Woozi when we need him?”

“Probably on his way, as he was when you checked 20 minutes ago?” you say dryly. 

“He needs to get a load of this. I was right!” Seungkwan waves the chair leg in the air triumphantly, far too close to the ceiling for comfort. 

“Dude,” you laugh, “you’re going to scratch the ceiling, put it down!”

Seungkwan pouts. “But this is my victory leg.”

“Tell that to Woozi,” you grin. “I think you should show him the leg, first thing.”

He lights up. “Excellent idea.”

All of a sudden, you hear someone knocking on Seungkwan’s door. Jumping off of the table, you skip across the living room down to the narrow main hallway. Once you reach the door, you crack it open a few inches—as far as the chain link will let you. 

“Woozi, you’re so late!” Your face breaks out into a smile upon seeing your friend. 

“My bad,” Jihoon says with a chuckle. 

“`Y’know, Kwannie has a big surprise for you?”

“I can’t wait,” he says with a sigh. “How bad is the damage?”

“See for yourself.” You take down the chain lock and swing the door fully open with a smile, only to falter at the sight of the one person you thought you’d successfully avoided all day. 

Joshua. 

For there he was. 

“Here to help,” he says shyly, hands folded behind his back. 

You give Jihoon a panicked look. 

Jihoon explains, “I was heading out of the office when I caught him in the hallway. He said he was down to help Seungkwan, and I figured the more, the merrier.”

The sight of Joshua standing in Seungkwan’s doorway makes your stomach drop. It’s like all the tension from earlier has come rushing back in, this time amplified by the unexpectedness of his arrival.

You plaster on a polite smile, though you’re sure it looks more like a grimace. “Great,” you manage to choke out, turning on autopilot to lead him and Jihoon down the hallway.

But inside, your thoughts are spiraling. What is he doing here? Does he know you’ve been avoiding him all day? Did Jihoon tell him anything on the way over?

Your chest tightens as you think about Seungkwan waiting in the living room, blissfully unaware of Joshua’s presence. You can already imagine the chaos—Seungkwan, ever the open book, accidentally blurting out something incriminating.

What if he says something about the coffee shop? What if he mentions the way you couldn’t stop talking about Joshua just now?

You’re half a step ahead of them, your mind racing through ways to keep the situation from unraveling, but drawing nothing but blanks. 

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Joshua. He’s walking casually beside Jihoon, his hands tucked into his pockets, a beanie snug on his head. He looks different, less polished than usual, but still effortlessly himself. And for a moment, you falter.

Because despite your panic, there’s a part of you that’s almost glad he’s here. A part of you that can’t help but wonder what it means that he came at all.

When you reach the living room, you come to a hard stop, frantically making a small X with your arms. 

But Seungkwan has his attention focused on that blasted chair leg, and of course, he immediately opens with: “Guess who has the biggest news of all time! The biggest action since the Great Orange Plaza Incident—”

Cue the obnoxiously loud laughter from you. “Joshua’s here! Say hi!” 

Seungkwan turns to the hallway, where, indeed, Joshua is standing. Shocked, he drops the metal leg, and it announces its contact with the ground through a loud clang. 

Wincing at the sound like earlier, you accidentally shift your body backward into someone behind you. 

“Sorry,” you say, hoping it was Jihoon. 

His arms come up to grasp your waist, holding you steady.

“No worries,” comes Joshua’s voice. 

You shut your eyes, somehow both drowning in embarrassment and burning up at the spot where he’s touched you. 

You quickly step out of his hold, trying not to let your flustered state show. “Right,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go now.”

Joshua chuckles softly, his voice like velvet. “그래, 바로 가자.” Right, let’s go straight away.

Seungkwan, thankfully, is too caught up in his shock to notice the moment, though Jihoon raises a single eyebrow in quiet observation.

As you guide Joshua and Jihoon into the living room, you internally rehearse all the ways you can deflect or redirect the inevitable awkwardness. But before you can settle on anything, Joshua is already rolling up his sleeves. You avert your eyes from his biceps.

“What needs moving?” he asks.

You glance around the room, desperate for something to hand off to him. Your eyes land on the dining table—big, heavy, and far too ambitious for one person to handle. Perfect. “The dining table,” you say, trying to sound casual. “We need to get it downstairs to the lobby for pickup.”

Seungkwan perks up. “Oh, that thing’s a beast. Good luck.”

“I’ll help,” Joshua says immediately, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh, okay. You and Woozi can move it.”

But Jihoon smirks, catching on. “Actually, I just remembered I promised to help Seungkwan with,” his voice trails. “Something else. You’ve got this, right?”

Before you can protest, Jihoon grabs the metal chair leg and joins Seungkwan in the corner, leaving you and Joshua alone with the daunting table.

“Looks like it’s just us,” Joshua says, his teasing smile widening.

You swallow thickly, resigned. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Together, you begin maneuvering the table toward the hallway. It’s heavy and awkward, and you struggle to find a good grip on the edges.

“Here,” Joshua says, dropping his side of the table and moving closer. His hands brush over yours as he adjusts your grip, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “That should help.”

The contact sends a jolt through you, but you force yourself to focus. “Thanks,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper.

By some miracle, the table fits in the elevator, though the tight space forces you and Joshua closer together. You’re much too aware of how little distance there is between you, the faint scent of his cologne making your heart race even faster.

“This reminds me of Monday morning,” Joshua says suddenly, his voice soft.

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze. What is he talking about? The elevator? The coat? Both?

He nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

Your stomach twists. “What about it?” you ask cautiously.

His eyes searching yours. “I just,” he hesitates for a moment, before continuing. “I feel like we keep dancing around something. Don’t you?”

Your breath catches, and suddenly the space feels even smaller. “What do you mean?”

Joshua steps just a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I mean,” he pauses for a second or two before picking up again. “This. Us. I feel like there’s something you’re not saying. And I’m not sure if I should say it first.”

The elevator dings, announcing your arrival at the lobby, but neither of you moves.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Shua, I—”

Before you can finish, the doors slide open, and an older woman waiting outside peers in, her curious gaze snapping you both out of the moment.

“Uh, sorry,” you stammer, quickly stepping out with your end of the table.

Joshua follows, but you can feel his eyes on you, his earlier words hanging heavy in the air.

As the two of you set the table down near the designated pickup area, he leans in slightly, his voice low. “This isn’t over.”

Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest, but you force yourself to nod, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Okay.”

Even as you head back to Seungkwan’s apartment, your mind is racing with the possibilities of what he might say—and whether you’re ready to hear it.

As you reenter Seungkwan’s apartment, the weight of Joshua’s words hangs like a thick fog in the air. It’s almost suffocating, the way your heart beats erratically at the thought of what he might say next. 

You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Joshua to be right behind you, but he's still out by the lobby. The sound of Seungkwan and Jihoon’s voices floats down the hallway as they continue their discussion, oblivious to the tension that’s spiraling in your chest.

You step inside, but you can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change. Joshua’s words—“This isn’t over”—echo in your mind, repeating with every beat of your heart. What did he mean? What does he expect?

“Everything okay?” Seungkwan calls from the living room, looking up with a raised brow as you walk in.

“Yeah,” you chirp, trying to act normal, but your voice comes out too high.

He narrows his eyes. “You sure? You look a little off. Everything go well?” It’s unsaid, but you know there’s a “with Joshua” attached to the end of his sentence.

You force a smile, but it’s shaky at best. “Yeah, the table's gone now.” You can’t tell him. Not yet. Not with the weight of Joshua’s unspoken words still pressing against your chest.

Seungkwan studies you for a moment, his gaze flickering toward the hallway. “I’ll take your word for it. So, you two, huh?”

Your eyes widen involuntarily, and you try to laugh it off. “아니, 아니! 그런거 아니야, it’s really not like that.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh. Sure. Anyway, me and Jihoon are going to go to the bar. Want to come?”

The offer hangs in the air, and you realize, suddenly, that it’s the perfect distraction. You need space from your own thoughts. You need to calm your racing heart. Maybe getting out of here will help.

“I’ll go,” you blurt, before you can second-guess yourself. “Haven’t gone weekday drinking in a while. Let me just grab my bag.”

Seungkwan gives you a knowing look but says nothing more. As you step into the hallway to grab your bag off a high-hanging hook, your mind is still whirling with the unanswered questions about Joshua. 

Walking further down the hallway, you find Seungkwan and Joshua standing near Jihoon. 

Jihoon’s already at the door, his hand on the handle. “Come on, let’s go. I need some drinks in my system after today.”

You nod, attempting to shove your thoughts away for the night. The cool air outside greets you, and the cacophony of the city feels like a welcome distraction. As you make your way to the bar, Seungkwan and Jihoon immediately dive into their usual banter, but your mind is elsewhere. You keep glancing over at Joshua, who seems uncharacteristically quiet tonight, his usually playful energy subdued.

By the time you reach the bar and order drinks, you’re beginning to relax. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to think about what’s going on between you and Joshua, but you can’t help but feel like you’re walking a thin line between tension and relief.

But as the night goes on, Seungkwan and Jihoon quickly fall into drunken antics, leaving you and Joshua alone on the quieter side of the bar. The air between you both is thick, like an invisible thread is pulling you closer, yet neither of you dares to speak.

You fiddle with your glass, wondering if you should speak up first. You only have so much courage, though. 

Thankfully, Joshua clears his throat, his voice low. “넌 좀,” he hesitates for a bit, before deciding to call you out, “조용한데?” 

Well, it’s no secret that you’re being quiet. He was, too, at least until now.

You glance up, meeting his gaze for the first time since earlier. His eyes are intense, his lips pulled into that soft, half-smile you know and adore.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang between you like a dare.

Joshua leans in just slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. “What part?”

Your heart races, but you hold his gaze. “About how this isn’t over?”

He’s quiet for a beat, then smiles—just a little. “I meant what I said.”

And in that moment, you realize you’re in way deeper than you thought.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest, like a stone sinking deep into water. You want to ask him more, to press him, to demand answers, but the words feel trapped in your throat. Instead, you look away, fidgeting with the rim of your glass, your fingers tracing the condensation. The alcohol has started to mellow your nerves, but the tension still hovers in the air between you two, thick and almost palpable.

“You’ve been quiet too,” you manage to say, keeping your voice steady despite the jittery feeling in your stomach. “What’s on your mind?”

Joshua doesn’t answer right away, his gaze flickering toward the noisy group in the corner where Seungkwan and Jihoon are laughing too loudly, practically leaning on each other for support. The laughter echoes in the background, a sharp contrast to the quiet bubble that has formed around you and Joshua. 

It’s the kind of moment that feels too intimate, too close to the edge of something that could change everything.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, and his voice is soft, thoughtful. “I guess I’m trying to figure out if you’re really as clueless as you act, or if you’re just pretending.” His eyes meet yours, and there's something almost vulnerable in his gaze, a flicker of hesitation that’s rare for him.

You feel your heart skip a beat, caught off guard by the question. “Clueless?” You repeat, the word tasting strange on your tongue. “I’m not clueless.”

“그래? Are you sure about that?” he asks, his smile barely there, his tone teasing but with an edge of something else—something deeper.

You narrow your eyes, a little irritated by how easily he toys with you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and then immediately regret it. It sounds too defensive, too much like you’re trying to cover something up.

Joshua leans in slightly, his expression serious now, no longer playful. “I think you do. I think you’re scared.” His voice drops, barely above a whisper, but it lands like a truth you can’t deny. “You’re scared of what might happen if you admit what you feel.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The world feels like it slows down, the noise of the bar fading into the background as his words settle in your mind. The truth in them stings, and you don’t know how to respond. 

He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. 

Not yet. 

Not to him.

Before you can say anything, Seungkwan stumbles over, dragging Jihoon along with him. “You two are too quiet,” Seungkwan says with a grin, clearly tipsy. “What’s going on here? Trying to plot against us?”

Joshua straightens up quickly, his smile returning to its usual playful, disarming self. “Nothing like that, we were just talking,” he replies, his voice smooth and easy.

You take a deep breath, trying to push the moment away, but the tension still lingers in your chest. You force a smile, though it feels weak. “Yeah, just talking.”

Jihoon gives you both a sideways look, too drunk to notice the underlying current between you and Joshua. “You two really are something, huh?”

Seungkwan laughs, waving a hand as if dismissing Jihoon’s comment. “Yeah, yeah, don’t mind them. They’re just having a little ‘moment,’” he says, emphasizing the last word with air quotes.

You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Contrary to Seungkwan’s comment, the moment’s long gone now, robbed by the chaos of their antics. But you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that you and Joshua are standing on the edge of something—something both terrifying and irresistible.

And for the first time, you decide that you’re ready to see where it leads.

────୨ৎ──── Thursday

You wake up on Thursday with a start, the events from last night already feeling faraway. Joshua had dropped you off, and you had spent most of the night restlessly thinking of him, going over how to confess.  

The bright morning light filters through the blinds, causing you to squint at the time on your alarm clock. It’s much earlier than you’d usually get up. You fight the urge to go back to sleep.

With resolve, you push yourself up off your bed and run through your morning routine with extra care. And by the time your last alarm rings, you’re ready to tell him. 

You walk over to the front door, waiting for the telltale signs of movement coming from the apartment next door. Only, you hear nothing. Not even footsteps shuffling around. 

Your elevator ride is silent. Your bus ride is silent. 

Joshua had left before you’d even woken up—and you’d woken up pretty damn early—and his absence only made you more aware of the pressing silence between the two of you. 

When you reach your cubicle, your eyes graze over the desk repeatedly, finding something is wrong.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Jihoon asks from the cubicle next to you.

“Nothing.” Everything. 

You stare at the spot where Joshua puts a cup of coffee from the cafe next door every day. It’s empty. 

“설마,” you whisper. No way. Did he decide to drop you because you didn’t answer him? But what else could explain his radio silence? You haven’t gone to work alone in over a month. 

“설마 what?” Seungkwan asks, dropping into his office chair to the left of you at 9 on the dot.

When you don’t answer, he asks Jihoon, “What’s going on over here?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Probably drama with You Know Who.”

“Oh,” he says, and the two of them drop it. 

Before you know it, the clock has hit 5pm, and you’ve spent the entire workday soullessly typing on your keyboard, lifting your head up every time you’ve seen movement in the room. Only, the man you were looking for was nowhere to be seen. 

You miss the stolen glances and bright smiles you used to exchange. The silence had been stifling. You really did want to talk to him, to clear the air today, but he just never showed. Heart sinking, you pack up your bag and put on your coat. You stall for a moment remembering how he’d given you his coat just a few days prior. Did he really decide to give up because you weren’t responding well?

The bus ride back to your apartment is silent, but your head is full of speculative thoughts. When the driver announces your stop, your heart settles into a newfound determination. 

Maybe he could let go, but you can’t. You won’t let him go.

“I’ll just barge in! Say my piece, then let him talk,” you mumble under your breath, pushing the lobby doors open.

Is it a good plan? You aren’t sure, but hopefully he’d forgive you for being hesitant for so long. You honestly don’t know how he did it—how he was able to stand your wishy-washiness?

Eyes tracing the ground, you make a beeline for the elevator, continuing your whispers. “And what am I going to say? God, I need a good opening line. Something like, please please take me back? Actually, we were never dating, so I guess that doesn’t make sense. Please please like me back? Is that too desperate? Well, I am desperate, so—”

Out of the corner, you see the elevator beginning to close.

“Hold the doors, please!” you shout, running as fast as you can. Speed is of the essence, so you can confront him as soon as possible.

You make it across half the lobby in record time, panting as you enter the elevator. 

“Thank,” you say in between breaths, hands on your knees, “you—”

When you look up, your heart stops.

Joshua Hong. Dressed dapper in an all black suit and carrying, of all things, a briefcase?

“Shua?” you say breathlessly, immediately straightening.

Joshua looks down, his usual calm expression faltering for just a second when he sees you out of breath. For a moment, the two of you simply stand there in silence, the elevator’s gentle hum filling the space between you.

“Where were you?” you ask, your voice quieter than you'd intended, a hint of nervousness creeping in despite your earlier determination.

Joshua clears his throat, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Director Chun had me accompany him to the Lee meeting. You?” he asks, his gaze softening as he watches you catch your breath.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry. The reality of the situation hits you hard. 

This was it. 

This was the moment. 

But now that you’re face to face with him, you’re unsure of what to say. You should’ve prepared a real speech, practiced your words properly. Instead, the dreaded silence lingers.

“I,” your voice trails off. “I just—” You let out a shaky breath, then shake your head as if to clear the mess of thoughts swirling inside. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About things. About us.”

Joshua tilts his head slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “About us?”

You nod, trying to steady your breath. The elevator seems to be going slower than usual, as if the universe itself is giving you more time to process, to speak. You feel a strange mix of nerves and determination pushing you forward.

“I didn’t handle things right. I was,” you pause for a moment, carefully choosing your next words. “Unsure. Confused. And I thought maybe if I stayed quiet, I’d be able to ignore everything. But I can’t,” you say, the words finally coming out in a rush. “I can’t ignore you. I don’t want to.”

Joshua’s eyes soften, his posture shifting, his briefcase clutched tightly in his hands. “You’re not the only one who’s been confused,” he admits, his voice low, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t know what to do either, but I couldn’t let you slip away without at least trying. I care about you. A lot.”

The elevator jerks suddenly, and you both look up in surprise as the lights flicker. A loud noise rings through the space, and with a groan, the elevator comes to an abrupt halt. You both freeze, and your heart jumps into your throat.

“Shit,” you gasp, instinctively taking a step back from the elevator doors, but your foot catches in a brief moment of panic, and before you know it, you’re pulled toward Joshua.

He catches you effortlessly, his hand impossibly warm at your back, steadying you as you stumble. “괜찮아?” His voice is gentle but concerned. 

You can’t help but laugh nervously, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, him holding you in his arms, your heart still racing from the shock. Then you both realize the situation. No Wi-Fi. No way to call for help. Just the two of you, stuck in this tiny box, the tension thick in the air. The sound of your heavy breathing fills the silence as the elevator remains motionless.

Joshua clears his throat, his voice teasing again. “Well, if you think about it, this isn’t that new.”

In response, you lightly laugh, thinking back to all the times throughout the week where he's kept you steady. The you of Monday morning never would have thought you’d be in this position now, not to mention the you of two months ago.

You glance up at him, mind still racing. The unexpected turn of events had thrust you into a corner. And yet, in some strange way, you felt it was just the kind of moment the two of you needed. 

Alone. 

No distractions. 

No running away.

“Well, at least we have some time to talk now, huh?” you say with a small, tentative smile.

Joshua meets your gaze, his eyes full of understanding. “Yeah. Looks like we do.”

And for the first time in days, the silence doesn’t feel suffocating. Instead, it feels like an opportunity, a moment to finally clear the air.

────୨ৎ──── Friday

You’ve been in the elevator for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. Somehow, conversation just flows.

“I liked you first,” you find yourself saying, voice barely above a whisper as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“그래?” comes Joshua’s soft reply, so close that you can feel the vibrations in his chest. Really? 

You can’t believe he even has to ask. Yes, really. You were so obvious about it. So affected by him that you couldn’t even look at the stuffed bunny he’d gotten you on Sunday, reminded of his soft, kind eyes. 

So you nod, “Mm-hm.” 

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, your body still adjusting to the peaceful rhythm of being near him. You’d been thinking about this for the longest time, but now it feels so natural, so certain, and you can’t help but regret all the time you’d spent secretly pining over him. God, you’d even asked him to stop being so nice to you out of pure desperation. Who does that?

“Since when?” His voice is smooth, warm, like a soft melody, and you can’t help but feel drowsy with the way it lulls you into comfort.

You pause, eyes drifting to the floor of the elevator as you try to gather your thoughts. “Since when?” you repeat, the memory taking you back.

It was a chaotic day, the kind of day where everything felt so loud and full of people. You were at that welcome party for the new transfer—Joshua—but it had been too overwhelming. So, you’d slipped away, finding solace in the quiet of the cafe next door. You’d gotten a coffee to-go, and you sat outside on a bench, letting the world pass you by as you listened to your audiobook. That was your kind of perfect Saturday.

You never saw him that day.

But you did see him a week later, in the hallway of your apartment building. You’d just locked your door, ready to head out when you noticed the man next door fumbling with his own keys. His moving process had seemed slow, but that day, you finally got to exchange quick introductions before stepping into the elevator together. And somehow, in that brief exchange, you found yourself already falling, the way his laugh filled the space between you, the way you both laughed at the coincidences stacking up—the apartment, the floor, the building, the department. It was electric, the start of something special. 

You glance up at him now, still leaning against his shoulder. “When we first met, in the hallway,” you finally say, voice soft.

Joshua smiles, a glint of fondness in his eyes. “That was when we first met?”

You furrow your brows, confused. “Wasn’t it?”

Joshua laughs quietly, the sound like a comforting hum in the otherwise still elevator. “I remember differently,” he says, poking your cheek gently.

You tilt your head. “If not the hallway, what was it?”

“The first day I came here, sweets,” he says, his fingers brushing a lock of your hair from your face.

Your mind races, wondering if you’ve forgotten an important memory. “But we didn’t meet, did we?”

Joshua hums, the kind of hum that carries a story behind it. “I guess you didn’t see me, but I saw you.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “When?”

He leans back slightly, eyes distant as if replaying the scene in his head. “I remember being bombarded by all the office workers. God, it was so chaotic. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out, so I said some BS excuse about needing a drink.” He chuckles softly, then his expression shifts, softer now. “I went to the drink station by the window, grabbed whatever they had, and just stared out. I was wondering how long I could hide before it was socially acceptable to go home, when I saw you.”

You shift, intrigued by his words.

“You sat outside on the bench. You weren’t even aware of the crowd inside, just focused on,” he pauses, thinking of the right word, before continuing, “Existing? Listening to something, I guess. I watched you for a while. You were so still, so peaceful in the middle of all that noise. It made me stop and think. I’ve never really done that before. I’ve always been in ‘go, go, go’ mode. But there you were, just being, and I don’t know. I think that’s when I started thinking about you.”

His words settle over you like a blanket, warm and unexpected.

“I decided then to keep giving you coffee after that,” Joshua adds with a shrug. “You’re my elevator to my small enlightenment, if you will. You made me slow down, sweets.”

At that, your heart flutters in your chest. “I never knew,” you murmur. “I thought you were just nice to everyone. All this time, you’ve been looking at me like I’ve been looking at you.”

Joshua smiles softly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve been thinking about you for a lot longer than you’ve been thinking of me.”

“Only a week!” you protest. 

Joshua’s eyes shine as he looks at you, crinkling into crescents. His hands steadily clasp yours, thumb rubbing against the back of your left hand. “Still think I’m too nice?”

“No,” you say, burying your face in his chest. “Keep being nice to me.”

When the elevator finally dings, and you can hear firefighters shouting things past the doors, it’s a few minutes past 12am. But neither of you moves, content in making up for lost time late into the night. 

Masterlist

Author's Note: yes they were stuck in an elevator for like 7 hours from thurs after work to midnight, 내 마음이야

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

THE BAU AT A THEME PARK:

SPENCER: Got separated from the group whilst wandering the arcade and is waiting at the lost children’s point to be collected by one of his father figures.

MORGAN: Got stuck on a broken down rollercoaster and is trying so hard not to freak out in front of the hottie in the seat beside him.

PENELOPE: Has won the jackpot on an arcade machine, currently eating cotton candy and taking pictures of Morgan up in the broken-down roller coaster as she waits for her cash prize.

EMILY: On her third ride through the haunted house ride with JJ.

JJ: Eating roasted peanuts and clutching the giant bear Emily won her at the water gun mini-game stand. The ride doesn’t frighten her, but she’ll take any excuse to clutch onto Emily’s arm…

ELLE: Sitting in the car with Tara listening to Destiny’s Child. “Hey, that guy on the broken roller coaster kind of looks like Morgan...”

TARA: “I’ll get Gideon’s birdwatching binoculars.”

GIDEON: Wandering around the aquarium with his phone switched off, telling anyone who asks that he came here alone.

Meanwhile, at the lost children’s point…

ROSSI: “Hello, we’re looking for a scrawny, puppy-eyed genius with boyband hair and sweaty palms?”

HOTCH: “I got a text saying ‘dad, help.’ We’re assuming he’s here.”

Check out my Masterlist for more BAU scenarios.

[hazelira]

little lightning bolt

𝐡𝐞𝐞 · ʚ 🦌 ɞ ‧ 𝐡𝐞𝐞

“Baby, don’t run too fast,” you called, watching your three-year-old son zoom past you with all the energy in his little body. His chubby cheeks were flushed, tiny fists pumping as he dashed through the arcade, excitedly squealing.

Heeseung chuckled beside you, hands tucked into his pockets as he watched your son dart toward a bright, flashing game. “He’s like a little lightning bolt,” he mused, eyes soft with adoration.

You smiled at that, but your gaze never left your little boy, his short legs moving faster than they should. The two of you had promised to bring him here for weeks now, and the second you stepped through the doors of the Chuck E. Cheese restaurant and arcade, he’d exploded with joy, bouncing like a rubber ball from game to game.

For a while, it was harmless fun. Watching him press every button on a racing game he didn’t understand, laughing at how he shrieked when the claw machine refused to give him a stuffed animal, holding him up so he could shoot hoops into a basket way too high for him.

But the thing about toddlers? They had no brakes.

“Hey, buddy, slow down,” Heeseung warned when he saw your son making a beeline toward a restricted area near the emergency exit. His significant, wobbly steps were headed where he wasn’t supposed to be.

You watched as Heeseung reached for him, strong hands gently wrapping around the little boy’s pudgy waist to scoop him up before he could go further.

And that’s when it happened.

The meltdown.

One second, your son was fine. The next, his little face scrunched up in frustration, and then—

“No! NO!!”

A piercing scream tore through the arcade. Heads turned. Parents glanced over. The flashing lights of the machines only made it more dramatic as your son’s tiny fists flailed, legs kicking as Heeseung held him firmly in his arms.

Your heart clenched when you saw the betrayal on his pudgy face, tears welling up in his round eyes as if his whole world had come crashing down. “I wanna go! I wanna go!!” he shrieked, body wriggling as he sobbed uncontrollably.

Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair, jaw tightening as he tried to keep cool. He was patient—always had been—but this was a whole new level of meltdown. “Hey, buddy, I know you’re upset, but you can’t go there,” he said calmly, adjusting his grip.

Your son didn’t have it. “NOOOO!!” He screamed louder, fists pounding against Heeseung’s chest in frustration. “Put me down!!”

Tears streamed down his face, his chubby cheeks red with frustration, snot running down his nose. Seeing it made your heart ache, even though you knew he didn’t understand.

Heeseung looked at you, eyes filled with exhaustion and silent pleading. You sighed and stepped forward, touching your son’s back gently. “Baby, I know you’re upset,” you cooed softly, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. “But Daddy wasn’t trying to be mean. He was keeping you safe.”

Your son sobbed harder, curling into Heeseung’s chest despite his tantrum. “I— I—” His hiccups made it hard to talk.

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmured, kissing his damp curls. “You were having so much fun, huh?”

A broken, wobbly nod.

“But you scared Daddy, baby. You ran too fast, and he didn’t want you hurt.”

Slowly, his cries softened into sniffles. His tiny fingers now clutched onto Heeseung’s shirt instead of pushing him away.

“I just— I wanna run,” he mumbled against Heeseung’s chest, his voice muffled and small.

Heeseung finally exhaled, shifting your son so he was cradled more securely in his arms. “I know, buddy,” he murmured, kissing his head. “But you gotta listen to Mommy and Daddy, okay? We wanna keep you safe.”

Another sniffle. Then a soft, “Okay.”

You wiped away the last of his tears with your sleeve, smiling as you saw the exhaustion setting into his big, round eyes. “Wanna play one more game, baby?” you asked gently.

Your son hesitated, then nodded, rubbing his sleepy face against Heeseung’s shoulder.

And just like that, the storm had passed.

Heeseung shot you a tired, knowing smile as he slowly set your son back on the ground. “Alright, lightning bolt,” he teased softly, ruffling his messy curls. “Let’s go win you a prize, yeah?”

Your son beamed up at him, the earlier tantrum already a forgotten memory in his little mind. He grabbed Heeseung’s hand, gripping his pinky with his tiny fingers. “Yeah!”

And just like that, your little lightning bolt was back in action.

Heeseung sighed, rolling his shoulders as he let your son drag him toward the game section again. You could tell the meltdown had drained him, but the moment your little boy looked up at him with his puffy, teary eyes and chubby cheeks still glistening, Heeseung softened like butter in the sun.

You walked beside them, watching as your son squeezed Heeseung’s pinky tightly in his tiny grip, his other hand wiping at his runny nose. “What game do you wanna play, baby?” you asked, brushing damp curls from his forehead.

Your son’s lips pursed in thought before he pointed toward the biggest game in the arcade—the claw machine.

Heeseung let out a chuckle. “You sure about that one, buddy? That thing’s harder than it looks.”

But your little boy was determined. “I want the bear,” he announced, jabbing his finger toward a giant plush bear sitting in the pile of toys inside the machine.

You and Heeseung exchanged a look. That bear was way too big for the flimsy claw to lift, but the hope in your son’s eyes made it impossible to say no.

Heeseung fished out some tokens from his pocket. “Alright, let’s give it a shot.”

Lifting your son so he could reach the controls, Heeseung guided his tiny hands to the joystick while you knelt beside them. Your little boy’s brows furrowed in deep concentration as he maneuvered the claw over the stuffed bear.

“I got it,” he whispered, pressing the button with all his might.

The claw descended. It grabbed the bear’s ear—barely. The moment it started rising, the bear slipped right out.

Your son gasped. “Nooo!”

Heeseung bit his lip, suppressing a laugh. “That was close, buddy. Wanna try again?”

A determined nod. “Again!”

Another token in. Another attempt. Another fail.

Your son let out a tiny frustrated growl, his lower lip wobbling. “It’s cheating,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his pudgy tummy.

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “It’s a tricky game, baby. But you did well!”

Heeseung nudged him playfully. “Tell you what, how about one more try? And if we don’t get the bear, we’ll pick a different prize from the ticket counter, yeah?”

Your son considered this, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

This time, Heeseung let him move the joystick, but when your son pressed the button, Heeseung subtly tapped it again at the perfect moment, giving the claw a better grip.

And then—

Clink!

The claw successfully carried a smaller bear to the prize chute.

Your son gasped dramatically, his mouth forming the most significant O you’d ever seen. The second Heeseung reached in and pulled out the plushie, your little boy grabbed it and held it to his chest, squeezing it tightly.

“I won!” he squealed, bouncing repeatedly in Heeseung’s arms. “Mommy, I won!”

You laughed, heart swelling at how quickly he forgot his earlier tantrum. “You did, baby! Good job!”

Heeseung grinned, ruffling your son’s hair. “Knew you had it in you, champ.”

Your little boy beamed at both of you, hugging the bear even tighter. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and pressed a big, sloppy kiss to Heeseung’s cheek.

Heeseung froze.

You giggled back as your son pulled away and rested his head on Heeseung’s shoulder. “Tank you, Daddy,” he mumbled sleepily.

The exhaustion from all the running, screaming, and excitement had finally caught up to him. His chubby fingers clung to Heeseung’s hoodie, and his breathing slowed as he curled up against his father’s chest, hugging his new plushie with his other arm.

Heeseung swallowed, eyes softening as he cradled your son close. He gently kissed the top of his head, rocking him slightly. “Anytime, buddy.”

You reached over, brushing a hand over your son’s back. “I think someone’s ready for a nap.”

Heeseung chuckled, shifting the now-sleepy toddler in his arms. “Guess the lightning bolt finally ran out of energy, huh?”

You smiled, slipping your hand into Heeseung’s free one as the three of you approached the exit. Your son might have had a meltdown earlier, but seeing him snuggled up against his dad, entirely at peace, made everything worth it.

And despite the tantrums, the chaos, and the exhaustion—these were the moments you both would cherish forever.

© hazelira | tumblr

requested by: @sunoos-baby

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Claw Machine Mimic + Homeless Reader

-

"Should I really be doing this?...."

Spending your last dollar on a kid's game. Ever since you parked your car in that vacant lot, it's called to you- Fluorescent lighting beaming down on your dashboard; a beacon of life in the otherwise abandoned and forgotten arcade. How it still powered on in these conditions was beyond you. A greater mystery was the front door's lock or better, the lack thereof.

Broken glass crunches beneath your feet as you shift on your heels, scouting for a prize worthy of your final cent. Squinting through the harsh light, you take notice of another obstacle obscuring clear sight into the box.

A thin film of rusty sludge murks the machine's front facing mirror; impossible to detect from where you resided in your car. Your first guess is rain damage though there aren't any openings in the ceiling from what you can see.

Rolling the sleeve of your hoodie over the ball of your wrist, you spit into the fabric - wiping down the machine to the best of your capabilities. Once finished, you flip your hand over to the other side, drying the window with the untainted portion of your sweater.

"That's better. Now, let's get this over with...."

Soothing out the corners of your crumbled bill, regret itches at your hands; stalling the inevitable.

Winner! Winner! Winner!

"huh?...."

But you didn't even-

Muffled thuds slam against the walls of the prize shoot as your winnings tumbles out. Your outstretched hands shield it from a graceless fall onto a bed of shattered glass, snatching it up in the niche time.

A small white box, no bigger than the apple you had for lunch, stares back at you. Unraveling it red bow and opening the box, it would seem the universe's olive branch to you was more kindling for the neverending mockery of your life.

It's a wallet.

A rather thick one at that, practically bulging at its seams.

"It can't be...."

Peaking into the wallet's sleeve, stacks of paper flutter out - stuffed well beyond the limited storage of the pocket and ready to spill. Stammers of disbelief buzz pass your lips as you card through each bill, eyes growing wider by the second.

"Where'd all this cash come from?! T-there's no way someone would leave this much in a claw machine for this long."

There's no identification, no sign that it belongs to someone else so that means it's yours hopefully. Should you try your luck again? No- This is more than enough. For a stable place to sleep until you got on your feet. New clothes. How long have you been wearing the same clothes?

All that matter in the here and now was filling your belly with something substantial - right after one more thing.

"Thank you..." Scrapping tears from your eyes, you sniffle. You don't even know who you're thanking. "Thank you for this. It's been so hard since my parents... I thought I was doing well enough in college and helping out around the house, but-"

With no-one else to turn to, you swiftly pocket the wallet - throwing your arms around the bulky machine, thanking whoever left it behind. Thank goodness you found it when you needed it most.

Unbeknownst to you, it felt the exact same way.

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐚 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: you got married to gojo satoru at the edge of a frozen lake in summer.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings/tags: heavy angst, a love that’s TOO LITTLE TOO LATE if one can even call that a tag, unrequited love (kinda).

Marriage is a golden ring on a chain whose beginning is a single glance between two unsuspecting souls that ends with eternity.

Twelve years. You’ve loved him through twelve springs. It’s bittersweet to think how a person could give another their youth for free. But then again, the only things that you truly keep are the things you give away. That’s just life, isn’t it? And besides, you take a step towards the blue peony littered aisle with a wistful smile on your face as you picture a certain arctic-haired man standing at the other end, when it comes to matters of the heart, keeping ledgers of the love you give and the love you receive is a futile effort.

You should probably put that in your vows later. But ah, what did it matter? Satoru’s probably just gonna wing it later, arguing that expressions of love should be light-hearted and candid much like the love you share.

“Y/N-chan~!” He steps in front of you, his tall form towering over you as he catches you by the student lounge’s vending machine. Shoko smirks behind you, pulling Suguru ahead of you to leave the two of you alone. She nudges you forward and you cast her a betrayed look to which she only replies with an innocent shrug. It’s common knowledge to everyone in Tokyo Jujutsu High how you feel about the Gojo clan’s illustrious little starlet.

Well, it was common knowledge to everyone except Satoru Gojo.

And you don’t know if you find that comforting or saddening.

Comforting that he wouldn’t find out about your feelings from someone else, though you’re still working up the courage to fess up, you wholeheartedly believe that this is something he should hear from you and you alone. Saddening that maybe the reason he’s been all blissfully ignorant of how your breath becomes shallow whenever he’s around you is he’s actually already aware of your feelings towards him and he’s only deflecting it.

“We’ll go ahead, Y/N,” Shoko says in a sing-song voice, taking your cursed tool from you. “Come see me if you have any injuries!”

“But if it’s a broken heart, she probably can’t fix it,” Suguru chimes in, winking at Satoru as if to say: ‘Go talk to her.’ before turning to follow his girlfriend.

A hush falls between you and Satoru, unspoken words swirling around the two of you like a symphony of longing. Both of you seem to be saying the same thing:

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

If the truth is meant to set you free, then he is your jailer. Why is he content with never uttering those words aloud? Why are you so eager to stay in the hedge maze of your mind, seeking his shadow at every corner? This was a tiring game of hide and seek.

But Satoru is completely fine with letting it drag on if it meant he’d never risk losing you.

And you were fine with that too. You were fine being a prisoner to your truth as long as he was with you in this jail cell. You were fine.

Whatever fine means.

“Wanna go to the arcade?” Satoru looks at you with a shimmering bittersweet look in his eyes.

You smile and a breathy laugh falls from your lips causing his face to light up even more.

“That depends, you gonna let me win?”

“Never.”

“Y/N! There you are.”

You turn around to see an older Shoko, her youthful bob cut having outgrown its juvenile flare. She looks out of breath, she must have run around the venue looking for you and judging from the way she keeps glancing at her watch, and the exasperated look she was throwing your way at the sight of you still in your silk robe, you needed to get moving.

But your feet remain planted in the middle of the empty aisle, your gaze trained on the arch.

“You feeling okay?” Shoko asks, her hand finding yours in a tender display of solidarity. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

You flash her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I know. Just…deep in thought.”

“Yeah.”

Weddings are always so beautiful, you think to yourself as Shoko steps back giving you some space as you contemplate the day ahead. Your fingers trace one of the satin linens adorning the trellises much like your heart traces the contours of a love too delicate to verbalize, too powerful to ignore. Your gaze dances over the elegant arrangements of blue, white and gray, the scent of grapefruit-quince adorning the air, mixing with the scent of peonies, jasmines and white musk.

Everything here speaks of the imminent union of two souls finding their way to each other. And how comforting it is to know that no matter where you wander, all paths inevitably lead to Satoru Gojo. And you have your drunk cartographer heart to thank for that.

“He loves you,” Shoko finally says, catching your wrist to bring you over to the gazebo to get touched up.

“…I know.”

You look back at the empty aisle, with all but one question in your mind.

What happens when simply knowing is no longer enough?

“Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again with my sunglasses off?”

You nearly choke on your yogurt drink when you see yet another stunningly familiar light blue sticky note on your desk. Satoru fucking Gojo is going to be the death of you one day. Your touch grazes over the hastily scribbled note, a small smile playing at your lips as you take out a white pad of sticky notes from your school bag. After collecting your thoughts, you decide to play along with his little game, your heart fluttering when you realize that this back and forth could actually be considered flirting.

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight. And sorry, pretty boys like you aren’t exactly my type.”

Satoru finds the white sticky note plastered on his stool in Jujutsu Tech’s science lab. Despite the playful jab in your reply, Satoru is hyperfixated on the fact that you just called him pretty. Did you really mean it? He bites the inside of his cheek being careful not to grin too much in fear of Suguru catching wind of what’s happening — the strongest sorcerer of this generation being caught off-guard by his little crush? Detestable!

“You think I’m pretty? ;) I knew it.”

Shoko looks at you funnily, you’re practically red as a tomato with how you’re fuming from the ears and sputtering about how ridiculous Satoru is being. “He’s just so…so…!”

“You really should work on finishing your sentences now~”

You are interrupted at the sight Satoru practically hopping down the steps leading to the training field with a convenience store bag tucked under his arm and you sigh exasperatedly, turning away as if he was a bug that’s hovering over your ear that you really shouldn’t be paying attention to. All of his six foot two form plops down next to you and you jump when he presses a cold ice cream bar to your cheek.

“You’re awfully generous today, Satoru,” you smirk, accepting and lifting the ice cream bar in silent gratitude, suppressing the blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Satoru blushes himself, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Shit, say something, Satoru thinks to himself. Was he being too obvious? Did you somehow piece it together now that he has feelings for you?

In his internal dilemma, Satoru settles for undermining the deliberate gesture.

“I only needed two more stickers to get this really neat toy,” Satoru explains, reaching into the convenience store bag and pulling out his new tamagotchi. “Pretty worth it, I would say. The one I saw in Akihabara is being sold for 7500 yen, but that’s the angelgotch variety, so I kinda get the whole roadside robbery thing.”

Of course, he steered the conversation elsewhere. You’re not even surprised at this point that he’ll always only stay at the surface when he treads these long drawn out conversations with you, too afraid to say anything more — do anything more — than what was necessary as your friend.

Keyword: friend.

He had no obligation to you other than being your friend. And you don’t blame him. You’re not angry at him that he’s only willing to stay in shallow water with you, it’s just…

“Hey, I have to go, Yaga’s calling me.” Satoru casually interrupts your train of heartbroken thoughts, but you do not miss the unease in his voice, he almost sounds sorry that he has to bail again.

But you already send him off with a reluctant thumbs up. As you look at his retreating form, he stops for a bit at the stone tori gate, his head bowed in thought, you don’t know why you held your breath. He reaches into his pocket, but thinks better of it, and he paces two hesitant steps forward.

Then, he looks back to meet your eyes from afar.

And his heart clenches in a mixture of affection and exasperation when you are the first to blushingly look away.

The ten feet separating the two of you is very reminiscent of how you began: running in opposite directions to outdo the other in your competition to see who can act that they care less, placing more distance between your flustered hearts. Satoru gazes at you as if he’s seen the divine incarnated into a single beautiful being. He wipes a tear from his eye, sniffing momentarily, watching you gracefully float down the aisle with an equally smitten expression on your features.

Clutching the bouquet in your hands, you don’t break eye contact and everything seems to unfold like a motion picture before your very eyes, your and Satoru’s life together in vivid cinematography: your first dance later tonight, your first trip out of the country together for your honeymoon, your first time, your first year, your first child. Everything. You’ve imagined Satoru to be your first in everything. And as you make your way to the aisle, tears glistening in both your orbs, you stop to meet in the middle, the two of you standing on fate’s edge together.

He casts you a look, and you offer him a melancholic smile.

This was it.

…

…

…

…

The doors open and his bride arrives, and you move to the side, taking your place next to Shoko, painfully leaving the space you and Satoru briefly shared, a space that was never meant for you in the first place.

Which begs the question again: what happens when knowing is no longer enough?

Or is it…the two of you never knew at all how the other felt?

No, you and Shoko watch as Satoru stares at you from his peripheral, his heart fragmenting into irreparable pieces at each step his bride makes towards him.

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

The answer is clear now. He wouldn’t have left. Things were just left unsaid, never admitted — the words that you longed to hear from one another never fell from your lips. Not once in the twelve years you secretly held him in your heart. And thus, fate then decreed that love is for the brave, and not for cowardly souls like you and Satoru Gojo.

And with whatever strength you have left, uncaring if this would cause you to look scandalous: a bridesmaid going after the groom, you mouth the words: “I love you.”

A pained smile appears on his lips, an allegory to the goofy grins he used to flash you when you two were young, and he nods, tears in his eyes.

This was twelve years too late. But it’s better than never.

“I knew it.”

[ablobwhowrites]

I feel that player is now abnormally advanced then any human because of what happens at playtime co making them learn how to fight, code, react abnormally fast, survive toxic gas, survive without eating for long periods of time, hold breath without passing out, carry HEAVY item that even bodybuilders would have trouble with all that good stuff

I honestly love this though cause imagine when y/n is hangout with friends (don't worry the toys are being babysat by y/n's grandparents) and going to some kind of pop up arcade and y/n doing that punch power game and ended up physically breaking it and their friends are just standing there shocked at how this motherfucker just broke that machine. Also imagining like y/n just doing the almost heaviest set of bench presses they can do also imagining like once y/n's friend lost sometimes under a car and y/n is like. "Oh I got it" and lifts the far up so y/n's friend can just crawl under and grab it. Also imagining that they challenge y/n to a arm wrestle and immediately lose and y/n's just wondering if their friends are just pulling a prank or letting him win as a joke but it's not, it's cause y/n is just so god damn strong from having to survive the factory and do almost having every single near life and death experience known to man, like having to be fast at reacting cause of how many hostile things where in that factory. Having to starve and basically go on long periods without food and water cause most of the water down there is probably contaminated with something cause no way it's clean.

Then having to survive toxic has and the same has that is a high level explosion device also pending with basically almost being eaten alive by other staving things in playtime co that have given y/n long lasting scars and major blood loss because what I said, there is absolutely no way they are coming out unscathed without like any wounds and pretty sure they may have unchecked broken or fractured bones. Also being electrocuted is one to because of the doctor and that one trap basically sending god knows how many volts through y/n's body cause the grab pack holds on for a pretty good almost minute. Plus dragging those heavy ass boxes like nothing and you have to build some crazy leg strength and even without the grab pack pretty sure their arms are probably jacked to because of how much they use the grab pack that requires your arms and to physically use your arms for every function of the grab pack plus so much more that basically makes them a beast cause I imagine no other person surviving that.

I don't imagine sometimes y/n uses his fast reaction skills to try and keep things from falling off or some like that but the object just doesn't fall but y/n being already prepared to catch something ends up looking likes their going crazy. Bro need to catch up on a lot of sleep cause I know they ain't processing things normally and is still on survival mode at this point.

(that's it for my yap session. If you like this please don't feel shy and request any ideas for y/n's or stories. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[noircheols]

⸺ NO ORDINARY LOVE. 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

an anthology of love stories almost never told.

PREFACE. love has been far from perfect. you thought you would stumble upon prince charming organically. unfortunately, this is a big fat joke in the 21st century. reluctantly, you open the app store and download something you always believed were better off for finding potential enemies or friends with benefits... a dating app. it’s time to give your phone cupid’s bow and see who it hits!

PAIRINGS. svt x reader (seperate)

WARNINGS. suggestive, cursing, varies from fic to fic

SCHEDULE. every monday (i hope.)

TAGLIST. @jjjjeonww @shirebusking @shinwonderful @tokitosun @unlikelysublimekryptonite @wonkierideul @flwrshwa @syluslittlecrows @macapunoz @paradiseoflosers @seokmn @itsclda

open! please feel free to dm/reply/ask

STATUS. ONGOING!

AUTHOR'S NOTE. AAAAA i wanted to write something inspired by hinge's no ordinary love campaign. reading it was so lovely and i wanted to write something alongside the same premises. hinge if ur seeing this please dont sue me </3. THIS IDEA IS NOT MINE AT ALL simply something inspired by it. i hope you all enjoy!! peep the ugly header LMAO graphic design is my least fave thing ever as u can see. happy love month to all the losers (affectionate) who enjoy!! i hope you all find love in the people you adore, the music, food, and most importantly, yourself!!!!

NETWORKS. @kstrucknet

♡ ‎ kisses are always promises ── 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍����𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐋

a love story for people who deserve peace of mind and torment themselves for being unable to give others the same.

LIKES : popping boba, working out, my dog kkuma, giving gifts and making them feel special, confidence

DISLIKES : lack of effort, ghosts, fries (got doxxed for this)

♡ ‎ let your habits control you ── 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐍

a love story for people who want somebody they can be themselves without any qualms, flaws and all.

LIKES : somebody who keeps me on my toes, napping, taking photos of my pet rock, cashmere pajamas

DISLIKES : somebody who monitors my every behaviour, judgemental

♡ ‎ heaven knows i'm miserable now ── 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐎

a love story for people who are looking for the best in people (and always end up finding the worst).

LIKES : optimism, deer print, sunsets, big smiles, playing guitar, an open heart

DISLIKES : poor manners, gaming, isn't understanding, just don't be a horrible person lol

♡ ‎ swimming fool ── 𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐔𝐈

a love story for people looking to dive head first beyond the surface of dating to understand themselves and their partner.

LIKES : exploring new possibilities but having somebody to call home, cat cafes, matcha, hmu huzz 👅👅👅

DISLIKES : misunderstands me and my humour (or chooses to), isn't on the same wavelength

♡ ‎ i don't wanna watch tv anymore ── 𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆

a love story for people who are scared to pick up their broken hearts and close themselves off from being hurt again.

LIKES : TIGERS, going to the arcade just for the dance machine, somebody to share fun memories with but also can feel safe with

DISLIKES : spicy food, pent up emotions, lack of ambition

♡ ‎ focus ── 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎

a love story for people who know that seeing is believing, that to be loved is to be seen, and that to believe is to love.

LIKES : hoodies, gaming (league of legends, genshin, valorant), reading, somebody to sit in silence with after a long day

DISLIKES : obnoxious, believes things revolve around them

♡ ‎ chocolate strawberries ── 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐉𝐈𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

a love story for people who put up walls and are waiting for the right person to knock them down.

LIKES : anime (jujutsu kaisen, naruto, kimi ni todoke), personal space, my personal space being invaded

DISLIKES : my personal space being invaded, physical touch

♡ ‎ keep you close ── 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔

a love story for people who know what they want, and knowing what you want makes you lonely.

LIKES : cooking, trying new cuisines and restaraunts, unboxing collectibles, being appreciated

DISLIKES : heights, avoidance, mess

♡ ‎ weather forecast ── 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐌𝐈𝐍

a love story for people who worry about being too much or too little, but never enough.

LIKES : long walks at public parks, cupcake-scented things, visiting the dog shelter, rock music (fun fact i was in a band!!!)

DISLIKES : nothing!!! everybody is awesome and cool in their own way :D

♡ ‎ cloudburst ── 𝐗𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐎

a love story for people who don't appreciate what they have.

LIKES : art history, exhibitions, mala xianguo (or any other spicy food)

DISLIKES : being held back, long-term commitments, being deprived of choice, everything

♡ ‎ ‎stuck by the glue ── 𝐁𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐍

a love story for people who are chronic people pleasers and give to the point of exhaustion.

LIKES : ballads, family, when somebody is caring and affectionate, tangerine flavoured desserts, iced americano

DISLIKES : making somebody upset, being found annoying, chan

‎ ‎♡ ‎ ‎starshy ── 𝐂𝐇𝐖𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐋

a love story for people who deserve to be taken seriously.

LIKES : visiting record stores, charli xcx, cloudy days, making personalized spotify playlists for each other

DISLIKES : dismissive, puts me down

‎ ‎♡ ‎ ‎hot n cold ── 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍

a love story for people who make up their mind and change it the next minute.

LIKES : somebody who loves having me around, doing everything together, somebody dynamic

DISLIKES : seungkwan (DNI!!!!)

@noircheols do not copy or translate

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

sorry if this is rude to ask, but have you ever considered adding a ddr bonus level of sorts to ddba? maybe for a side quest ? i cant think of a specific one piece moment that could be adjacent to that .. but i thought itd be fun

Congratulations!!! 🎉🎈🎊 you’ve accidentally hit a topic that i actually have thought about before and have a lot of ideas about! Yeah i thought it would be cute if there was a mini game arcade you can go to in the “town” of the map, and the owner of the arcade would be Foxy and there would be a bunch of warioware type games to play.

And in the back of the arcade would be a DDR machine that would play like Friday night funkin and would be occupied by Apoo 100% of the time unless you beat him either in DDR or in combat but if you fight him in ddr it’s gonna be at the highest level and if you beat him in combat then he’s gonna wanna play with DDR with you afterwards (he gives in a little bit on the difficulty level because he has a broken arm or something of the like after the battle lol)

@badly-drawn-doflamingo helped me come up with those ideas and they also came up with the delightful idea that yorki would be in an ally next to it and would throw a bottle at you as you walk by and challenge you in combat only to immediately pass out from being piss drunk. I just love the idea that he’s the only guy in the whole game who challenges you to a battle like a trainer in pokemon does and he doesnt even last through the Battle! Start! Music before the Congragulations you won! Music starts blaring as yorki is just. Collapses.

Here’s some designs i just made for them

Foxy’s design is based off of wario and he has a game controller tucked into his pants with the buttons being hearts because he loves his games. The wrenches and screwdrivers on his pants also would have hearts on them but ya cant see it from this angle.

Apoo is based off of those early 2000’s designs of “cool nerds” animated tv shows would have. His hears are on his sneakers and his headphones

Yorki is based off of DJ Spit.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

[theolivetree123]

Rev up your engines, it’s time to…

🏁 Race for the Cookie Cup! 🏁

(More below the cut)

🫐Event Summary🍒

You, Grim, Ace, and Deuce decide to visit a new arcade that recently opened up in the town not far from NRC. There, you meet up with Ruggie, Epel, Silver, and Idia, who have all taken interest in a specific game in the corner of the arcade. The game is called Sugar Rush! Since there's two arcade machines, Ace challenges Deuce to one round of the game, and whoever loses must pay for the other's lunch. Deuce unsurprisingly accepts, and they begin their match. Midway through their match, however, the game suddenly glitches! You and the gang all think the game is broken until a flash of light comes from the arcade machines. Next thing you know, all 8 of you are somehow inside of the racing game, Sugar Rush!

To escape this sweet nightmare, you must win the next grand prix and obtain the Cookie Cup! But, uh oh. Ace and Deuce are having a bit of a squabble. It seems like you guys are going to have to split into two separate teams!

For this grand prix, Deuce will be accompanied by Silver and Idia as...

Team Bluepuff!

And Ace will be accompanied by Ruggie and Epel as...

Team Redpop!

Which team will you choose?

🏁Rules🏁

Everyone is allowed to race! Whether it's your OCs, yuusonas, or, heck, even rope your favorite canon NRC/RSA student into this mess! Everyone is welcome to participate in the mess that Ace and Deuce started.

You can participate in this event by making custom cards, general fanart, fanfics, whatever! Just no NSFW, please. This is a PG racing game!

If you decide to make anything for this event, please tag me and use #🍪rftcc. I'd love to see what you make!

And finally, this event has no deadline, so feel free to participate whenever!

🏁Outfits and Carts🏁

Since you will be racing, make sure your outfit is fit for the job! Make sure your character has a jersey, gloves, and a sweet theme!

For your character's theme, make sure it is based off of some sort of candy or sweet treat! The character must also have a matching cart, as well (if you're drawing them with one, that is). Try to stay away from actual candy brands, though! We wouldn't want a lawsuit on our hands!

The characters listed in the summary have their own cards and outfits! I listed them below so you don't accidentally copy their theme.

SSR Deuce (Blueberry Pie)

SSR Ace (Cherry Pie)

SR Ruggie and Epel (Donuts and bubblegum)

SR/R Idia and Silver (Slushies and marshmallows)

Also! If you're making a card, you may use the blank cards below!

🏁Racers🏁

Team Bluepuff

🍋Yuya Florence by @cheerleaderman

🍪Dias Feathenfool by @beezonia

🍓Robyn Starling by @pinkskytwst

💝Reese Kingbit by @kickasscentral

🍋Flori Mohn-Prinz by @bunniehunn

Team Redpop

💍Ryuuni by @rini-rambles

🎂Narcissa Viperoné by @beezonia

🍍Saya Starling (ART) by @pinkskytwst made by @dilatory-replies

🧸Cerise Fanfare by @0kiwisalad0

🎄Humm by @xxoomiii

⚫️ Leon Lynch by @readsrandomstuff67

🏁Fanart🏁

A little comic from @mello-bee

Art of the crew by @spade-12

Ruggie doing donuts by @mirioho

Ruggie fanart by @cheshanoneko-draws

🏁Fanfics🏁

Bet on the Teleportation by @spadecentral

🏁I look forward to seeing what you create!🏁

[missmadella]

The Game’s Twist: Win or Kiss (Chishiya x Reader)

Summary: You and Chishiya meet in the Borderlands through sharp sarcasm and reluctant teamwork. Over multiple deadly games, your teasing turns into trust, and that tension finally snaps during a “Win or Kiss” challenge—where neither of you wait for the rules.

Later, in the quiet of an abandoned hotel, the walls between you fall further. He doesn’t know how to handle closeness, but you’re patient—and maybe that’s enough to make him stay.

Words: 6529

The first time you met Chishiya was on a night that felt like the city itself was holding its breath. The streets outside were empty, the kind of eerie quiet that made every sound feel louder than it should. Inside the half-forgotten arcade, the flicker of neon lights cast long shadows across rows of claw machines and pinball tables, their screens frozen or glitching, like remnants of a forgotten past.

You were pacing the cracked floor, trying to make sense of the silence and the strange rules of this deadly game you’d been dragged into. Your eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, hoping to find something—anything—that made sense.

And then you saw him.

He was leaning against a claw machine in the far corner, the dim light catching just enough of his sharp features to make him stand out without really drawing attention. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but his eyes were alert, calm, and impossibly sharp—like he was already a step ahead of everyone else.

You weren’t sure if he noticed you, but you decided to break the silence anyway.

“Lovely place for a game, huh?” you said, voice loud enough to fill the space but low enough not to sound like you were begging for a conversation.

He glanced at you once—just once—his expression unreadable and flat. “If you enjoy the scent of dust and despair,” he replied, voice quiet and dry, like he was commenting on the weather rather than a life-or-death situation.

You blinked, then smirked. “Oh, how poetic. You should write greeting cards.”

No reaction from him. Just that same unreadable look, as if your sarcasm barely registered.

“Well, since you’re not much for chit-chat, I guess I’ll carry the conversation,” you said, stepping a little closer. “I was worried I’d be stuck wandering this place talking to myself.”

He didn’t move or speak, just tilted his head slightly toward you—maybe a gesture, maybe a warning. You weren’t sure.

“Right. Because misery loves company,” you added, voice dripping with irony.

This time, he gave you a glance sharp enough to cut glass. “Company usually slows things down,” he said plainly.

You laughed, a little harsher than you intended. “Oh, great. I’m an obstacle now.”

The corner of his mouth twitched—a movement so small you almost missed it. But that was it. No words. No smiles. Just quiet.

You shook your head, feeling strangely intrigued despite his coldness. “You don’t say much. That’s got to be a superpower in this mess.”

His eyes flicked to the door briefly, then back to you. “Talking wastes time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends on who you’re talking to.”

No answer. Just silence again.

For a moment, you thought you might have scared him off. But then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted his stance, as if acknowledging you without saying a word.

And that was it. No warm welcome, no promises, just two strangers sharing the same broken, silent space—one sarcastic, the other watching, waiting, always a step ahead.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t just walk away after that first cold exchange. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was the fact that, even in his silence, that guy — pale hoodie, white-blonde hair, eyes like a scalpel — didn’t look like he was just killing time. He looked like someone who already knew how the game would end.

That made him dangerous. And interesting.

So you didn’t leave.

You paced a bit, arms crossed, glancing between the arcade windows and him. Occasionally, you spoke — mostly to yourself, but loud enough that he could hear.

“They could at least put some music on. Dying in silence feels a bit dramatic, even for me.”

Nothing.

You wandered past a busted DDR machine and sighed. “You know, I’m starting to think this game is less about survival and more about psychological torture. Trapped with flickering lights, existential dread, and a guy who talks less than a damn corpse.”

Still nothing.

You glanced back. He was watching a screen above one of the doors — a tiny red light blinking in the corner. Observing. Analyzing. Like a scientist watching mice in a maze.

You tilted your head, frowning slightly. “What are you looking at?”

No reply. Not even a glance.

You stepped a little closer, just enough to test a boundary. “Let me guess: silent genius, mysterious past, trust issues the size of Tokyo.”

That earned you a glance — brief, cold. But still a glance.

You grinned, like you’d just scored a point.

“Wow. Was that eye contact? I feel honored. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me your name.”

He turned back to the screen.

“Yeah,” you muttered to yourself, “didn’t think so.”

Silence fell again, but it didn’t feel the same. Not quite as heavy.

You sat down on a step near a busted crane game, glancing up at the ceiling where the fluorescent light was sputtering like it was on its last breath.

“Do you think anyone’s even running these games?” you asked after a moment. “Like… is there someone behind a camera somewhere watching us? Betting on who makes it out?”

He didn’t move.

But after a long moment, he said, softly: “They’re not betting. They already know who survives.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet reply. It wasn’t casual, and it wasn’t cruel — just stated, like fact. Like he'd seen it happen before.

Your eyes narrowed, thoughtful. “You’ve played before.”

He didn’t confirm or deny it. But the way he didn’t answer… that was answer enough.

You leaned back, letting the silence stretch again. This time, it felt earned.

“Guess I’ll have to stick close to you, then,” you murmured, eyes closing for a second.

That finally got a reaction — subtle, but there. The faintest shift of his jaw. Maybe irritation. Maybe something else.

You didn’t look at him when you added, dryly, “Don’t worry. I’m great at being dead weight.”

Still no reply. But somehow, that felt like the closest thing to a conversation you were going to get.

And strangely… you didn’t mind it.

Not yet.

___________________________________________________________________________

The game started without warning.

One second the arcade was still and stale, and the next, the overhead lights flickered violently, then turned blood-red. A mechanical voice echoed from somewhere above, flat and unfeeling:

“GAME START. OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE. TIME LIMIT: 30 MINUTES.”

Then came the sound — a mechanical whir, followed by the distant grind of metal sliding open. Somewhere in the building, something had been released.

Your body tensed instinctively. You scrambled to your feet and turned toward Chishiya’s corner — but he was already moving.

Not panicked. Not rushing. Just moving with that eerie, surgical calm.

Of course he had a plan.

You jogged after him. “Hey. Don’t suppose you want to share whatever Sherlock-level theory you’ve cooked up, do you?”

He didn’t answer. He turned a corner, passing under a cracked “EXIT” sign, and disappeared into a hallway behind the prize counter.

You muttered to yourself. “Right. Guess I’ll just follow the quiet cryptid through the murder-maze. What could possibly go wrong?”

The hallway was darker, lit only by a few flickering wall panels. You followed his silhouette — hood up, hands tucked in his pockets like he had all the time in the world. Occasionally, he paused, just briefly, eyes darting to vents, to corners, to seams in the walls.

You realized he wasn’t just walking. He was tracking.

You caught up beside him and muttered, “You’re either the smartest guy in this building or the most suspicious.”

He didn’t look at you. “Probably both.”

You blinked. That... was the most he’d said since you met.

He stopped abruptly and held out a hand — not to touch you, but to signal. Quiet. Still.

And then you heard it: dragging footsteps. Heavy breathing. Something metallic scraping against tile.

Your mouth went dry.

Something was out there.

You instinctively started to step back, but his hand shifted — palm out, quiet and quick. A silent wait.

You froze.

The sound passed — slowly, like whatever it was hadn’t quite locked on yet. A beat passed, then another.

Chishiya finally moved, ducking into a side room. You followed, heart pounding.

Inside, it looked like an old break room. Dusty couches, vending machines gutted long ago, fluorescent light humming overhead.

He crouched by the door, listening.

You stayed near the far wall, catching your breath, then muttered under your breath, “Do you do this in every game? The whole brooding-in-shadows thing? Or is this just for me?”

He didn’t look back. “You talk too much.”

You grinned despite yourself. “I know. Annoying, right? But I’m endearing if you squint.”

Still no answer. But there was something almost like amusement flickering behind his eyes when he glanced your way.

A long silence settled between you. The air was tense, but not quite unbearable. Your breathing slowed. His stayed steady.

And for a moment, there was nothing — no footsteps, no alarms, no chaos.

Just the two of you. Waiting.

You risked a whisper. “You’re not going to leave me behind, are you?”

Another long pause.

Then, quietly: “Not yet.”

Your heart fluttered — not romantically. Not exactly. More like… you weren’t alone. Not entirely. Not in the way that mattered right now.

“Cool,” you said, leaning back against the vending machine. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m growing on you.”

Chishiya didn’t reply.

But when he turned away, you were certain — for just a second — that he was hiding the barest hint of a smirk.

__________________________________________________________________________

The silence in the break room was thick, wrapped in the low hum of failing lights and the phantom echo of something moving in the walls.

You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping the vending machine until your fingers started to ache. Slowly, you peeled yourself away and dropped into the dusty couch across from him.

Chishiya sat against the door, legs drawn up loosely, hoodie bunched around his elbows, eyes fixed on a crack of light near the floor. Watching. Waiting.

He didn’t look at you, but he finally spoke, voice low. “You panic too easily.”

You blinked. “Wow. A full sentence. We’re making progress.”

He didn’t react.

You leaned your head back. “And sorry if being chased by a masked psycho triggers a little panic. I must’ve missed the part of my life where I trained for all this.”

“You talk like you’ve never played a game before,” he said flatly.

You sat up a little straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chishiya turned to look at you properly for the first time. Not just a glance. A look — slow, calculating, like he was deciding whether or not to let you in on a secret.

“You play them,” he said, voice calm, “but you don’t know what kind of player you are.”

You frowned. “Okay, Confucius. Feel free to explain.”

He tilted his head just slightly. “There are two kinds. People who play to survive, and people who play to win.”

You stared at him. “And which one are you?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped again to the gap under the door.

“I don’t lose,” he said simply.

You let out a quiet scoff, almost amused. “Wow. Humble too.”

For a moment, you thought that was the end of it. But then, he spoke again — quietly. Almost like it slipped out before he could stop it.

“You talk a lot,” he said, “but you’re not stupid.”

You blinked. “Is that… a compliment?”

He shrugged once. “Observation.”

You smiled faintly and leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “Well, if I’m such a sharp little chatterbox, you’re not exactly the picture of emotional intelligence.”

“No need to be,” he said simply. “I just have to stay alive.”

Your smile faded, just a little. There was something empty in his voice. Not cold — just… resigned. Like he’d already made peace with not feeling anything more than necessary.

It made your chest feel a little tight.

You didn’t say anything to that. Just sat with it for a moment, letting the heavy quiet return.

Then — suddenly — the lights above you flickered once, then cut out entirely. Darkness swallowed the room, fast and suffocating.

Both of you stilled.

In the silence, something clicked outside the door.

Chishiya stood in one smooth motion. Not tense — just ready. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a screwdriver. Not a weapon, not really. But in his hand, it somehow looked dangerous.

Your voice was a whisper. “Is that thing actually useful, or are you just trying to look cool?”

In the dark, you heard him answer, flat and dry:

“Both.”

You snorted quietly — then flinched as a long, dragging scrape echoed in the hallway outside.

Chishiya glanced toward the far end of the room — the emergency access door.

“Time to go,” he murmured.

You rose quickly, pulse kicking up. “Are we running?”

He didn’t look back as he walked to the door.

“No. We’re thinking faster.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The emergency door groaned as Chishiya pushed it open just enough to peek through. Red emergency lights pulsed from the hallway beyond, casting deep shadows across the cracked linoleum. Somewhere, something metal dragged along the floor in slow, deliberate beats — a rhythm meant to unnerve.

He held up a hand without looking back. “Stay close.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He glanced over his shoulder, deadpan. “Do I seem like someone who jokes?”

Fair point.

You stepped beside him, pulse thudding like a drum in your ears. The hallway was narrow, suffocating. Far down the corridor, a figure flickered into view — tall, broad-shouldered, the unmistakable silhouette of a mask gleaming under red light.

The Tagger.

You felt the air leave your lungs. “Shit.”

Chishiya didn’t flinch. His eyes darted once — to a maintenance closet halfway down the opposite hall.

“On my count,” he murmured.

“What are we doing—?”

“Three.”

Your heart jumped.

“Two.”

You took a breath, eyes locked on the Tagger.

“One.”

You both bolted.

The hallway exploded into movement — your feet pounding beside his, air sharp in your lungs. The Tagger moved too, quick and brutal, barreling down the corridor behind you. You could hear the metallic clang of boots against tile, gaining on you fast.

Chishiya hit the closet door, yanked it open, and practically shoved you inside ahead of him.

It was barely a meter wide.

Shelves, wires, cleaning supplies. No exits.

You turned to him, breath ragged. “Seriously?! This is your genius plan?”

“Shh.” He held a finger to his lips, eyes sharp. Listening.

You froze, shoulder pressed into his chest, backs cramped against cleaning fluid and dust-covered boxes. You could feel his breath against your temple — steady, even. In contrast, you were shaking.

Bootsteps stopped just outside the closet door.

You held your breath.

A long silence.

Then a slow, deliberate knock against the wood.

You flinched. Chishiya didn’t move.

Another knock. And then, the worst sound: the metallic squeak of the handle turning.

Your hand flew to Chishiya’s arm on instinct.

He didn’t react.

The handle creaked. Stopped.

And then… footsteps. Fading.

You didn’t breathe until ten whole seconds passed.

When you finally exhaled, it came out as a sharp whisper: “I swear to god—”

His hand gently nudged yours off his arm. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m aware,” you hissed. “We almost died in a janitor’s closet.”

He tilted his head, calm even now. “Not my preferred method of dying.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Wait— was that— was that your attempt at humor?”

Chishiya blinked at you, neutral.

You gave a breathless laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

He looked at you a beat longer, then quietly said, “You followed orders. That’s good.”

“You mean I didn’t get us both killed?”

A shrug. “Not yet.”

You were still so close — pressed together in the dark, breath mingling. His hoodie brushed your arm. His voice was quiet, unbothered.

But his eyes — they were watching you.

You swallowed hard. “You don’t seem scared.”

“I’m not.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

He leaned in just slightly — close enough to murmur, “Because I don’t need to be.”

You opened your mouth to say something — sarcastic, probably — but nothing came.

Instead, you realized you hadn’t stepped back.

Neither had he.

And suddenly, the air between you felt heavier than it had before.

___________________________________________________________________________

The first game ended with blood.

Not yours, thankfully. But someone else’s — one of the louder ones, the cocky guy who underestimated how fast the Tagger moved. You and Chishiya made it out with seconds to spare, breathing heavy in the open air as fireworks bloomed above the Borderland skyline.

He didn’t say much afterward. Just gave you a nod — subtle, almost lazy — and disappeared into the crowd like smoke on the wind. You didn’t even get a name. But that wasn’t surprising. He didn’t seem like someone who gave pieces of himself away easily.

Still, you remembered him. The white hoodie. The cool, glassy gaze. The snark delivered so calmly it could’ve passed for boredom. He was like a ghost with perfect timing.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

But then you did.

A Hearts game, two weeks later. The rules were different. The stakes, higher. And yet — there he was. Leaning against a wall, arms crossed, scanning the other players with that detached, dissecting stare.

He glanced your way, and his brow ticked just slightly upward. Recognition.

You smirked and offered a mock salute. “Miss me?”

“No,” he said immediately. But he didn’t look away.

You worked well together — better than you should’ve. You didn’t trust easily, but you trusted him to watch your back when no one else would. Not because he cared. But because it was logical.

And in this world, that was almost better.

You parted again after that. No goodbye. No promises. Just a shared look, a mutual nod, and silence.

But the next time — you found yourself scanning crowds expecting him.

And he found you, like always. Effortlessly.

There were more games. A Diamonds game where you ended up on opposing sides but still managed to outsmart the host by working silently in sync. A Clovers game that nearly killed you both, where you were crammed into a vent space with him and actually heard him laugh — just once, soft and sharp like an exhale.

“Did you just laugh?” you whispered, shocked.

“No,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise.

You never asked him for his name.

And he never asked for yours.

But it started to feel like he already knew it — the way he said you, always with a tilt of his head and a faint twitch of his mouth, like you amused him in ways he didn’t care to admit.

Somehow, he became the closest thing you had to a constant.

Not a partner. Not really a friend. But something that sat between those two things like a thread you didn’t dare pull.

A presence.

Sometimes you didn’t see him for days. Other times, he’d just appear — near the edge of a new game, hands in his pockets, eyes already on you. Never calling out. Never smiling. Just watching.

And when you made it out alive, he’d still be there.

Not celebrating.

Just… present.

And somehow, that meant more.

___________________________________________________________________________

The game was called “Two Truths, One Lie.”

At least, that’s what the sign read when you stepped into the game arena — a hollowed-out lounge floor of a luxury hotel, all mirrors and fake elegance. A Heart game. Of course.

You scanned the room — a dozen or so contestants, each warily sizing the others up.

And then your eyes landed on him.

White hoodie. Blond hair. Quiet smile. That same unreadable gaze, cutting through the chaos like a scalpel.

He didn’t move when he saw you. Just watched as you walked in, that familiar stillness wrapped around him like armor.

“You again,” you said, stepping beside him like no time had passed at all.

“Statistically, it was bound to happen.” You gave him a look. “You missed me.”

“I forgot you existed.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” you said, folding your arms. “Good thing we’re in the right game for that.”

A voice crackled through the speakers before he could respond.

“Welcome, players, to tonight’s game: Two Truths, One Lie.”

“You will be paired off at random. Each pair must take turns telling two truths and one lie. If your partner guesses correctly, you stay alive. If they guess wrong…”

A gun slid out of the wall near one of the lounge chairs.

“One strike. Five rounds. Lie well — or die trying.”

“Oh,” the voice added, almost mockingly sweet. “And the winners of each round must seal it with a kiss. For confirmation.”

You blinked. “That’s—”

“Unnecessary,” Chishiya finished flatly.

The room murmured. Some players looked terrified. Others intrigued.

You tried to act unbothered, but your heartbeat spiked. A mechanical whirl signaled the pairing. Names flickered on the wall.

Your name. His.

Chishiya turned toward you, head tilting slightly. “Well. Looks like someone up there has a sense of humor.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

A pause. Then he stepped closer, just enough to drop his voice.

“I hope you’re a better liar than you are at running.” You smiled sweetly. “I hope you’re better at guessing than you are at flirting.”

A flicker — something in his eyes. Maybe amusement.

Maybe something else. You sat across from him as the timer started ticking.

Round One.

You spoke first.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ve broken two bones. I hate tea. I used to be a ballet dancer.”

He stared at you, unblinking. “You’ve never broken a bone.”

“Wrong.”

The buzzer blared. A red X flashed on the screen. You could see it — the faintest twitch in his jaw. Not frustration. Something closer to calculation.

“My turn,” he said. “I’ve never lost a game. I hate crowds. I’ve been kissed in the Borderlands.”

You blinked. What?

That last one threw you. He stared at you like he knew it would.

You bit your lip, thinking. “The lie is… the kiss. You haven’t kissed anyone here.”

Another buzzer.

Correct.

You raised an eyebrow. “Huh.”

“I told you. I don’t lie.” The screen flashed:

“Seal the win: Kiss your partner.”

You both sat in silence. He didn’t move.

Neither did you. But eventually, you leaned forward — just a little. He didn’t pull away. Just watched you with that unreadable calm, something slow burning just behind his eyes.

Your lips brushed his — brief. Just enough.

When you pulled back, your heart was racing. Not from the game.

He looked at you for a long moment. Then, out of nowhere: “Shuntarō.”

You blinked. “What?”

“My name,” he said. “In case we don’t both make it to round two.” You stared. He hadn’t given you a name in all this time. And now—

“…It’s nice to meet you, Shuntarō.”

He tilted his head. “Your turn.”

You hesitated. Then smiled.

“[Your Name].”

___________________________________________________________________________

Round Two

You’re not sure if the room feels warmer or if it’s just you. Your lips still tingle from the kiss — short, barely there — but Chishiya hasn’t looked away from you since. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something quieter in his gaze now. Not soft. Just… focused.

The screen flashes.

“Begin.”

You go first again.

You lean back in the chair, cross your legs, and look him square in the eye.

“I was in med school,” you say slowly. “I don’t believe in love. And I think I might be starting to trust you.”

That last one hangs heavy in the air. Deliberate.

Chishiya tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. He’s processing, but he doesn’t show his hand. Not yet.

“You didn’t go to med school,” he finally says.

Buzz.

Wrong.

He blinks once, expression unreadable.

“You don’t believe in love,” he murmurs.

It’s not a question. More like an observation he’s logging away for later. You give him a faint smirk. “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” he replies. “It makes sense.” You’re not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment. With him, it might be both.

“Your turn,” you say.

He’s quiet for a second longer than necessary. Then:

“I’ve killed someone,” he says, evenly. “I used to believe people could be saved. And I don’t regret anything I’ve done in the Borderlands.” You stare at him. The calm in his voice is chilling.

“Wow,” you mutter. “We really went there.”

You try to read his face, but it’s like trying to read a locked door. No cracks. No keys.

“The lie…” you say slowly, “is that you don’t regret anything.”

Silence. Then the chime of a correct guess.

Chishiya doesn’t move. But something flickers in his eyes — the ghost of something old and sharp and buried deep. Regret, maybe. You don’t ask. Not yet.

The screen flashes again:

“Seal the win: Kiss your partner.”

Neither of you moves right away this time. Then, you rise slowly from your seat. You don’t rush, and you don’t ask permission. He watches you like he’s dissecting the moment — every breath, every choice.

You lean in — but this kiss is different.

It lingers.

It’s not demanding or desperate. Just… quiet. Certain. Familiar in a way that surprises you both.

When you pull back, your faces are close. And you murmur, before you can overthink it:

“I didn’t lie about trusting you.”

His reply is soft. Almost unheard.

“I know.”

You sit back down. Round Three is coming. You don’t know what the final round will ask of you. But for the first time since arriving in this hell of a world — you’re not entirely afraid.

You’re not alone.

___________________________________________________________________________

Round Three

The screen pulses again. You settle back in your seat, and Chishiya does the same — like you’re both pretending this is just another routine interaction, not a strange psychological striptease in front of a room full of strangers.

You go first.

“I had a sibling,” you say, voice calm but a little quieter. “I wanted to disappear long before the Borderlands. And I’ve never once thought about what comes after.”

Chishiya watches you. And this time, he doesn’t answer immediately. Something sharp flickers across his face — brief, but unmistakable.

“The lie is… the last one,” he says.

Your breath catches.

Correct.

Of course he saw through it. Of course he’d know. You’ve both survived too long not to wonder what’s left after the blood dries. After the games stop.

You glance at him. “Getting good at this.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

His turn.

“I’ve let people die to save myself,” he says. “I miss someone, but I don’t remember their name. I wanted to die once.”

You stare.

He says it so quietly. So easily. And yet the words drop like stones.

You search his face — that blank, clinical stillness — and realize it’s no act. This is just how he survives.

You swallow hard. “The lie is… you wanted to die.”

Silence.

Buzz.

Wrong.

You blink, but he’s already looking away — as if even he doesn’t want to sit in the truth for too long.

You don't press him. Something in your chest tightens, but you keep it down. He gave you that truth. Maybe that’s enough.

The screen flashes.

“Seal the win.”

This time, he leans forward first.

His hand barely brushes your jaw — a silent ask. You let him. And when his lips meet yours this time, it’s slower. Realer. Less of a formality, more of a release.

When you part, his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

___________________________________________________________________________

Round Four

The room feels smaller now. Like the air’s getting heavier with every kiss, every answer.

You let out a slow breath. “Okay,” you say. “I’ve thought about kissing you before. I used to think love made people weak. And I hate how calm you are all the time.”

A flicker. Chishiya’s lips tilt — barely.

“The lie,” he says, “is that you hate how calm I am.”

Correct.

You shrug, trying to look indifferent. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re transparent when you’re annoyed,” he replies.

You’re not smiling. Definitely not. He clears his throat softly — then it’s his turn.

“I didn’t care when I saw you die in the first game we met,” he says. “I remembered the exact number of seconds we kissed last round. I don’t want to lose you.”

Your breath stutters. It’s not just the words — it’s the way he says them, like peeling skin off something raw.

You stare at him, throat dry. “The lie is… the first one.”

A pause.

Then: Correct.

You don’t realize how hard your heart’s beating until the screen lights up again.

“Seal the win.”

This time, it’s both of you — meeting in the middle.

The kiss is longer now, but softer. The kind of kiss that says I see you. That says I’m still here. That says everything else you’re too afraid to put into words.

When you pull back, you’re not sure who’s trembling more.

Just one round left.

___________________________________________________________________________

Final Round

The lights dim slightly. The screen flickers, slower now — like the game itself is holding its breath.

You feel it too. That crawling sense in your chest, right behind your ribs. Something’s coming.

And then, in bold, glowing red:

FINAL ROUND: Say what you’ve never told anyone. One truth. One lie. No repeats.

No second chances. Wrong guess? One of you loses.

You both go still.

There’s no elaboration. But you understand. You always do by now.

Lose what? Your life? Your mind? Each other?

Chishiya doesn’t speak. But the tension in his jaw tells you enough. Even he’s not immune to this kind of pressure.

You go first.

You steady yourself, and say:

“I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again. I think I could love you.”

Silence.

His gaze sharpens — not cold, but focused like a scalpel. He watches you like he’s trying to see through the bones.

Seconds pass. Five. Ten.

Then, finally: “The lie is… you think you could love me.”

You blink, confused.

The screen flashes.

Correct.

Wait—what?

He doesn’t wait for you to piece it together. “You already do,” he says quietly, eyes not leaving yours.

Something in your chest cracks.

You want to argue, deflect, make another sarcastic jab. But you can’t. You just breathe — uneven, caught.

Then it’s his turn.

He doesn't hesitate. His voice is soft, flat as always — but it hits like thunder.

“I thought I didn’t need anyone. I only kissed you because of the game.”

The words hang in the air like a blade suspended by a thread.

You barely hear yourself whisper: “The lie is… you only kissed me because of the game.”

The screen holds still for a beat too long.

Then:

Correct.

He exhales like a weight finally leaves his shoulders.

And just like that, the screen gives its final command:

WINNERS, the screen eventually declares, in blinking letters behind your entwined shadows. SEAL-

But it never finishes completely.

Because you’re already moving.

You don’t know who reached for whom first. Maybe it doesn’t matter. One moment, you're standing in the slow glow of the game’s final stage, and the next —

You’re in his arms, and he's kissing you like nothing else exists.

No smugness. No snark. Just hands in your hair, a steady grip at your waist, and that unflinching mouth finally pressed to yours with nothing left held back.

It isn’t neat or clean. It’s messy. A little desperate. His fingers curl into your jacket like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. And maybe you feel the same, because you don’t dare pull away.

He kisses you like a man who’s spent a lifetime pretending not to feel.

And you let him. Because you’re done pretending too.

When you finally break apart, just barely, you’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours. And for once, neither of you tries to fill the silence.

___________________________________________________________________________

The door clicks softly behind you, sealing off the distant hum of the city and the relentless chaos of the game outside. The stale air of the empty room wraps around you like a fragile bubble of calm, but the tension between you is anything but calm.

Before either of you can catch your breath, his lips find yours again—slow, deliberate, testing, like he's memorizing the way your mouth moves. Your fingers weave through his thick, unkempt hair, pulling him closer as the heat between you rises, pulsing with a quiet urgency.

He leans you back gently against the cracked windowpane, the faint glow of neon lights flickering through the glass, casting shadows that dance across his sharp features. His eyes, usually so guarded and unreadable, hold a flicker of something raw and dangerous as they lock onto yours.

“I thought we were supposed to be resting,” you murmur, breathless and teasing, your voice barely above a whisper.

A dry, humorless smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “Resting can wait,” he replies, fingers trailing down your side with a featherlight touch, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You laugh softly, the sound shaky but amused. “That sounds like a warning.”

“Maybe,” he says, voice low and rough, “but also a promise.”

His lips press harder against yours, deeper now, and the slow exploration melts into something fiercer. His hands roam your back, sliding beneath your jacket, skin meeting skin, igniting a fire that burns through the cold quiet of the room. You arch into him, craving more of the warmth and sharp edge of his touch.

The scent of dust and old wood mingles with his clean, smoky scent, grounding you as your breaths mingle in the close space between you. His grip tightens slightly, fingers digging into your waist as if to anchor himself, and you respond with a shiver, lips parting, inviting him in.

He captures your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently before dipping his head to trace a path down your jawline, each touch sending sparks that ripple through your nerves. Your hands clutch at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer until there’s no space left between you.

The window’s cold press contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from your bodies, and you feel dizzy, intoxicated by the sharp edges of his presence and the softness hidden beneath.

Neither of you speaks. There’s only the sound of ragged breaths, the faint city noises outside, and the relentless beat of your heart syncing with his.

When you finally break apart, your lips swollen and your chest heaving, you catch your breath and look up into his eyes—dark, intense, and unreadable, but with a hint of something fragile just beneath the surface.

“What now?” you whisper, voice trembling between hope and fear.

His hand finds yours, thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “Now,” he says quietly, “we figure out how to survive—together.”

And in that moment, with the world outside forgotten and only the heat of your bodies left, it feels like that might just be enough.

___________________________________________________________________________

After a moment, his hands slowly slide down from your waist, but the tension between you doesn’t lessen—it only shifts, deeper, more intimate. He steps back just enough to glance around the dim room, then without a word, his eyes flick back to you, sharp and unreadable.

You move first, breaking the space between you as you take his hand, tugging him gently toward the battered bed pushed against the far wall. The mattress is thin and stained, far from comfortable, but right now it’s a sanctuary.

As you both settle onto the edge, your fingers don’t leave his hand. Instead, they curl tighter around his as your bodies lean in closer, the warmth radiating from him pulling you like gravity.

His lips brush against yours again—lighter this time, like a secret shared in the quiet dark. Your breath catches, and you close your eyes, letting yourself fall into the moment.

One hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. You respond by tilting your head, deepening the kiss until it’s slow and endless, like time has stopped and nothing else matters.

His other hand drifts down your side, fingers skimming just beneath your shirt, warm and steady. You shiver, heart pounding, the contact both electric and grounding all at once.

The weight of his body shifts against yours as he moves closer, chest pressed to chest, breath mingling with yours in the dim room. You feel his pulse under your fingertips, steady and sure—like a quiet promise amid the chaos.

You pull back just enough to catch his eyes, searching for the usual unreadable calm behind them. But now there’s something softer there, something almost hopeful.

He gives you a brief, almost-smile—one that doesn’t quite reach his lips but somehow says everything.

“Not a bad place to rest,” he murmurs quietly, voice low and rough.

You smirk, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “Not bad at all.”

And then you’re kissing again—slow, tender, like you’re trying to memorize every inch of him, every quiet breath, every fleeting touch before the world pulls you back into its madness.

___________________________________________________________________________

The room is heavy with silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that settles between two people who don’t need to fill every moment with words—yet the space still hums with something unspoken.

You shift closer, your fingers brushing against his hand, then daringly move to trace the line of his jaw. He tenses for a moment, eyes flicking to you, unreadable but alert.

Without a word, you press a soft kiss to his cheek—quick, tentative. He barely flinches.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice low, “you’re kinda hard to read, you know that?”

He lets out a dry chuckle, almost like a cough. “I’m not exactly an easy person.”

You grin, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re like a locked door, and I’m the stubborn key.”

His gaze sharpens, like he’s weighing the metaphor—and then he just shrugs. “I don’t know anything about this.”

“About what?” you ask, tilting your head.

“This,” he says, voice softer, but still cautious—the way someone unfamiliar with warmth might talk about fire. “Being close to someone. Relationships. …I don’t do well with it.”

You smile gently, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Well, lucky for you, I’m patient.”

He snorts softly, eyes half-lidded, a faint flicker of something like amusement breaking through. “That’s… dangerous.”

You laugh quietly, leaning in to steal another kiss—this one longer, softer. His lips part against yours, hesitant but not pulling away.

“Yeah,” you say, voice barely a whisper, “but I’m good at handling difficult things.”

He doesn’t respond right away—just looks at you with those dark, guarded eyes that somehow feel less distant now.

And in the quiet of the room, with your fingers tangled in his hair and your lips brushing his skin like a secret, you realize this is only the beginning.

[banj0possum]

Hi I'm wondering if you can make a platonic yandere zombie boys x child gender nutreul reder and they find us wondering around by our self and they basically adopt us

Zombie Horde x Child! GN! Reader

they have no idea what theyre doing

💀 Literally where did you come from..

💀 You just happened to wander into the mall they lived in and find Screw rummaging for stuff in an old freezer.

💀 He picks up your scent and looks at you, but..you're small..

💀 He smelled a human, what is this small creature??

💀 He approaches you curiously with chirps coming from his throat, poking at your tummy and picking up tiny strands of hair, just...looking at you..

💀 Then you let out a little giggle, huh???what???

💀 What noise are you making? Are you calling your horde?? Are there more of you?!?!

💀 So he ties a cord around you and brings you to the rest of the horde, keeping you at a distance as you run around, pulling at the leash.

💀 He calls the others and Ribs immediately sees you as food, but Bo holds him back by the collar.

💀 He doesn't know what you're doing here, but he does know youre supposed to be a baby human.

💀 Maybe lets keep you and raise you so you can grow up and be eaten! You know like cows and whatever humans did?

💀 Yeah sure, totally not gonna bite them in he ass one day.

💀 Bo is the first to take care of you, he just accompanies you while you walk around the mall.

💀 You arrive at the old arcade, most of the stuff there were broken or forgotten, there wasn't much use for arcade prizes or small candies after the apocalypse happened..

💀 He watches you run up to an old claw machine, the toys inside were still as pristine as they were years ago, the glass box acting as a protective barrier from the hands of time.

💀 Your face was practically on the glass as you stare at the fluffy toys longingly

💀 Bo watches as you almost whimper at the sight of them

💀 *sighhhh* well, wouldn't hurt to give you what you want right?

💀 You two leave the arcade with a bag full of fluffy new friends and a broken claw machine

💀 Next was Soda, he just tied you to a cord and just let you do whatever

💀 He kinda just ignored you until he hears you fall over and start crying

💀 oh oh no oh no

💀 please please dont cry uhh

💀 do you want food? uhhh uhhhh!!

💀 He hands you the juicebox he was saving for himself and you immediately stop crying and go on the run around

💀 oh no my juice!! better make sure you don't hurt yourself again

💀 He's so much more protective of you now, he makes sure you're playing safe or not putting something in your mouth you're not supposed to.

💀 Screw was kinda just..there

💀 Both him and Ribs looked after you together, it was more of Ribs watching you and Screw watching Ribs to make sure he doesn't eat you.

💀 The whole thing went to the 3 of you chasing a mutant animal around the mall together, giggling and playing the whole day

💀 They taught you how to be feral, Ribs is a bad influence..

💀 The horde gradually starts teaching you things like hunting or picking up scents

💀 Thinking about it now, they'd never imagine ever hurting you or making you cry

💀 During cold nights they all huddle together with you in the middle, keeping you safe from anything that would hurt you..

💀 Looks like they wont be raising you for meat any time soon..

[yyokkki]

Riddle Rosehearts

A former city boy who ran away from home after refusing to become a doctor like his mother was.

Actually works as a lawyer at a small firm in the nearest town. He commutes by car and it's only a 30 minute drive with minimal traffic (thank god cuz his road rage is abysmal) but he works remotely on most days.

Is often found at the town saloon (the community centre after you fix it!) holding tea parties with Trey, Cater, Ace and Deuce or at the local library.

Loved Gifts: Strawberry Tart, Fairy Rose, Ruby, Universal Loves

"...Oh! Ahem, thank you farmer. Expect a return gift in the mail soon."

Hated Gifts: Eel, Clay, Royal Sword Cola, Universal Hates

"Ugh! This is unacceptable!"

Trey Clover

The local baker! His family runs a bakery in the city and he moved to NRV on his own to open another branch of Clover's Confectionaries.

He says the fertile soil and rich foragables make it the perfect place to gather ingredients on his own.

Rumour has it he runs a backdoor business for specialty toothpastes.

Is often found at the town saloon serving his pastries for Riddle's parties or at his bakery tending to his mini garden at the back.

Loved Gifts: Limestone, Pearl, Candied Violets, Universal Loves

"Thanks farmer! How did you know I needed this? ...I don't owe you anything, right?"

For Limestone and Pearl: "This is perfect! Now, to extract the calcium carbonate..." (Yes, for toothpaste)

Hated Gifts: Broken Glasses, Mustard, Universal Hates

"Oh... Uh... Thanks?"

Cater Diamond

A social media influencer and former travel blogger.

Used to travel a lot but decided to settle at NRV. He claims it's because the scenery and people are 'cute'.

Occasionally will go to the city with Kalim and Lilia to perform and hold concerts.

Is in a band with Kalim and Lilia, plays the guitar.

Is often found at the town saloon with Riddle, Trey, Ace and Deuce or in the town square chatting up the other residents.

Loved Gifts: Spicy Ramen, Diamond, Universal Loves

"Aww, you shouldn't have! #lucky #cutefarmer"

Hated Gifts: Anything Sweet, Clay, Universal Hates

"Aww, thanks but no thanks. #lame"

Ace Trappola

The local carpenter! Stays at Night Raven Valley with his older brother who he learned all his tricks from (bad and good).

Loves causing trouble and playing harmless pranks on the other residents (Deuce is his biggest victim), good at magic tricks too.

Plays basketball on sunny Saturdays with Jamil and Floyd.

The first character you meet, who was assigned with fixing up Ramshackle Farm. Shit talks your farm right to your face and holds no remorse.

Is often found at the town saloon at Riddle's tea parties or at the back on the arcade machines.

Loved Gifts: Cherry Pie, Cherry, Royal Sword Cola, Universal Loves

"Dwoes the wittle farmer have a crush on me~ Ack, I'm kidding!"

Hated Gifts: Clay, Oyster, Universal Hates

"Gross! Do you hate me or something??"

Deuce Spade

The local mechanic/handyman! He's self taught and lives with his mom, Dylla Spade who handles the deliveries in town.

Used to be a delinquent but has since turned a new leaf.

His passion project is modding the hell out of his motorcycle and hitting the roads.

Goes on runs with Jack every sunny Wednesday.

Volunteers at the Adventurer's Guild and takes requests from the board for security as his goal is to become a full time officer in the future.

Is often found at the town saloon at Riddle's tea parties or at the back getting obliterated by Ace in Junimo Cart.

Loved Gifts: All Eggs (Except Void Egg), Omelette, Battery Pack, Universal Loves

"Farmer! I knew you were a real one!"

For Battery Pack: "Thanks dude! I needed this for the finishing touches..."

Hated Gifts: Void Egg, Juice (He drinks it, it just reminds him of Ace), Bell Pepper, Universal Hates

"Hah? Oh, I thought you were pickin' a fight..."

---

TWST x SDV Masterlist

Tag List (Interact with the linked post to be tagged in future updates mwah)

[mochacoda]

[teaser] too nice | hjs

Pairing: Hong Joshua x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Joshua Hong is nice. Too nice. He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. The answer is, no. Problem is, he's your coworker and your neighbor.

Content: Fluff | Coworkers to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: slightly insecure reader, totally inspired by the Youngji chocolate milk grandchildren interview, lots of elevators, lots of tension, a bit of drinking, mutual pining, "sweetheart" as a petname, gentleman agenda indeed, except he goes a bit mad at the end, seungkwan is a comedic genius, woozi is the wingman of the year, konglish w/ context clues, reader is scared of loud noises, no "y/n"

Word Count: 9.9K (full)

Full Version: January 8 -> RELEASED HERE

Masterlist

Monday

Joshua Hong is nice. Really nice. He opens the door for you every morning walking into work. He insists that he carries heavy file boxes from your boss’ office to your desk. He buys you coffee from the cafe down the street, knowing that the instant machine is almost always broken. Whenever he passes you in the hallway, he always smiles and mouths “fighting!” He notices when your enthusiastic mask slips and your tiredness peaks through. He tells you not to work so hard, and asks if you’ve been sleeping well. 

He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. 

But the answer is, no. 

“He’s just like that. He’s nice to everyone. Get a grip.”

You sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror hanging above your vanity. You’ve been absentmindedly rubbing moisturizer on your cheeks for the last three minutes, at least, thinking about your coworker. How have you gotten to the point of talking to yourself in attempts to rationalize the thoughts of him clouding your mind?

All of a sudden, your alarm rings. You jolt upright, reminded that you have to leave your tiny apartment and head over to your equally small office cubicle. 

You quickly stand up from your vanity chair, then walk over to your closet to grab a jacket. Relying on muscle memory, your hand moves toward the hook it always lies on, only to swipe at air. 

The one and only winter coat you own isn’t there. 

You groan, remembering that you’d put it in the laundry bin after staining it with beer over the weekend, at that disastrous company “bonding” event. You look down at the taupe sweater you’re wearing, pinching the material to guess if it’d be warm enough. It’s barely a centimeter of fabric. 

Glancing at the time on your phone, you decide that the thin sweater would just have to do. 

You turn back to the mirror to do one last check of your appearance, when something catches your eye. Sitting on your bedside table is the plushie Joshua had won for you at the arcade. The bunny stares back at you innocently. You’d placed it there last night before crashing out on your bed, fatigued from the chaos of the company outing—or, more specifically, the secondhand embarrassment recalling your attempts at trying to be normal around Joshua.  

You shake your head roughly. You could cringe at yourself on the way to work. Grabbing your work bag and shoving your shoes on, you rush over to the door. 

Squaring your shoulders, you open it and walk out. And for a moment, as you’re turning your key to lock the door, you think that you’ll be alone for the commute to work for once. 

But then you hear a familiar voice.

“Good morning!” 

You tense, heart beginning to race, then turn around with a weak smile.

“Hi, Joshua.” 

Somehow, you’re not only coworkers with your crush, but also next door neighbors. 

“Hey,” he says, then takes a sharp breath. “It’s pretty cold today. Is that sweater going to be warm enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, avoiding eye contact as you drop your keys into your bag. “It can’t be that cold.” 

You adjust the bag strap on your shoulder and walk toward the elevator on your floor, pressing the down button. It immediately opens.

“You sure?” 

You nod as the two of you walk inside the elevator. 

Hoping he’ll stop pushing you on your lack of a coat, you ask, “Did you look into the McKinley and Lee file yet?”

“Come on, it’s not even 9am and you’re already attacking me with work!” Joshua dramatically clutches his chest, then lightly punches your arm. “What’d we say about 워라밸, huh?”

You feel your face getting hot, your right hand reflexively going up to where he’d touched your left arm. Was it always this toasty in the elevator?

Meeting his eyes for the first time today, you say, “Yeah, yeah, work-life balance. You’re right.”

His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle into bright crescent moons. You find yourself smiling back at him, despite having tried so hard to avoid his stupidly sweet gaze.  

“I’m just teasin’, you know?” he says, leaning casually against the steel walls of the small elevator.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble again, rubbing the handle of your bag and tapping your foot to give yourself something else to focus on, suddenly aware that the two of you were alone. 

God, could the elevator move any slower? Fidgeting with the loose threads of your sweater, you were on the verge of melting from being near his vicinity for so long. 

Ever since Joshua Hong had arrived two months ago as a transfer from the Seoul branch, you haven’t gone a day without running into him. It was HR’s fault, really. The Human Resources department had placed him in yours, and also gave him the company-funded apartment next door to you. 

He’d spent so much time around you that, if you didn’t see the people who regularly flocked to him, you’d think you were his only friend in the States. It was, and still is, ridiculous. His constant presence has meant that you are constantly aware of yourself. Of how you’re breathing too loud, and how your heart is beating too fast, and how you were in too much of a rush to do your hair and makeup this morning. He makes you care more than usual about how well you perform at work, and, worse, he makes you think about how happy and funny you appear to be. 

The way he teases you for being nervous (although that’s only because he’s around practically all the time) and the way he always notices when you aren’t feeling well—it’s as if he sees right through you. Yes, he sees right through you, and it’s incredibly scary knowing he could confront you at any time—maybe even in this elevator—and say that he’s known all along that you’ve had feelings for him. And what’s worse is that you know he’d be polite with his rejection. He’d be a gentleman, carefully letting you down with—

“Hello? Hellooo?” Joshua says, waving his hand in front of your face.

You jump, blinking rapidly. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“We’re here, sweetheart,” he says gently.

“Oh,” you reply lamely. 

He gestures with his hand for you to walk out of the elevator first. Inside the lobby, he walks by your side. As the two of you approach the door, he reaches it first, and opens it for you to head outside. 

You’re immediately hit with a blast of winter and harsh winds. Your arms instinctively tighten around your stomach, trying to prevent the cold air from rushing up your sweater. 

Joshua turns to you, brows furrowed. His eyes glance over your sweater again, and you can tell he’s about to say something. Certain it’s an I told you so, you quickly say, “Before you start, I’m fine. It’s really not that cold, and the bus is coming soon anyway.”

You march forward toward the crosswalk before the bus stop, knowing he’s following behind you. Once you reach the start of the white lines, you slow down to a stop, waiting for the signal to change. 

Still behind you, Joshua says, “거기 있어봐.” 

“왜?” Though confused, you listen to his request to stay where you are. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling somewhat awkward just standing with your back turned to him. 

He doesn’t answer your question why, but you hear a shuffle and the sound of fabric rustling. Then you feel a warm coat draped over your shoulders. 

You turn back to face Joshua with a start, opening your mouth to protest.

But before you can get a word out, he takes his pointer finger and lightly presses it against your lips. 

“Shh,” he says with a smile. “Tomorrow, wear a jacket, okay?” He pats the top of your head. 

Speechless, you barely bring yourself to nod, then remember to shut your jaw. Let’s just survive this bus ride, you tell yourself. God, it was unfair how nice he was. It only made it harder for you to believe he was like this with everyone—or to stop hoping that, somehow, you might be the exception. 

Masterlist

Author’s Note: hi hope u liked it :) full version RELEASED HERE

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

10. Always worth your time 💌

If arrogance is a cloak, he wears it proudly

A golden smile with silver teeth approaches you. His ginger hair falls smoothly in elegant curls, draping near the white headphones over his neck. His red top contrasts the blue hues of his eyes, followed by an expensive car that pops out in the background.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was made with money.

“Heard you need a ride?” His teasing tone continues.

You grin, “I recall, saying no?”

He shrugs, before grabbing your bag from your shoulder, and walking to the passenger seat, holding the door open for you, “And I recall not responding, so where are we going?”

“Supposedly at my student’s house for a tutoring session, but her mother cancelled.”

He gasps sarcastically, “Then I get to have you all to myself today?”

“By whose words?”

“Mine.”

“It better be worth my time.”

He winks, “I’m always worth your time.”

—

If spontaneous is a person, you’ve met him.

“You broke the damn machine!” You whisper-yell to the ginger in front of you whose jaw almost reaches the floor as he looks from left to right, checking for prying eyes.

He sighs in disappointment while sliding the palm of his hand on the window of the claw machine, observing how the plush toy drops back to its friends, “I wanted the duck.”

“You can’t have everything in life.”

“Yes I can.”

You shake your head, “It won’t even scan your card. I think that’s a sign that we need to leave. Besides, these games are a scam.”

“99% of gamblers quit before they win,” He scans his arcade card once again. It’s like arguing with a brick wall. Miraculously, the once “broken” machine finally activates.

You raise a brow, “Embarrassing yourself again?”

He rolls up his sleeves, revealing his muscular arms before circling his right shoulder back and forth, “Watch.”

His gaze focuses on the yellow duck, carefully aligning the metal claw before squinting and pacing around the machine, looking through each window from every angle.

You pinch the bridge of your nose while trying to stifle a laughter.

Then, he presses the button.

Two pairs of eyes follow the claw machine descend, grabbing the toy. It feels like at any moment the metal grip will slip, but it doesn’t.

Because the duck drops in the prize hole.

Childe falls to his knees before thanking the gods above, whispering sweet nothings in the air repeatedly.

Strangers ranging from kids to teens pass by with knitted brows, deciphering the scene in front of them. It takes you courage not to walk away and pretend you never met the ginger.

Thankfully, he stands up and hands you the duck.

“Didn’t you want this?” You ask.

“I did. I wanted it for you.”

“Oh, I—“

“There’s a photo booth over there. We should take a picture,” He points to the silver booth across the arcade before slipping his fingers between your own and dragging you towards his desired destination.

He continues talking, but every word becomes a void. Your thoughts are frozen. Eyes trained on one thing: his soft hands holding yours as his thumb gently circle your skin while he remains unaware.

“Are you feeling well?” He tilts his head, scanning your face for signs of discomfort.

You don’t even notice you’re inside the booth, “Of course! Let’s start.”

He nods, “Alright, what pose should we do?

You scan the tiny space until you spot a box underneath the bench, “Wait! They have props.”

You snatch a Minnie Mouse headband, adjusting it on your head, while he leisurely grabs the Matching Mickey Mouse version.

“Does it have to be the mouse?”

You chuckle, “Scared to relive the past?”

“Shut up.”

The screen starts counting down as you adjust inside the camera’s frame. Childe follows suit before placing his right arm around your shoulder, featuring a genuine grin.

“We should do a couples pose.”

You elbow his stomach, “You wish.”

Four more pictures were taken until the booth starts printing each one in a row.

“Should we grab lunch?” You ask, realizing the time after opening your phone for the first time since arriving.

“Yeah…” He leads the both of you towards the exit. The photo strips on his hands as he scans them individually.

In the first picture you’re wearing the matching Mickey Mouse headpieces.

In the second frame, he makes a giant heart with his left arm, expecting you to finish it. Instead, you do a thumbs up, grinning at him while he smiles tenderly back.

In the third photo your backs are against one another while making gun poses like Mr. and Mrs. Smith. You’re wearing black glasses with a serious expression and he is laughing with messy hair covering one eye.

In the fourth picture, he’s on his knees once again—both hands up in the air as you strangle him on the neck.

In the last picture, he’s wearing a fox hat while you’re wearing a bunny head piece, referencing Jude Hopps and Nick Wilde. His right arm is resting on the top of your head, smirking as you pout, looking up at him.

“Is it that special?”

He hums, eyes still glued on the photos, admiring your beauty, “Very.”

If attraction is a season, now he knows why leaves fall in autumn.

NOTES:

i’m back lol i hope all of you are doing well 😍

i failed my calc test, my grade went from a 96 to an 88, i’m TWEAKING but it’s okay IM COOKED (the asian in me wasn’t working today bruh) i was born a writer not a mathematician. but i’ll bring it up trust

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.

CHILDE x FEM!READER

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[twst-drabbles]

Idia 7

Summary: The glass case was something of a sacred place of his. So much so that you had to cover it with a sheet because Idia would get too nervous, or grumpy, to eat anything. So, imagine your surprise when you saw a little yellow eye staring straight at you.

(Idia has two glass cases, one inside the house and one outside of it, to encourage Idia to be outside more. Though, he still prefers to be inside ever since he discovered the wonders of AC and other temperature regulating things. Anyway…)

As time goes and as more and more pets become permanent residents in your house, Idia was becoming more…irritable. Overstimulated, if you will. It's not outside what you were expecting, as a wisp, he's used to isolated-ish pond areas and scaring away people that want to disturb that, but he can't really engage with that behavior here.

Idia has tried to nip at the plant nymphs and the seafolk when they're having their fun in the pond, and all it took was a simple stare at Idia to stop.

…though you do try to keep that stern stare to a minimum, you think you nearly gave him a meltdown. That day, you found out wisps cry fire sparks. It was pretty, but you don't want to give Idia too many bad memories.

At least he's taken to the glass case indoors whenever the sun was out. It was a little aways from the front door, but stuffed in a corner where no one can stare at him when eating in the dining room. A dark little place where you can see his brilliant flame even through the thick white sheet you've draped over it.

Oh yeah, the sheet… You had to put that thing on because the sight of strangers even walking past him gets him all tied up. Reminded you a feral cat or dog that didn't want to give up it's sleeping spot, even though the only crime someone did was simply walk by. And then he wouldn't eat for the rest of the day, preferring to press buttons on the various mini arcade machines you've had in storage.

So, that being said, Idia's a sensitive little creature, but he is very easy to take care of once you've figured out his limits and how to deal with them.

So, imagine your surprise when you spotted a little yellow eyes peering at you from behind the white sheet, with the glass case door open just enough for Idia's little body. You can hear the music of an old action film being played, probably coming from an old phone you've handed to Idia. Disconnected from the internet of course.

You blinked. "You need something?" He didn't need food, you slid some through the little hatch door you had requested. Same for water and other forms of entertainment.

…maybe he broke something?

"Hang on, I'm coming."

Idia, upon seeing you coming his way, dipped right back inside his case, but didn't close the door. In face, he opened it wider, so you knew you were welcome.

You didn't shove your head inside since it wasn't that deep of a place. There was enough light--on the account of Idia--to see everything without much of a problem. To the left, pressed against the hatch door, there was a white porcelain bowl filled with a mix of pet pellets and just a bit of broken up pet-safe candy, butterscotch flavored this time. Nice and full still. Lined up and hugging the back end of the cabinet was Idia's mini arcade machines, still charged up and working as they should be, with a black bean stress ball acting as a bean bag. And to the right was Idia's resting place, with your old phone propped up and acting as a mini TV, a pile of cloth napkins on top of a flat feather-filled comforter, and Idia sitting right on top of it, eyes glued to the movie playing the climax.

Nothing seemed to be broken. Everything is as it should be. Idia was just…relaxing.

"Okay? If nothing's wrong, I'll be closing the door."

The minute you backed away, Idia zipped from under his blankets and grabbed at your sleeve.

"…Idia?" You raised an eyebrow.

A whispery squeak escaped his doll-like body. He looked down, hunching his shoulders and his flames began to die down. But he didn't let go.

"…You want me to watch a movie with you?" You guessed.

A pause, and then the tiniest of nods.

You smiled and couldn't keep the chuckle from your voice. "Guessing the movie's that good, huh? Alright, alright."

Idia, looking ready to retreat his flames within his body, brightened up so suddenly that stars danced in your vision. His gem eyes sparkled, arms flapping as he zipped inside and pushed all the arcade machines right into the corner before pushing the phone more into your sight. He also grabbed his food bowl and moved it until it was closer to you than it was to him.

Really wants a movie night, huh? Alright.

"Let me get a chair first, okay? I've been on my feet all day." You could use a break.

[runningoutofink8]

keeping up with the hawthornes arcade machines and sibling things - part 1 ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

a/n: libby and jameson!! one of my favourite tig duos that i created in my head and that i need more of. kind of short. i sort of love this?? hope you enjoy reading x pairings: jamesonlibby (platonic), averyjameson (mentioned), libbynash (mentioned) wc: 761 synopsis: libby’s losing (again) in the hawthorne arcade war, but jameson shows up with snacks, sarcasm, and a suspicious urge to bake. threats are made, lifesavers are exchanged, and chaos is inevitable.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"lib."

"jamie." jameson could hear the smile in her voice.

he walked into the game room where libby hawthorne was, very loudly, attempting to beat xander's high score in Donkey Kong 64 Bananza, her eyes focused on the flashing screen. the arcade machine in question had suffered times of trial and suffering these past few weeks as an all out tournament had broken out between the four hawthorne brothers and their girlfriends.

libby and max had taken it to another level of competitiveness as nash and xander seemed to have effortlessly beaten their records every single time they managed to reach the top of the leaderboard. jameson himself knew that his brothers were going easy on them, allowing them to feel good about themselves for a few minutes before mercilessly crushing them afterward.

it wasn't out of character for xander but certainly for nash, who had recently been competing against libby in absolutely everything leading up to the pregnancy, just to get her mind off her soul crushing fear of childbirth, which she had vocalised to her sister numerous amounts of times.

jameson leaned on a nearby machine while watching her, his lips quirking upward at her concentration.

once the machine she had been playing on made a sound of blatant disapproval and flashed the words 'GAME OVER' on the screen while also showcasing xander's high score to libby in big flashing white lights, (which jameson thought was quite cruel), she let out a long breath of frustration, muttered something under her breath (which sounded suspiciously like the words, 'gosh darn hawthornes') she turned to look at her younger brother in law, blowing a piece of her newly dyed dark brown hair out of her face.

"im so sorry about this love, but i think i may have to murder your brother in the dead of night."

"which one?" jameson asked, smirking at her almost murderous tone.

libby looked up at the ceiling, seemingly contemplating who she should assult. "all of them. except you." she added after a thought.

"lib you wouldn't know murder if it smacked you in the face."

"okay, wow, screw that, you can die too." jameson laughed. libby gave into a begrudging smile.

"how's ave?" she asked him.

"ridiculously excited to be an aunt. how's nash?" jameson rolled his eyes lovingly.

"pretty much the same." libby smiled just thinking about him. jameson made a face at her, libby stuck her tounge out at him.

"nash is going to be an aunt? why does nobody tell me these kinds of things?"

"oh shush you." libby shook her head at him, grinning, "why are you here jameson hawthorne?"

"can't a guy just want to spend time with his sister in law?" libby raised a brow in doubt.

"really?"

"really." jameson nodded and looked at her. libby heard the sincerity in his tone and cocked her head at him.

"really." she reiterated in mock suspicion. jameson scoffed in offence and leaned back against the arcade machine dramatically.

"i'm wounded! here i am, bringing you snacks, offering you quality time, and you question my motives?"

libby's entire face lit up. "you brought me snacks?" jameson narrowed his eyes at her before sighing in resignation and bent down to grab through the bag he had brought with him.

"...so you don't even care about me..." "....i see how it is...." "COMPLETELY ignore my proposition of quality time..." he grumbled while rifling through the black bag, procuring a packet of lifesavers and handing it to her.

"raspberry flavour?" she asked him, looking up. he nodded his head while rolling his eyes fondly.

"score! okay you've earned my presence."

"gee thanks." he said sarcastically while watching her opening the bright pink packet, and popping a sherbet filled cylindrical gummy into her mouth.

"what were you thinking?"

jameson smirked.

'what are your feelings on helping me bake something?"

"i knew you had ulterior motives." libby accused, pointing a lolly at him. he plucked it out of her hands and popped it into his mouth. she narrowed her eyes at him. and them widened them again, confused.

"wait since when do you bake?" she asked.

"since nash and i had a bet going that i wouldn't be able to bake something edible." libby grinned.

"....i know we've had our differences, but...well...i mean we wouldn't want him to be right about something and contribute further to his enormous ego."

"my thoughts exactly." jameson nodded solemnly.

"what exactly were you thinking of baking, dear brother of mine?" their lips ticking up at the edges in unison.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

a/n : AHHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. let me know what you think!!!

xx mira