#everyone moved past the contest

[respectthepetty]

Hi Respect!

I really loved @placetneplacet's post calling out how Zo's fears around Joke went directly back to his interactions with Puen, and you highlighting the specifics of how it's impacted Zo throughout the series. You both tapped so adeptly into something I've been rather incoherently rambling about, regarding how fear is a reoccurring motif in the show. And I was curious about your thoughts (and anyone else's) on how Joke's fear is being portrayed so far. We're seeing him push through a lot of more...I don't want to say superficial, because they're still quite valid...but more traditional human phobias (height, rollercoasters, etc) due to his desire to be near Zo. But there was that one scene where he absolutely panicked at Zo not answering the door & phone, to a rather excessive degree (I think most of us would assume our friend was asleep or stepped out without their phone before we decided they were probably dying and needed our help). So it seems that he's able to overcome fears in order to get closer to love, but that same love is also his biggest Achilles' heel around fear.

It feels to me that Joke has a rather substantial fear around loss based on something that happened in the past. And I'm wondering if there's going to be something revealed that will cause Zo's fear to retrigger, and maybe pull back, and then that will create issues around Joke's fear around losing Zo...

Anyway, would love to hear your thoughts!

(Adore your color analysis, btw)

@befuddledcinnamonroll, this is me after reading this -

@heretherebedork has mentioned a similar idea that Joke has his own issues with abandonment and loss due to the way he reacts to Zo's distance.

I'm of the mind that Joke is simply a lovesick guy who subjects his cousin to Sad Boy Karaoke when Zo avoids him.

But you and @heretherebedork have pointed out several instances of Joke panicking when it concerns Zo like the apartment moment.

And @chicademartinica mentioned that episode three was just forty-five minutes of watching Joke panic to the point that he showed up in the middle of the night outside of Zo's apartment

All because Zo was "acting weird earlier."

When it was because he touched Zo, and Zo ran for the hills.

TWICE!

But now that I think about it . . . maybe I've been too dismissive of Joke's behavior.

I took Joke for being the usual pushy seme in a BL, but when it comes to Zo, he is really pushy.

I have defended Joke's behavior because, to me, it's needed to break through Zo's resistance, but . . .

Each time Joke has been called out for his behavior, he offers a variation of this response:

And next week, when confronted with his hidden agenda (if it isn't him conspiring with Pat to get Zo, I'm going to be shocked - LOOK AT THE REFLECTION!)

He offers the same reasoning - due to his actions being based on his care for and of Zo, he wasn't in the wrong.

Which leads to Zo getting upset.

During their pseudo-date, Zo told him the story of roses.

In response, Joke mentioned he would never let his lover go.

Joke stated he "would never let someone [he] loves face danger alone."

We have four episodes left and have no idea where Joke's parents are. Why did he take Zo to meet his grandmother, and not his parents? But we've seen Joke cover for Nita to protect her from a stalker to the point that he didn't defend himself against rumors. And we saw how he reacted to James and Puen hurting his loved ones.

Joke's reactions are reasonable to me, but both Nita and Zo had to drag him off James, and Joke wanted to fight Puen so the second Puen grabbed Zo's arm, Zo had to tell Joke to back off.

I want there to be a reason beyond love that makes Joke so protective, but like you mentioned, what if love really is his Achilles' heel? What if Joke gets so blinded by love that he can't see reason? What if he wants to protect Zo so badly because one time he didn't?

And what if it all stems from the freshy contest?

Because even then, Joke had his reasons.

Perhaps the one time Joke didn't cross the line and didn't push back, was the one time he didn't protect Zo.

And he can't allow that to happen again.

[amberautumnfaebrooke]

i think i could design a better death arena for children than those hunger games amateurs.

the whole premise of the games is all pageantry. every year you get a crop of 24 candidates around whom the entire state media apparatus dedicates an entire year to building celebrity narratives. this candidate is the younger sibling of last year's winner - these candidates are young lovers forced to compete - he's smart - she's fast - root for them, care about them, watch them, form opinions on them, bet on them. and then they stick them all in an arena to kill each other, which is a great entertainment premise, except that they make the arenas themselves really boring and generic. ooo, they're in...a forest.

it's not even an interestingly designed forest. imagine if the game designers treated their arena like an actual video game designer treats level design. discrete zones with multiple paths between each room, creative use of lighting to guide players to points of interest, points of interest scattered across the map, discoverable resources hidden to encourage exploration. instead they just have a generic outdoors location and if you get too close to the edge they throw a random fireball at you.

the 75th games are especially bad about this. the arena is laid out radially into 12 wedges, and each hour one wedge becomes especially dangerous in a 12-hour loop. as a mechanic, this is genius. it forces everyone to keep moving, making "survival by hiding" an engaging and tense viewing experience instead of someone sitting in a tree for three days. plus, it encourages players to return to the center of the arena, where travel time between wedges is short, which creates a high-value zone for players to regularly return to and conflict over. in other words, it's a mechanic which incentives players to adopt dramatic, dynamic, exciting behaviors which are entertaining to watch (not to mention it communicates geography to the audience well). but it only incentives those behaviors if the players understand what's happening, and they go out of their way not to tell the players anything! when they figure out what's going on, the showrunners spin the arena to disorient the players, like they're intentionally trying to get them to just. randomly wander the jungle instead.

this isn't even to mention how often they create undramatic, boring deaths. they plant poison berries around the arena. they supply no fresh water and no way to get it. they roll poison clouds over sleeping victims. these happen to work out in the books themselves but you have to imagine that extremely often these just result in players dying unexciting deaths.

the cardinal sin though, of course, is that nothing is done to personalize the arena for the crop of contestants that year. if i'm designing the 75th hunger games and two of my most beloved contestants famously had to cancel their wedding because of a return to the games, i would OBVIOUSLY give them a trail of, i don't know, wild game which conveniently leads directly past a well defended wedding chapel. will they hole up there for a while? hold a mock ceremony for themselves? do or receive ironic violence here? stare wistfully and move on? any of it is better television than getting attacked by generic attack monkeys. you should have a dozen of these things on the map for every single candidate. but the game makers are more interested in doing the same thing every other game has done than in telling a compelling story.

it makes me second guess enjoying the children's murder arenas at all.

[bytemee]

۶ৎ STUNNER — yu jimin.

“my little angel in disguise..."

⌗ in which— you're a painter who hasn't picked up a brush in months. then one night at your best friends gallery, you meet a stranger who inspires you more than you ever thought possible. you don’t know her name. you don’t know that she’ll disappear before morning. you don’t know that when your hands finally remember how to move, how to paint, it’ll be her face staring back at you from the canvas.

but—when your best friend sees your finished piece, she says eight words that change everything:

"why the hell did you paint the princess?"

pairing. princess!karina x painter!fem!reader

warning(s). language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mild angst, kissing + implied nsfw but not explicit, happy ending.

word count. 5.7k

authors note. @bimkayd for u. i also have to update my masterlist...bad.

when creativity strikes, it strikes.

like, really fucking hard. and it always comes at the worst times—when you’re in the shower, when you’re half-asleep, when you’re five minutes away from an important meeting you don’t even want to be at. but for the past few months, it hasn’t come at all.

time blurs when you’re stuck in the same four walls, staring at blank canvases like you're trying to have a staring contest with them. the paints dry in their tubes, waiting for you to wake up from whatever this is—this rut, this drought, this fucking nothingness in your head.

yunjin tells you it’s a phase. "everyone goes through it," she says over the phone, her voice tinny with excitement, too busy preparing for her own gallery opening to properly pity you. “come to my exhibit tonight. it’ll help.”

so you go to her art gallery opening. you haven't been out of the house in weeks. you haven't painted anything worth showing in months. it's a miracle you can dress yourself and brush your teeth without collapsing.

the gallery is packed when you arrive, an ocean of well-dressed bodies moving in slow currents, sipping expensive champagne from delicate flutes and admiring the artwork. most of these paintings are by yunjin herself—all bold colors and abstract shapes—but there are a few others here, too, and you spend some time wandering around, looking at them all.

your favorite is a painting done in blues and greys, full of sharp angles and harsh shadows. the paint looks thick enough to feel under your fingertips. there's a small plaque in front of it that reads "untitled" and nothing else. you stare at it for what feels like hours, but it must only be minutes because when you look up, yunjin is standing beside you, smiling.

"do you like it?" she asks.

"i love it," you reply. "it's stunning."

she laughs. "that's what i was going for."

yunjin nudges you playfully with her elbow. “so? feeling inspired yet?”

you scoff, but it lacks real bite. “i don’t think staring at other people’s work is going to magically make me able to paint again.”

“maybe not,” she muses, taking a sip of champagne. “but getting out of your own head for once might.”

you don’t have the energy to argue with her. not when she’s right. not when she’s always right.

you then let her drag you through the gallery, introducing you to people whose names you’ll forget before the night is over. collectors, critics, other artists—everyone here looks effortlessly put together, as if they belong in a world you haven’t touched in far too long. you nod, you shake hands, you make small talk. it takes every ounce of strength you have just to act normal, as if you haven't been locked inside your own head for months now. as if there isn’t a black hole where your creativity used to be.

"your work is so… bold," says one woman, sipping from her champagne flute. "i love it."

"thank you," you say, hoping your smile doesn't look as strained as it feels.

you glance around the room, looking for anything that might distract you from this conversation. a familiar face. a bathroom sign. anything. but all you see are unfamiliar faces and unreadable paintings on the walls, and suddenly you feel dizzy.

claustrophobic.

you need to get out of here.

now.

"excuse me," you mutter, slipping away from the woman before she can ask another question.

you don't know where you're going, but it doesn't matter. as long as it's somewhere else. your shoes click against the tile floor as you weave through the crowd, eyes focused on the exit ahead, sliding out the door into fresh air.

the night is cool on your skin, but not cold. you can still hear the sounds of the city echoing off the buildings, muffled music from inside the gallery mixing with distant traffic and the occasional car horn. it's a beautiful night, perfect weather for an art opening. if only you could appreciate it.

you lean back against the wall, fishing your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. they're crumpled up but still intact, thanks to the tin foil wrapper you put around them before heading over here. you've been trying to quit lately, but old habits die hard.

besides, you figure you deserve this one.

you light a cigarette and inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly, watching as it curls and dissipates into the air. it tastes terrible—like ash and chemicals and bitter regret—but it calms your nerves, just a little bit.

and then the door swings open again.

at first, you think it's security. some guy ready to kick you out for loitering in the wrong place. but then you see her, stumbling out the back entrance of the gallery, looking flustered and annoyed. she's wearing an expensive-looking gown with a slit up one side, showing off her long legs, and heels so tall you'd trip over them yourself if you tried to walk in them. her hair is perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless, but her expression says she wants to be anywhere else.

you stare, transfixed. she’s all contrast. elegance and frustration. poise and unrest. a picture-perfect masterpiece comes to life.

"do you have another?" she asks, motioning to your cigarette.

her voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you arch an eyebrow. she looks too perfect, too put together, to be standing here asking you for a cigarette. "you smoke?"

a pause. then, "no. never actually."

you laugh to yourself, not in a mean way, more like you're trying to convince yourself this isn't actually happening. "so why'd you ask me for one?"

"because i want to try," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "i want to try something new."

she’s so fucking out of place here. all that polish, all that perfection—it makes her look like a mirage, something that can't possibly be real. her hair’s perfect, her makeup looks like it was painted on by a master, and that damn dress? it’s made for a runway, not this alley. she’s like someone dropped a fantasy into a real, gritty world, and for some reason she ended up here.

her eyes don’t leave yours as she waits—most likely for you to respond, to offer the cigarette she asked for, to say something, anything—but you stay silent because your mind is working faster than your body right now, and you need a moment to catch up.

“you wouldn’t like it,” you finally say, once the gears have started turning again, your words sounding much steadier than you feel.

her eyebrow furrowed, her lips turning down just slightly at the corners. not quite a frown, not yet, but a near thing. you've never wanted to capture an expression on canvas as much as you do right now, her face in all its beauty and annoyance.

"why not?" she asks, sounding indignant, almost insulted. "do you not trust my judgment? my tastes?"

she seems to be talking herself into it, the challenge sparking something behind her gaze. and though her posture doesn't change, you can practically feel the determination radiating off her.

you laugh. "you're missing out on the exhibit, you know."

"i could say the same to you," she counters. "why are you out here?"

you could give her a simple answer, something about needing a break, needing air, needing to get away from the suffocating crowd of people who actually have something to show for themselves. but none of that would be the truth, so you simply shrug and say—

"—wasn't really feeling the whole art world pretentiousness thing."

"strange place to be if you're not a fan."

"my friend dragged me." you admit, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of your shoe.

she cocks her head to the side, eyes flicking down to the now extinguished butt before looking back up. it's her turn to stare at you. to take in your appearance—the plain button-up, dark dress slacks, and polished black leather shoes. if not for the tattoos peeking out from your sleeves and collar, you'd just look like another patron, dressed to impress and blend into the crowd.

"are you an artist as well?"

you smile at the question, "used to be."

her gaze softens, "used to be?"

"haven't painted in a while."

the pout is back, her eyebrows scrunching together as she stares at you, clearly processing this information, taking in your words and decoding them, working through their implications and how they fit into the context. she settles with, "well, do you plan to ever again?"

it's a simple question. one you should have a simple answer to, but life isn't simple. and art, well, art's a fucking mess. your shoulders rise before dropping.

"why not?" her eyes narrow. "have you given up?"

"not giving up." you tell her. "just stuck."

her lips press together like she doesn’t quite believe you. like she’s debating whether to push, whether to pry, whether you’re just making excuses.

"stuck how?" she asks, arms crossing over her chest.

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “you ask a lot of questions.”

“i like knowing things,” she says easily. “and i like understanding people. you intrigue me.”

it shouldn’t affect you the way it does. but those words—you intrigue me—they lodge themselves somewhere deep, twisting and turning like a key fitting into a lock you didn’t realize was waiting to be opened.

you glance down, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the pavement, considering how to answer. the truth is ugly. the truth is that you used to paint like your life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. it was your lifeline, your voice, your way of making sense of things when nothing else made sense.

and then, one day, it just—stopped. the inspiration, the fire, the need—all of it dried up, like a well you kept going back to, only to find it emptier each time.

"you ever look at something so much you forget what made it beautiful in the first place?" you ask instead.

she doesn’t answer right away; she just watches you, eyes flickering over your face. trying to read you is like a puzzle box. or a book. you wonder what kind of story she thinks she finds on your face. what she sees, besides the tired bags under your eyes and the slight tremble in your hands.

when she speaks, her voice is quiet. low. it carries across the distance between you and hits you right where it counts.

"i think everything can be beautiful again. if you look at it the right way."

"yeah?" you say, a little more bitter than you mean to. "that easy, huh?"

her lips quirk, not quite a smile, but close. "i didn’t say it was easy. i just think… maybe beauty isn’t lost. maybe it’s just waiting to be found again."

you swallow, forcing yourself to scoff lightly, to shake your head. "you always this philosophical, or is that just the champagne talking?"

she laughs, soft but real. "i haven’t had a single sip tonight."

"then what are you doing out here?"

"i needed fresh air."

your fingers twitch. she speaks again.

"and maybe you just need a new muse."

you wonder if she even realizes what she’s saying. if she knows that, somehow, without even trying, she’s already painting herself into every blank canvas in your mind.

the night unravels like a half-finished painting—smudged, chaotic, too many colors bleeding into each other. you don’t remember who kissed whom first, only that one second she was looking at you like she saw something worth figuring out, and the next, your hands were on her waist, and she was breathing against your lips.

it’s desperate. messy. her dress pools on the floor of your too-small apartment, and her skin feels like something you’re not supposed to touch but can’t help but reach for anyway. you don’t ask her name. she doesn’t ask for yours. it’s better that way.

and then, when morning comes, she’s gone. no note, no number, nothing. you don't have to guess if it was real or not because the memories are too vivid, too sharp, for it to be anything but. you lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over in your head.

the way she looked. the way she tasted. the way she felt.

your hands are itching, craving the feeling of your brush in your hand.

it’s not a choice. not really.

your body moves before your mind can catch up, reaching for the brushes, the paints, and the canvas that’s been gathering dust in the corner. the moment the bristles touch the surface, it’s like something clicks back into place—like an old wound finally scabbing over.

she appears in fragments first. the curve of her jaw. the slope of her neck. the way her lips parted like she was about to say something, only to change her mind. it’s obsessive, almost. you don’t even think about what you’re doing, only that you have to do it. the need rushes through you like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

you don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the act of pulling her from memory onto canvas. hours, maybe.

that’s how yunjin finds you.

she kicks the door shut behind her, dropping a bag onto the counter like she’s another name on your lease. "you alive?" she asks, but then she sees you—sees the paint on your hands, your clothes, your face. sees the finished piece propped up in front of you.

and she stops short.

"oh."

her tone is surprised, breathless, then she laughs, loud and disbelieving.

"oh my god," she says, eyes wide with something between amusement and shock. "why the hell did you paint the princess?"

you blink, exhausted. “what?”

she gestures to the painting like it should be obvious. “why did you paint the princess?”

your stomach drops. “the what?”

she stares at you. “you’re joking.”

“i—” you look at the painting. at her.

your pulse thuds in your ears.

“yunjin,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

it’s a joke. it has to be.

you wait for yunjin to laugh, to tell you she’s messing with you, but she doesn’t. she just stares at you, then back at the painting, then back at you again like you’re the dumbest person alive.

“you seriously didn’t know?”

your mouth is dry. you shake your head. yunjin lets out a sharp breath.

"oh my god. you—you slept with the princess, and you didn’t even know?” the words hit you like a punch. you stare at the painting—at her—but it doesn’t make sense.

princesses don’t sneak out of fancy events. princesses don't try to bum cigarettes off strangers in alleyways. princesses don’t have one-night stands with random depressed artists they meet in the back of art galleries.

you swallow hard, rubbing a hand down your face. “fuck.”

“yeah,” yunjin says, crossing her arms. “fuck.”

you stare at her, then at the painting, and then back at her. the gears turn in your head, trying to connect the dots, trying to fit this new information into the picture. "are you sure?" you ask, even though you know she wouldn't lie about this. "like, absolutely fucking positive?"

"of course i'm fucking positive!" she throws her hands up. "do you not pay attention to the news at all?"

your mind whirls with the new information.

it’s not that she was just some stranger slipping out before sunrise. she's a princess. a whole gorgeous untouchable, have you said untouchable? — princess.

and now she’s everywhere. on the news, in magazines, her face staring back at you from glowing screens and glossy pages. every headline, every camera flash, every fucking update on her. princess karina seen leaving in the royal car. princess karina attending an art gala. princess karina, princess karina, princess karina.

you try to forget. you try to be normal again—whatever that means. you go back to ignoring your canvases, sitting on the couch, flipping through channels you don’t really watch. you even let yunjin drag you out a few times, shove drinks in your hand, and tell you to move on already. but it doesn’t work.

because she’s still in your head.

so you chase.

not in the obvious way. not in the stupid, reckless, get-yourself-arrested-for-trying-to-climb-the-palace-gates way.

you chase in the quiet ways. the ways that don’t make sense to anyone else. the ways that make yunjin groan and say, “you are literally the most tragic idiot i’ve ever met. but i'll help you anyway."

and that's how you find yourself here. in a palace that is stupidly big.

like, what do you even do with this much space? big. it’s all gold and chandeliers and marble floors and suits of armor standing around, looking vaguely threatening. it makes your skin itch.

you don’t belong here. you know that. but neither did she, that night outside the gallery. and if she could slip out of this world for one night, maybe—just maybe—you can slip in.

yunjin had connections. she always did. you didn’t ask questions when she got you in, just pulled the sleeves of your borrowed suit down and tried not to look like you wanted to throw up.

you have a plan. it doesn't go smoothly.

"i'm sorry, miss. only those on the guest list may enter."

"oh, i—" you scramble to find an excuse. any excuse. "i am on the guest list."

the guard doesn't move. he doesn't even blink.

"what's your name?"

"uh—" your mind blanks. "it's a very long name. very, very long. with a lot of letters. like, a lot of them. you wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

the guard doesn’t look amused. or convinced.

"try me."

you throw out the first thing that comes to mind. "it’s, uh… y/n… the first… y/ln… the third."

silence.

then yunjin, from beside you, coughs so hard you think she might pass out. you nudge her with your elbow, but she’s already turning away, shoulders shaking.

the guard, however, does not laugh. he just stares at you like you’re the dumbest person to ever breathe.

"that’s not a real name."

"it could be," you argue weakly.

he crosses his arms. "it isn’t."

you exhale through your nose, willing yourself not to turn and run. not yet. not when you’re this close.

yunjin, finally recovering, clears her throat and steps in. "okay, okay, my idiot friend here—who, i assure you, is actually very harmless—just has a little bit of trouble with names. what they meant to say is that they’re a guest of lady yu."

the guard squints at you both, skeptical. "lady yu?"

"yes," yunjin says smoothly. "you know, lady yu. very high society. loves art. huge fan of… uh, brush strokes."

you resist the urge to slap a hand over your face.

the guard exhales, clearly debating whether dealing with the two of you is worth his time. eventually, he lifts a radio to his mouth, murmuring something you can’t hear. a beat later, he nods.

"you’re clear to enter."

you don’t ask how yunjin pulled that off; just grab her hand and pull her inside before the guy can change his mind.

and then you’re in.

the palace is even more ridiculous further inside. every inch screams money. gilded ceilings, more enormous chandeliers, even shinier marble floors that make you extra aware of how not rich you are.

you scan the room, searching, heart pounding in your throat. and then—

there.

at the far end of the ballroom, half-surrounded by nobles and dignitaries and all the kinds of people who actually belong here, she stands. regal. poised. effortlessly untouchable.

princess karina.

and she’s looking right at you.

you swallow. she arches an eyebrow. her expression shifts, then she's up and moving. in your direction. then, without a word, her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm but not rough, and she turns, pulling you with her.

you barely have time to process what’s happening before you’re weaving through the gilded halls, past guards who barely spare you a glance, past murmuring guests too distracted by their own conversations to notice the princess slipping away with some stranger in a borrowed suit.

she doesn’t stop until you’re deep in the palace, past the public rooms, past the private suites, past everything anyone else has a right to see. only then does she let go.

you swallow hard, rubbing at your wrist. "subtle."

she ignores you, crossing her arms. "what the hell are you doing here? you're not supposed to be here."

your throat feels dry. "i know."

"then why are you?"

you lick your lips, suddenly 1000x more nervous than you were standing outside the palace gates. "i—" you inhale sharply. "i tried to forget you. and i couldn’t."

"that’s unfortunate."

your chest tightens. "is it?"

she exhales softly through her nose. "what do you want, really?"

and it hits you, all at once, all over again. why you’re here. why you had to come.

you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. your eyes never leave hers. "do you know what it means to be a muse?"

that throws her. a small crease forms between her brows. "i—"

"it means you exist everywhere," you cut in before she can finish. "even when i try to ignore it. even when i don’t want to think about you. you show up in every color, in every stroke of my brush, in every painting i try to create. you are impossible to forget."

her mouth opens and closes. "that doesn’t—you can't—"

"it means you stole something from me," you continue, your voice growing softer as you close the last bit of distance between you. "something i didn’t even realize i was missing until you came into my life and showed me what it meant to feel alive again. you're my muse."

her breath catches at that, lips parting just slightly, as if to speak, but no words come out. you take advantage of the moment, reaching up to cup her face in your hands, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. she leans into your touch, eyelashes fluttering against her skin, eyes falling shut for a moment. and then they open again, dark and intense and so, so beautiful.

she searches your face as her hand reaches up to rest against yours. you want to kiss her, want to tell her you want her in the simplest terms, in a way that even a princess can understand. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against hers, and ask, "do you feel the same? was it real, what i felt between us?"

you barely whisper the question out loud, barely hearing her inhale as she closes the space between you. her lips brush against yours, featherlight but enough to make your stomach flip. “i can't be that for you,” she says against your mouth.

and your heart breaks. you know you were just a one-time thing, just a quick fling for her. it's the whole princess thing. you knew it would be complicated, but you couldn't stop thinking about her, and she's looking at you with such an intense look, a look that says she can't forget you either, and that has to be worth something, right?

you don't realize you said all of it out loud until she pulls away, blinking rapidly. "wait, no—that's not—that's not what i meant," she stammers, suddenly looking much younger and more vulnerable than you've ever seen her. "that night at the gallery, with you, was real. that was—it was the only time i've ever felt that way."

"but," like always

her gaze softens. "we can't. you can't just come in here like this."

she says the last bit as if you've done something wrong, and her hands pull back to her sides. you don't have it in you to care about her rules anymore. her hands fall to her sides, but you stay still, your forehead hovering near hers, your breath mixing.

"i don't care about protocol," you whisper. "i care about you."

"stop," she says, softer than before. "you can't just say things like that and expect me to—"

"expect you to what?" your voice rises, sharp edges showing. "feel the same? you already do. you’re just scared. and i get it. i do. but don’t pretend this didn’t mean anything."

"i'm not pretending," she snaps, taking a step back, composure cracking. "i haven't stopped thinking about you either, okay? but that doesn’t change the fact that this—us—it’s impossible."

"why? because you wear a crown and i wear paint under my nails?"

"because my life isn’t mine!" she yells. "because everything i do is watched and calculated and twisted into something ugly. if they knew you were here—if they saw us like this—"

"then let them see," you say, helpless and stupid and in love. "i'll stand in front of every one of them and say it. i'll tell them how i look at you like the sun rises in your mouth and sets in your goddamn spine. i don't care."

"well, i care!" she shouts, her voice shaking now, full of fire and something just comparable to fear. "i can't afford to want things. not like you do. not recklessly. i don't get to choose who i love."

it's quiet.

"you need to leave."

you don’t move.

"if you don’t, i'll call the guards."

you flinch, and she notices. her jaw clenches. it takes everything in you not to beg.

“don’t make me do that,” she whispers. “please. just go.”

your throat is tight. you nod once.

you turn, heart heavy, the room blurring at the edges. when you open the door, yunjin is waiting, quiet and still in the corridor, like she knew this was how it’d end.

you don’t say a word as she walks beside you down the long hallway, past the grand ballroom, and out of the palace. she doesn’t push for information or ask about what happened. she just lets you stew in your thoughts, and you are grateful. when you get back to your apartment, you collapse onto the bed. you don’t cry—you never really did, even in high school, and now doesn't seem like a good time to start—but you come pretty fucking close.

you lie there for hours. maybe days. hard to tell. just you, your ceiling, and the hollow space behind your ribs where your heart used to sit before she carved it out with a single sentence and left like it didn’t matter.

you tell yourself it was stupid to fall for her. she’s a fucking princess. what were you expecting? that she’d run off with you into the sunset like a fairy tale? that she’d burn her whole world down just to be with someone who wears the same hoodie four days in a row and forgets to buy groceries until you’re eating plain rice and mustard?

but it still hurts.

the gallery night is yunjin’s idea. she throws a flyer at your chest and tells you to “get a grip and make rent.” you roll your eyes, but deep down you know she’s right. you need something to do with your hands, something to keep you from climbing the palace walls like some deranged romantic with a death wish.

you don’t expect anyone to show up, but people come. some friends. some strangers. a few art freaks who talk way too much about your “use of longing and space.” you just nod along, pretending you're three seconds away from yelling in their face.

everything is her. every painting. every messy, unblended brushstroke. every fucking streak of white paint on the canvas because she wore that blue dress when you first met, and now it’s like your brain can’t forget.

the last person leaves, some guy who said a lot of things you didn't understand, and you don't really remember the specifics of it, but you're pretty sure you shook hands, and maybe he wrote down your name and contact info? you don't remember. but there are no more guests. so you’re cleaning up. closing things. mentally debating whether or not you can drink paint thinner and survive.

the door creaks open behind you, and you don’t even look.

“sorry,” you call over your shoulder, wiping your hands on a rag. “we’re closed. private event's over.”

no response. just the sound of the door shutting. then —

“are you always this rude to royalty?”

you freeze.

slowly, slowly, you turn around. and she's standing there, in a white coat with her arms folded against her chest. there are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn’t been sleeping either. it takes everything in you not to run to her. not to kiss her until she forgets all the reasons why she ran the first time. you settle for swallowing hard and clearing your throat.

“you could’ve just knocked."

“i did." she lifts her hand. “twice. and then i panicked and came in anyway.”

you stare. she fidgets.

she looks down at her shoes. looks back up again. looks back down again. like she doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she's here. finally, she takes a step forward. you take a step back. it's reflex at this point, some instinct to keep her from getting too close.

"i came to apologize," she starts, sounding unsure, which isn't like her at all. "for—everything."

karina runs a hand through her hair. your throat goes tight at the familiarity of the action, at how much she reminds you of that night, that stupid dress, and the way she kissed you, indicating that she didn’t care what came next.

you exhale.

"don’t apologize," you say, because the words feel heavy and foreign in your mouth, because she's been living a life you can't even begin to imagine, because none of that matters if she's here, looking at you like this, and you have to believe in something. "you didn't do anything wrong. and if anyone needs to apologize, it should be me. i shouldn't have—"

"you were right," she cuts in before you can finish.

it throws you. "what?"

she swallows hard, glancing down at the floor, at your shoes. then back up again, holding your gaze this time. "i don't know much about art, but i know what you meant…for someone to be your muse." her voice drops low. "and i think you're mine."

you blink. "oh."

a pause. her cheeks flush, eyes widening in panic.

"was that—did that make sense? i probably sound like a—"

"yeah."

you nod, trying not to smile as you watch her rambling, trying not to stare too obviously at how her whole face is blushing now.

you want to tell her everything. to show her everything.

you settle for, "i mean, it does make sense."

it does. it doesn’t. none of this does, not in a normal way. it's the kind of thing you tell your grandkids about someday. or maybe a therapist, if you can ever afford one. either way, it makes something flicker deep within your chest.

you pause.

"so what do you mean, exactly?"

her lips purse. her eyes are pleading now. she looks younger. more human. not so much a princess anymore as she does someone trying to figure out how to tell the world to screw off. you're struck, again, with how much you love her. it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

"i want this," she says quietly, gesturing between the two of you. "i want this so much it scares me."

you're not used to this, to feeling seen by someone who isn't yunjin, and it throws you off. you clear your throat again, shifting from one foot to the other. "i want this too."

a pause. you try not to stare too openly at her lips. you fail miserably.

"we'll figure it out," she says softly. "together. whatever that looks like."

"together."

the word hangs between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. and then—

you don’t even realize what's happening until she's already moving forward, pulling you down to her level. you can smell her perfume. you can see every single detail of her face as she stares back at you. your lips are a breath apart. she hesitates.

"tell me you don't want this," she murmurs. "and i'll go."

your chest constricts, throat tight. you want to tell her it'll never be easy, not when you're you, and not when she's her, not when this could be so much more complicated than either of you are prepared for. but you also want this, want her, want to know what her skin feels like against your palms and whether or not the words i love you sound good when spoken aloud. you swallow hard, hands tightening on her hips.

"i can't," you whisper. "i don't think i've ever wanted anything more."

a smile flickers over her face. it's gone too quickly. "good."

her lips are on yours, soft and gentle, and everything in your life shifts back into focus, into place.

there are things you can't explain. the way she feels pressed against your chest, warm and perfect and yours, for now at least. the way your hands shake when you brush your thumb over the curve of her cheek. the way she tastes like starlight.

and there are things you don't have to.

[muqingslover]

[ im back pookies and today I bring the LADS boys with alcohol! disclaimer: This is based purely on my opinion so don't get your panties in a twist. Or do. They're not my panties anyway ]

Sylus holds his alcohol the best out of everyone or anyone really. He will purposely challenge others to a contest knowing full well he will easily drink them under the table.

I believe he'd need some type of special liquor to actually get drunk because his body processes alcohol differently than humans and the usual is not enough.

Drunk Sylus is the most heartwarming thing you'll ever witness. He gets drowsy a few glasses in and sloppy enough that some of his dragon features will pop out. When the alcohol rushes to his head he turns into a mushy mess that wants to hold you like a teddy bear, softly purring against you all happy as long as you're in his arms.

Better pray that it's not summer because he gets soooo damn HOT when he's drunk it's like a very large oven.

As a result of the liquor he speaks a lot slower and quieter, but he sounds so gentle when telling you how much you mean to him, how much he's missed you while waiting all those years and confesses he's afraid you don't want him by your side anymore.

"Am I still your dragon?" His words are laced with apprehensiveness and his eyes resemble puppy dog ones when gazing down at you, hoping with all his might for anything besides a rejection.

+ Bonus: His hangover is only a mild headache when he wakes up and a bit of sluggishness during the day. He might not remember everything he said, but he knows he did say something based on how you act around him.

Rafayel is next. I think he used to drink periodically and actually does enjoy the taste of alcohol, specifically old and sweet wines, so he has a good tolerance built up. On the other hand, he holds back on ingesting heavy quantities nowadays because of how he is when drunk.

Walk with me bc in this blog I preach heavy angst for the fishie.

His tongue will get very loose once he is significantly inebriated, but most definitely not in a fun way— All the ugly feelings, frustrations and sorrows Rafayel keeps bottled up in his chest would come pouring out at once.

That might prompt some old grudges his heart still holds on to over the past the two of you share to come to light in a not so kind manner and cause all sorts of misunderstandings.

Rafayel will definitely regret his words in the morning and desperately try to apologize to you. Please sit down and actually talk.

+ Bonus: His hangover is more similar to "seasickness" than an actual hangover. He throws up even on an empty stomach and just lays on the floor of his bathroom because he has no energy to move at all.

Xavier is a similar case to our neighborhood dragon, but he fits more into a healthy middle category. I think he is rather neutral towards alcohol (not being particularly fond of it nor despising it altogether) and prefers when it's used as aromatic/enhancer for food instead.

He will usually have one glass, always on a full stomach, and then focus on stuffing his cheeks with food for the rest of the night since he claims it "dulls his senses".

H o w e v e r, when the booze hits him it hits him hard. Make sure you two are home because Xavier passes out right then and there and there's absolutely no waking that man up for the next three hours.

Another reason as to why I advise you to do this at home is because he WILL wake up exactly three hours later and the first thing he does is find and grab you regardless of where you are, what you're doing or who you are with.

This is Xavier's second phase of drunkenness: The hazy stage. He functions on impulses alone and all he wants to do is touch you, be it sexually if you're willing to indulge or simply holding you hostage for cuddling until his battery runs out again.

He won't really speak besides one syllable words answers if he reaaaally has to and communicates by acting on what he wants then looking at you for a reaction.

+Bonus: He has no hangover. At all. Man's as good as new the next day after a good nap.

Caleb is a weaker than the one before but still stronger than the next. This man is not a fan of alcohol in general, neither does he like if you drink, especially if done frequently. Not surprisingly the one preaching about how bad it is for your body is him.

If he did drink often though I believe he'd actually have a high tolerance so it's really just a matter of his body not being used to it. He's the type that takes longer to get buzzed but by the time he's one and a half glasses in it's game over.

PATHETIC MAN ALERT ‼️

His drunkenness has three stages:

We start off strong with his extroverted side receiving a big boost and suddenly he's the life of the party. He needs a literal leash because you blink and he's just gone ALNST reference!?. You'll find him outside doing the most random activity you can possibly imagine like finding something to show you (he might have stolen someone's dog without meaning to) or singing while laying down on the grass.

When you firmly tell him to stop and come along we hit pathetic dog stage. He is kneeling in front of your seat while holding you tightly by the waist, face buried into your lap as he asks you to not be mad at him because he hates fighting with you. Not even ten minutes later you'll feel your clothes getting damp from his tears because he feels dejected now that you're "all grown up and don't need him anymore" and how you apparently "hate him".

Finally, his unmatched self-control is the last one to go and, given the right opportunity, he will kiss you until both of you are out of breath and then pass out on top of you.

+Bonus: He does get a hangover, but only for the first few hours of the morning while his body is still waking up. For the rest of the day his muscles just feel really stiff and he's more irritable than usual.

Zayne is the biggest lightweight of all history and should have a sign around his neck that says "Do not give me alcohol". I believe he has a critical view on it— He knows it has both upsides and downsides so, unlike his bestie jk, he will tell you to drink with caution and follow the same advice though he leans more towards avoiding it completely for most the time.

While he will usually measure his words and only act after a certain amount of thought is given this man has absolutely zero control over himself when intoxicated.

He won't appear drunk at all, except for the flushed ears, until you talk to him and realize the filter between his brain and mouth is gone with the wind. You also need to keep Zayne far away from stores otherwise he will come back with six to eight different bags of sweets, plushies and some pet items because he's decided tonight is the night he gets a cat.

After chasing him, that was chasing a cat, around the neighborhood for an hour he will give up and looks so defeated while just sitting there it's both hilarious and endearing.

Please put him to bed and reassure him that all animals are not, in fact, plotting against him nor is he a "naturally bred cat repeller".

+Bonus: He has the biggest hangover known to man. The sound of his own voice makes him feel as if his head is being pounded like a church bell and the mortifying memories, oh yes he remembers every. single. thing, do not help him at all.

[liivzen]

Here’s the Chishiya x reader fic <3

Wc: 2k

warnings: making out, fingering (fem!receiving), almost caught, Cum eating (?)

a/n: sort of edited, lmk if it sounds like shit lol

——-

You were wondering around the beach, trying to enjoy one of the free nights you had with your newly extended visa. Once you got away from all the people partying, the beach was actually quite peaceful. Making your way around the buildings empty halls lost in thought, you find yourself by the room the executives have meetings in.

Walking by you saw that the room was cracked open and saw a figure sitting in one of the chairs. You step closer to the door to see who it was, trying to not make yourself known. Peeking through the crack, you see a blonde head of hair tipped back with their eyes closed. You were quickly able to tell it was Chishiya.

Now everyone knew that you had a thing for Chishiya. You tried not showing it but anytime the man spoke, you would listen so attentively. When the man was walking by your eyes would be trained on his figure. Sometimes if you were sitting in the same room, you would often just stare at him. Even right now, you couldn’t help but drag your eyes down his relaxed body. Safe to say- you were quite infatuated with Chishiya. However, your thoughts of him were quickly interrupted by a deep raspy voice.

“You going to just stand there or are you going to come in?” The man in front of you spoke, eyes still closed and head tilted back.

You jolted back, face burning up after being caught. You grab the handle of the door and slowly push it open, listening to the hinges squeak as it’s opened wider. You slowly walk into the room with slow steps closing the door behind you, stopping only a few feet past the door.

Chishiya finally opened his eyes and tilted his head back to you. He noticed that you were only a few step into the door and smirked at your timidness.

“What, don’t want to come any closer?” He speaks to you. Now that you were in the room you could see that his usually zipped up hoodie was unzipped, hands still in his pockets though. This and his comment catch you off guard, making you lose your of thought. After a few seconds, you shake your head and start to move closer. Eventually you make it to next to his chair, only a couple of feet from him now. After a second you gain the confedence to say something to him.

“What are you doing just sitting here?” You ask him, crossing your arms and trying not to stare at his very exposed chest.

“Why were you creeping at the door?” He asked you back, staring up at you and raking his own eyes up and down your body. In your process of crossing your arms, you failed to realize that you were pushing up your overly exposed breast that were in a bikini top. Realizing this, it makes you huff and drop your arms.

“I wasn’t creeping. I just saw the door open and was wondering who was just sitting here all depressingly.” You tell him, returning his stare. He just gives a small huff of a laugh and keeps staring at you. The two of you continue to have what seems to be a staring contest since neither of you want to blink before the other. You couldn’t hold up though, your eyes starting to water and eventually you blink and look away from the man sitting in front of you.

As you’re looking away, you see Chishiya stand up from the corner of your eye. You still didn’t want to look at him though, afraid you’d just keep looking at his chest that was still out in the open. By doing so, you failed to realize where Chishiya was standing now. He had stopped just a foot away from you, close enough to even smell now. You slowly turned your head stared up at the man in front of you. You were now backed against the edge of the table, your bottom pressing against the hard edge.

“I see the way look at me, you sure you weren’t creeping?” He whispered down at you with his smirk still on his face. He finally took his hands out of his pockets and placed them on the table, making you lean back and press your bottom even harder into the table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You tell him, adverting your eyes. However, you couldn’t do that for long before you felt a hand grab onto your face and turn you back to him. Now your faces were only an inch a part, you could even feel Chishiya breathe on your face.

“Why don’t you ever say anything to me huh?” He ask you, caressing the side the side of your face waiting for you to answer him. You give an almost audible gulp, staring into Chishiya dark eyes that were piercing into yours.

“I just didn’t think you’d want me around you.” You whisper back to him. Chishiya tilts his head at you, chuckling at your response. Bring his hand down to brush against your bottom lip.

“You think I don’t want you?” He asked but doesn’t let you respond because the next thing that happens is his lips pressing into yours. You’re shocked for a second before you melt into the kiss. Chishiya grabs onto your exposed waist, thanks to the swimsuit you’re wearing. Not sure what to really do with your hands, you just place them behind you on the table. After a minute, Chishiya pulls back just enough to say something to you.

“That tell you I want you around?” He tells in his raspy voice. Trying to catch your breath, all you can do is nod at his words.

“Good.” Chishiya tells you before grabbing your hips and pulling you up to sit on the table. This has you letting out a small yelp in shock, but you can’t say anything again because Chishiyas lips find yours a second later. This time the kiss is a lot more passionate. You feel his tongue brush the bottom of your lip, wanting entrance into your mouth. You didn’t really know what to do because you haven’t really done anything like this before.

Chishiya could tell by the way you weren’t really doing much, so he decided to take the lead. He moved his hands down to your butt, squeezing it and pushing your body flush with his. This made you gasp and Chishiya took that moment to push his tongue into your mouth. You let out a small moan, which you could feel Chishiya smirk at through the kiss.

Eventually he moved away from your mouth and started to kiss down the side of your neck. As he was doing that you felt one of his hangs move to the front of your body. The hand creeped around the front, stopping at the top of the waistband of your swimsuit. You were letting out quiet moans, trying not to be so loud considering you guys were technically in a public space even if the doors were closed.

You could feel Chishiya inch his fingers to your waistband, pulling back from your neck and looking at your face. You look up at him, your chest heaving up and down. He was clearly asking for your consent, gripping at the bikini ready to move it. You were hesitant but you knew you could trust Chishiya, so you nod your head him. He presses his lips to yours again, giving your side a squeeze. He then moves his hand back to your front again, brushing over your front. You gasp at the touch, having never felt anything like this before. You’ve touched yourself before but you haven’t ever had someone elses touch.

Chishiya starts rubbing over the swimsuit, fingers circle of where your clit is at. This feeling was new but very nice to you, so you tilt your head back and let out a slightly louder moan, leaning back on your hands again. As soon as you did so, you snap your head back up and cover your mouth, looking at the man in front of you. Looking at him, he had that same smirk he always had when he liked something.

“You know, if you’re any louder than that, we’re gonna get caught.” He tells you, continuing to make circles of your clit. All you can do in response was nod your head and try not to be so loud.

Eventually Chishiya moves to the side of your swimsuit bottom and pulls it to the side, finally exposing you to him. He lets out a small groan, looking at the way you were already soaking from him just touching and kissing you. He moved his fingers around your center, testing what made you let out more sounds and what didn’t. He kept doing this until you were dripping and letting out small whines, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Chishiya looks up at your face before finally pushing a finger into you.

You gasp at the new feeling, Chishiyas finger was way longer and reached a lot further than yours had ever had. Testing the waters again he added a second while pressing his thumb against your clit. He started curling his fingers and moving them in and out of you, his other finger making circles on your clit at the same time. This had you letting out a whimper, gripping onto to Chishiyas shoulder. Chishiya moved his face towards your neck, lips starting to suck at the spot that was just below your ear. You could feel yourself starting to get close to your climax and Chishiya could also tell with the way you were squeezing around his fingers. You were probably just a few seconds from your release when you heard something.

“Did you guys hear something?” You hear a voice on the other side of the door say. This had you gasping and wrapping your arm around Chishiyas shoulders, shoving your face in the side of his neck trying to be quiet. However, Chishiya didn’t stop moving his fingers at your center. He leans up right next to your ear and whispers,

“Better keep quiet.”

This has you biting your lips, trying to stay absolutely silent. Chishiyas fingers picked up speed and were curling in and out of you much faster now. You wanted nothing more than just to let out a loud moan from all the pleasure you were feeling.

“You’re probably just hearing things idiot, cmon I saw some hot chicks down at the bar let’s go.” A second voice speaks on the other side of the door before you hear footsteps move down the hall, leaving you two alone again. Before you could relax though, Chishiya decides to curl his fingers in just the right way that has you absolutely crashing. If those people hadn’t just left then, they would have defintely heard the moan you let out as you came. Your eyes were screwed shut as you drenched Chishiyas hand between your legs. It took you a few seconds before opening your eyes, your stare being met with Chishiyas.

Chishiya was looking down at you, his famous smirk pulled onto his lips. He pulled his hand from between your legs and brought it up to his mouth, licking the mess off of his fingers. He lets out a hum as he tastes you, leaving you wide eyed with your jaw slightly open.

“So what was it about me not wanting you around?” He asked down at you, placing his hands back into his pockets. You finally got your head somewhat clear and adjusted your swimsuit bottom. You give him a playful push shaking your head, jumping off the table. However, you didn’t land so smoothly. The second your legs hit the floor you were met with wobbly legs. Chishiya quickly grabs onto you, making sure you didn’t fall right on your face. Once you get stable, you were still holding Chishiyas arms and looking up at him. The two of you stared at each other for a second before Chishiya decided to speak.

“Cmon.” He tells you and starts pulling you towards the door.

“Where are we going?” You ask him as the two of you exit the room.

“My room.”

—————————

hehe part 2??? jk idk unless you guys reallllly wanna.

feel free to check out my ko-fi

(Look how cute he is 😖)

xoxo - liv

[nosyp]

saw uu wrote for squid games and had to request !! could you pls write for hyun ju (player 120) x fem reader smut please 🙏🙏 just smth about it being reader’s first time and it’s soft and gentle ?? if ur okay w that ofc 💕

Hehe hi!! Yesyessss i'm okay w it... i just can't guarantee a good one 😔 but i hope u enjoy anyways <3

Title = Healing Touch

Warning = smut🔞, cum eating, fingering, first time

Summary = After surviving Squid Game, you join a support group and meet Hyun Ju, a former contestant. As you grow closer, your connection deepens, leading to an intimate and healing moment between you both.

Word count = 1.3k

It had been a few days since the whole ‘squid game’ incident and you’ve recently heard about a squid game survivor group. You overheard it when you were in the bar, apparently ever since the news came out about the whole operation, some past players came forward to help make a support group. And you decided to check it out. The process of joining wasn’t too difficult, all you had to do was fill in your name, age and player number. 

The address leads you to a small alleyway. It didn’t scream ‘trap’ or anything but a feeling of paranoia struck through you as you got closer to it. The shadows loomed, but soon you're greeted by warm light spilling from a cracked door.

Inside, the atmosphere is surprisingly warm despite the eerie nature of the situation. A few folding chairs, scattered papers, and anxious smiles from the other survivors set the tone. They welcomed you like an old friend, even if your paths never crossed during the games. When the session ended, everyone stood up and went different ways. 

And that’s when you spot Hyun Ju. You swore she was player… 120? 121? You didn’t remember but she was quite the player. She won several games, it was quite impressive… not quite… very actually.

She was still sitting on the chair, despite the session already ending. She was all by herself and her posture was relaxed yet guarded, as if she were still sizing up the room. Something about her aura drew you in, perhaps it was her strength, or maybe just the faint glimmer of vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide.

Deciding to take a chance, you crossed the room and greeted her.

“Hyun Ju, right? Player 120?” you asked, hesitating for just a moment. Calling her a random player number was a huge gamble, but you were quite sure it ended with a 0.

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, her expression shifting from guarded to curious. “That’s me,” she said, her voice softer than you expected. “And you are?”

You introduced yourself, giving your name and player number. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, as though she were trying to place you in her memory. Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“I remember you,” she said. “You were… quiet. But you made it pretty far.”

You nodded, unsure whether to feel flattered or exposed. “Yeah, I guess I kept my head down. But you- you were incredible. You made everything look so easy.”

Hyun Ju chuckled, a sound that felt surprisingly warm in the somber atmosphere. “Easy? Trust me, it wasn’t. But thanks.”

An awkward silence hung between you for a moment before she gestured to the empty seat next to her. “You can sit, if you want. It’s nice to talk to someone who… gets it.”

You sat down, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. The conversation flowed naturally after that, starting with shared memories of the games and gradually moving to lighter topics. You found yourself laughing at her dry humor and sharp wit, feeling a connection form between you that you hadn’t expected.

As the meeting wound down, Hyun Ju glanced at you with a thoughtful expression. “Do you… want to grab a coffee or something? I could use some normalcy, and you seem like good company.”

Surprised but pleased, you nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She smiled, and for the first time in days, you felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, life after the games wouldn’t be so bad.

Then she suddenly brought up the topic about partners and lovers. 

“I-I actually… never had a serious relationship before,” you mention, making her perk up in surprise.

“Ehh?? Forreal?” she asks you.

“Y-yeah…” you answer.

“So… you’ve never… uhmm…?” she asks awkwardly, hand rubbing the back of her neck.

“No…” you respond, giving a light chuckle at the end in an attempt to save both of you from the awkwardness.

—

Honestly, you didn’t even know what happened but now… you were suddenly being pinned onto the wall by her. For a moment, everything froze in time. Hyun Ju's breath hovers near your skin while your heart pounded inside you as she loomed over you. The distance between you both feels electric, yet there’s a hesitance, like the air itself is waiting for something to happen.

Her hands are warm against your skin, a subtle pressure as they roam slowly over your body. Your pulse quickens, body reacting before your mind can even catch up. The proximity of her form, her breath, it’s overwhelming, and you can't help but lean into it, just slightly, as though wanting more.

Hyun Ju's voice is low, like she’s savoring the moment. "Are you sure you want this?" she asks, her lips dangerously close to your ear. Everything about her was so soft. She was so gentle with you, as if you’d break if she added just a bit more force.

There’s an unspoken understanding between you two now. Her fingers brush against your neck softly. Her lips hovering yours just a breath away, and for a moment, everything feels unreal. The world outside fades, leaving just the two of you in this… space together.

You tilt your head slightly, your lips parted in silent invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s slow at first, but with the quiet promise of more to come.

Her hands tug at the hem of your shirt and her eyes look at yours, waiting for your permission. When you finally give her the affirming nod, she takes her time on pulling your clothes off, so as to not harm you. Finally, your pants are stripped off and she gives you a warning look.

“Please tell me if it hurts…” she says. You nod in response.

Her hands start to trail down… and down… until she reaches your folds. Gently, she shoves her index finger in ever so slowly. It was starting to feel agonising… you wanted her to go a bit faster but you just bit your tongue and let her do her thing.

She pumped her fingers in and out of you, coating her finger with your wetness. 

“P-Please…” you whimper, asking for more.

Her other hand then started roaming around your body more, the heat transferring to your skin. Your body was starting to feel hot… but not in a sick way… in a desperate way. Then, she slowly slipped another finger into you. 

“A-ahh! H-Hyun Ju…” you moan. “Mmmh…!”

She started going faster, but still not fast enough to hurt you. The friction made you so close. The feeling was painful, you just wanted to release that very moment. The way her skillful fingers thrusted in and out of you felt like ecstasy. Your hand covered your mouth to minimize the moans and you… released your first orgasm. Your cum covered her fingers and she brought it up to show you.

“I-I have tissues in my bag…” you said breathlessly.

“No need…” she says before licking off your fluids.

Then her hand gently cupped your cheek, fingers brushing softly over your cheek. Slowly, she leaned in, her forehead meeting yours in a tender, lingering touch. The contact was warm, grounding, as if she was seeking comfort in the closeness. 

Your breath started to steady in the quiet space between you. For a moment, everything else faded, nothing else mattered. The world, the noise, the tension and all that existed was the warmth of her skin and the weight of her hand on your cheek. The simple, intimate gesture felt like a promise, a silent understanding, deepening the connection between you.

[canihaveacalmtime]

"Here's your hot cocoa, have a good evening!"

You receive your drink as you bow, thanking the employee and go outside to find a seat. As you sat next to a decorated christmas tree, you look in front of you and see a giant build board printed a familiar face on it.

Should you be proud to know that your memory is very good because you could recognize your highschool bully?

Probably not, haha...

You take a sip of your cocoa, thinking about what had happened in the past between the two of you.

--------------------------

It's like any other highschool bully story that everyone always read, during your first year, you were picked on by the richest and the most handsome guy in school and he forced you to do his homework everyday for 2 years. Tormenting you in the halls, drag you out whenever his mood isn't it, making you a laughing stock for the whole school.

But why only 2 years? Because everything went upside down for him when the last year started.

His parents had enough of him and brutally cut off his bank account, told him that either he learn how to work hard or he'd never get his hands on his father company. When he thought that his long time friends would still be there to support him through this, they quickly turn their backs on him upon knowing that he has no use left to them.

During the time he was at his worst, you stepped in and offer him a helping hand, telling him that you will help him with everything for this last year and in return, he must comply with your one request and can not decline.

He was wary at first when you suddenly did that but he had no other choices as there was no one else except you that would help him anyways.

And he was not disappointed for trusting you, you supported him through every single thing, improved his grades making him in the top 50 of the school, engaged him in participating in that model contest and also fulfil the role of being a friend that he can rely on.

When the school year end came, it was also time he hear your request. You couldn't remember much about anything other than what you said, you can't remember how the scenery looked like, what the principal was saying on stage, even the look on his face because after you said it, you left immediately.

"Let's never cross paths ever again in this life, that is my request."

--------------------------

You realized that your cup is now empty just like how the streets are also beginning to be, so you throw the cup into the trash can and walk home.

You wonder back to the times when you were teaching him the subjects, you would sometime catch him staring in an obsessive way at you but you didn't really care back then because your hatred for him was too much but now that you moved on, you wonder why he was staring at you like that.

"He also said something after I left that day but I couldn't hear what it was.." You mumble as you step out of the elevator to your apartment only to be greeted with a door that is not locked at all.

Your movements were hesitant, slowly, you open the door with cautious as you also carefully step inside your home. Right after you had closed the front door, a sudden sting on your neck send you off balance, fall into someone's arms and fainted immediately.

"Come get me at the apartment now." The tall figure said through a bluetooth headphone device on his ears.

Your bully smile down at you with a creepy smile, inhaling your familiar scent as he hug you close and tightly around his arms.

"You can tell me to do anything, give you anything, to die even. Anything but letting you leave."

--------------------------

After they said those words, my world seemed like crashing down on me in seconds.

I guess I have no other choice but to fulfil a different request from them in the future then.

"I shall have you in my arms when we meet again, love."

--------------------------

(ayy pov change :D)

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Soo, for the event: "Please leave him, I know I'm not perfect but for you i'll try, I promise i'll try"

Or something like that

~1k words. (They're idiots in love)

You knew Jason Todd would never be yours. Knew it when you were barely a teenager and just entering high school. Knew it when he miraculously returned from the dead. Knew it when he made a name for himself as a hero.

It wasn’t just the fact he was consistently voted one of the most attractive vigilantes in the Gotham Gazettes annual popularity contest. No, it was the fact that Jason Todd belongs among legends and myths, and you? You were none of those things.

You weren’t delusional to believe yourself worthy of him, not when he walked with gods and monsters and always seemed to come out on top. So, you buried your feelings, buried them so deep that no one batted an eye when you started dating.

Your relationships never seemed to last long, though, not when they always seemed to have a problem with your best friend being a guy, and then a bigger problem with said best friend being your roommate.

But your most recent boyfriend has managed to last longer than any of your previous relationships. You thought it was a good sign, that maybe you could move on from your age-old crush.

Your heart had other plans. It didn't help that your boyfriend didn't seem to exactly care about you either. He seemed more interested in his video games, and in dragging you along to whatever parties his friends are throwing.

It was obvious, to everyone really, he was using you as some kind of arm candy. You figured it was only fair, you were using him too, even if he didn't know.

Your friends were at least nice about it, even as you brushed off their concerns that you deserved better. Jason, though? He couldn't seem to let it go.

It was almost an everyday conversation for the past week. He'd never been so opposed to any of the people you’ve dated before, but he's treating your boyfriend like he has a personal vendetta.

Sharp glares whenever he picks you up, biting remarks to have you home safe. Those you could deal with, but the near lectures? The insistence that your boyfriend is the wrong guy for you? It's aggravating. You know your boyfriend is wrong, but you can't exactly have what you want.

“He won't make you happy,” Jason grumbles, face furrowed as you sit down on the couch.

“I'm not marrying the guy,” You huff, making a face right back at him. You've been having the same back and forth for days, and you really can't figure out why. Sure, your boyfriend sucks, but he's not hurting you.

Jason looks at you like he's affronted that the idea of marriage is even on your mind, “He's a bum.”

“He's– okay, but he brought me those goldfish,” you protest, gesturing towards the kitchen as if to prove your point.

He cocks his head at you, tone clearly unimpressed, “The ones in the snack bag? Doll, I think they were his leftovers.”

You wince a little, unable to deny his claim as you try to find any good in your relationship, “He texts me goodnight.”

“So do half your friends. And me. I say goodnight to you,” he points out, put out by your instance to defend your boyfriend.

“That's different,” you mumble, dropping your gaze. You find it kind of embarrassing, the way you're still searching for his approval even if you don't particularly care for your current relationship.

“Not really,” he sighs out, and carefully sinks to his knees in front of you to grab your hand. It snaps your attention back to his face. “Look,” he starts slowly, “I just want you to have the best, and he's– he's only gonna make you miserable, sweetheart.”

“What does it matter? Nothing changes if I'm with him or if I'm not,” You grumble, trying not to focus on the way his warmth seeps into your skin.

He looks increasingly conflicted at your words, squeezing your hand as he speaks, “I could treat you better. The way you should be treated.”

Your breath hitches. That's– there's no way. It has to be some kind of joke. He's pitying you, maybe. Or it's some sort of twisted sense of responsibility towards you.

But he keeps talking, voice low like he’s trying not to send you running, “Please leave him, I know I'm not perfect, but for you I'll try, I promise I'll try."

“What are you saying,” You ask weakly, unable to face the possibility that he means any of it.

He meets your gaze, firm and resolute. He sets his jaw like he's working up the courage to spill all his secrets, “I'm saying that I would make you happy. I don't know if it would be great, I don't even know if it would even be good, but I would make sure you were happy. I– you mean the world to me.”

He breathes out your name, raises your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles, “I want you to be happy.”

You think you might be dreaming. Never in your wildest fantasies did you ever consider Jason Todd would be willing to tie himself to you. But there's no waver in his face, no lie in his eyes.

“Just think about it, sweetheart. We're already– you're already the most important person to me. Taking another step together wouldn't be so scary, right” he prompts gently, and you can only dumbly nod in response.

The smile that spreads across his face is intoxicating, and it almost has you agreeing to the whole idea immediately.

“Good, good,” he murmurs, standing up and sending you another wide grin. His voice grows more confident as awe fills your face, “You think on it tonight, doll, break up with him tomorrow, and tomorrow night? I'll take you on a date. A real date. Something you'll like.”

He sounds excited, even eager at the thought, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head. It's hardly the first time he's done it, but it feels different this time, special. “Just think on it,” he tells you, smile easy and inviting.

He leaves you on the couch to think about it. It doesn't take long for you to decide. After all, your boyfriend will understand, you've never been good at saying no to Jason Todd.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ let the light in ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is a part one to this imagine, gods and monsters!

˚ ༘♡ the six-legged pentathlon had been an unforgiving challenge, following immediately after the tense ordeal of red light, green light. it was a game designed to push players to their limits, demanding perfect coordination and unwavering resolve. yet, despite the crushing pressure, you and your husband had been the deciding votes that ensured the games would continue. though it was a decision made out of necessity, it had not come without consequence. here, within the confines of the competition, hwang in-ho was not your husband, and you were not his wife. there were no tender reassurances, no whispered promises to endure together. you were merely 001 and 077, two strangers bound by unspoken loyalty.

˚ ༘♡ seong gi-hun had been the catalyst for in-ho’s unprecedented decision to shed his mask and walk among the players. a former victor, returning in defiance of the system, was an anomaly too intriguing for in-ho to ignore. his fascination was palpable, but you had your own reason for being here, one far more urgent and desperate. you could not let him face this alone. you loved him too much to stand by and watch from the shadows, even if it meant risking everything, including the life growing inside you and the young son you had left behind.

˚ ༘♡ “sorry about earlier, everyone,” in-ho said, his voice tranquil but edged with something indistinct. his expression was carefully composed, but you recognized the faint frown pulling at his lips. for a mere minute, your eyes met his, an instance of silent understanding passing between you before you forced yourself to look away.

˚ ༘♡ he had played the fourth game, spinning top, a deceptively simple contest that had nearly cost your team everything. his struggle had been apparent, his movements uncertain, almost clumsy, and time had nearly slipped away because of it. yet you had seen the fleeting smirk that ghosted across his face. he had been pretending. but why? was it a calculated move to test gi-hun’s emotions? a twisted form of amusement at the expense of the others? you didn’t want to think about it, not now, not ever.

˚ ༘♡ you had spent years training yourself to look past the truth, to separate the man you loved from the masked figure who oversaw these atrocities. but you could never truly escape it. he was both, the husband who once held your hand with unshakable devotion, and the front man who dictated the survival of hundreds. that contradiction lived within him, and you had chosen to follow him into it, as you always would.

˚ ༘♡ you had played the ddakji game first, the opening challenge meant to test both skill and precision. it had taken you two tries to flip the paper tile, a frustratingly slow success compared to others, but a success nonetheless. any difficulty you had was genuine, no sham struggle, no purposeful pretense. it had simply been a test of persistence, one you barely passed.

˚ ༘♡ as the men around you exchanged stories, their voices weaving through tales of past lives, military service and gambling debts that had grown beyond their control, you found your thoughts wandering astray. player 222 sat alone on a cot a few feet away, her gaze cast downward, arms folded over her lap. her presence gnawed at you. the slight swell of her stomach, though subtle, was unmistakable. she was pregnant. what kind of desperation had led a woman in her condition to enter this place? how cruel must the world have been to her for this to feel like her only option?

˚ ༘♡ you had extended a hand earlier, offering her a place in your group for the six-legged pentathlon, but player 333 had pulled her away before she had the chance to respond. that single moment lingered in your mind, a thread of unease you couldn’t shake.

˚ ༘♡ you stepped away from your group and approached her. “pardon me,” you said gently.

˚ ༘♡ she glanced up, wary but polite, nodding in acknowledgment. up close, you could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the guarded way she held herself, as if bracing for the worst. for a short while, you hesitated. perhaps it was the anxiety thrumming in your veins, or perhaps it was something deeper, a shared understanding of fear and uncertainty that pulled the words from your lips before you could stop yourself.

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled softly, lowering your voice as you rested a hand against your abdomen. “i’m expecting as well,” you confessed. “about a month along.”

˚ ༘♡ her eyes widened, drifting down to the wedding ring that still gleamed on your finger. you saw the unspoken question forming on her lips, the curiosity she hesitated to voice. before she could, you cleared your throat, your expression carefully serene.

˚ ༘♡ “my husband died a few years back,” you said, the lie slipping out with startling ease. “i never took off my ring because… he is still alive in my heart and soul.”

˚ ༘♡ she nodded solemnly. “i’m sorry for your loss.” a pause, then a quiet confession of her own. “the father of my baby is… not in the picture.”

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t press further. you had noticed the way player 333 watched over her, his concern woven into the smallest of affectionate acts, but if she chose not to name him, you would respect that silence.

˚ ༘♡ instead, you offered her a small, reassuring smile. “would you like to join our group?” you asked. “the rest are good men, but it would be nice to not be the only woman.”

˚ ༘♡ for the first time since you approached, her guarded expression softened, just slightly. she didn’t answer right away, but she didn’t reject the offer either. and in a place where trust was obscure and survival was everything, that was enough. then, she nodded, a subtle gesture of compliance.

˚ ༘♡ she followed you back to the group, her steps hesitant but determined. as you approached, you felt in-ho’s gaze land on you, sharp with perplexity. you refused to meet his eyes, your pulse drumming in your ears. whatever he was thinking, whatever presumptions were running through his mind, you weren’t ready to face them yet.

˚ ༘♡ player 222 offered a polite bow to the men. “hello, sirs,” she said with practiced courtesy. “my name is kim jun-hee. player 077 was kind enough to allow me to join your group,” she turned her head slightly, looking up at you with a small, knowing smile. “as she took pity on me, being pregnant herself.”

˚ ༘♡ the world trembled beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught, blood running cold as a crushing surge of panic set in. in-ho didn’t know. he wasn’t supposed to know. you had hidden it carefully, layering deception upon deception because you understood well that he would never have let you come if he had known the truth. he had already fought you, already tried to stop you, and you had barely managed to convince him. but now, there was no going back. now, in-ho now knew of the secret you tried so desperately to conceal.

˚ ༘♡ a thick silence fell over the group.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re pregnant?” in-ho’s voice cut through the quiet, his disbelief laid bare. his usually enigmatic expression fractured, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at you, searching for some kind of denial.

˚ ༘♡ the others were clearly surprised, but none more than him. the confusion, the stunned realization, it was written all over his face.

˚ ༘♡ kim jun-hee’s lips fell open in a small, embarrassed frown. “i’m sorry, i thought you all must have known,” she said, bowing her head apologetically.

˚ ༘♡ “no, no, it’s good someone told us,” in-ho said quickly, getting to his feet, his tone measured, but there was something vexed in it, something bordering on anger, or worry. “so we know to take extra caution with player 077.” his gaze cast over you, and then he added deliberately, “your husband must be worried sick about you.”

˚ ༘♡ you swallowed hard. your throat felt tight, but you forced out the lie. “he’s dead.” the words came fast, like a reflex, like a shield.

˚ ༘♡ jung-bae, one of the older players, let out a sorrowful sigh. “young-il, didn’t you say your wife passed away?” he shook his head, voice thick with sympathy. “how sad. we have both a widow and a widower among us.”

˚ ༘♡ young-il. it had to be the alias in-ho was using. your mind reeled as you processed the implications. you turned your head slightly, watching him. the golden band still encircled his finger, worn and unmoved, just like yours. you had never thought much of it before, perhaps a habit, a meaningless remnant of a life he had long since buried. but now, faced with the story he had crafted for himself, a terrible thought struck you. it wasn’t entirely a lie.

˚ ༘♡ his first wife, the one before you, had died. she had been pregnant when it happened. you had never pried, had never dared to ask, but you had once seen a photograph of her tucked away in his desk drawer. when you had questioned him, he had shut you down immediately, his voice flat and final. don’t ask about her. it’s in the past.

˚ ༘♡ but it wasn’t in the past, was it? not entirely. some ghosts never vanished. some wounds never fully closed. and now, standing here, knowing that he had just discovered you carried his child in the very games he had tried to shield you from, you realized, this wasn’t just about your safety. this wasn’t just about his authority as the front man or the secrecy of your relationship. this was about the fear that history was repeating itself. that he would once again lose the woman he loved as she carried his child.

˚ ༘♡ “then we will have to protect both of you!” player 388 declared with a grin, his enthusiasm somewhat jarring given the bleak circumstances.

˚ ༘♡ jung-bae and gi-hun nodded in agreement, their expressions shifting into something more steadfast.

˚ ༘♡ you let out a sigh, trying to dispel the rising panic clawing at your throat. “i’ve already had a child before,” you said, keeping your tone even, as if that somehow lessened the severity of your situation. “i’ll be fine. it’s jun-hee we should be more worried about.”

˚ ༘♡ in-ho wasn’t convinced. his lips parted slightly, and for a split second, he hesitated, as though mulling over his words carefully before speaking. “having a child before doesn’t make you or your baby any less vulnerable,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, as if only meant for you to hear. “you shouldn’t place so much strain on yourself, sweetheart.”

˚ ༘♡ there it was. the carefully curated mask of indifference he had worn throughout the games had begun to slip, and you were the only one who could see it for what it was. you wanted to tell him to stop, to pull him aside and remind him that he couldn’t afford to behave like this, not here. if he didn’t regain control of himself, they would notice. gi-hun would notice.

˚ ༘♡ you forced a smile, lacing lightness into your tone, trying to maintain the illusion. “that’s very kind of you, sir,” you spoke, “but i don’t think my husband would appreciate you using such romantic names with me.”

˚ ༘♡ jung-bae let out a derisive snort. “he can’t be much of a husband if you’re stuck playing these games while pregnant with his child.”

˚ ༘♡ in-ho shook his head, exhaling softly. when he spoke again, there was something unfamiliar in his voice, a trace of restraint. “i’m sorry,” he said, his expression unreadable. “it’s only that you remind me of my late wife. she was as stubborn as you are.”

˚ ༘♡ your husband had taken on a false identity, young-il, but there was something in his story that wasn’t fabricated. his wife before you, the stubborn woman he never spoke of, had truly existed. you had seen the photograph once, tucked away in his desk drawer, aged and yellowing at the edges. you had asked about her, just once, and he had shut you down immediately. “never question me about her. it’s in the past.”

˚ ༘♡ yet now, the past was bleeding into the present, unraveling piece by piece.

˚ ༘♡ you sank onto the uncomfortable bed beside jun-hee, your hands resting over your stomach as if to protect yourself from the reality you had been so desperate to ignore.

˚ ༘♡ you had made a mistake.

˚ ༘♡ you should never have followed him.

˚ ༘♡ perhaps ignorance truly was bliss, because now you figured out too much. not only about the horrors of the games, but about him, about the things he kept buried so deeply that even you had never been allowed to see them. you had placed yourself in danger. far worse, you had placed your unborn child in danger. and as you risked a glance at gi-hun, who sat watching in-ho with quiet suspicion, you knew the cracks in your facade were already showing. you didn’t want to think about what would happen when gi-hun finally pieced it all together, as he would then have the woman that the man he loathed deeply loved before him, and the opportunity for a terribly potent revenge would be presented to him.

a/n: part two after an eternity!! i am writing for hwang in-ho again so please send requests!!! let me know your thoughts as well!! 🤍

[stinkysam]

Choi Subong “Thanos” - Help player 230.

Warning : canon divergence, violence, guns

Genre : fluff ?

Synopsis : “thanos x triangle guard male reader where after the fight in the bathrooms the guard helps thanos with his injury” - anon

Reader : gender neutral (you/yours)

A/N : Bold is in English

You were sitting on your bed, reading, when you received an order in your earpiece. You didn’t really understand the reasons behind it, but obeyed nonetheless, placing your book away and putting on your mask, then your hood.

Locking your small room, you then went to your locker, getting your MP5, your revolver and some ammunition before walking down the long corridor to find another guard who was coming to you with a small first aid kit. You took it, placing it around your waist before resuming walking toward the men’s bathroom at a faster pace, going up and down the multiple stairs.

You had to protect player 230, not kill. Save, just this once. You had heard of him, more than just in the games. Rising rapper, known to be annoying, was about to win a rap contest but forgot his own bars. You even saw a few -a lot- memes about it. You mostly felt pity for him, and even though he ended second, you could tell he felt like he had ended last.

Though it meant you knew his name, you preferred to distance yourself, using 230 instead.

As you arrived, you saw player 125 run toward you, you moved to the side, letting him pass by, barely acknowledging you. You continued your way up the stairs, the two triangle soldiers guarding the door.

You stopped, opened the door, looked at the chaos and sighed before entering.

It took you a few seconds to spot your target.

Player 230 was trying to strangle 333 with one hand while the other tried to take his fork away, without much success as it planted repeatedly in his left shoulder, arm and ribs.

You went toward them, a few people noticed you as you took your MP5 in your hands and swiftly hit 333 on the head with it, knocking him out.

The fight had died down by now, all looking at you. You kept your hands on your gun, ready to use it if necessary, the tension still palpable and growing even more with the silence.

“Everyone out.” You said, putting your foot on 230’s back to keep him in place as he grabbed 333’s fork.

The other players didn’t need you to speak twice, already moving away from each other as the two soldiers by the door came in, telling each group to follow them.

“Take him.” You pointed with your gun to 333 on the floor, pushing 230 away from him with your foot, as two Os approached cautiously to help the unconscious man up.

Within a minute, the bathroom was empty.

Or almost.

“124, out.” You said and quickly you heard the door open, 124 slowly coming out with an awkward smile.

“Sorry.” He replied, walking past you before flipping you off behind you as if you couldn’t guess what he was doing, and then, he left.

230, tightly holding 333’s fork, tried to attack you, attempting to stab your leg. You moved your MP5 so it was against his forehead, stopping him instantly, looking at you with wide eyes. Shit.

“Give me the fork.” You said, holding one hand out, but he threw it behind you, hoping you’d give him an opening by going after it.

“Fuck you.” He said with a proud smile.

Fucker. You rolled your eyes, though he did not see it.

You bent down, pushing your MP5 on your back, and grabbed him by the collar, his hands going to your gloved ones to stop you as you forced him to sit against the toilet stall.

“Wh-”

“Player 230, I’m not here to kill you, you can calm down.” You kneeled at his level.

The way he stared at you told you his mind was racing, not understanding but still wanting to curse you out.

“You want me to believe you’re here to help me ? You think I’m stupid ?” He scoffed, crossing his arms though his left one had struggled to move, a wince on his face.

You ignored him, pushing his arms out of the way, opening his vest and pulled his shirt up. His hands went to your wrists, trying to stop you, not understanding what you were doing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing ?!” He said. God, you understood why he was described as annoying. But again, how do you interact with a man who thinks you’re gonna shoot his brains out.

“Checking your wounds.” You replied, snatching your hands away from his grip to hold his shirt up again.

You noticed the tattoo on his neck was also going down his sides. And there, around the 6th or 7th rib, stab wounds, blood seeping out.

“Remove them.” You said, pointing at his clothes. He raised an eyebrow, visibly confused.

“What ? Why the fuck would I do that ? Perv.”

You ignored him again, taking out the first aid kit from around your waist and showed it to him, hoping he’ll finally get it.

He stared at it, confused before slowly complying, glaring at you as he struggled to get rid of his shirt because of his arm, cursing you under his breath. If only you didn’t have your fucking guns.

By his shoulder and biceps, along the thick line of his tattoo, more stab wounds bleeding abundantly. He looked away, visibly not pleased to be seen hurt.

You came in at the right time, or his wounds would’ve been worse if not deadly. A little more and he would’ve been stabbed in the neck by that fork. Although they were small and weren’t as deep as it would’ve been with a knife, they were still around 4 centimeters deep, stinging and hurting sharply, throbbing.

You opened the first aid kit, placing the different items on 230’s legs except for the scissors and tweezers, keeping them in the bag.

You grabbed the small bottle of painkillers and stood up. He won’t need that, isn’t it more entertaining if they’re struggling ?

“Stay.” You said before walking away and emptying the bottle in the toilet before going to the sink, pouring some water in it.

“Bitch, I’m not a fucking dog.” He said under his breath. Out of spite, he moved, trying to grab the fork. You heard his grunts and turned around with a sigh. You walked to the fork and took it, placing it in your pocket before grabbing him and putting him back where he was. You kneeled down again, replacing what had fallen from his legs.

You emptied the small bottle on his ribs slowly as you cleaned the wounds. Water mixed with blood dripping down his skin, getting rid of the mix of sweat and partially dried blood as he stared at you.

You stood up again to put more water in the small bottle, 230 staying still as you came back and emptied it on his shoulder, wiping it. You did it once more, cleaning up his biceps last.

He continued staring at you, still not understanding why you were helping him. You too weren’t understanding it. Maybe they wanted to keep the disruptive element longer ? Though the most disruptive one could be 456.

His hand moved toward you, trying to reach for your mask, but you moved your head away and swatted his hand.

“Come on, who are you ?” He finally asked. “You piqued my interest.” He smiled cockily.

You gave him an annoyed stare he could not see before returning to your task, taking some gauze and wrapping it around his arm and shoulder, squeezing enough so it wouldn’t fall and stay in place.

Then you leaned closer, wrapping the gauze around his ribs, making sure it was tight and thick enough again.

You looked at your work before turning toward the camera on the ceiling and moving slightly to the side, showing your job was done.

“You can put your clothes back on and go.” You said, standing up, waiting for him to move.

“Seriously, who are you ? You know me ? That’s why you’re helping ?” He chuckled, his confidence growing despite struggling to put his shirt back on, putting his jacket with more ease. You said nothing, watching him slowly stand up before escorting him to the exit.

The door opened, a group of workers entered with 5 human sized black boxes. 230 watched them as they opened them and placed the dead inside before closing it.

“Player 230.” You said, gaining his attention, he looked at you with wide eyes. Did he just notice the corpses ? You reached into your pocket and gave him the fork. “I hope you’re enjoying the games.”

[angelsknifeprty]

couldn't fight to save your life (but you look so cool) ❀˖꩜˚࿔ - e.w

loser!ellie x popular!reader | 3.2k words

a/n: guess who rewatched bottoms for the billionth time (me. it was me.) :p loser!ellie won't leave my mind and neither will crush by ethel cain so here's somethin' random i came up with, enjoy!

cw: cursing, bullying, a little violence, mentions of blood, two idiots that are obviously infatuated with each other, mentions of reader wanting to punch ellie for being too cute cuz they’re strange like that

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

you're an angel, she's sure of it.

ellie watches with glassy eyes, practically in a trance, as you absentmindedly play with your hair. she drinks in the way your perfectly curated outfit adorns your body; you always look flawless to her. You were laughing at something your friend had said, ellie's ears straining to hear the saccharine sound over the chatter buzzing. she just heard it, and god, what she would do to have a recording of it to listen to over and over again.

the two of you weren't friends by any means, but she knew you.

most of ellie's time was spent staring at you during class or when you passed her in the hallway. her eyes would shy away every time they met yours, the intensity of your gaze leaving her a flustered mess within seconds. 

when she wasn't looking at you, her head was buried into her journal, pencil dragging fervently across the pages. her entries always had your name embedded somewhere within their sentences. it was like you were all she could think about. when she would draw, the lines and curves always morphed into you, capturing a moment of you daydreaming in class or whatever other snapshot her mind had taken of you that wouldn't stop plaguing her.

she'd listen to your conversations when she was close enough to hear - not to be a creep or anything! but how else was she supposed to learn more about you?

sure, the obvious answer would be to talk to you, but she was a nervous wreck from just seeing you. you'd only had a few brief interactions before, and she swears she almost fainted when you remembered her name when you asked her for a pen once.

while she believed the popularity contest that was high school to be ridiculous, her very low place in the school's hierarchy was a definite set-up for failure, she was certain. ellie kept to herself, mostly, aside from her few friends, but that didn't stop her from becoming the target of relentless bullying from some of the other students, the ones at the top of the food chain.

you were well-liked amongst your peers, but your popularity never merged you with those people. you were known for your sunny disposition, whereas they tormented their way to the top.

you'd seen it happen a couple of times, the sound of their jeering always catching your attention, especially when you heard them say ellie's name in that disgusting tone that made your heart ache for her. in fact, it's what snapped you out of your current conversation as an irritated, "what the fuck, williams?" sounds throughout the hallway.

in her lovestruck daze, ellie hadn't been looking where she was walking, which conveniently caused her to bump into one of them - a girl you didn't care much for, quinn was it? all you knew for sure was that she was trouble.

ellie winced and scrunched her face at the sound of her voice, internally cursing at herself because now she had to deal with her. she opened her eyes to see that everyone was looking, including you.

"shit, sorry. wasn't looking where i was going, won't happen again," ellie's tone is curt, trying to move past her and continue with her day before things got worse.

but of course, she wouldn't get let off the hook that easily; that was just her luck.

"where do you think you're going?" she probes, moving to block ellie's path. ellie has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes in her face, not wanting to escalate things if she could help it. how naive of her to think that nothing could ever be easy for her.

"c'mon, dude. i apologised. can we move on and-"

suddenly, it feels like the wind was knocked from ellie's lungs, and she's… falling?

a little stunned, she looks up from her newfound place on the floor after quinn has shoved her to the ground. all because of an accident that could have been easily brushed off and forgotten about. such a dumb fucking reason, and yet it has ellie seething.

"you should watch where you're going, williams. always lurking where nobody wants you to be." quinn spits, taunting ellie to get a rise out of her. 

it was likely that ellie's indifferent reactions to quinn's bullying irritated her, unable to fathom why ellie wouldn't buckle and submit like every other one of her unfortunate victims.

while the teasing and mean remarks were an unfortunate constant in her life, this never mellowed ellie. she was always quick-witted, her slight temper always having her ready to argue back and stand up for herself, and this time was no different.

ellie rises from the ground and delivers an equally hard shove, an irate, "what the fuck is your problem?" leaving her chapped lips. being the drama-obsessed hive mind that high schoolers were, it didn't take long for people to start crowding around the two once things intensified.

you had been watching the whole thing from afar before a wall of people began forming, not realising it'd evolve into this. you heard a pained groan rip from ellie's throat after what you presumed was the first punch being thrown. now you are only able to listen to the commotion but not see the situation, making your anxiety skyrocket. 

you liked to keep an attentive eye on ellie from a distance despite your paths rarely crossing, feeling some strange obligation to watch over her. you knew quinn and her posse of assholes always gave ellie a hard time, but she seemed to handle herself just fine, sometimes hearing one of her clever comebacks that made you giggle.

while the brawl entertained everyone else, you grew increasingly agitated. you were never one for drama and kept a relatively peaceful circle of friends, but the idea of just standing and doing nothing felt like a personal failure.

so, before you knew it, you were excusing yourself from your friends and pushing your way through the crowd to get to ellie.

once you breached the crowd, you found yourself in the eye of the storm, your eyes wide. after a while of their struggle against each other, quinn was now situated on top of ellie as she delivered a particularly hard punch to ellie's cheek. the wounded groan she let out was what urged you out of your frozen shock, rushing towards the tangle of violent limbs, grabbing quinn's shoulder and pulling her off of ellie with a hard tug.

"get the hell away from her!" you yell, trying hard to ignore the disappointed groans of the audience as you interrupt their entertainment. "assholes." you thought to yourself. 

wiping the blood from her nose, the sight of the trickling crimson more satisfying to you than it should be, quinn looks at you confused, clearly not expecting you of all people to come to ellie's rescue.

"the fuck are you doing?" she sneers, looking between you and ellie, who is still on the floor, propping herself up on her elbows with the nastiest glare you'd ever seen on her face. "don't tell me you actually give a shit about this loser-"

"back off, don't touch her," you snarled, pushing past her to kneel beside ellie on the ground.

you had this untouchable air about you, something that was a little lost on you but not to quinn. she knew you had people to back you up, her targets usually being the loner outcast types, being the coward she is. the same ruthlessness ellie received was not given to you, an irritated scoff being all you heard from quinn. she was the least of your worries right now.

"are you okay?" you ask, a little breathless from the adrenaline of putting yourself in the middle of a fight in front of an audience. your brows furrowed at how quickly deep purples and blues had already started blooming around ellie's eye and her freckled cheek. 

ellie looked at you blankly, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, and she tried desperately to find any words to say to you. how was she supposed to think straight? the rush from the fight and now having her crush come to her aid rendered her speechless. her lack of answer only worried you more, pinning her silence on being stunned from the fight still.

"ellie, i need you to answer-"

you were cut off by the sound of the principal pushing his way through the mass, his stern voice demanding that the two battered girls follow him to his office.

you watch doe-eyed and nervous as ellie pushes herself off the floor with a wince, looking at you with eyes that have so much to say yet a mouth that cannot quite verbalise it. but she couldn't stay, so without a word, she reluctantly trudged behind the principal with her head hanging low, utterly fed up, and man, that one punch hurt.

˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

you peered around the corner to the row of chairs lined up outside the principal's office, eyes fixated on ellie's slumped figure occupying one of them. you had been watching for at least a minute or two now despite there being the opportunity to approach her like any other normal person. but this was comfortable for you, familiar. if ellie believed she was the only person with a staring problem, and she did, then she was painfully wrong.

it felt routine for you to watch her like this from afar, a look in your eyes brimming with so much more than just innocent curiosity.

it was like you could sense her presence in a room, your gaze always finding her so easily amongst the hoard of other students. your eyes would rake up and down as you shamelessly drank her in, that camo jacket of hers that she wore like a safety blanket hanging loosely from her frame. she wore it infuriatingly well, paired with her unbothered demeanour that looked oh so good on her. a witty remark was always ready on the tip of her tongue when one of her tormentors dared to speak to her, her scarred brow furrowing into a scowl that made your stomach flutter.

you knew what cuteness aggression was, but that surely couldn't be what you felt now. but it made you mad how badly ellie affected you even from a distance, what was once just a silly hallway crush twisting into a near-violent obsession. you spied her fresh bruises, almost filling you with a little satisfaction. serves her right, your voice whispers quietly inside your head, as if you were scared someone could hear you. you almost wished you had been the one to give her the bruises only so you could plant two gentle kisses over the skin to soothe the sting afterwards. the deep plum colour blooming across her skin still somehow made her look pretty, and you had to take a moment to ask yourself if that was a fucked up thing to think. probably. 

suddenly becoming aware of how much of a creep you must look, lingering but not daring to approach, you decided to finally go check on her. it wouldn't feel right for you not to ensure she was okay.

ellie wonders how hard she was punched when she looks up to see you, a concerned and bashful smile on your face.

"hey, ellie. i just wanted to check on you after what happened with… y'know." 

ellie spends a moment in silence as she processes what's happening. you're fidgeting with your hands, rocking back and forth on your heels like you don't know what to do with yourself. she could have scoffed in bewilderment, as if you had any right to look so nervous standing in front of her, effortlessly beautiful and so sweet.

"ellie?" you repeat her name again, softer this time. ellie almost wants to stay silent just to hear you repeat it. but she needs to respond, fuck think, think, think-

"o-oh, hey. i uh- yeah, i'm okay. nothing i can't handle," ellie finally manages to get out. you nod in acknowledgement, tearing your eyes away for just a moment to compose yourself.

"do you mind if i sit?" you gesture to the empty chair beside her, which has her perking up almost immediately. ellie nods, a simple "sure," leaving her lips in a tone that sounded far more curt than nonchalant like she intended. really, she was just trying to focus on not bursting at the seams. you were so close to her, and now she had to keep her cool.

"thanks for stepping in earlier and pulling her off of me. you didn't have to do that."

"i wasn't just gonna stand there and watch it happen," you say it like that wasn't what anyone else would have done, what they did do. all more than happy to watch her get her ass beat just to spice up what otherwise would have been another boring school day.

"i'd say i held my own somewhat well," ellie quips, her tone a little lighter than before. you giggle softly, deciding not to remind her that she had been floored by the time you got to her. she had definitely lost the fight, and in her defence, that girl was notoriously scrappy, but fortunately for you, she made losing look so good. holding herself up on her elbows, the meanest look on her dishevelled face as she stared up at the girl with an unwavering glare.

"and what did the principal have to say about that?" you press for details, head tilting curiously. you looked like a puppy, sitting all cute and pretty next to her. ellie swore you were trying to kill her; such a simple movement made her heart rate spike. 

"got a firm slap on the wrist and the usual 'you're better than this' speech." you hum in acknowledgement, a breath of a laugh exhaling through your nose.

"well, for what it's worth, I think you gave her what she deserved." your statement caught her off guard, and she was not expecting you to condone any of what went down earlier.

"oh, you think?"

"oh definitely. the only time i see her is when she's making some poor person's life hell. i'm glad to see her get a taste of her own medicine."

ellie couldn't argue with that, shrugging in agreement as she tried to keep the pride bubbling up in her chest at bay.

"i am a little surprised, though. i wasn't expecting you to entertain a fight with her." this makes ellie raise her eyebrow inquisitively. did she not look tough enough to be in a fight or something? she knew she was nerdy, but surely she didn't look utterly defenceless, right?

"how come?" she questions, leaning back more comfortably in her chair, legs settling into her usual manspread that had you reeling just from seeing it from a distance, never mind being right next to her. your eyes darted around the hallway, desperately trying to focus on the conversation.

"well, y'know, i see you around, and you're usually so…" you trail off as you wave your hands in soft, fluid motions, whimsical and a little silly as you try to explain the softer side of her you had always noticed in what looked like some strange interpretive dance. 

"but back there, you were all like-" you're swinging your arms a little more frantically now, a poor recreation of some generic karate moves. you would feel like a total idiot and you very much do if it wasn't for the cheesy smile spreading across ellie's face at the sight of you.

"yeah?" she feels like she's getting lightheaded from how giddy she feels.

"yeah." you parrot back sheepishly, twiddling your thumbs to ground yourself. so cute.  

all ellie seemed to be good for was being riled up by the other students, so hearing that you had acknowledged her enough to make up your own mind about her made her feel like she was short circuiting. she was quickly snapped out of her temporary high when she felt a sharp sting on the side of her face, her sappy smile irritating her bruises.

"shit, are you okay?" you ask worriedly as she tries to brush it off with a wave of her hand.

"yeah yeah, i'm fine; this could've been way worse. you don't need to worry." her thoughts didn't quite match up with her words, though, silently begging that you'd keep doting on her. she was basking in having your undivided attention.

"ellie, these bruises are pretty big, i'm allowed to worry after I watched you get your ass handed to you," you ramble, ignoring her dismissal. 

"hey! she didn't have that much of an upper hand against me-"

you don’t reply, your hand absentmindedly reaches out to cup her jaw, being careful not to press into where it hurts as you inspect her injuries.

"has anybody checked over you yet?"

she feels like she's on fire, palms sweaty as she silently lets you examine her. she barely managed to respond to your question with a simple "no." she swore she could feel everywhere your eyes landed on her face, and fuck, your hand is so warm. the mess of a girl was surprised that steam wasn't radiating from where your skin met. 

as you give her face a final once over, you catch that frazzled deer-in-headlights look in her eyes and realise what you were doing, immediately removing your hand. if ellie wasn't frozen in place, she would have chased your touch, already missing the feeling of you on her skin.

"s-sorry, i just- i didn't mean to touch you out of nowhere. i was checking for my own peace of mind and got carried away-"

"no!" ellie interrupts a little louder than she meant to. "i mean, it's totally fine," her voice is shaking, "thank you for caring. you don't even really know me, and you're doing all this for me, so thank you."

her abruptness halts your apologetic rambling. you look at her wide-eyed for a moment before letting a soft little smile tug up the corner of your lips. if only she knew just how well you'd come to know her from all of your stolen glances, committing her to memory like she would disappear.

"don't mention it."

silence falls over you, both fidgeting shyly as you struggle to find something else to say. but that was okay. the giddy smiles you were both biting back said everything they needed to.

"i should probably get back to class, i've been holding this hall pass hostage for a while so i could come to check on you." you huff out a little disappointed sigh, reluctant to leave now that you'd finally been able to talk to ellie after so long spent longingly glancing in her direction.

"oh right, sorry. don't let me keep you, like i said i'm fine, really." ellie felt herself deflate a little now that she knew you had to go. the word pathetic came to mind when she realised how silly she must have looked, sulking like a kicked dog.

"i'm glad you're okay, ellie. i'll um… i'll see you around, yeah?" you couldn't help the hopefulness seeping through your words, and ellie noticed. the slight lilt in your sweet voice, your awkward shifting as you stood up, ready to leave.

"yeah, i'll see you around." ellie smiled up at you, ignoring the sharp twinge where her bruises were. maybe she should get beat up more often if it meant getting your attention.

[lostintransist]

COOKED. BAKED. BARBECUED 🙏 thank you☆

Thank you! I enjoy writing shorter fun blurbs amidst my giant ass stories.

Anon I have been looking for an excuse to write about this smarmy asshole for a while. Excuse me while I run with your compliment 😅😘

Phillip Graves loved heading home after jobs. The shift from dry air recirculating air of the plane to the moisturizing soup that passed for oxygen in the south east of Texas was the first sign he could relax.

The second sign often was his sister's incessant calls to his phone as she circled the airport waiting for him. Lillian hated waiting for her little brother. She complained he took an excessive amount of time to escape the airport despite him never checking a bag and having the skills and leg length to stride past hordes of others attempt to escape the liminal hell that is the airport.

If ever you meet a powerful man and want to be reminded he is no more than a man, you should see him with his family. They do not care if their brother can topple governments. He is just a person who flinches when his sister points a wooden spoon at him too aggressively. He can't forget the times it connected before.

The third sign that Phil had arrived home was the smell of BBQ drifting into his nose. The owner of the food truck had found a perfect spot to set up three times a week; the parking lot of a local gym. Stupidly smart businessmen.

Phil could hold himself back from many things. Fall off the bone ribs after a hearty work out could never be one of those things.

He has noticed you inside the gym. Of course he did, it was his job to notice. You were strongly built, a feast for his eyes.

Phil had learned dainty was never going to pull him in quite like the ability for a woman to lay him out if he mouthed off. Or tie him down and edge him to hell, whatever her prerogative happened to be. Mmm his last girlfriend hadn't been interested in strapping him to the bed and fucking him within and inch of his life. Yeah, that's what he needed on this leave—days without leaving the bedroom and a woman who would fuck him like she hated him.

Now Phil is an opportunist; he won't take shots that will likely miss. He noticed you in the gym but only let his fantasies run wild and not his mouth. He finished up his workout and left the gym, presumably leaving you behind for good.

He would have left you behind, but it seemed you also had a hankering for some of the best BBQ in the state. You seemed smart enough not to say that out loud though. Highly contested titles were highly contested for a reason.

Having gotten his overfull styrofoam box Phil settled in the one patch of shade near the food truck. Everyone else piled back into their cars and drove away to enjoy, but Phil didn't want to wait. The meal settled on his knees he dived in.

When you join the queue, spandex pulled snug across your body, Phil watches. Taking in the view of you moving with a purpose and smiling at the man taking your order, he adds these to the mental files for later. Creepy? Maybe. But he didn't make it your problem.

Tucking into his meal Phil is pleasantly surprised when the sound of shoes slapping concrete pulls him from the haze of good seasoning and moist meat. Looking up, it's you.

Instead of offering a smile like southern hospitality instructed, you point to the shade next to him.

"That free?"

Phil lifted a brow and gestured to the open space with an elbow. Swallowing down his bite, Phil lets you settle before he speaks up. The rib pinched between his fingers has a bite left. He didn't learn much from his father, but he did learn not to waste his food.

"That accent is too strong to have been here long." Phil presses the knuckle of one hand to his mouth he cleared his throat. "What brought you out this way?"

"A cheating man, why else does someone move here?" You give him a hard side eye as you dig into your mashed potatoes.

He opens his mouth to continue the conversation, ignoring the clear 'I don't want to talk about this' vibes you are throwing off.

You cut him off before the air can leave his lungs to form words.

"I'm going to a sex party tonight."

Ah so you had learned how to get the religion folks to back off. Interesting. Meant you had been out this way a while.

"Interesting, which club?" Phil keeps his eye on his food as he names off a few larger ones and several smaller ones. He clocks the slight twitch when he picks the right one.

"You sure know a lot of clubs out here," you glance over to him with narrowed eyes before picking up your own rib.

"Mmm. Maybe I'll see you out tonight," Phil drops the information casually like he hasn't adjusted every plan he has in the hopes of wearing you like a mask.

"Maybe," you reply noncommittally.

Silence between the gusts of wind is all that is between you until Phil suckles the sauce from his fingers and closes his box. The best thing about this food truck is the leftovers.

Phil stands, throws you a wink, and walks to his lovingly restores 1960's Chevy truck.

Imagining the look on your face when he is introduced as one of the owners of the club you are going to tonight got him through. Through the rest of the day with his sister, through dinner with his family without punching someone out, and through the traffic that would normally have him cursing people out in all his favorite swear words from across the globe.

He had been wrong. The look on your face was better than anything he could have imagined.

Gym Adventures: SoapGaz | John Price | Simon | Ghost | 4 for 1 Special | SoapGaz/Reader NSFW | Phillip Graves NSFW | AO3

Masterlist

[ckret2]

Chapter 85 of human Bill Cipher getting a ✨💅 makeover 💇‍♀️✨ so he can seduce a government agent into not arresting him and/or the Mystery Shack gang: a flashback to Scalene & Euclid on Bill's birthday, Pacifica receiving the world's most inept lesson about fatphobia, and the continued adventures of the Pines family attempting to get a flash drive out of a goat's guts.

####

Scalene braced one shaking hand with the other as she reapplied her lipstick—a red so bright it was nearly orange, all the better to make her look a little less sickly than she felt.

She tried to pretend she didn't notice Euclid glaring daggers at her.

She'd come out of her swoon as she was being helped outside by several shapes, including Euclid supporting her with one arm and carrying Bill in the other. Once they were outdoors, someone had shoved the trophy and knives Bill had won into Euclid's hands, and then they'd been left outside as everyone else's attention turned to dealing with the mysterious fire that had spontaneously ignited inside; and for the past few minutes, Scalene had been putting herself back together while Euclid tried to soothe Bill.

Finally, once she deemed herself sufficiently presentable, she held out her arms to Euclid and their still-whimpering child. "All right, I can take him."

Euclid didn't move.

"Come on! You're not gonna hold a grudge against me for fainting, are you?"

Euclid said, "What did I tell you?"

"I brought my cane," Scalene said indignantly.

"Well, where was it?"

There was a long silence.

"Lene..."

"Oh, don't give me that look, it was just behind the curtain! I wasn't about to bring it on stage, I had to make sure Billy looked good!"

"What does your cane have to do with how good he looks?!"

"And the mayor didn't hand over the trophy fast enough," she said, ignoring Euclid's question. "If he had, I could have leaned on that. But no, he just kept yammering on..."

Euclid's copper blue eye had the most piercing glare in town. The fact that he also had the worst eyesight in town did nothing to dispel its power. Scalene much preferred when it was aimed at other people.

But then Bill wiggled his tiny hands toward Scalene with a displeased coo; and with a warning, "Careful," Euclid finally handed him over. "So. He didn't do too bad for his first outing. We've got a winner on our hands?"

Scalene was off the hook. She relaxed. "I think we do. The judges were very impressed he showed up to his first contest on his birthday." 

"You'll only be able to do that once," Euclid pointed out.

"Sure, but for the rest of his life he can tell judges he went to his first pageant on the day he was born—can't you?" She directed the question to Bill. "Yes you can! That shows real ambition!" She poked one of his sides just beneath his eye. "And they were impressed by his good looks and how calm he is."

That was well deserved. Bill had entered the world with eye wide open—rather than face scrunched up and eye retracted to cry like most infants—and looking around for his parents, as though he were already used to the light and recognized his surroundings.

"Glad the judges didn't find it creepy, at least," Euclid said.

Scalene waved him off. "What did those nurses know? They should've been grateful to get a kid that isn't wailing in their faces! They couldn't appreciate how adorable he is—but look at him. From the front you'd think he's an oval." It was true: his corners were soft and rounded, and his angles were so flexible that his top angle squashed down toward his feet, making it look more like a right angle than acute. On top of that, his bright, shining pupil was so wide it took up half his face. "One of the judges said he looks downright cherubic. That's going on your resumé, young triangle."

Bill blinked sweetly up at his mother. He would never in his life need to write a resumé, for all the worst reasons.

"And—" Euclid lowered his voice, "—none of them realized how many birth defects he has?"

She swatted his arm. "Shh! No. Everything we've got is too obscure. As far as the pageant circuit is concerned, they're birth assets. My corners were still round when I started competing, and the judges thought I was adorable, too. As long as he goes on stage without braces on, they'll think he looks unique instead of deformed—just like I did."

"If he keeps going on stage without braces, he'll need a cane before he's middle-aged, just like you do."

"Not until his best pageant years are behind him," Scalene said icily. "Besides, we'll do better by him than my mother did for me. We already know what he has—"

"—we think we do, you left before the doctors could examine him—"

"—and I've already got appointments lined up for him with the best orthopedic doctor in the county and your and Euler's optometrist. We'll make sure his face stays pretty, his angles sharpen up, and his organs don't collapse in on themselves. He's just lucky he's got a mother that knows how to make that big eye of his look cute instead of bulgy." She pointed at the trophy, "As long as his good looks keep winning prizes, he'll be able to pay off his own medical bills and bring home a few bonuses."

For the first time, Euclid turned his attention to the trophy and the Knifeco gift box, and he laughed sharply. "Knifeco's still got the myor convinced that the next sample set he gives away for free will get everybody excited to order a full set from him, huh?"

Scalene scoffed. "I don't know why anybody would bother to order one. If they wait long enough and show up to a few city events, eventually they'll win a full set. How much of his own money has he spent on knife sample sets by now?"

"Last I heard? 30, 40k? We probably won't find out how much he's embezzled from city funds 'til next election."

"Otto's an idiot," Scalene said. "After all these years, you'd think he'd figure out the only way to make money at that company is to recruit more salesmen and get a cut of the profits from the kits they sell."

"You'd think." Euclid shrugged impassively. "But as long as I'm still getting 5% from each of his sales to himself, I'm not about to tell him that." He rubbed a thumb on one of Scalene's corners, rubbing off a bit of waxy red side liner to expose the duller pink underneath. "We probably wouldn't be able to afford your makeup habit without him."

Scalene swatted Euclid's hand away. "Well, we can throw away your old chipped set." She patted the dark wood box. "From now on, we're using the set Billy won for us—isn't that right, Billy?" She bounced Bill lightly by her side. He was staring at the box, transfixed. "I think he likes it! That's right, these are your birthday knives, sweetheart."

When his parents looked at the box, they only saw the dark wood; but Bill saw through the wood—over the wood—to the silvery needlelike knives within. They gleamed with starlight shining down from a higher dimension. And then Bill looked up at the stars, glittering far above. He wiggled in Scalene's arm, but couldn't figure out how to move his limbs in the direction he saw above.

Euclid looked at the wiggling child, and tensed up. "Lene. Look at his eye."

She did, and sucked in a sharp breath. "What happened to him?"

"If this is because you dropped him..."

Bill's pupil had disappeared, leaving his eye looking empty and bloodshot silver. But at the change in the tone of his parents' voices, he blinked and focused on them curiously, his pupil back where it belonged like it had never disappeared.

They stared speechlessly at him.

"Did you and Euler's eyes ever do that?" Scalene asked. "Before those surgeries you got as kids?"

"Not—not that I remember. But I could ask Mom and Dad," he said, already knowing the answer would be no.

She stared at Bill's eye a moment longer; but when he didn't do anything but stare back innocently, she sighed. "Well, that's something else we can ask your optometrist. Maybe he'll have a fix for it."

####

While Pacifica was in the bathroom cleaning up after their makeup experimentation, Goldie stood from his folding chair to lean on the desk next to Mabel, staring with a look of intense concentration into the air over the chair about where his head had been.

"What's up?" Pacifica asked, leaning out of the bathroom.

Distractedly, Goldie said, "Nothing, just watching you do my face."

Pacifica frowned. "What? I'm over here?"

Mabel leaned between them, laughing nervously. "What he means is, he does this thing where he, uhh, imagines that he can see what happened around him in the past, so he's... pretending he's watching you put makeup on his face a few minutes ago." At Pacifica's skeptical look, Mabel hastily added, "It's not like a psychic thing or anything! It's just a... um..."

Goldie mumbled, "Mindfulness visualization exercise."

"Yeah! It helps him memorize stuff! Right?"

"You bet. All the best venture capitalists are doing it."

Pacifica said, "Oh, I think a CEO my dad invited over was talking about that. Is it like a meditation thing? You think about what you want to get it?"

"Say it until you believe it, believe it until it's true!" Mabel said.

Goldie elbowed her. "Look who's been paying attention." She beamed at him.

Pacifica packed the makeup, brushes, and spare hair ties and pins he'd need in a bag, and handed it over. "Okay, that should take care of your face. When you shower tonight, remember to wash all the makeup off, you do not want this messing with your pores; remember to moisturize or your skin will crack apart like a mummy's"—one of her mother's favorite threats—"get Mabel to help pin your curls tomorrow, and just do what I showed you for the rest. Now we just have to worry about clothing." She sized up his hair color, his skin color—couldn't quite bring herself to look at his eye color, though. "I think you're a spring. You can probably pull off some autumn colors too. But usually springs are supposed to tan easier than they burn..."

"I do!" He gestured at himself, sunburns and all, and said proudly, "This took hard work!"

That answered a question she'd been asking herself all day, and brought up half a dozen more. "Not going to ask. So, you want to go for bright, clear, warm colors. And you'll look better in gold accessories."

"I know," he said smugly.

Colors were the easy part. She wished she'd had time to call up her personal tailor to bring by some dresses that could be adjusted. Goldie had such a weird body shape—narrow shoulders, sticklike arms, slender calves, and then a wide waist and even wider hips. There couldn't be much clothing that fit him, masculine or feminine. "Do you have any cute clothes in colors that flatter you? Feminine clothes?"

"What's feminine? Dresses?" Goldie turned to Mabel. "Everything else is hit-or-miss, but dresses and skirts are still universally feminine around here, right?" Pacifica was dying to know what Goldie's life had been like.

"Yeah," Mabel said, "I think we managed to get that yellow summer dress at the mall."

Pacifica winced. "Is a summer dress all you've got?" Not the worse choice, depending on the cut, but it probably wouldn't do his figure any favors.

"It's either that or Jesús's grandma's skirts," Goldie said, shrugging. "Did we manage to snag that sparkly dress with all the pink peacock feathers?"

"That's more of a third date dress. You don't want him to think you're out of his league," Mabel said. "It's too bad we didn't get that galaxy print skirt."

"You know what I could really use? Halter top trapeze dress. Maybe stick a petticoat under the skirt for extra volume. They've gotta make trapeze dresses with petticoats somewhere."

"I could probably make one," said Mabel (who wasn't even sure what a trapeze dress was but was over the moon to see him voluntarily express an interest in human clothing).

Pacifica's face twisted in a grimace. Pityingly, she said, "Oh, you really don't know your body type at all."

He gave her an unimpressed look. "Don't I?"

The thing was, a trapeze dress in and of itself wasn't a bad idea: it was tight around the bust, flared out like a tent underneath, and stopped before the knees; so it could highlight his slim shoulders and arms, let him show off his thin calves, and do at least a bit to conceal those thunder thighs and flabby waistline. But... "A halter top would make your shoulders look way too narrow; and a petticoat would completely undermine the flattering effects of a trapeze dress, and—where would you even position the petticoat? Trapeze dresses doesn't have a waistline."

"About where the skirt starts," Goldie said, drawing a line in the air around bust height.

He couldn't be serious. "Absolutely not. You'd look like a walking triangle."

A smile of near maniacal glee stretched across Goldie's face. Before he could say anything, Mabel grabbed his arm and said, "I think you should just go with what Pacifica says! Pacifica, what do you think?"

"Just—stick with the dress you already have." Between a triangle trapeze dress, the threat of pink feathers, and galaxy print, suddenly Pacifica was grateful for the yellow summer dress. "It's great. Summer dresses are flirty. Do you have shoes that match it?"

Goldie pointed at his fish slippers. "It's these, black oxfords, or foam clogs."

"No," Pacifica said. "Sandals, flats, or open toe heels. And throw away the fish slippers."

"Never."

Mabel said, "You could reuse the sandals you borrowed from Dipper for your Summerween costume?"

"Please don't tell me what they look like," Pacifica said. "Okay, dress, shoes—accessories... just, get something nice but understated. And classy. Do I need to explain what 'classy' looks like?"

"Relax, I used to have a collection of gold that put Albion Art to shame," Goldie said. "I know how to do 'classy.'"

"I'm going to pretend I trust you," Pacifica said. "Okay, underwear—got to wear a bra unless the dress has built-in support; and if you hurry, it's probably not too late to go wherever poor people shop and grab some shapewear for your..." she gestured vaguely toward Goldie's abdomen, "problem area..."

"No," Goldie said flatly. "I'm drawing the line at shapewear. I look fine."

Ooh, not good. His attitude toward everything else about his looks ranged from "apathy" to "disgust," why was flaunting his not-flauntworthy curves the point where he chose to push back? She should've been more direct with him.  "Hon, I love the confidence, but..." Pacifica grimaced apologetically. "You're fat. Like, really fat. And you're not gonna win this guy if he thinks you've let yourself go."

Mabel shot from slouching to sitting straight up. "Pacifica!"

"What, it's true! He probably thinks having skinny arms hides it, but back me up here—it is not subtle."

"Don't say that, he's beautiful!!"

Pacifica had been braced for Goldie to be outraged, embarrassed, ashamed, go into denial, something—just about anything except snort with laughter. He waved them off when they looked at him. Pacifica wondered whether he'd misunderstood the conversation. "Listen to you two! You're letting the subtext do so much of the heavy lifting that you don't even realize half the things you're saying." His gaze on them was cold and faintly amused; and for a moment Pacifica felt like a bug whose behavior was being studied by some immense alien being, and who had been judged inferior.

"Anyway, I'm not trying to hide anything—and I'd make it less subtle if I could. I love my shape!" He pantomimed his shape with his hands—although, where most people would sort of draw an hourglass shape if they wanted to their body's curves, the shape he drew in the air looked more like a triangle. Which, admittedly, was more true to his actual appearance. "And you're changing it over my dead bo—" He winced, muttering, "Maybe not the best way to put that."

Now Pacifica wondered if she'd misunderstood him. "What."

"Look, kid..." Goldie stood straighter, put a hand on Pacifica's shoulder, and adopted the most patronizing tone she'd ever heard. "I know your parents taught you the only things contributing to your personal worth are how rich you are and how attractive other people find you, so let's agree that's all that really matters, right?"

"Um," said Pacifica, who was pretty sure she was about to receive some twee lesson about 'inner beauty' but had never heard one that started with the lecturer agreeing that wealth and looks were the most important things.

"And I know Missy Priscy's got you convinced that your beauty and your weight are engaged in a battle to the death over the right to terraform your flesh. So this might blow your mind—but you've been lied to! The sight of a human female over size 4 doesn't cause the contents of a human male's gonads to curdle! Fat chicks have been successfully getting hitched and passing the genetic baton to their offspring for all of human history—and reproduction is the only objective benchmark evolution has to measure who's hot and who's not, so you can rate that higher than the opinion of a tarnished trophy who thinks enough botox will make her immortal. Hear what I'm saying, Alpaca. Absorb it. Incorporate it into your worldview."

She bristled at the description of her mother, but swallowed back the urge to lash out. He was bitter and taking it out on her. He was feeding her a load of sour grapes. This was just the kind of thing fat people told themselves to feel less bad about being fat. "Riiight."

Goldie's patronizing smirk curled down at one corner in irritation. "Ah, who'm I kidding! You're not gonna believe me! Your mom, your modeling job, the pageant world, the beauty industry—they've burrowed way too deep in your head, and there's no digging them back out without a lobotomy." He scoffed. "You're one snide jab at the wrong time away from an eating disorder."

"Hey! How dare you!" Pacifica thought that was way meaner than anything she'd said.

Mabel snapped, "B—Goldie! Be nice! What's gotten into you two!"

"Yeesh, touched a nerve! Excuse me!" He raised his hands apologetically, but he was grinning impishly. "Anyway—" he raised his voice as the girls attempted to scold him again, "Anyway! More to the point—our target looked me up and down in a bikini and asked if he could help slather sunscreen around my waist, so I think he thinks my body looks great in the shape it's already in. And getting the guy is the only important thing—right?"

If Goldie was telling the truth, Pacifica couldn't think of any other reason some guy would volunteer to rub sunscreen on him—even if she found it hard to believe. And if he was making it up, then whatever, he could sabotage himself if he wanted, she didn't care. She rolled her eyes, grit her teeth, and muttered, "Fine."

"Not fine! Both of you hold on!" Mabel stood, decided she wasn't tall enough, and climbed on the folding chair.  "You two were just really mean to each other! That's terrible—especially after you were getting along so great! Apologize to each other!" She crossed her arms, glaring them down.

Pacifica stared at her in disbelief, brows raised. "I beg your pardon?"

But Goldie didn't look like this was odd to him at all. He just rolled his eyes—"All right, all right,"—and looked at Pacifica. "C'mon. You can't be that mad. You've heard worse."

She scowled at him, but she supposed she had. From her mom, her old pageant coach, her manager that got her modeling jobs—she was just more used to warnings about getting fat than she was to warnings about fearing getting fat. "So have you."

"Worse than you can imagine," Goldie said. "We're good?"

"We're good," Pacifica said.

Goldie looked at Mabel. "We're good!"

Mabel looked between the two of them suspiciously. "That was an apology?"

"Got the job done, didn't it?"

Mabel didn't look pleased, but she sat down on the folding chair and crossed her arms.

Pacifica said, "Okay, you're off the hook for shapewear—but if he thinks you look like a slob, it's on you."

He rolled his eyes. "Noted!"

"But you've got to wear a bra. What are the straps like on the summer dress, do you have a bra that'll fit under it okay?"

Goldie groaned. "We can reuse my bikini and pad the cups or something. We don't have time to go to the mall and figure out what size I am."

In horror, Pacifica quietly asked, "Do... do you not even own a bra."

"Why would I?" Goldie asked, like he couldn't imagine a single practical reason. Hard to tell his size through an oversized t-shirt; he was definitely small, but it wasn't like he was flat. "I've never really cared about local fashion outside of batiks, brocades, tie dyes, and sarcastic t-shirts, but now that it's affecting me personally? I cannot wait for that particular fad to die."

Since when were batiks local. And who calls bras a fad. That's like calling shoes a fad. "What is your life like," Pacifica asked.

Goldie grinned. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

####

"That's it. That's all I can do for you," Pacifica said. "Good luck on... whatever it is you're doing. Because I'm pretty sure you're not actually into this guy?"

Mabel said, "Wooing a federal agent to avoid getting the whole family arrested!"

Pacifica nodded. "Oh, cool. Let me know how that goes."

Mabel stopped to hug Giorgio on the way out.

As they left Pacifica's barn, Bill turned to face Mabel. "Welp!" He pantomimed like he was playing a violin, "Ready to bow on some poor sucker's heartstrings until we yank out his aorta?"

"Ha ha. Yeah. Sure." Mabel tried to smile and it came out as a grimace. "Sounds great."

"Hey, don't give me that look!" He shoved Mabel's shoulder. "You've heard me say gorier things than that!" He flashed her a grin she could only describe as bloodthirsty, and bounced off toward the road back to town, so cheerful he was very nearly floating.

And she watched him go, biting her lip.

Something had been bothering her since his argument with Pacifica:

She couldn't figure out why he wasn't better.

####

Bill nudged Mabel. "Hey. Am I in trouble?"

"What?"

"You've been giving me the silent treatment since we left." That had been about fifteen minutes earlier. "Is it because of the eating disorder thing? Do I have to apologize to you for that? It's not like I was insulting her! If anything, I did her a favor by warning her—"

She gave him a sour look—that had been very rude, even if not Bill's typical existential horror cosmic nightmare level rudeness—but said, "No, it's not that. I'm just thinking about stuff."

"Are you gonna share it, or do I have to wait until I can crawl inside your head again to find out?"

Mabel was silent a moment. "Do you actually like tie-dye?"

"That's what's bothering you?" He pulled his eyepatch back on—Pacifica had told him putting it back on would probably mess up his makeup, but that didn't really matter until tomorrow. "Of course I do, who doesn't! It's chaos on a shirt." He shrugged. "I've never had any—but, y'know, it's nice to look at, anyway."

"Wait, never? We should do tie-dye together! I can get us some white shirts and we can dye them outside," Mabel said. "Maybe I can invite Grenda and Candy!"

"Sounds like a party! Let me know when, you know what my schedule looks like."

"Great!" She beamed at him.

But as they walked, her smile slowly faded as she drifted back into her own thoughts.

His ideas about flirting were very hit or miss, but Mabel thought they were probably hits more often with aliens that thought dead salmon smelled sexy. He'd had a girlfriend, at any rate.

And he'd gotten chummy with Abuelita (even after she tried to poison him), he'd charmed Gideon's mom in like ten seconds, Wendy thought he was cool and so did half her gang, Candy and Grenda said he was fun, Mabel was pretty sure Stan kinda liked him even if he wouldn't admit it... He'd even managed to develop a rapport with Pacifica—Pacifica!—which had taken Mabel like two-thirds of the summer!—and he'd done it even though they'd insulted each other!

He was charming, he was fun, he clearly got romance...

So how come he didn't have true love and best friends that weren't evil?

The question itched at her brain.

Mabel firmly believed that the only thing that made people bad was not getting enough love. Family love, friend love, romance love, adorable cuddly pet love, whatever. Put love in, get love out; put nothing in, get a swirling vortex of loneliness and hatred where the love should have been stored. Like Prickly Bee in Color Critters! Who during season one had been one of the color-hating bad guys, but in season two had inexplicably joined the good guys due to network executive meddling, and it wasn't until season three that they did a flashback episode showing that the critters had won her over by showing her the kindness and caring that her old boss Serpent Grey never had!

And at the beginning of summer, after Mabel helped Bill get his hair back, he'd said it had been a long time since anyone had been nice to him; and he'd been nice to her since then, so that seemed to support her theory. All it took was a little love!

She just couldn't figure out why he didn't already have enough.

He had all those monster friends he'd tried to conquer the world with last year, but maybe they were those "people who claim to be friends but are actually allies who hate each other" that you see amongst cartoon villains. (Like Serpent Grey's minions.) Was it because they were aliens? Were aliens not good at friendship? Had he been deprived until now?

She remembered how heavy even the smallest glimpse at his pain had been—listening to him grieve over his own death. It was clear that, whatever he'd had before, what he needed now was better love, more friends—enough to share that psychological weight without collapsing—but how much would be enough to untwist his crooked morality?

Mabel was running out of time. Summer was almost halfway over. She only had seven more weeks to reintegrate Bill into society—to help him make amends for everything he'd done last summer—or else... or else she'd failed. She'd failed him. 

And she knew she was making progress with Bill, but she didn't know if it was enough. She wished he'd go faster. She wished summer would go slower. She wished she had more time.

She remembered what had happened the last time she'd wished for a little more summer.

So she'd just have to figure out how to save him in the time they had left. She couldn't just pick up a broken teacup, glue half the pieces together, then abandon it half-repaired to leak tea all over the floor. She was a problem solver, it was what she did. She had to solve this problem—or else everything she'd done this past year would be for nothing.

As they walked, she reached out to grab Bill's hand. He gave her a curious look, but he didn't pull it back.

"Was all that stuff true about you doing pageants as a kid?" (There must have been something in his past to explain why he didn't have enough love—maybe in his childhood.) "Or did you just make that up to make Pacifica relax?" (She guiltily remembered him accusing her of trying to "fix" him—how badly he'd been hurt by the thought.)

She felt his hand tense in her grip, but he shrugged dismissively. "They're not exactly identical to human beauty pageants—no real fashion component, for one thing—but, yeah. Did 'em as a kid. I went to my first pageant on the day I was born."

"So you lied when you told me you didn't do them yourself?"

"I did not," Bill said indignantly. "I just didn't correct you when you guessed wrong!"

At Mabel's sour look, Bill rolled his eye and said, "What, am I supposed to correct you every time you say something wrong? Because humans are wrong about just about everything—"

"Bill."

He huffed. "The specifics weren't any of your business, okay? It's—not something I talk about with humans. Or any other aliens, for that matter."

"Why not? Was it—"

"Because it's ancient history," he said sharply.

Mabel gave him a worried look. When he didn't elaborate, she said, "So, is it really as stressful as you and Pacifica made it sound?"

"Stressful!" Bill scoffed. "Name a part of life that isn't stressful. School, work, breeding a family, yadda yadda—better to learn how to handle it early, right? And it's only stressful if you're bad at it! I was good. I was very good."

"Good at what?" Mabel asked.

"Uh..." Bill had to grasp for a moment. "Being... cute. Charming the judges. Wowing 'em at the talent portion—when I wasn't starting fires. I really did play the piano! I mean—not a piano, but the closest equivalent my world had. There's nothing cuter than a kid playing an instrument he can hardly reach each end of." At Mabel's continued worried look, he said, "What! It was harmless. It was just a bunch of baby shapes bumbling around the stage looking adorable, that's all! It wasn't that bad!"

He was quiet for a moment; and then he repeated to himself, "It wasn't that bad."

####

"Don't get any closer," Stan said. "This place is about to be a toxic waste dump."

Bill and Mabel looked around Stan. In the middle of the clearing behind the Mystery Shack, a tent had been set up. Inside, a goat bleated in a plea for help.

Mabel asked, "Why?"

"Poindexter and your brother's plan to get that computer doohickey out of the goat the old-fashioned way didn't work. He wouldn't eat the concoction they mixed up. So they're getting it out of him the other old-fashioned way."

"Vivisection?" Bill asked hopefully.

"No—" Stan fell silent, squinted at Bill's face, and decided not to comment on his new look. "Vomit. You remember that witch's brew we used to chase off the flying eyeball that you—er—you knew?"

Mabel screwed up her face. "Oh, yuck, that was the worst thing I ever smelled."

Stan tipped his head toward the tent. "Well, they're about to detonate what's left of it."

"'Detonate'?"

Ford's voice came from the tent: "On the count of three! One... two..."

There was a muffled boom. The walls of the tent billowed outward and an orange ball of fire illuminated Ford, Dipper, and Gomper's silhouettes. Gompers let out a loud bleat of distress.

Voice strained, Dipper said, "Ugh, that smell—I think I'm gonna be—" He had to try a couple of times to unzip the tent, then stumbled out and landed on his hands and knees in the dirt, gasping for fresh air.

Ford—wearing a gas mask—ducked out of the tent. "I told you you'd want a mask."

"Smelling it in close quarters is way—" He clapped a hand over his mouth and gagged, "—way worse than I thought."

"Well?" Stan called. "Did anything come up?"

Ford peered back into the tent. "No."

Stan flung his hands up.

"Don't lose hope," Ford said. "I have a spell to induce vertigo somewhere. I don't remember all the words, but..."

Bill spent several seconds pretending he didn't notice Ford was staring directly at him before he said, "Can I help you?"

"You know the spell, don't you?"

"What, the Maximus Vertiginous? 'Course I do. Classic prank."

Ford stared at him expectantly. Bill said, "What?"

"How does it go?" Ford asked impatiently.

"Oh, you expect me to teach you?" Bill rolled his eye.

Mabel frowned up at him. "Come on, Bill, don't be a jerk."

The back of his neck started heating up as he realized the whole family was staring at him. He stood a little straighter. "Listen to you, ya little hypocrite! Aren't you the one who keeps showing me those cute cartoons telling me to be myself?" To Stanford, he said, "I don't tutor my dropouts. Go find your own notes, Stanford Pines."

Ford glowered at Bill, but then he left the tent, zipped it shut behind himself, and trudged toward the shack. His irritated muttering was muffled by the gas mask.

As soon as the door shut, Stan clapped his hands. "Okay! Ford's gone, now we're doing this my way." As he passed Dipper, he said, "C'mon, kid, chop chop. I need your help, your hands are smaller than mine."

Dipper groaned, but got back to his feet, pulled his shirt over his nose, and trudged back to the tent with Stan. "What are we doing?"

"The same thing you and Ford were—but more assertive! Sixer nixed my plan, but his obviously didn't work." Stan unzipped the tent's flap. "All right. I'll hold the goat's mouth open, you reach in."

"Ohhh no."

Bill's face lit up. "Heeey, that sounds fun! Let me try! My hands are small and I can actually see the flash drive!"

"Oh no you don't," Stan said. "We can't risk you picking up the eyeball repellant stink, you've gotta stay pretty until loverboy shows up!"

"What, so suddenly I'm too pretty to grope a goat's guts?" Bill stared at Mabel in disbelief, waiting for her to commiserate over this injustice.

Mabel—who was still a bit miffed about being called a hypocrite—said, "Let's just go in." As they walked to the porch, she said, "'Be yourself' doesn't mean be a jerk. It means 'don't hide your talents' and 'keep doing your hobbies even if other people think they're boring' and stuff."

"Yeah, well, what if one of my talents is being a jerk?"

Mabel groaned. "There's gotta be an episode that covers this."

As Stan entered the tent, he said, "Phew, that reeks! Hey, zip the tent when you come in."

Dipper hung back nervously, half in the tent and pinching his nose shut. "Grunkle Stan, I'm not sure about this idea."

"Come on, it—it can't be hard! Farmers do this. I think. Look, I'm doing the hard part, all you have to do is reach down his throat! Lemme just... get my fingers between his jaws...

Gompers bleated angrily. Stan hollered in pain.

"Oh, no!" Dipper dove for Gompers and landed in the dirt as the goat shot past. From the porch, Mabel and Bill could only watch as Gompers headed the other way.

Soos walked around the corner of the shack. "Hey, du—whoa!"

"Soos!" Dipper shouted. "Catch him!"

Soos dove to the side to get out of the way of the charging goat, watched him vanish into the forest, and said, "Aw—dude, I just did the opposite of what you asked me to do. That's totally my bad."

Ford opened the back door with a handful of papers and his gas mask pushed up on his forehead. "I heard shouting, what happened?"

"Uhhh," Soos said. "Gompers just escaped into the forest."

"What?! How?!"

Stan stumbled through the tent's flap, cradling a hand. "It was—it was totally unexpected. Just ran off for no reason. Completely unprompted," he said. "He also bit my hand. Don't ask why my hand was so close to his mouth."

Ford said, "Which way?! We have to follow him immediately! If the agents detect the drive's signal before we retrieve him—"

"Don't bother," Bill said. "As long as he's in the forest, if he doesn't want to be caught, he won't be. There's nothing you can do until he comes out."

Ford narrowed his eyes. "How are you so sure?"

"He ate some magic rocks."

"Ah. Well." He shrugged in defeat. Nothing they could do if he'd eaten magic rocks. "But what if he does want to be caught?"

Bill gestured toward the forest with a flourish. "If you think he's eager for more of the hors d'oeuvres and perfume you've been offering him today, go get 'im."

Stan cleared his throat. "Well—the good news is, when the agents get here, they won't find the thingamajig in the Mystery Shack! Eh? Ehhh?"

"Oh, yeah, that's what I was coming over to tell you guys," Soos said. "I was taking out the trash, and I saw this car parked just up the road, and it looked like the car the government dudes were in today, so, I think they're watching the shack now?"

There was a long silence as the group processed that.

"We can't be outside," Ford said. "If they see Stan they'll want to interrogate him, if they see Bill here after hours they'll know he's not a passing tourist, and if they see me they'll realize I'm not a superior officer from Washington—"

Bill slammed his fist on the back door. "Then stop rambling and let me in!"

Ford opened the door and ushered everyone inside. "Hurry!"

"But what about Gompers?" Dipper asked. "We've gotta at least try to find him before the agents do!"

"What if the agents follow you to Gompers?" Ford asked. Dipper hesitated.

Mabel said, "We can make disguises so they won't recognize us!" She took off her half of the enchanted friendship bracelets, chucked it toward the coat rack just inside the door, and ran upstairs. "Come on!"

Dipper shot one last worried look toward the forest, then followed her.

Ford shut the door and asked Stan in a low voice, "How long is Gompers usually gone when he wanders off?"

"No telling. Sometimes I don't see him for weeks at a time."

Soos said, "So if they're gonna keep looking until they find that drive, but we can't go looking because they're watching us, and Gompers doesn't come back, so we can't find the drive, and they can't find the drive... then, how do we get rid of them?"

"We don't," Stan said. "Unless they find something more interesting than the drive."

As Bill added his end of the bracelet to the coat rack, he was keenly aware of three sets of eyes on him. He could see the cold gray walls of his cell in the— of the surgical suite in Hangar 618. Oh, he was certainly a billion times more interesting than some lousy drive; and if the eagles figured that out...

"Distracting them for a few hours won't cut it, will it," Ford asked him.

Bill pushed away the phantom psychological weight of heavy ankle cuffs and cheap orange fabric. "Doesn't look like it. You'll need some other way to make them leave."

Grimly, Ford said, "It looks like your job just got a lot more important."

####

(Your "what was edited due to TBOB" roundup: as mentioned in an earlier chapter, some of the specifics of the pageant scene came from TBOB—the name of the "best baby ever" award and the mayor handing out free knives. But everything else was plotted well before TBOB—including Bill being born able to see the stars, having a condition that makes him unusually flexible (which lines up with Baby Bill's squishy look quite well), and his parents getting him medical treatment at a very young age due to, among other things, his weird eye. Most of the rest of the chapter was written pre-TBOB.

Although my god did i rewrite the conversation about Bill's weight a hundred times. This has been a high priority to work into the fic for some time! I wanted to make it clear that Bill's body shape isn't merely a cosmetic part of his character design but something with actual in-world impact, that for him it's a positive and not meant to be punitive or a joke, and that Pacifica's got issues and we're gonna be dealing with them. The hard part was doing all that while avoiding Bill sounding like an enlightened angel spreading the gospel of fat positivity to the ignorant masses, rather than what he actually is: a selfish alien who realizes humans are being stupid but whose only personally investment in this issue is convincing a 13-year-old not to make him wear spanx. 

Next week, the agents are finally back, and Bill gets to put all that flirting practice into action! I'm sure he'll do a great job.)

[rcvcgers]

Duty's Cruel Embrace

account masterlist , series masterlist , ao3

18+ MINORS DNI

prologue | next chapter

playlist

pairing ; prince!xavier x princess!reader

synopsis ; after a long military campaign to try and conquer the mysterious kingdom of nabira, the kingdom of philos offers the king of nabira a deal to save his kingdom: a political marriage between the the crown prince and princess. the princess is whisked to the other side of the world, separated from her kingdom and family, forced to navigate her life in court with the help of a lemurian courtier and her duty as philos' next queen.

word count ; 1.7k words

author's note ; hi everyone! this is my new series that i am so happy to get started! it is a lil collaboration between me and the amazing vel!! ( @velaenam ) [go check out their part here!] hers takes place in ancient rome while mine is during the medieval times (mid-1200s to be exact!) please read the trigger warnings below before proceeding to read the prologue below. it serves as a warning for the rest of the series as it plays out.

as always, i am not responsible for what you decide to read/consume.

trigger/content warnings ; swearing, nsfw language, political manipulation, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, war and violence, sexual themes, misogyny/patriarchal culture, classism and elitism, culture tensions, xenophobia, racism, non consensual stuff at times...romantic love triangle, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut (thanks vel for letting me steal <3)

want to be a part of the tag list? click here!

You slowly suck in a breath, the warm wind finding its way into your lungs, the flying sand tickling your nostrils. The familiar scent of sand mixes in with the perfumed oil on your skin, the floral smell making the small stretch of desert bearable despite the constant fires that burned outside the walls.

Smoke has become familiar to you. A constant presence in an evolving war that has claimed the lives of hundreds of men.

You exhale, slow and steady — determined. Your arms remain strong, the wooden bow adorned with gold accents in its design, light in your hand. 

The bow creaks as the string is pulled back. The tips of your fingers curl around the sinew drawstring, the once tacky material no longer sticking to your fingers after years of use. The crow feather from the arrow brushes against your cheek, remaining locked by the corner of your lips. 

You stand alone in the deserted area. It is a short distance away from the palace, a secondary home when you need to get away from the turmoils of life and the raging war that sits outside Nabira’s walls, threatening to burst inside at any moment.

From the distance, you hear the sounds of screaming men, their lives being carelessly ended in a battle that you know will only end in devastation for both sides.

The world moves around you. The wind brushes the hair out of your face, kissing your skin while a cloudless blue sky hangs above you. Sand flies past your eyes. Under the scorching rays of the sun, the specks look like gold, adding to the never ending beauty of your kingdom.

Footsteps sound from behind. You remain in a contest with the target before you, pushed across the plains at a far distance, farther than any of your father’s archers could reach, resting atop a rock where statues of your ancestors stand. The gold accents and gems catch the afternoon light, shining from afar.

“My brother,” you speak. The arrow remains still, ready to be unleashed. “Has he returned to us?”

“He has perished in the midst of battle,” your maid’s voice is quiet, meek. She trembles, eyes fixated on the bow and arrow that lies in your hand. “The Philos King and Prince are to arrive at the palace within the hour.”

You do not react. You do not move a single muscle. Your lungs burn, fingers aching as the string presses into your skin, threatening to tear your flesh and have your blood and tears fall into the earth beneath your feet.

You know what is to be expected of you. A fate that you have always deemed to be worse than death, a permanent ending to one’s story. It is a role that you have never wished to play. While other girls fantasized about their future husbands, you picked up a bow and books, dedicating your future to the prosperity of Nabira.

A bitter taste forms across your tongue. The future of your country is in shambles now that your brother’s soul has been ripped away from the earth.

“Who.”

“Who…?”

“Who killed my brother?”

Your maid remains silent. The sinew string sinks further into your skin. Your blood seeps into the material, slowly dripping from your fingers, falling into the golden sand below. It stains the desert just as the war outside Nabira’s walls does.

Did your brother’s blood sink into the sand? Did his flesh and bones submerge beneath the sand, returning him to the land where your ancestors rest?

“Lumière, my lady.”

The reflection from the gold adorned statue flashes into your eye. You do not flinch. You accept the pain with open arms, knowing that the dull ache that forms behind your eyes is immeasurable to the pain your brother must have felt on the battlefield.

“Lumière,” you breathe out the knight’s name, knowing that it belongs to the crown prince of Philos who has never lost a battle.

Anger bubbles inside your now hollow chest. Your grip on the string tightens, the material burying itself into your flesh, threatening to slice till it reaches your bones.

You release the arrow. It slices through the sky, its black feathers a whir before it disappears across the distance. The bow relaxes in your hand, the string vibrating before settling back into its rightful place. Your eyes attach to the red mark on the light colored string. A permanent scar to remind yourself of what you have lost today.

Your arms relax. They feel weak at your sides. The wind envelops your body, the sand hitting against your bare hands, chaffing them. A lump forms on the inside of your throat, the amalgamation of all your worries and fears ready to burst from your mouth at any given moment.

You remain silent. You hold back the tears that threaten to fall, not wanting them to mix in with the blood that lies at your feet.

The sand may have your blood, but it will never have your tears.

“Leave me,” the words fall from your mouth like a breathless plea for the divine spirits in your life to take the reins.

Your quiver hits your hip, the smooth leather soaking in the sun’s heat. Your dress is a vibrant teal color, a shade that compliments the sea not too far from Nabira. Your neck and arms are decorated with golden jewelry while your fingers remain bare, needing the mobility for your archery.

With one step, you push into the empty terrain. The desert is hot and the winds push you towards the statues that lay across the stretch of land. Minutes pass and the statues grow taller, more dominant in the sky, the white stone beckoning for you to come forward.

The wind whispers your name and picks up your hair. A woman’s voice calls for you from within the wind. Her voice is like a lullaby, one that your mother sang to you before she passed.

You stop before the steps that leads into the circle of sand. Two statues sit in the center of the perimeter, the inside of the circle filled with nothing but the sand of the kingdom you call home, the place you would willingly put your life down for to protect it.

A man’s voice touches your ears. It’s strong yet he doesn’t speak over the woman. The wind hums in harmony, their voices joined as one. 

You move up the first step, eyes focused on the pair of statues. With the second step, they become more visible. The male figure kneels before the woman, whose hand is placed atop his head. She wears a gold crown, fingers adorned with a single golden ring, a symbol of her love.

To you, though, you saw it as chains connected to the man whose name will forever be known throughout all of history while hers is destined to fade no matter how hard her emperor husband tried to keep her memory alive. Historians only ever remember men, never the women who push them towards greatness.

The people, though? They will remember her. They will carry on the memory of her life and legacy through the erected statues of the man’s dedication. Her stone shall never chip or crumble, the paint of her skin always remaining vibrant as the world breaks down others around her.

A step inside the circle. Your eyes move to the target, catching a glimpse of black crow feathers. You take a step to the side, every move calculated and made out of respect for the scene that sits in front of your eyes.

The arrow is lodged into the center of the target. A perfect hit from being at such a far distance. With one pull, you pull the arrow free from the woven straw of dead plants. The arrow is razor sharp, its jagged edges proving useful as a weapon of destruction.

You drag the tip of the arrow along the pad of your thumb. It presses into your flesh yet its touch is gentle, not slicing into your skin. You move in front of the statue, tilting your chin up. You lock eyes with the woman. The wind hastens, urgency met with every gust

Something resonates inside your heart. The once empty space, a void created by the death of your twin brother, is filled with a sense of purpose. Defiance crosses your mind. Your eyes flicker to the golden ring on her finger before moving back to her eyes.

“Is that what you wish for me, ancestor?” you ask aloud. The wind cools your fiery heart. “Are we to share the same fate?”

You slowly lower yourself onto your knees. The arrow falls to the side, forgotten as the wind covers it with sand. The golden flakes within the small fragments soothes your aching heart. The weight of Nabira’s world is released onto your shoulders, your knees sinking into the sand. You lean forward, bowing your head in reverence towards the ancestors who came before you, a gesture of honor and appreciation.

“Guide me,” you breathe the words out like they are a prayer, closing your eyes, “be with me till my last breath.”

Your hands submerge beneath the layers of sand. The wind quickens from around you, swirling as if it has come to life, their voices filling your ears and calming your racing mind. You draw in a long breath and slowly begin to exhale.

As your breath dies, so does the wind. You open your eyes and look at the woman before you.

There is a gentleness in her expression. She does not need to open her mouth to bring you the comfort and solace for the journey that has been laid out for you. Your fingers move to the side, curling around the arrow that sits beside your knees. You nod at her and rise to your feet. You turn on your heel, overlooking the landscape.

In the distance, Nabira’s walls stand tall, looming over the destruction and bloodshed that has tormented the soil for far too long. Plumes of smoke roll into the air, an omen of what is to come. Bells ring out, a signal for you to return to your father’s side, to mourn the loss of your brother, another life wasted in a useless war.

The wind brushes against your skin, pushing you towards your destiny.

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[artsninspo]

FORGIVELESS - XI - I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU BEFORE, IT'S NOT GON’ END HOW YOU WANT 🥀

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➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

MOODBOARD 🖼️

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word Count: ~4.3K

Warning: NSFW, 18+, this one's 🌶️ 🌶️ 🌶️

Authors Note: The finale is here, this is the series' last chapter. I don't want to spoil anything so enjoy 😊

XI - I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU BEFORE, IT'S NOT GON’ END HOW YOU WANT 🥀

You look around at all the smiling faces as the party dies down. Exhaling you find your eyes at the dessert table only to find them absent of all the sweet treats you’d spent the morning agonising over. There was hardly any food left in the aluminium trays either but people seemed satisfied enough. You find your mother and Tia’s sharing a laugh and everyone else enjoying themselves similarly. You can’t remember a time in recent years where you’ve felt this peaceful and sure about where life was taking you. When you first discovered James’ infidelity it had been heartbreaking. You felt like your marriage or at least the image you had of it was over and so were the happiest times of your life. You felt like your next chapter would have been tears and shame for being a divorcee, being unable to keep a man or worse yet, not being able to leave and somehow being convinced to stay in misery. It was the reason you sought to get even in the first place. You’d have been comfortable with a subtle betrayal. A betrayal all the same, not equal to an affair but equally as devastating to James’ ego. Whether or not you decided to share your indiscretions in the beginning it was enough just to know you were no longer giving him your all when all he had was pieces for you, and not even the best parts. If only you had known then what you know now. You’d been selling yourself short of endlessly appealing possibilities right around the corner. There was no need to cry. James didn't deserve you and he was far from the big fish he positioned himself as. He didn't have enough good qualities for you to be as wrapped up in him as you were. If you had vision then you would’ve left the minute he started acting up. 

You read the final divorce decree one more time and smile seeing you’ve won all the contested points along with all your entitlements. James has been a kitten since hisincident. He’s been pleasant every single time you’ve come across him for a hearing and signed the papers no problem. There’ve been no more stupid messages and you’ve been free to move forward without prying eyes and stress. Even James’ mother had relaxed her tone and all of the betrayal talk. You know it's because of Rio, although you’ve never talked about it. Being a part of his life for these past few months has made one thing clear; he’s ready for war about anyone he loves. You were free to move on officially. Freedom had ever felt so good. It was slow mornings without the need to prepare lunches or rushing to look presentable only for it to be disregarded and unappreciated. It was teaching classes at the yoga studio in the afternoons and sometimes shopping or lavish dinners and cafes in the evenings. It was the kind of life most dream of - especially after something so tumultuous and you were acutely aware and infinitely grateful for your new reality. You smell his cologne and the hair on the back of your neck stands up before you feel familiar hands take your hips pulling them gently to rest against him. Your body relaxes further as you look at everyone in your new place enjoying themselves.

“You did so good decorating this place they don't want to leave” Rio mutters, placing a kiss on your cheek.

“It’s only nine” you defend your guests.

“The food is gone and they’ve been here since three” he complains and you turn to face him amused with his possessiveness. The past few weeks had been wearing him thin. He’d been working so hard managing his establishments and deliveries to your place he was stressed.

“Oh shit, my cousins’ back. That means we gotta leave before the not so subtle remarks start” Tia says aloud. Instead of awkward silence there’s laughter. Rio’s never been one to hide who he is or make apologies for it.

“Oooh look at the time! I’m missing my show” Your mom says shooting up from her seat, you roll your eyes knowing she’s headed to the guest suites in your building to watch her crush on television.

“Let’s help clean up this housewarming, divorce party” Marisol remarks, always considering others.

“Ladies, it’s taken care of. Drive safe” Rio interjects, waving them off. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s got it handled but it does.

“There’s that personality we know and love” Tia scoffs now in front of you. “Drive safe? That’s pretty polite Y/N, your manners are rubbing off, usually it would be it’s time to leave, go”  Tia teases, hugging you.

“Thanks for coming Tee and I know, I’m going to love whatever it is in that huge box” you smile.

“Oh I know you will. Call me tomorrow love” She smiles, kissing your cheek.

“Bye Tia” Rio rasps as she adjusts her purse on her shoulder.

“Stop stressing it doesn't look good on you. People always love the Rio experience the restaurant will do as well as all the others”  Tia says giving Rio a hug.

“She’s right” you add with a smile, Rio does the same. More of the same goodbyes happen until the place is empty. Then like clockwork four women wearing cleaning uniforms walk in, getting to work.

“Did I tell you I love you today?” You ask looking up at Rio.

“You did, love you too” Rio responds lowering to pull you into a kiss. It’s slow and just as meaningful as his first I love you’s. That had occurred on your first real official date and on a beach. A replica of the night James had stolen from you in Mexico with that stupid message. The beachouse was gorgeous as was the experience. No matter how busy work got Rio never missed an opportunity to show his love for you. It was something you didn't know you needed until being with him.

“How long are they gonna be?” you whisper and Rio chuckles knowing what’s on his mind is the exact same thing that's on yours.

“About an hour, they’re the best. It'll be like no one was here” Rio whispers in response. You watch as your presents are piled into a corner, and you can't remember the last time you were loved so generously but a community of people.

“Your family is sooooo good to me Rio” you tell him honestly. Each of the few women that had been invited to celebrate the day with you came with full hands. While the women in your family came with mostly envelopes from the older crowd. They’d already given you so much after your wedding, it felt wrong to ask for more during your divorce. The invitations were devoid of requests for gifts but still no one came empty handed. Everyone in attendance had decided that the joint venture Housewarming and Divorce party deserved both gifts and commotion.

“Family knows treating you right goes a long way with me” Rio mutters as you move out of the kitchen to let the cleaners have their space.

“Have you eaten?” you ask Rio.

“Not hungry” he says, stopping you from making him a plate before the food is discarded.

“Baby, I need you to take the day off tomorrow to spend it with me. No restaurant talk, no stress, just good food and us” you tell him. It’s your first request of this type and you know Rio will oblige it.

“Ok” he agrees at the same time as his work phone sounds. Exhaling, he answers with his eyes closed and his shoulders fall. “I’ll be there in thirty” he sighs.

“I’m sorry, I gotta go handle this” Rio says, giving you a little PTSD.

“Okay, let me change out of this dress and come with you” you swallow.

“It can't wait Mama, if you're coming it has to be now” Rio responds. Nodding you grab your phone and a purse before grabbing his hand. You know it's gonna be bad with how silent he is. It’s something you’ve learned about him. He gets silent and then he’s in the zone which can be either really good or bad depending on where you fit in the spectrum. Always the gentleman he gets the door for you and you ride off into the darkness with him in the G-Wagon. The drive into the heart of the city takes you thirty minutes giving Rio time to stew in his anger. There are bustling business all around and you cringe having overheard a few calls of Rio admonishing contractors for the delays and imperfections. Rio was ‘bleeding money’ as he put it and you could visualise what that meant now more than ever.

“Baby, when we get in there let’s try to be calm” you interject as he parks out front.

“I love you and your softness but that’s not good for business” Rio says getting out of the car. He gets your door and you hold his hand hoping to transfer some good energy to him as his body stiffens. He opens the door and your jaw drops at the fruit of his labour. It’s the most gorgeous restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. Something straight out of a dream.

“I’ll be back” he says, kissing your forehead and striding off as you look around. The place looks like a tropical oasis. The rich green foliage on the walls and ceilings put the hairstylist salon walls to shame. It’s like a lush upscale botanical garden. You just know it’ll be all over social media once the door’s open. There are three levels as far as your eyes can see and two glass pod booths that seem suspended in the air. You know Rio and that the experience of being up there probably costs a fortune.  Hearing Rio’s footsteps return you exhale in admiration of his accomplishments.

“Christopher, you gotta take it easy on this team, it's gorgeous here. I think it’s your best work yet” You tell him honestly.

“I need this one to be prefect and they fucked up the sign” he snaps. Frowning you follow him outside.

“Nobody’s gonna care about the sign when inside looks liiiiii-” your words hitch as the sign lights up. Your heart races and body heats as you read your name in bright lights that are your favourite colour in fluorescence. You’re at a complete loss for words and feel tears stinging as you turn to Rio who you find on bended knee. 

Your heart hitches.

Breathes cease.

Vision blurs.

Sound becomes muffled and you blink to everything happening in slow motion. 

Rio, the proudest man you’ve ever met is on one knee in the middle of the city for you. Outside of the most gorgeous venue, restaurant, whatever, you have ever laid eyes on, that is also named after you? You can feel your brain begin to short circuit.

“I’m not good with speeches. All I know is that this is the happiest I've been in my entire life. You make me better in every way baby, and I want forever to experience life with you. Forever you make you happy, to appreciate you and love you. Please Y/N, say yes and be my wife” he says with his brown eyes shining in the well lit street. Your eyes have been locked on his the entire time you haven't looked at the shimmering rock waiting to grace your finger. The literal ring of your dreams. 

Perfection.

“Yes” you tell him, nodding furiously. Smiling Rio stands and you kiss him hard before he puts on the ring. There's cheering outside from strangers and onlookers. You smile looking at your ring as Rio takes you inside only for you to be startled by the cheering of both of your families. Including the ladies you just said goodbye to.

“Rio, baby it’s perfect” you swallow about to lose it and he hugs you tight. Family and friends give you a moment to enjoy the proposal and this time when Rio kisses you the hooting and hollering is from loved ones.

Your heart is beyond full.

Turning back to Rio you wonder how he managed all of this, how he’d managed to make this happen so perfectly in so little time.

“No wonder you were stressed” you smile, kissing him again. “How’d you keep all this from me?” you ask.

“Tia helped” Rio smiles holding you.

“Congratulations baby girl!” Your mom beams taking you and Rio into a group hug. “Christopher baby, I love how you love my daughter and I’m so happy for the both of you” your mom smiles giving you a kiss on the cheek each.

“Thanks Ma.” Rio smiles melting your heart even more. 

The ground floor is turned into a dance floor and after the congratulations are in order people begin to party.  You mingle and smile for pictures while letting people see the ring. It's exciting, it's overwhelming, it's heartwarming, it's real love. Processing the day you sit still on your fiance’s lap trying to piece together how he’d managed such an expression of love. How he’d seamlessly put together a proposal far better than anything you could have fathomed in so little time. How there were details to reflect your personality all over the space. You place your palm over his as he holds you close. Your life has changed so much in so little time. The difference between then and now is so glaring. One man, if James could be called that, was constantly busy and made up excuses to inflate his ego and importance of his job. All while while he was cheating and left you at your anniversary dinner alone to appease his mistress. The other man, Rio really was busy as an entrepreneur and yet he did not exploit your lack of questioning, he’d honoured your trust with loyalty and devotion. While James had been whoring outside of your marriage, Rio had been toiling away to build a strong covenant.

“Rio, tell your staff to lock up. Let them party, I want to go home” you tell him ready for some one on one time.

“Tia and Granny said there are supposed to be speeches” Rio informs as you turn to face him. No response is required as you raise a brow countering his point with one of his infamous raised brow ‘Rio’ looks. Smiling in an instant he stands with you.

“Come on mama” he says walking you out of the venue. There's no time for goodbyes, only time for a last look. “Tia says the announcement photo should be your hand held up wearing the ring against the lit sign. Her reference was Rihanna holding the football for the superbowl” Rio laughs getting your door and you smile.

“Her mind is something” you laugh, shaking your head as Rio closes the door.

Looking down at your ring again you smile holding it out in front of you. It’s the last thing you expected and a very pleasant surprise. You and Rio had spent little to no time talking about marriage. He’d been there as you found your apartment, looked through catalogues for the furnishings and decorated. He’d helped when it was asked of him and he had his key coming over on whatever night you weren’t over at his house. He’d given your space and freedom, never complaining or applying pressure.

“You like it?” Rio asks, drawing you from your thoughts.

“Yes but I love you more” you respond holding over to kiss him at the red light.

“I know,” he nods, holding your hand. “But it was good? The proposal?” He asks.

“Yes!” You swallow, nodding vigorously. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world” you beam believing your words as your ring hits the light glistening once again.

“I love you” he repeats heading into the underground parking of your building. Once in your spot you unbuckle your seat belt and grab his face  and smother him in kisses until he changes the pace, slowing things down so you can feel them in your toes. Your hands fall as things heat up. Rio's hand goes to your neck holding you feel his fingers fasten his hold stabilising you for the kiss. You feel the goosebumps first before the sensations start between your legs. There’s nothing like being with a man who wants you this much. The kiss only breaks when the two of you are panting and breathless. Catching your breath you can see Rio is as ready as you are with the tent pitched in his pants.

“Come on” he says, seeing people walking to their cars. You take his hand once out of the car and head to the elevator. Another couple comes in and you stand in front of Rio hiding his predicament until they step off then you turn to face him. You hope it’s always like this. 

“Promise me it’ll be like this forever” you whisper looking up at him.

“Like what?” he asks as his hands rest on your ass.

“Like you're always happy to see me. We keep our chemistry. I want us to never lose the love and the kindness or the intimacy we share. I don't want to pretend around you or you around me ever. I don't want us to lose us.” you explain and he holds on to your every word. Rio nods, unable to figure out how it seemed everything he’d ever wanted was wrapped up in one person.

“Promise” he affirms without hesitation as the elevator door opens. Smiling, you turn to exit hand in hand. The need to kiss you is too much to wait for the door to open. Crowding your space Rio backs you into your front door kissing you right there. Everything about him makes you feel incredible. You both get lost in the moment and only break a part when breathing takes precedence over passion.

“Anything else you want from me?” Rio asks, ready to make you happy. You tug at his belt playfully in response.

“Babies?” Rio teases.

“Eventually” you laugh.

“Alright mama” Rio smiles unlocking your door and you gasp again completely surprised by another grand gesture. It’s dimly lit and tea light candles are twinkling in vases with red roses and petals adorning your living room and leading to the bedroom you assume.

“Baby” you laugh happier than ever. You hadn’t put any thought into the cleaning staff as another set of people doing Rio’s bidding. He smiles at your surprise. You walk in more feeling the petals under your feet and admire all the effort he’s put into making today special. “Thank you” you smile and he nods accepting your thanks without protest for once.

“You’re welcome” he says into your ear as you look out to see more decor on the balcony. Rio’s hands run down your thighs before coming up with the hemline of your dress. He steps forward leading you against the glass. You’re already wet for him after all the kissing and the day. “Tell me how you want me to fuck you baby?” He asks, calling back to your first time together. There are no words for how it makes you feel. 

He’s everything.

“I want you to tell me how you want me” you whisper placing your full trust in him. His eyes flicker and he backs up sitting on the couch. Excitement flashes in yours and you sit on his lap first.

“Unzip me?” you ask and he does, slowly. Turning you kiss him teasingly before slinking down onto your knees in your undergarments. You unzip him without direction nestled between his legs. He springs free ready to give new life and you kiss your king's sceptre. Your newest accessory sparkles in the candle light. Accentuating every hand stroke. Your eyes stay fixed on your fiancé whose eyes are fixed on you. It had taken some getting used to in the beginning but with practice you were becoming a pro at handling his size. Your head and hand slides to stroke his ego. Soft whispers of praise keep you inspired and aroused. You go to work feeling his body tighten, a precursor to his climax and when his hand guides your head you release control following his lead. You bob to his rhythm, sucking and licking his length to illicit praise. 

“Fuuuuu-” Rio’s words fade, his lids closing shut as the pleasure hits its climax.

You apply more suction continuing to your own rhythm as his hand falls from your head leaving you to your own devices. Looking up at him you take him as deep as you can and it’s his undoing. You stay in place as he tries to save you from the onslaught of his orgasm - you swallow every last drop. The sensation is too much for him. Fiery eyes watch you as his stomach rises and falls. He’s in awe of you. Pleasantly surprised and ready for round two. Kissing his tip having completed your task you revel in the way Rio looks at you. Every day your actions solidified more and more that you were the only one for him. Shaking his head he smiles as his energy returns. He must be the luckiest man in the world to have the most beautiful woman on her knees in front of him ready to do whatever he asked out of love. He feels you take hold of his manhood again as you wait patiently for him to return the favour of an orgasm. The thought alone makes you shudder, that’s how much effect he has on you.

“Are you trying to make my head explode?” He asks, sitting up and forward.

“I did” you tease with your mind in the gutter. 

Rio smiles, “Not that one mama”

“I was trying to please my fiancé” you smile testing out the new title. Rio’s chest burns with pride.

 “Fiancés don’t fuck like where about to mama” Rio promises. “This is too good,” he smiles. Way too good. “Now tell me what you want?” he asks, ready to oblige.

You stand making your way to the floor to ceiling windows and rid yourself of your panties. 

“I'd like you to help me enjoy the view” you smile politely. Rio finds you there unclasping your bra. The coolness of the glass against your nipples adds to the sensation. Anticipation swells as his hands trace your skin, teasing you for time. Rio’s need for you is at ten. There could never be anyone else. Ever. He didn't know what he’d done in a past lifetime to deserve a woman like you but he was thankful. He needed to taste you first, to make you come in waves until your delirium and arousal were so intertwined your lids would shut and moans were his only compass. Nothing tasted sweeter than your arousal and tonight you were wetter than usual as he turned you back to face him, propping one of your legs over his shoulder to better his access to your centre. These past few months he’d learned your body to the point of expertise knowing exactly what to do to get you to your climax. The feel of your hand on his head is another one of your tells. The visual of you swallowing flashes, giving him fuel to make you feel just as good or even better. He needed to make the start of forever special.

“Rio” your moans are breathy as your head arches back against the glass window. Your body goes stiff, only supported by Rio who doesn't let up. The sensations only further your already shallow breathing but do nothing to satisfy your want or need for him. You didn't understand how the by-product of excellent loving was insatiability.

“Right there, come for me” Rio says into your core. He watches you come and matches the same energy you had for him. He allows you to recover wearing a satisfied smirk before standing again. His eyes are on your lips but two slick fingers enter you the very moment he meets you in a kiss. You gasp making room for his tongue to slide in and claim its space.

“Rio” you moan against his kiss as his fingers send you into overstimulation. When he finally enters you your hands flatten onto the cool glass as he groans in pleasure. Rio felt like your body was made for him. Everything about you turned him on. The way your walls clung to his manhood made keeping a clear head hard. He wanted to be inside you all the time. It didn't matter how he delivered his strokes, both of you enjoyed the sensations equally. Placing a piss at the base of the back of your neck he grabs your waist bringing your hips back to meet his rhythm. Looking up, the ring on your finger catches his eye in the light. It ignites something in him and he fucks you lovingly into the glass fogging it up with the heat from your bodies. Eventually the two of you make it to the bed where you make love with a sensuality and awareness that only affirms you’re exactly where you're meant to be with a man that's ever better than your dreams could conjure. 

Showered, exhausted and happier than ever, your eyes watch the blackout curtains close to block out the sunrise. Rio pulls you into his arms and your body settles knowing you're in safe, capable hands. He leans in one more time and his kiss lays a claim to you. You meet him there, happily his; now and forever.

Author's note: Ladies and gentlemen thats all folks. FORGIVELESS is over and out. Thank you so much for reading my story, for commenting, reblogging and voting. You've made this process so much fun. I usually stay away from longer series because the fall off with the readers in the last few chapters kills my motivation to keep sharing but you guys have stuck beside me!!! It's infinitely appreciated. An Epilogue should be posted shortly I just didn't want this post to be overwhelmingly long.

Don't forget to like comment, reblog and vote - you all know the drill by now 😉

➨ epilogue

The story is also on wattpad you can read it and follow me HERE

TAGS: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal

[livelaughloveluffy]

darling - sir crocodile

a/n: thank you everyone who filled out this poll, due to extremely popular demand, i figured i would start writing for crocodile first, but i'm definitely planning on eventually branching out to more one piece characters!!

a/n: also apologies for not posting in awhile!! i really thought i was spared from the fanfic writer curse, but this past week i've been recovering from a concussion since i randomly collapsed 💀

a/n: but to bring some sense of normalcy back to me posting, i couldn't help but recommend this song for this read. i listened to it on repeat while writing this and it perfectly encapsulates the vibe of this fic.

it gets a bit smutty under the cut 🖤 viewer discretion is advised

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when you were initially brought to baroque works, you had never imagined that you'd be working so close with the man running the organization. sir crocodile had an extensive and well-known reputation. he was mostly known for having ambitious desires and how he'd do anything to reach them.

even if that meant using brute force.

his position and power alone was something to flinch at. the very idea of it makes your skin crawl. you don't get to be an emperor of the sea without stepping on the toes of many other people.

maybe it was sheer stupidity or optimistic naivety that lead you to believe the same wouldn't be true romantically....

• ♡ •

it wasn't until your first day on the job at rain dinners that you found out you weren't just an ordinary member of the cleaning staff, but a privately selected member to clean for sir crocodile himself.

to say you were intimidated was an understatement. everything about crocodile had you walking on eggshells; from his age difference to his personality. the stone-cold stern expression that was practically embedded into his face instantly made you weak in the knees.

and it didn't help that crocodile relished in any opportunity to tease new employees.

• ♡ •

with one glance at your mandatory uniform, you could just tell it was designed to just slightly degrade you. from the tightness of the fabric to how the skirt was slightly shorter in the back. the frilly maid dress that was now adorn on your body was just another test of your confidence and endurance.

it's only once you mustered up all your courage, did you open the door to sir crocodile's office.

• ♡ •

the first thing you noticed as you walked into crocodile's office wasn't the extravagance of it all. the lavish antique wooden furniture with deep velvet cushions go unnoticed. a personal library that must've cost a small fortune was also ignored.

everything else in the room just seemed to pale at the fiery gaze of the very man himself. crocodile's face donned in an unrelentingly dour expression while his eyes seemed to dance with lust and fervor.

once you're able to get past the shock itself of being this close to a man such as sir crocodile, a slight panic crawls over your body. embarrassed at the awkward silence and unintentional staring contest you've been having with your boss, your cheeks flush. it isn't until crocodile finally utters out the command "you can start with organizing the papers over there." that you remember how to move your body again.

luckily, the table he was referring to was in the corner of the room, allowing you to turn your back to his prying stare. with your face concealed and vision clear from crocodile, you're finally able to compose yourself and focus on the task at hand.

you take a moment to surveil the mass hoards of paper, seemingly thrown onto the desk without a second thought. hundreds of financial documents, contracts, and reports were stacked with no particular system. you definitely had your work cut out for you.

• ♡ •

your hands moving swiftly from stack to stack, placing the papers in their consolidated group. you were so engrossed in your newfound organizational system, that you didn't even notice how close sir crocodile was. until his sultry deep voice reached your ear as a delicate whisper. "darling... you should know just how dangerous it is to be here looking that gorgeous.." you could feel the hot air of his taunt tickle the inside of your ear due to the closeness of his lips.

once you finally build up the courage to meet his eyes, gaze sharp and piercing, his hand had already found a firm grip on your hip. and with his hook engraved in the wood of the table, enclosing your body in between his arms, you were left utterly helpless to his whims.

you could practically taste the cigar smoke radiating from sir crocodile as he spoke. "a pretty girl like you doesn't stand a chance alone with me..."

it took all the strength in your body to not crumble to the ground as you felt his hand begin to move at a painfully slow pace. his touch was firm and unabashed. sir crocodile was the kind of man who had no issue making his presence be known. you couldn't help but be utterly absorbed into him. every gasp of air you took was drenched in the fragrance of smoked cedar wood that emanated from crocodile. the warmth of his body pressed against your back and towering over you was all consuming.

the most you could do was choke out a faint whisper of the word "sir..." before your brain did backflips to try and process the sudden breeze and emptiness next to you.

you frantically turn your head side-to-side and do two 360 degree spins before noticing crocodile was back in his desk chair. his feet crossed at the ankles and thrown on top of his desk, as if he was just lounging around. you watched as his seemingly disinterested expression turns into a wide smirk.

the sound of his deep bellied laugh and the searing hot burn of blush on your cheeks was ingrained into your memory.

• ♡ •

when you finally make it back to your designated room at rain dinners, you instantly collapse into the plush mattress of your bed. drained from a long day of work and emotional whiplash, you lay sprawled on your back. and it's only then, with your eyes heavy from exhaustion, sleep about to overtake you, that you indulge in your deepest darkest fantasy of feeling sir crocodile's touch again.

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tags ♡: @vamphoria

a/n: hopefully the long fic made up for my absence!! i had way too much fun writing it!! do not fret, there will definitely be a part two for this fic!!!

want to join the taglist? click here!! (it's just been updated with more characters to choose from, if you've already filled it out before, feel free to submit it again if your heart desires!!)

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!