#it's me taking the WRITERS to task

[navree]

me @ you calling Lucerys boring! 😆 come on, he's just a kid! cutting out aemond's eye was bad, i agree, but i don't think he was as bland as everyone says. his imposter syndrome in 8 and 10 was interesting to watch at least. he was a brave little boy.

I mean I don't really see anything brave about bringing a knife to a fight he not only had fuck all to do with but where he was clearly at fault (Aemond did nothing wrong, he tamed a free dragon, Baela and Rhaena get a pass because they're grieving but Jace and Luke had no business being involved and certainly no business escalating into 4 v 1 violence against the clear cut victim), trying to literally murder someone because I don't know what the fuck you're trying to do when you stab a knife at someone's face but it's certainly not a warning shot, showing zero remorse for it at all, and at worse acting like a little snot when in the same room with your victim. The fact that Luke got away with this scot free (didn't he literally say "I didn't do anything" you boring little asshole you stabbed out someone's eye that is the opposite of not doing anything!) is an absolute travesty of justice that stains everyone involved (mostly Viserys and Luke but I'm not letting Rhaenyra "pls torture the ten year old stabbing victim until he tells me how he figured out that these white dark haired children aren't the sons of my black platinum blond husband" Targaryen off the hook either). Aemond could have died, not only from the initial wound, but from the myriad of infections or other issues that could have plagued him during the healing process. For God's sake, Viserys nicks himself on the Iron Throne and they have to lop off his arm, his infected injuries and their treatment have already made him pretty firmly decrepit by Driftmark, the fact that Aemond healed without any serious and lifelong and further damaging complication is a goddamn miracle. And even kids know that murder is bad, I'm pretty sure that if I were Lucerys's age and I tried to commit homicide I'd have to deal with some consequences.

And I'm sorry, but I call him boring because he is! They wrote a boring character! That's not on me for picking up on it, that's on the writers and the myriad choices they made that led to them severely underdeveloping several characters, most prominently Lucerys (Jace and Baela and Rhaena at least get another season of life to develop further, Luke gets four episodes and they knew that going in). This is a song I've been singing literally since the show was airing and it's not gonna change, cuz he's dead and therefore stuck with his boring character and complete lack of characterization.

Him being a kid is not a character trait, and it certainly doesn't make him more interesting anymore than, say, his eye color would. The impostor syndrome thing they kinda tried didn't really work because 1) it's not impostor syndrome if it's true, he's not a Velaryon and Vaemond was 99% in the right in that entire thing (I don't like him throwing out misogynistic slurs, you can point out that these aren't Velaryons but Strong bastards without stooping to calling Rhaenyra a whore, I hate men sometimes) 2) in episode 8 it exists for one single line and is not a driving force for him at all for the remainder of the episode to the point that it could be cut out and mean nothing, especially since that scene was only there to introduce adult Aemond and 3) it doesn't even make sense because the person who was set up as having issues with his lack of Velaryon heritage and Harwin being his father was Jace. Jace is the one who hears the rumors and clocks it early on in childhood, Jace is the one who is deeply affected by it to the point of bitterness towards his own mother, Jace is the one who grieves Harwin but also feels angry that he can't express it. All of that was set up as part of Jace's arc, not at all Luke's, who is literally set dressing up until he decides to commit criminal offenses in the middle of the night. And then time skip, and suddenly Jace is A-OK and Luke, who has shown no issue before now (or any personality at all) is slightly concerned about it for one line in episode 8 before going back to being a piece of cardboard until episode 10.

And I'll be honest, the second that scene came out in episode 10, I immediately saw it for what it was, which was a very obvious patch job. The writers were clearly aware that they had not given the viewers any reason at all to care about Luke one way or another, so we weren't going to feel a lot when Vhagar (deservedly, imo) munches on him. So they hastily added in this really heavy-handed scene of poor uwu soft boy Lukey who is so concerned with doing right and needs to blink up tearfully at Mommy and be her sweet boy and get little kisses to assuage his worries, so that we'd feel some emotion and then be said when he becomes the Jonah to Vhagar's whale. It just doesn't work because there was nothing for him before then and therefore I don't care, I just feel bad Rhaenyra.

Luke is a bland and boring character. That's not an attack, that's just what the writers did. They tried to cram too much into a ten episode season, literally twenty years of history, and it caused a lot of characterization problems for a lot of characters, particularly for the Team Black ones. And a consequence of that is that the character with the least amount of time for development got not development and no personality. He's a plank of wood, he's a platonic version of the sexy lamp trope; there's nothing there and he exists only for us to feel bad when the lamp is smashed. Seriously, name me five individual character traits that Lucerys has. He's a momma's boy, even though I'm not really sure that's a character trait but I'll give it to him, and I guess he's devoid of empathy, considering that he doesn't appear to feel literally any remorse for mutilating Aemond (seriously, is it like the Dothraki and "thank you"? does the word "sorry" not exist in Valyrian languages? you can't even send an apology gift basket or a note?). But he's not brave, as there is no scene that shows any bravery or courage, and he's not noble or kind or thoughtful because there's nothing that shows any of that, or anything that shows him being the opposite, cruel or cowardly or weak, because he's a basically a character who could be played by sticking a wig on a mop and waving it around. And any characterization of insecurity exists as something hamfistedly crowbarred in at the last minute in his final episode to try to manipulate the audience's emotions with less sensitivity than D&D trying to tug at our heartstrings by having Drogon try to nudge Dany awake after she's killed.

But there is a character that I do consider to be a brave little boy, though I regret to inform y'all that it is Not a fourteen year old with no depth or personality or written characterization whose main claim to fame is maiming a person without apology and then dying. Nah, the brave little boy title goes to post-Driftmark Aemond. Aemond, at ten, is delivered a life altering injury whose recovery was likely very slow and very painful, involved a lot of worry about whether he'd have to deal with infection or further risk of death, and had to relearn how to do literally everything now that he was half blind, and he did all of it. He survived, and he thrived. He relearned how to walk, how to balance, his spatial awareness. He learned how to fought and even became incredibly good at it, and maintained his bond with Vhagar, as well as trying to keep himself mentally sharp as well. He did all of that, despite the huge setback he was dealt with at age ten. That's brave, go Aemond.

[creepyjirachi]

okay hear me out. i know i love science and i’m very good at chemistry and physics. but what if i became a fucking accountant

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[wingsofhcpe]

one of those fifty things was a classist af post about how fanfic writers can't actually write for shit, yes all of them apparently bc they aren't educated in proper literary devices or whatever.

are you fucking hearing yourself

[cathymee]

i guess one (1) good thing that comes out of this is that there will be another upcoming show that's part of the series

[what-even-is-thiss]

The reason people don’t want to work is that it’s just normal for them to be in bad work environments.

My issue with working at Walmart wasn’t the work itself I was doing. It was the circumstances around it. The concrete floor, lack of places to sit, having to put up with asshole customers, not getting time off for injuries, and bad pay.

If I had been given shock pads to stand on or a few chairs to rest on sometimes, if they paid me a livable amount of money and I was allowed to yell back at asshole customers, if they had given me any amount of training, I would happily work part time folding clothes all day and telling people where the swimsuit section is.

I’m a creative type. I’m a writer. I’m pretty smart, even. But if I could make a living folding shirts and listening to podcasts in one ear and helping people find the scented candles for 30 hours a week? I would. Leaves some mental space free for me to brainstorm. Lets me catch up on my reading with audiobooks.

But instead I was treated so badly by upper management and customers that I’m like legitimately a little frightened whenever I step into a Walmart now. And I only worked there for three months a few years ago.

I’m a good lower level worker. When I’m treated well. I like finishing tasks. I like being helpful. I like having some time to talk to coworkers and some time alone with my thoughts. I’m a frickin team player. And that’s how I was at my first job. I was treated well by my supervisor. I was trained. They were patient with me. I was so good at being low on the totem pole at that job because I was valued and felt like I was being listened to. I was able to sit still when there was nothing left to do which made it feel less bad when we were on a time crunch. I didn’t mind working hard at that job because it was fun even though I was doing all the low level stuff that the supervisors didn’t want do.

But at Walmart I was like that for all of two days. Then I figured out that nobody appreciated my work and if I worked in my normal people pleasing manner I’d kill myself because their standards were high and the rewards for meeting them were low.

So I slowed down. I started avoiding customers. I started taking a lot longer to get to my breaks and to come back from them. I became worse at my job because no matter how good I was at it there would be no reward, no appreciation, and I’d just be pushed further beyond my limits.

My only level of happiness from that job came from the people who were working with me. The old ladies and my department manager who made sure I wasn’t overextending myself. The one other young man working in the clothing department who always got sent with me to unload the heavy stuff and commiserated with me about the shoulder injuries, the hurting feet we were too young to have.

But none of that was enough to make me stay. We were constantly understaffed. I was constantly abused by customers and not able to do a thing about it. I was not paid much at all. So as soon as I had enough saved up for what I was trying to do and my last semester of college was about to start I handed in my two weeks.

I would have found a way to stay if I liked that job. If I liked that job I would’ve pushed myself to my mental limits to finish college and keep that job at the same time. Heck that job could’ve been a rest from college. A place to get away from it. But I hate that job so I got out as soon as I could.

I want to work. I want enough money to live sort of comfortably. I want to have some tasks to do to give my creativity a rest. I want to be a part of something. But the way that modern corporate run work environments are set up does not give me any of the things I actually want out of a job. And I think that’s the same for millions of people right now. A lot of people would happily spend their lives as a waitress or an Uber driver or a warehouse worker or a farmhand or any other “low skill” job you can possibly think of. But with the way the world works right now those jobs are absolutely miserable. It doesn’t have to be that way. I know because I’ve had a fulfilling part time minimum wage job that I looked forward to going to every week. A job where I was listened to and allowed to sit when I needed to. I miss that job. Especially now since I’ve realized that’s not the standard. It should be. People should look forward to going to work or at the very least not get mild ptsd whenever they set foot into a Walmart.

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 291

Adjective: Giant

Noun: Window

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Giant: of very great size or force, or gigantic; used in names of very large animals and plants, e.g. giant hogweed, giant tortoise

Window: an opening in the wall or roof of a building or vehicle that is fitted with glass or other transparent material in a frame to admit light or air and allow people to see out; a pane of glass filling a window; an opening in a wall or screen through which customers are served in a bank, ticket office, or similar building; a space on the inside of a store's window where goods are displayed for sale; a means of observing and learning about something; a transparent panel on an envelope to show an address; (computing) a framed area on a display screen for viewing information; an interval or opportunity for action; an interval during which atmospheric and astronomical circumstances are suitable for the launch of a spacecraft; (physics) a range of electromagnetic wavelengths for which a medium (especially the atmosphere) is transparent; strips of metal foil or metal filings dispersed in the air to obstruct radar detection

[feedthefandomfest]

Comment Bingo: Old Fic Edition

Very simple rules: connect 5 squares in a line by commenting on fics that suit the task in each square

Very simple goals: encourage readers to comment on older fics; encourage fandom writers to KEEP WRITING

STEPS:

Download Bingo Card HERE (png) or HERE (jpg) or HERE (pdf)

Complete the tasks on the card, marking off each as you go, until you've completed 5 in a line (vertical, horizontal, or diagonal; NO double-dipping; center ♥️ is a free space)

POST your winning card (or list your filled squares) and tag @feedthefandomfest! Glory in your victory.

SEARCH TIPS:

This card requires some familiarity with AO3's search filters. Once you've narrowed your results according to fandom/ship/additional tags, certain squares require you to sort the results by Date Updated, which is the default. Other squares require you to search for fics posted within a certain range of years, which you can do by scrolling on the search menu to More Options:

Note that to enter a date range, you must format the date as shown.

REWARD:

✨ victory badges ✨

New badge for this card, but here are examples from previous cards:

Tag me when you earn a bingo (or double, triple, quadruple... FULL CARD bingo) and I'll reblog a shiny badge with your name on it to commemorate the win.

FAQ:

Can I comment on tumblr or only on AO3?

Either one is great! This card especially is more designed with AO3 in mind, but some can be adjusted to suit tumblr as well, so I say go for it. Tumblr fics deserve love, too.

Can one comment count toward multiple squares if the fic fits more than one category?

Since the goal is for as many fics to receive comments as possible, try to comment on a different fic for each square.

Is there a time limit?

Nope! Take your time or set your own deadline, whatever works for you. This blog is still in its early experimental stage, so feedback welcome. Play around and let me know what you like and what might be added/changed—including ideas for squares on future cards!

Do I have to record progress on the actual card?

Nope! If it’s easier to keep track in a different way, that’s fine. This is all very honor system, so if you say you earned a Bingo, we’ll call it a win 🎉

Some people have been tracking not just completed tasks, but the fics they read along the way, so that when they post a bingo, they can also promote the fics/authors in a little rec list. Not required, but definitely cool to see!

Can I adjust the task in a particular square to suit my comfort level?

Of course! If you deliver something in the spirit of the task, then it’s all good. Use your best judgement in constructing a comment that will make the author smile, and you can consider it a job well done.

In general, so long as each square has produced at least one comment, you’re golden and I salute you 🫡

Happy commenting!!

[blackberry-sage-tea]

"The Dalish gifted an Eluvian to the Grey Wardens so we can get in Weisshaupt" is just so emblematic of my problems with the game, because you can tell--it feels to me--that the thought process was "We need to have an Eluvian in Weisshaupt, Eluvians are an Elven(TM) thing, the Dalish are the Elven(TM) faction, so let's just say they were the ones who gave one to the Grey Wardens".

The Dalish have been established over all three games as a people who have spent the last thousands of years desperately scrounging for whatever scraps of their culture they can find, a struggle that has cost them dearly as typified by Merrill's plight trying to restore a single Eluvian which had previously Blighted two of her clan mates (an Eluvian that she can't open or use, and doesn't actually know what it's for by the end of her quest line). Multiple Dalish in Inquisition are killed trying to regain their history ("The Knight's Tomb") or trying to prove themselves by regaining even a talisman related to their culture ("Someone to Lose"). They are an insular and guarded people because outsider interactions frequently invoke a heavy toll in Dalish lives, up to and including entire clans. And yet, we are supposed to believe in a single throwaway piece of dialogue that in the 10 years between Inquisition and Veilguard, the Dalish have (offscreen) gained enough access to Eluvians as a piece of technology that they can afford to just "gift" one to the Grey Wardens without explanation.

There are constant revelations of this kind where pre-established parts of the lore are just thrown out the window. Things that had great emotional weight or impact in previous installments of the series are used for cheap thrills or plot-hole fills without explanation, justification, or even gravitas from the game. You have a moment in one of Emmrich's quests where you stumble through a portal directly into the Fade that Hezenkoss opened in Blackthorne manor, and you're tasked with closing it again. All of this is done entirely without the Anchor or even an implied blood sacrificial ritual, and it is never commented as anything particularly groundbreaking (when going into the Fade physically through tearing a hole in it was a Big Fucking Deal in Inquisition). You encounter a Compassion spirit in a side quest investigating the deaths of citizens in Tevinter who were murdered by a demon of Despair, and it is strong enough to not only retain itself through sensing the (unanswered!) suffering that these people experienced, but it also resolves to protect others to keep them from the same fate (when Cole was so traumatized by a single person's death that he completely reshaped his entire being around them). So on and so forth. Don't even get me started on Bellara's comment that the ancient elves "made most of their buildings in the Fade".

I'm not asking for someone to hold my hand and spoonfeed me information. I frankly don't care if an obscure codex entry, a reddit AMA question, bluesky tweet, or headcanon exists somewhere to patch in or bandaid over all of the jarring details like this, because it doesn't change the fact that the game itself should be doing this. The game itself should be taking the time to explain this in a way that is not missable, the game itself should be taking these things seriously, it should recognize when it is doing contradictory things and rush to justify itself accordingly, because these are things the emotional beats of previous stories hinged on. Like, when the game has Taash say a line like "The Qun isn't a prison, you can leave if you want", it's the responsibility of the writers to show that this is Taash being misinformed, not because I'm too stupid to headcanon that this is the case, but because this line is a symptom of how the entire game's writing seems to have forgotten about the Ben-Hassrath as a thing that exists in this setting.

Previous Dragon Age games are no stranger to "We quietly removed Solas' network of agents and spies offscreen"-style writing, but it usually didn't feel like a constant deluge periodically uprooting my emotional investment and immersion. There's only so much I can take in good faith before I realize that this game was just not written with any care towards ensuring that the worldbuilding made sense and felt right to the player, leading to awkward backpedaling in reddit threads like "no the Crows haven't changed as an organization, these are just the unique Good Crows and we forgot to mention it".

I just can't look past this shit anymore.

[gloomwitchwrites]

I absolutely love your stories they’re so amazing! Can I please request the task force and pranking them by telling them a guy did your Brazilian wax

Thank you! I can't take all the credit. I might be the writer, but the Imagines Series couldn't be what it is without all the amazing ideas people have submitted. I'm honestly blown away by the amount of creativity and ideas sent my way. My inbox is full of wonderful requests, and while it's going to take me a bit to get to them all, I'm eager to complete them!

The amount of prank requests I've been getting has been so fun. Not just this one, but telling mom to shut up, and the premium air prank, etc. All of these make me giggle and have been a blast to work on. Thank you so much for sending this in!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, established relationship, pranks, non-descriptive nudity

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John briefly licks the pad of his thumb before counting out the appropriate amount of pound notes.

“This enough?” he asks, presenting it to you.

It’s more than enough. “Plenty. Thank you, John.”

He leans forward a bit, and you eagerly greet him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Drawing back, you give him your best smile. But beneath the grin is a trick.

You want to mess with him a bit.

“I have a new waxer,” you shrug, adding the cash to your wallet. “Cheryl put in her notice.”

Cheryl did not put in her notice. That woman probably won’t retire until she dies.

John inclines his head, already turning away. “That’s too bad. You liked her.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, grabbing your purse. “They’ve put me with someone new. A Mark? Mike? No—Marcus? I think.”

John freezes. He slowly turns back, cheeks bright red. “What?”

“It starts with an ‘m’,” you muse.

“Your new waxer is a man?”

“Yes,” you shrug. “And?” John’s face resembles a beet. “Everything good?”

“Where does Cherly work now?”

“John—”

He grabs his phone from his pocket and starts tapping away at it. "I want to know if she accepts walk-ins."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle's hand slowly runs over your newly waxed skin. "Look at you. So soft and smooth." His touch makes you shiver.

"You paid for it," you murmur.

"I did," smiles Kyle, head dipping.

His tongue makes contact, and you release a moan. It’s slightly distracting, but not enough to detract from you poking at him.

“Had a new waxer,” you sigh as Kyle goes in for another taste.

“Did you?” he asks absently, more interested in your new smoothness.

“A man, actually. Undergoing training. There were two of them in the room.”

Kyle's head snaps up. "What?"

"Why'd you stop?" you whimper.

"There were two men that waxed you?"

“No, Kyle. Just one.”

A series of emotions pass over Kyle's face. His mouth opens. Closes. And then his hand forms a fist, fingers flexing and relaxing as he mulls over something.

"Everything okay?" you ask, suddenly worried.

“Can’t be that hard.” Kyle pushes away from the couch and reaches for his phone. “Or expensive.”

“What can’t? Kyle. What are you talking about?”

You lean forward and see him adding a waxing kit to his online shopping cart.

“No,” you say firmly. “You’re not putting hot wax anywhere near my vagina.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Oh, what's this?"

Johnny's hands are on your thighs and then beneath your skirt in a moment.

"Johnny!"

"Is this for me? You don't have to. You know I like a good adventure through the woods."

"Johnny!" you say again, slapping his arm playfully as his fingers lightly squeeze, making your squirm in his grasp.

"Was this on my dime?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"Oh, aye. Am I gonna find an unknown charge?"

"With a tip. A large tip. My waxer deserved it. He did a good job."

"Oh, they—he?"

"Yes. That a problem?"

Johnny's hands don't retreat but he's staring at you—hard. You arch an eyebrow and he finally speaks. "Your waxer is a man?"

No.

"Yes."

Johnny nods and then he leans in, lowering his voice. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m—”

“I saw your location. I checked it out. They don’t have a single male employee in that place.”

Your face grows hot.

Johnny’s hands squeeze a bit harder, and then he lands a brief smack against the curve of your ass. “Lying to me, love?” Johnny tsks. He palms the curve of your ass where it stings. “Suppose I should punish you.”

“Maybe you should.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You reject the call and clutch your phone to your chest. You've messed up. Royally. Pranking Simon is always a terrible idea.

The texts were just a tease. Just a way to push Simon’s buttons.

I have a new waxer.

I thought it would be one of the other ladies.

But no!

It was a guy!

Your phone buzzes again and you nearly throw it across the room. It’s Simon. You decline the call. Everything is quiet for a few brief seconds before a text message from him comes through.

Answer your phone.

You click out a reply.

I'm in the car!

His reply comes instantly.

You're at home. I know your location.

Another incoming call. This one you answer.

"Simon,” you say flatly.

"What location did you go to?" he asks, voice rough with tension.

"Why?" you counter.

"What's his name?" he snaps.

"I know what you're doing, Simon.”

You always forget just how deep his possessive streak goes.

Silence. Then, "I just want to talk."

"Simon.”

He growls your name in warning.

"You don't need to go there. Just...come home. You can see the results for yourself."

He sighs. "I'll be there in ten. Be ready for me."

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @cherryofdeath @ferns-fics

@tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus @no-oneelsebutnsu

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@daemondoll @jackrabbitem @lxblm @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez

@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @greeniegreengreen @certainlygay

[andwordsarefutiledevicess]

press relations

stanford!artdonaldson x sportsjournalist!reader

summary: assigned to write a profile of stanford's rising tennis star, you get to know art better. much better.

warnings: smut, dry humping, b0ner alert, implied consent

a/n: this does have a *hint* of art x patrick x reader undertones at the end! any (constructive) feedback is appreciated :)

you get the message as you exit the lecture hall and head to the cafeteria for lunch. “other writers are busy. can you take the art donaldson profile?” reads the text from your editor. having written for the stanford daily as a sports reporter for the past year, you’re no stranger to turning a dull interview with a rather dim-witted football player into an oh-so-riveting piece. however, this is out of your comfort zone.

tennis is…boring. sure, you’d happily tagged along to a couple of tashi duncan’s matches, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to see an olympic-bound athlete in her prime, but it isn’t your ideal way to spend a saturday afternoon. 

and yet, that is exactly what you are doing. the donaldson interview is lined up for directly after his match with a ucla player. “he’s got a tight schedule, so we need to accommodate him,” said your editor when you questioned why you had to sit through a match and then manage to cram in an interview in the men’s fucking lockerroom. 

art donaldson is a year above you, living in the same dorm. you recognize most athletes at this point—in part because they’re constantly (obnoxiously) sporting team merch, and because of your job—but art is known by most for his friendship with tashi duncan. neither are particularly social, keeping their circle tight amongst fellow tennis players, both at stanford and professionals. 

it’s difficult not to stick out in the bleachers. while other players, including a brown-haired boy cheering quite loudly, observe the game, it’s by no means packed. as donaldson pauses for water after the first set, he catches your gaze, giving an awkward wave in acknowledgement as he wipes the sweat from his face. you silently pray that he knows you’re the reporter he’s supposed to speak to, and doesn’t just think you’re some crazed tashi duncan fangirl. 

his playing is statuesque, long limbs sweeping across the court (but not entirely stripped of the boyish energy that defined his success as a high school student). after beating his opponent 2-0, donaldson steps off the court, dramatically embraced by the brown-haired spectator, who you have since realized is his former doubles partner, patrick zweig, and you take this as a signal to get this interview started before he becomes swept up in celebrations. 

climbing down the bleachers, you see art duck down into the hallway, making his way into the locker rooms. in all your time as a sports reporter, you hadn’t had such an…unconventional… interview location, and you feel a bit sick as the sound of the shower draws closer. 

“art donaldson?” you say, standing just outside the open door of the locker room. 

“yeah” he calls back, as though he was expecting you, but not entirely welcoming the intrusion. the shower turns off, and the soft sound of his steps on the tiles echo. “well, come in,” he calls again. 

you step into the steam-filled space with your eyes directed down. “i understand you have physical therapy shortly, so i’ll try to keep this quick—,” you say, taken aback as you finally draw your eyes upward. he’s managed to pull on a pair of checkered boxers, fabric sticking to his still-damp body. 

you can’t imagine you look particularly composed, hair sticking to your face from the steam with a burning blush spread across your cheeks. you watch as art bites his cheek and awkwardly motions for you to sit on the bench across from him as he methodically changes the overgrip on his racket. 

“so,” you say, clearing your throat, “how did you first become interested in tennis?” he glances up from his task. “my parents needed someone to watch me, and my grandma was busy, so they stuck me in a local tennis camp. i doubt they realized that they were signing up for over a decade of tennis running my—and their—lives.”

you hum in agreement. “and what specific areas of your game are you hoping to improve on this season?” you follow up. his gaze becomes more intent—more focused. setting the racket to his side, art stands, before quickly realizing he’s still only boxer-clad. you stare at the opposite wall, hoping to save him the embarrassment, and you see him fumble to slip on shorts out of the corner of your eye. he clears his throat. “ – um – yeah, i’m trying to get faster on my feet. sorry, i—” he says, before you cut him off in protest. “no, no, i should have given you a moment to clean up after your match, it’s my fault,” you say, rising off of the bench awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. 

but with the lingering steam, and your downward gaze, your fumble to exit the locker room instead lands you into direct contact with his chest. “shit! sorry,” you exclaim, drawing your chin up. a wash of heat cascades from your head, nipples taut, despite the warmth of the room, as your body reacts to the sudden proximity. art is equally flushed, pink lips slightly parted and chest rocking as he concentrates on breathing deeply, trying to lower his racing heart. you can smell him, fresh with a hint of that post-game sweat, a droplet of water falling from a blonde curl. 

he brings a calloused hand to your hair, brushing it behind your shoulder, as if to ask permission. the slight nod and glaze of your tongue over your lips is enough for him to understand, his breath heavy against your face as your noses are close enough to touch. that final centimeter is finally closed, and it’s as though air rushes back into you while inhibition is tossed out. without thinking, your hair tangles into his mess of damp hair, and you feel his soft moan against your lips. you gasp as his hand grabs your ass, drawing you into contact with his erection (for how much of that interview was he hard?). 

“you—ah—you have physical th-therapy,” you say, breathless as he works his mouth down your jaw and neck. “just…five more minutes,” he says in between kisses, like a teenager wishing to sleep in, causing you to chuckle. bringing your left knee up, your hips are suddenly flush against his, and the new contact sends you both reeling, his cock twitching in his shorts. you tentatively rock, again, against his groin, and you both seem to realize that that hit the spot. pushing your back against a locker, art draws his groin against yours again, and again, his soft pants becoming near whimpers as your lips meet for a desperate, sloppy kiss. 

you’re lost in the rhythm the two of you have found, ignoring the rattle of the lockers with each thrust. fuck you’re embarrassingly close (that’s what a two month dry spell will do for you) but before you have to worry about coming too early, you hear his strangled voice in your ear. “ – f-fuck, s-sorry i’m close, was so pent up.” before you’re able to reply, your body has taken this as permission to let the orgasm wash over you at last. still reeling from your own orgasm, you feel the warm spread of art’s cum seep through the thin fabric of his shorts, as he continues to rut against you. 

bringing your arms up to hurriedly fix your now-tangled hair, you draw away from art. a fresh blush comes to your cheeks at the realization of how silly you feel, grinding like a pubescent teen. art seems tired, yes, but not embarrassed, slipping off his pants and boxers and replacing them with clean ones. before he’s got his wits back, you’re out the door, praying no one managed to overhear the encounter. to your dismay, patrick zweig, smug as ever, sits outside the locker room.

[solarhysm]

DUST OF US - 01

> synopsis: 7 years ago Y/N broke Jungkook’s heart when she decided to end their relationship without an explanation. When they meet again at a friend's wedding, after almost a decade, Jungkook needs answers to move on.

> pairing: Jungkook x reader

> genre: romance, ex to lovers au

> warnings: explicit languages, violence, smut, cheating, nsfw, angst, +18 minors dni !!

> word count: 2.6k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

AGE: 27 years old

“Where are you going?” Baekhyun asks, stretching as you get out of bed and grab all of your clothes. It was late but you hate sleeping in another bed than yours.

“I should go home.” You simply say, pulling on your panties and jeans as the younger man whines, flipping on his back.

“Oh, come on, Y/N, stay the night.” He suggests as you shake your head with an apologetic smile while putting your bra on.

“Hyesun is getting married, tomorrow. I need to get up early,” You explain, but it was an excuse. You don’t want to be more than intimate enough with anyone.

Once fully clothed, you grab your keys and turn to look at the man still laying completely naked in bed. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Aight, boss,” He teases making you roll your eyes. “One last kiss?”

“Bye,” You smile closing the door of his room, hearing him laugh before making your way out of his apartment.

Once in your car, you sigh, leaning on your seat as you stare at the ceiling. Eleven pm already, and tomorrow’s list kept growing in your mind.

Your way home was silent, you didn’t even put music on, mentally listing all the tasks to do tomorrow morning. Drive Hyesun to the hairstylist, make sure that the flowers are delivered, get her dress, and a lot more.

The house should already be decorated by now. Hyesun was getting married at her in-law’s house. They have a big yard and suggested to make the reception in there. Since you couldn’t be here to help today, you ended up with the stressful tasks tomorrow. Her friends aren’t yours.

Yes, you still have a small circle of friends in common, but Hyesun was a sunshine and most of all: an extrovert. She met her husband by boldly asking his number at a coffee shop where he was working, five years ago. Something you could never. That’s probably why you’re still single and she’s getting married.

Kicking your shoes off at your front door, you’re greeted by your cat. He was a little terror. Or a demon like Namjoon loves to call him. And you can’t blame your friend. Not only was Trash a black cat with only one ear, the other got cut off. You don’t know how.

He was already like that when you adopted him. He was skinny and really ugly when you first got him. Well... he’s still ugly, but now he’s well-fed, maybe too much, you chuckle as you kneel to scratch the top of his head. But he was also a tiny demon who attacked everyone who dared to visit you.

“Did you miss me?” You coo as the black cat let out a meow husky enough to let you think that he smokes too many cigarettes. He’s not a loud cat, he occasionally meows when he’s hungry or when you come home after a long day.

As you make your way to the kitchen, the fat cat follows you. Opening the fridge, you take out a bottle of water and gives him a treat. Your eyes fall on the dress you’ll wear tomorrow, hanged at the bedroom door.

The wedding theme was midnight sky. So, obviously, your dress is navy blue and long enough to end at your ankles with a slit on the right side. You didn’t choose it, Hyesun did.

Palming your face, you take a sip of your water and walk to your bedroom. You need a shower. You could still smell Baekhyun’s cheap cologne on your skin. And you hate it. Too used to your own scent. Not of any men anymore.

The wedding was beautiful, but you didn’t expect less from your best friend. And she was gorgeous in her wedding dress. She smiles a lot, but you never see her smile that way. And all you could think was that her jaw muscles probably hurt after four hours.

“No, what I want, is a whole butterfly starting from my shoulders to my ribs,” Your friend, Hwan explains to you as she flips to show her bare back. You can’t help but scoff, taking a sip of your wine.

“Why? You want to become a fairy or something?” You ask arching a brow as she turns to face you, frowning.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Hwan pouts, folding her arms under her chest, “I saw it on Pinterest, I totally fell in love with it.”

“A tattoo is for life, you know?” You sigh, finishing your glass before tilting your head to brush your fingers on her back, right where her ribs are. “And this part is sensitive. It’ll hurt like hell.”

Hwan shivers at your touch, and you chuckle. You know her. She wants a tattoo today, a piercing tomorrow and in two weeks she’ll regret both. The red head -a dye she did without a second thought- rolls her eyes.

“And you think I can’t handle the pain?” She asks with an attitude, a tone that makes you pinch her forearm as she squirms and step back. “Are you crazy?”

“You can’t handle the pain, Hwan.” You conclude while she rubs the part that start to turn red.

“You’re the worst tattoo artist I know. I’ll give you a bad review on Google.” She groans as you smirk and stick your tongue’s out at her, making her smile amused by you.

Your eyes scan the room full of guests you don’t know before a huge smile spread on your lips as you notice the man all alone. He was sipping his glass of whisky as he looks at his phone, feigning to be interested but he’s probably scrolling emptily. You know him. He hates when people try to connect with him.

Excusing yourself from Hwan and the other girls, you make your way to your friend, too busy on his phone to see you coming.

“Yoongs,” You call him once you’re a few steps closer to him, he lifts his cat eyes from his screen before offering you a slight smirk and opening his arms as you nestle against his chest. You’re not really touchy, but with Yoongi, it was different.

“Nice dress.” He simply says, his nose in your hair before you pull back to look at him. He looks nice too. His hair is longer, but it suits him.

“You didn’t cut your hair?” You ask as he sighs, rolling a strand between his finger as you keep an arm around his waist.

“Didn’t have the time for it.”, He mumbles taking another sip of his whisky. “I didn’t know you would be here. Since you own a tattoo shop, we don’t see you often anymore.”

“It’s my best friend’s wedding, I couldn’t miss it. She would have dragged my ass back here.” you chuckle making him smile and nod.

“That sounds like Hyesun,” He jokes as you smile.

Yoongi wasn’t that tall, but he was still everyone’s type. Calm, mysterious, and good looking. If only dating was on his plans. That guy will probably stay single his whole life, too focused on his work.

“I was looking for you everywhere!” Hyesun groans grabbing your arm.

“I was here,” You simply reply, raising your shoulders, making Yoongi looks at you both amused. You probably get along because you’re both sarcastic. At least you know that’s something he likes about you.

“Thanks Sherlock, Mystery solved!” She rolls her eyes, before pulling you away from your friend, “Come on, follow me, I want to take pictures with you.”

She quickly waves at Yoongi, blowing a kiss at him as he didn’t move before pushing you away.

“He’s like a good old wine. Every time I see him, he’s getting hotter.” She smirks as you make your way to the photographer.

“Aren’t you married?” You joke making her roll her eyes.

“Married, not blind. As long as I touch with my eyes,” She adds as you shake your head, laughing, joining the girls.

Yoongi leaves his empty glass on the table next to him, an amused smirk on his face. If you stayed longer, he would have been part of an interesting reunion.

“Shit, I almost peed myself. There is a whole queue at the male bathroom,” The younger man groans, coming back next to Yoongi as he takes back his beer. “Hyung?”

The older man turns to his friend and arches a brow to show that he’s listening.

“Hyesun told me that there was a private bathroom upstairs for the closest friends” Yoongi simply mumbles, making Jungkook groans as he ties his hair into a bun.

“And you tell me only now?” the tattooed man sighs as he pulls up his sleeves, the temperature of the room getting hotter. Or maybe it’s him from running here and there.

“You left without a word,” Yoongi shrugs like it was obvious, his eyes still on the group of girls making funny faces at the camera. Jungkook lets out a chuckle.

“Which one?” He asks his friend who simply arches a brow. “I’m sure it’s the red head. You always had a think for girls with weird hair colors.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything. He’s used to the teasing. It’s a loss of energy, Jungkook was competitive and if you say that the sky was blue, he would tell otherwise until you tell him he's right.

Jungkook smiles proudly, turning his attention to the bunch of girls. Hyesun had pretty friends, but he’s not surprised. Until he recognized a face. A face he knows too well, a face he loved deeply once upon a time.

You didn’t change. Well… Your hair is shorter. You never liked your hair short, not after your mother spent your childhood cutting it into a bob.

The bangs too. You hated them. But today, you wore it gracefully. His doe eyes trail the length of it, how it brushes your shoulders when you laugh, how you have to push your bang asides.

He never hated you. Even after you broke his heart. Even after coming home to an empty apartment because you disappeared, or when you blocked his number and changed yours. He never hated you.

“You said she wasn’t here.” He frowns, turning to Yoongi who simply arches a brow.

“She wasn’t supposed to.” Yoongi replies, taking a sip of his new glass.

“I shouldn’t have come.” Jungkook sighs, his brows still in a frown creating a slight wrinkle between them.

“Kookie,” Yoongi turns his gaze to his friend who’s clearly uncomfortable. “You’re back in town. You both have the same friends group. What did you expect? You’ll have to confront her one day or another.”

“Y/N,” Hwan calls you as you were taking another glass of wine, facing her with a small hm? “The guy you talked earlier,”

“Yoongi?”

“Yeah, something like that. Do you know his friend?” She asks as you follow her gaze to the large man next to Yoongi, his back facing you. You liked the tattoos, and the muscular frame. The long hair was clearly a bonus.

“No,” You reply, your eyes trailing on Yoongi’s friend. You’ll definitely ask Yoongi who that is later.

“He’s hot,” Hwan comments as you nod, taking a sip of your wine before spitting everything out. You cough when the mysterious man turns around, laughing with your friend.

And almost immediately, you hide behind the table that separates you. Was this a joke?

“What’s wrong? One of your one-night stands?” Hwan chuckles clearly amused to see you, on your knees, trying to hide under the table. If only you could be sucked up by the floor. It was stupid. It was an old story. It’s been seven years since you dumped him like an old, forgotten sock.

“It’s my ex,” You almost whisper, making Hwan wide her eyes and hide with you like she even met him before.

You never thought that you’ll see him again. He disappeared for Japan right after your breakup for his studies. And you didn’t think about him since then. Well, it’s a lie.

You thought about him the three first years after your split. But, he was just some old memories from the shoebox under your bed. 

Some love letters written by a teenage boy, an empty bottle of perfume and a shirt of his that you didn’t have the heart to throw. But that’s all he was. A shoebox of memories.

“Oh damn,” Hwan murmurs, “How did you get that hot piece of man?” She asks as you roll your eyes.

He wasn’t that hot when you started dating him. He had a chestnut haircut, was too skinny even if he was the sporty type, and huge doe eyes. Now he’s…. a man.

“I think… I need to get out”, You swallow, get up and finish your glass. Walking to the backyard, you catch a bottle on your way.

Thankfully, Hwan didn’t follow you. A few persons were outside, some of them making out, the others too drunk, and probably getting some fresh air like you.

Did Hyesun invite him? Why did he come? He knows that she’s your friend. That you’d be here. Palming your face, you lean back against the wall, taking a sip of your bottle of champagne. Fuck… This is childish. You’re twenty-seven, for God’s sake. Act like an adult.

“Hiding?” You heard on your right, making you almost jump.

And here he was, a few meters away, a bottle of beer in hand. His eyes changed. He grew up.

“Good evening, Jungkook,” You breathe as he offers you a slight smile, his lips mostly forming a line.

“Good evening, Y/N,” He replies, making a few steps closer, “Long time no see.”

“Yeah...”

A silence falls between you before he takes a breath like he wants to calm his nerves too. Were you two nervous around each other?

“How… have you been?” He asks with a soft voice.

“Good. You?”

“Good.”

“Nice.”

You wanted to punch yourself. That conversation was stupid. Back then, you two could debate about everything for hours. Now, you can’t even have a basic conversation.

“I… Didn’t know you were back.” You say, looking at the grass at your feet.

“Yeah… I- I missed Korea.” He raises his shoulders slightly before taking a sip of his beer.

“Oh…Okay.” You scrunch your nose and take a sip of your bottle to not look too much stupid but his lips crease in an amused smile at the bottle in your hand. Neither of you says anything. And it’s weird. “That’s… some cool tattoos,” You add, trying to make the conversation as you point his entire inked sleeve with your chin.

“Yeah?” He chuckles awkwardly. “I always wanted tattoos.”

“I know.” You reply, almost immediately, making him lift his gaze to you as your eyes widen. “You- hm- You thought that Yakuza were cool.” you continue as he nods, his eyes still on you while you look away.

“You remembered.”

You clench your jaw slightly and take another sip of champagne. You hate champagne, but you didn’t read what was written on the bottle when you took it.

“Your father must be proud of you. I heard you had your own tattoo shop.” He says as your gaze soften. Jungkook and your dad were always close, he even called him ‘son’. Your father was in fact, proud of you.

“He is”, was all you could reply, and he nods silently before taking a deep breath.

“Can I… ask you a question? I need to understand something” He frowns a little, turning his head to look at the backyard before finally glancing back at you. He is waiting for you to answer and you simply stare at him. “Why did you leave me, Y/N?”

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WATTPAD.

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[hannieehaee]

BAD HABIT (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: hiding his secret crush on you was already hard enough for jungkook, and after getting bit by a spider, he'd now have the grueling task of hiding his brand-new superhero identity from you.

content: spiderman!jungkook, f2l!jungkook, based on mcu's spiderman and is supposed to take place during/after civil war but with an aged up spiderman, college-aged Jungkook and reader, picture tattoo-less 2019 jungkook, pining, slow burn-ish, afab reader, smut, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 878 (teaser); 9.4k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: august 6th

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a/n: writing a spideykook fic is a right of passage for every jk fanfic writer

masterlist | kofi/patreon

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"Oh my God, did you see what he did last night?", you excitedly shoved your phone in Jungkook's direction, showing him yet another news article detailing Spiderman's newest act of bravery.

"What, did he stop another bank robbery?", Jungkook showed disinterest in your interruption, continuing to pay attention to what was playing on the TV.

"Okay, booo! Why are you so lame about him? He's so cool," you complained, setting your back against the couch again with a frown.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "Just don't see what the big deal is about him. There's cooler superheroes out there."

With the light from the TV shinning on the two of you, you allowed the content from the movie to consume you for a bit before arguing back. You always argued back when it came to Spiderman. This was practically routine to Jungkook by now.

"Like Iron Man? Sure, Tony Stark's cool, but think about it — Spiderman's probably just a regular person like you and me. Can you imagine doing all he does while keeping it all undercover?", you rambled on, "Also his body's crazy," you added as an afterthought, almost whispering it to yourself.

Jungkook couldn't help but chuckle at this, inadvertently looking down at his own abdomen before responding, "How do you know he's got a nice body under that suit?"

"You can literally see his abs through the suit! Duh!", you tutted at him as if he were an idiot to question you.

"Ah, right. My bad," he chuckled, "Okay, whatever. Just pay attention to the movie. You can ramble about him all you want after we finish, okay?," he held up his pinky towards you in a childish fashion, grinning when you giggled at him and intertwined your pinky with him, grumbling a 'fine' in mock annoyance.

Now with you both putting your focus on the movie, — Jungkook's all-time favorite, Back to the Future — Jungkook had the opportunity to lose himself to his own head, thinking about your recent obsession with Spiderman — New York's newest hero.

After Spiderman's recent appearance at an encounter with the Avengers in Germany, followed by a more prominent presence in the streets of New York with a revamped suit, you had instantly formed an intense interest in the masked man. Prior to that, the hero was mostly a man hidden in the shadows — a myth to all those in Queens. Almost immediately upon his return to New York he became a sensation across the world, but specially around the area in which he'd serve the people and fight all evil around.

Among all those fans stood you, maybe the biggest of them all.

It didn't take you long to develop a liking to the masked man upon his sudden resurgence. Jungkook had known you to get overly invested in your interests (there had been a few instances throughout your friendship where you'd demonstrated as such), but he never thought you'd be the type to develop such a blatant crush on someone you virtually knew nothing about. Past the fact that he was the youngest addition to the Avengers, there was not much information about Spiderman out to the general public, yet you were quite loud about your crush on him to everyone you knew — especially to Jungkook, who just so happened to be your best friend.

Unfortunately to Jungkook, you were entirely unaware that the man you were actually crushing on was your best friend in disguise.

And even more unfortunate to him, you were even more unaware of Jungkook's own crush on you.

Did this count? Were you technically crushing on Jungkook?

He chose to go for the most pesimistic answer and assume that your interest in Spiderman would immediately die upon finding out his real identity. Throughout your many years of knowing each other — all through the ups and downs of middle school and high school all the way to university — you'd never once shown anything but platonic interest in him.

To be fair, Jungkook also never gave you any clear indication of his feelings for you. He liked to think that he was discrete about it; that you had no idea of the embarrassing crush he'd been cultivating since freshman year of high school. Fortunately, you appeared to be far too oblivious to it, leaving Jungkook to hold not one but two life-altering secrets, never once considering letting you in on either of them.

For now, all Jungkook could do was make up lame excuses for his sudden absences and to grumble any time Spiderman's name was brought up. Part of him held disdain for Spiderman due to having to keep him a secret from you, but most of his dislike was born out of jealousy over your interest in him. What did he have that Jungkook didn't? Nothing! But he could never tell you that, leading him to a never-ending dilema that he could entrust in no one.

The movie left his mind for the next of the night, much more so when you seemed to become disinterested again, cuddling against him as you prepared to let yourself fall asleep. This was common in your relationship, though it was always strictly platonic. It always left Jungkook wanting more, but still content at having you by his side.

...

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[kirammanswifey]

how arcane characters would deal with mental disorders x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: writing this felt like giving myself a warm hug, a comfort that i needed. if anyone reading this is going through or has gone through any of these disorders, i want to tell you that you are very brave because it is not an easy thing, so feel proud of yourself. i hope you liked this as much as i did. as i'm a psychology student, i felt very motivated and i hope that it was quite understandable and enjoyable. as you already know request are open ;)

P.S. i know the other option won in the poll on my profile, but i need more time to refine the ideas and make something high quality that everyone will love, which i’ll be posting tomorrow ;)

Viktor Depression

The world around you feels like a constant weight, a heavy blanket that wraps around you, not letting you breathe. You wake up each day with a sense of emptiness in your chest, as if a black hole is absorbing all your energy, your motivation, your ability to feel anything other than sadness and apathy.

It’s not that you don’t want to get out of bed; it’s that the simple act of moving a finger feels like a titanic task. Fatigue is your constant companion, a shadow that never leaves you. Things that once filled you with joy now seem distant, irrelevant, as if they belonged to a life that is no longer yours.

The dark thoughts are your constant whispers, reminding you that you’re not enough, that it’s all pointless, that there’s no way out. Sometimes, you cry without knowing why; other times, you want to cry, but even that you can’t do. You feel trapped in an invisible prison, with no strength to fight your way out.

Viktor watches you from the doorway of your room, his gaze soft and full of concern. He knows the weight of shadows well, although his are different. Silently, he approaches and sits on the edge of the bed, not invading your space, but close enough for you to feel his presence.

“I have a new project I’m working on,” he says in a quiet voice, trying not to break the fragile bubble of your world. “I thought maybe you could join me today. You don’t have to do anything, just be there. Your company always helps me think.”

He doesn’t pressure you. Viktor understands that words can be hard to find when your mind is clouded by depression. He knows that the solution isn’t to force you to feel better, but to be with you, to offer you a hand, a small step forward.

He gently rises and offers his hand, not expecting you to take it, but hoping that you’ll know he’s there, ready to support you when you’re ready. “The world can wait,” he murmurs. “But I’m here, whenever you want to come back.”

His patience is infinite, his understanding deep. Viktor doesn’t try to fix you, because he doesn’t see you as broken. He knows that depression is a battle you fight every day, and he’s willing to walk alongside you, every small step, every shared silence.

You look at his hand, then his face; he’s concerned even though he tries to hide it. You make a huge effort to get out of bed, and even though your body doesn’t cooperate at first, you manage. You take his hand and gently squeeze it; that’s the most affection you can give him right now, you’re exhausted.

“Let’s go,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and broken; it’s the first time you’ve spoken all day.

You’re sitting next to Viktor in his small workshop, surrounded by pieces of metal and unfinished prototypes. He’s explaining his latest invention, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. You feel a little better, enough to enjoy his company, and for a moment, a laugh escapes your lips when you hear one of his stories.

“Did you really say that to Heimerdinger?” you laugh, your eyes shining with a spark of life. It’s a small moment, but for Viktor, it’s like seeing the sun rise after a storm.

He smiles, pleased to have made you laugh. “Yes, and his face... It was certainly indescribable,” he replies with a softness that reflects his pleasure at seeing you enjoy yourself, even if just for an instant.

But suddenly, without warning, the laughter turns into a lump in your throat. The spark of joy fades as quickly as it came, and you find yourself trapped in a wave of overwhelming sadness. The tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you can’t stop them. The confusion in your eyes is evident, as if your body has betrayed the fleeting happiness you just felt.

Viktor notices immediately. He leans toward you, his expression turning serious, but his eyes remain warm and full of understanding. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t seek explanations that may be impossible to give. Instead, he moves a little closer, offering you his silent presence.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, his voice an anchor amidst your internal storm. “You don’t have to explain it. Just breathe.”

He offers you his hand, this time with more intent. You take it, feeling the warmth and firmness in his grip, a reminder that you’re not alone in this moment. You needed that contact. You needed to know that you could feel something other than sadness right now. Viktor doesn’t pull away, doesn’t feel uncomfortable. He knows that depression doesn’t follow rules, that it can strike at any moment, and he’s willing to stay with you, no matter how long it lasts.

“Do you want us to stay here?” he asks, his tone delicate. “Or we can walk a little, if that helps.”

His willingness to adapt to your needs wraps you in a sense of safety. Even though the tears keep falling, Viktor’s presence is a balm, a reminder that, even in the darkest moments, there’s someone who sees you, who understands you, and who’s willing to stay by your side.

“Just... stay here with me,” you say, letting yourself fall against his body, exhausted.

He caught you and wrapped you with care, it was a hug with the right amount of strength.

“Take your time, darling. I won’t go anywhere,” Viktor promised in a whisper, never stopping the caresses on your back.

And that was enough to make you feel less miserable.

Jinx Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

The echo of the explosions still resonates in your mind, even though years have passed since that day when your world crumbled. The night everything you loved was consumed by flames in an attack on the Undercity. The night you lost your family and were left alone, with the screams and the smell of smoke forever etched in your memory.

As you walk beside Jinx through the bustling streets of Zaun, everything seems normal, almost calm, until an explosion in the distance makes your heart stop. It’s a dry, loud sound, far too similar to the one you heard that night. Without warning, your breath becomes shallow, your lungs struggle to take in air, and an overwhelming sense of absolute panic takes hold of you.

Your body freezes, and it feels as if the world around you disappears. The crowd, the lights, even Jinx—all fade away, leaving you alone in that dark place where time doesn’t move. The ground beneath your feet seems to give way, and you feel yourself falling again into that abyss of the past.

"Hey, hey!" Jinx’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her gaze searches for yours with desperation. "You’re not there, do you hear me? You’re here, with me."

Her words feel distant, but the warmth of her hands somehow anchors you, reminding you that you’re not alone. "But... the sound..." you murmur, barely audible, as tears start to fall down your cheeks. "It was the same... the same as that night."

Jinx guides you to a quieter corner, away from the noise, holding your hand firmly. "Breathe, hon, like we always do," she says softly, her voice tinged with controlled urgency. "Fill up those lungs, okay? Like we’re balloons."

You try to follow her instructions, but every time you close your eyes to concentrate, the images of that night hit you with renewed force. "It’s not working," you whisper, trembling. "It’s always there. No matter how much I try, it doesn’t go away. It doesn’t go away!" You scream in panic, the fingers of your hands stiffening, making them immobile.

The worry in Jinx’s eyes softens a little, but there’s something else there, something you can only describe as recognition. "That explosion... it reminded me of something too," she says after a moment, her voice quieter, almost a whisper. "I’ve been there, in that fucked-up place, where the ghosts never stop screaming."

Her words are like a key that opens the door to a deeper understanding.

She falls silent for a moment, gazing into the distance before refocusing her attention on you. "When I have my attacks, you’re always there for me, and I remember I’m not alone. That helps me a lot," she admits, a small, almost sad smile curving her lips. "And you’re not alone either, hon. We’re not broken, just a little bent. And here we are, bent together."

The hug she offers you is warm and firm, a tangible reminder that you’re not alone. You feel her strength, her determination, and something else: her own fear, her own struggle. "You don’t have to fight alone," she whispers, her voice a promise. "If you ever feel like you’re going to fall, we’ll fall together. And then, we’ll rise. Always."

You cling to her like a lifeline, letting her warmth and her words anchor you to the present, if only for a moment. "Thank you, sweets," you whisper, allowing yourself, for the first time in a long time, to feel that it’s okay not to be okay.

Vi Anxiety Disorder

The night drags you into the abyss of your mind, but you find no respite. Instead of waking softly to the day, you're trapped in pure panic. Your chest burns, each breath a lost battle. Your heart gallops wildly, as if trying to escape your chest. You are drenched in sweat, the sheets sticking to your skin, becoming yet another prison.

Your eyes snap open, the darkness of the room seems to close in on you, and the silence is deafening. The sensation of suffocation consumes you. You try to gulp down air, but it's as though your lungs have forgotten how to function. Your hands search for something, anything, to anchor you to reality, but all they find is emptiness.

The door swings open abruptly, and Vi stands there, alert, her eyes filled with concern. She doesn't need to ask what’s wrong; she knows instantly. She moves swiftly but carefully, approaching you without frightening you further.

"Breathe with me," she says gently, her hands finding yours, steady yet comforting. "Inhale through your nose... like this... and exhale through your mouth."

You try to follow her, but your body won’t cooperate. Your breath is shallow, frantic, as though every breath disintegrates before it even reaches your lungs. Tears begin to streak down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat.

"Vi... I can’t... I can't... I’m scared," you stammer, your words broken by sobs. Your mind is caught in a loop of terror, every thought spiraling downward, taking you further away from calm.

Vi sits beside you on the bed, her voice low and constant. "Don’t be afraid. Listen to my voice. I’m here with you, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you." Her tone is firm, anchoring you in the present, pulling you out of the tide of your own fear.

"But it hurts... my chest... I can't breathe..." Your body trembles, and your hands clutch desperately at her grasp. The feeling of control slipping away is overwhelming, leaving you feeling helpless.

Vi pulls you into an embrace, holding you close, offering her calm, her strength. "This is temporary. It won’t last forever," she whispers in your ear. "Trust me. Focus on me."

Slowly, very slowly, her voice cuts through the fog of your mind. You begin to breathe more deeply, following her rhythm, feeling how her presence stabilizes you, like a lighthouse in the storm. The pain in your chest begins to lessen, the pressure relents just a little, and your body starts to remember how to breathe without fighting.

Vi continues to speak, her voice a soft murmur, calming you with every word. "You’re strong. You have control, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now."

The tears still flow, but now they are tears of relief, not fear. "Don’t leave... don’t leave. I need you here," you whisper, your voice broken but sincere.

Vi strokes your hair, her other hand gently squeezing yours. "I’m not going anywhere, little doe," she says affectionately, kissing your forehead, tasting the salty remnants of your sweat.

You remain in her arms a moment longer, allowing yourself to rest, letting her strength hold you as you regain your own. Gradually, the panic fades, leaving only exhaustion and the certainty that Vi will always be by your side, no matter how dark the nights may get.

Caitlyn Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

The silence in the apartment is deafening. The only sound that breaks the stillness is the relentless ticking of the wall clock, its rhythm echoing in your ears like a hammer. You’re in the kitchen, eyes fixed on the glasses you’ve meticulously arranged in the cupboard. Each glass must be perfectly spaced, each one aligned to the exact same level. Symmetry isn’t just a preference—it’s a necessity. If something is out of place, you feel as though the whole world could collapse.

Your breathing is uneven, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. "One, two, three..." you murmur to yourself, counting each movement. Your hands tremble, but you can’t stop. You can’t stop. If you do, something terrible will happen. You don’t know what, but the certainty that it will be catastrophic clings to you like a shadow.

Caitlyn enters the apartment after a long day at work. Her expression shifts instantly when she sees you in the kitchen, trapped in your own ritual. She stops in the doorway, watching you with a mix of concern and sadness. It’s not the first time she’s found you like this, but each time, it hurts her as though it were.

"Darling?" Her voice is soft, as if afraid to shatter you. She steps closer, carefully setting her hat down on the table. "What are you doing?"

You don’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the glasses. "Almost done... just a few more minutes," you whisper, your voice trembling. You can’t stop. Every glass moved, every small adjustment is a battle between reason and irrational fear.

Caitlyn stops beside you, her eyes scanning the scene, seeing the perfect pattern you’ve created. "You don’t have to do this," she says gently, yet firmly.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but the urge to continue is too strong. "You don’t understand... if I don’t do it right, if they’re not perfectly aligned, something bad is going to happen." Tears begin to well up in your eyes, the pressure in your chest intensifying. "I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, but it’s like my mind... it can’t stop."

Caitlyn takes a deep breath, her hand reaching out to touch your shoulder delicately. "You’re not crazy," she says, locking eyes with you. "I know this is hard, that your mind doesn’t give you peace. But you don’t have to face it alone. Let me help you."

You turn to look at her, your eyes filled with desperation. "I can’t stop, Cait. If I do, I feel like everything will fall apart. I can’t control what’s happening inside my head."

Caitlyn nods slowly, her gaze unwavering from yours. "I know, darling. And I know this won’t be fixed in a day. But I’m here, and I’m going to stay by your side. We’ll face it together."

Her words anchor you, a beacon in the storm that is your mind. Slowly, almost against your will, your hands begin to lower, moving away from the glasses. The fear is still there, a current running just beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm you, but Caitlyn is beside you, her presence a reminder that you’re not alone.

"Breathe with me," she says, her voice soft and steady. "Inhale... exhale... together."

You follow her instructions, though your lungs seem to resist, full of anxiety. Caitlyn guides you, her hand never leaving your shoulder. "See? We’re doing it! You’re doing it!" She encourages, kissing your neck when she notices you’ve looked away from the glasses for five seconds. It was only five seconds, but Caitlyn knew it was a huge accomplishment, and she celebrated it.

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your muscles easing slightly. Your hands travel to Caitlyn’s waist, moving her so the glasses are no longer in your line of sight. You let your head fall against her chest, breathing in her scent. It’s so much better, especially when you start counting the beats of her heart.

"How brave my wonderful and glorious girlfriend is. I’m so proud of you," she whispered, her fingers weaving through your hair as she praised you.

"Cait, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," you whisper against her warm chest, unwilling to leave that comforting refuge.

Caitlyn chuckles softly, and it feels like music to your ears.

"I feel the same way, darling," Caitlyn replied, gently swaying your bodies from side to side in a small rhythm.

You know that your compulsions won’t disappear, that the need for control will remain, but with Caitlyn, you feel like you can face it one day at a time.

Jayce Narcissistic Personality Disorder

The mirror in your room is your judge, jury, and executioner. Every imperfection is a sentence, every flaw a conviction. You spend hours in front of it, adjusting, retouching, trying to reach a perfection that always seems to slip through your fingers. Your heart beats fast, not from excitement, but from the constant fear that the world will see the cracks beneath your flawless facade.

Jayce enters quietly, his presence comforting and, at the same time, a threat. What will he think? Does he notice the imperfections you see? He steps closer, his gaze soft, but you feel the weight of his eyes as if he's scrutinizing every flaw.

"Love, it's late. Come to bed," he says in a calm voice, trying to distract you from your self-destructive spiral.

"Just one more moment," you reply without looking at him, your focus still on the mirror, searching for symmetry in your features, perfection in the unattainable.

Jayce sits on the edge of the bed, watching you. "You've been here for hours. You don't have to do this. You're beautiful just as you are."

His statement, though well-intentioned, feels like a white lie. "You don’t understand, Jayce," you murmur, your voice trembling with suppressed frustration. "If I’m not perfect, I’m nobody. I can’t let them see my flaws. I can't let… you see them."

Jayce stands, walking toward you carefully, as if approaching a flickering flame. "You don’t have to be perfect to be loved," he says, his words a whisper in the storm raging in your mind. "You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to me."

Your gaze finally meets his through the reflection. Tears fight their way out, but you can't allow such weakness. "It's not that simple," you whisper. "Every day, every look, every word, it’s all a test. And if I fail…"

Jayce places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes filled with compassion and infinite patience. "If you fail, I’ll be here to lift you up."

"And what if I’m not enough?" The question slips out before you can stop it, the insecurity behind your narcissism showing in all its rawness. "What if one day you realize you deserve something better?"

Jayce leans in, his forehead touching yours, a gesture so intimate it almost breaks you. "I deserve someone who loves me for who I am, not for what I pretend to be. And that’s exactly what you are to me. I don’t have impossible expectations of you. I just want you to be happy, to find peace in who you are."

The internal struggle within you is fierce. The fear of rejection, the desire for perfection, the need to be seen and admired, all mix together in a whirlwind that consumes you. But in Jayce's arms, for a moment, the noise silences. His love is not a chain, but a refuge, one that offers rest if only you can let yourself fall into it.

"How can you be so sure?" you ask, your voice broken but curious.

"Because I love you," he answers without hesitation. "And love isn’t about waiting for perfection. It’s about accepting every part of you, even the ones you think are flaws."

The tears finally make their way out, releasing something within you that has been held back for so long. Jayce holds you as you cry, whispering words of comfort, letting all the pressure, fear, and anguish flow out of you.

"You’re perfect," you whisper, your voice cracked but full of sincerity. In your mind, Jayce is the epitome of everything you don’t believe you are: strong, confident, unshakable.

Jayce smiles softly, his hand caressing your cheek, wiping away the tears still falling. "No, I’m just a man in love. A man who loves you madly." His voice is warm, filled with a tenderness that disarms you. "Why don’t you show me that precious smile of yours? Please, it would make me so happy."

His sweet words touch your heart, and the corners of your lips stretch on their own, forming a sad smile.

"Gorgeous," Jayce murmured, caressing your lips with his strong, calloused fingers.

"Flatterer," you reply with a more elaborate smile, your eyes still wet, but now with a different shine, one that reflects the spark of hope he’s ignited in you.

"I’m just stating facts. I’m a scientist, honey, so I can tell you that, from my perspective, it’s scientifically proven that you’re gorgeous," he commented wryly, a wit that made you laugh.

Jayce smiled and kissed your forehead, holding you firmly in his arms. Finally, you feel like you can breathe, like air is filling your lungs again without that constant weight on your chest.

Ekko Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

The room is silent except for the soft hum of music playing in the background, but your mind cannot stop racing. Your thoughts scatter like arrows shot in every direction. You try to focus on something, anything, but it feels as though your brain is in a constant battle between the ideas that come and go. The light from the lamp flickers irregularly, and for a moment, you wonder if the bulb is about to explode. This makes no sense, you know that, but the unease lingers.

You quickly get up from the bed, taking a misstep, tripping over a chair you hadn’t seen, barely avoiding it. Your heart races. Everything is a series of chaotic jumps in your head, an endless torrent of thoughts that can’t follow a single path. You look at the desk, with papers scattered about—unfinished projects, ideas you can’t ground. Everything calls to you, but you can’t focus on anything.

Your hands tremble slightly as you grab the pen and begin to write down an idea that came to you, but before you finish the sentence, a new image flashes in your mind. You stop, leaving the pen on the desk and staring out the window. Something about the glow of the stars makes you think of something else. You can’t concentrate. Everything distracts you, even the small noises you used to never notice. It’s so annoying.

Suddenly, you feel the stress begin to accumulate in your shoulders. It’s not just the lack of concentration; it’s the sense of constantly running toward something without ever arriving. You try to finish a task, but more and more thoughts pile up, projects, things that need doing. Everything seems urgent, and nothing seems possible to complete. Anxiety settles in your chest.

You’re about to get up again when you hear the sound of the door opening behind you. Ekko enters the room, his calming presence is the only thing that makes you stop for a moment. He watches you in silence for a few seconds, noticing the frenzy of your movements. You hadn’t realized, but your breathing is irregular, and you’ve gotten up twice without purpose. Something isn’t right.

He watches you quietly, understanding the internal struggle you’re facing. He knows what this means, what it costs you every day.

“What’s going on? Why are you so worked up?” he asks, his voice soft but with enough authority to make you stop and listen.

Your eyes focus on a fixed point, but you can’t find the words to explain what you’re feeling. You don’t know how to put into words what’s happening. It’s like you’re trapped in a cycle of thoughts that never stop.

“My mind... it doesn’t stop moving,” you finally manage to say, almost in a whisper. “Every time I try to do something, it’s like something else distracts me. Nothing stays. Everything slips away.”

Ekko watches you silently for a moment, understanding the fight you’re facing. He knows exactly what this feels like.

“I get it, babe,” he responds, his tone firm but gentle. “I know your mind’s all over the place right now, but I promise we can do this one step at a time. We’ll focus on one thing at a time, no pressure. Sound good?”

The fact that Ekko is offering to be there, without judgment, brings you relief. You know that the impulsiveness you feel, the urge to move without a plan, is something that consumes you. Your mind jumps from one thought to another, and each of those thoughts feels like an urgent need, an immediate necessity. But at the same time, nothing makes sense. Everything is scattered and out of control.

“It’s just that...” your words fade into the air, unable to be completed. You feel trapped in your own body, in your own brain. You can’t stop, but you can’t move forward either.

Ekko gently places a hand on your shoulder, his touch calming. “How can we start?” he asks sincerely, not rushing you. “Tell me what you need.”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The flood of thoughts quiets down, and for the first time in a long while, you can think clearly, even if it’s just for an instant. It’s not about having everything figured out right away; it’s about feeling that someone is there, willing to stand by you while you navigate through the mental whirlwind.

“I just... I don’t know how to do it without jumping from one thing to another,” you murmur, frustration and shame creeping into your voice. “I feel like everything’s overwhelming, and I can’t focus on anything.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Ekko replies, his tone calm and direct. “First, breathe. The first step is to breathe, and then we can start with just one thing. The rest can wait.”

You close your eyes for a moment and follow his words. You breathe deeply, slowly, trying to find the balance that always seems so hard to reach. Ekko is there, not rushing you, waiting for your mind to settle. With his help, little by little, you manage to focus on one small task, one that’s manageable enough not to overwhelm you. It’s just one step, but it’s a step toward calm.

“You don’t have to do it all right now,” Ekko says softly. “What matters is that you’re not alone in this. We’ll go step by step.”

You feel the knot in your stomach loosening, even though there’s still much to do. But at this moment, with him by your side, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you can find a way toward a little peace.

After hours of work and soft laughter, you’re sitting on the floor, with Ekko beside you, both looking at the pieces left to place in a puzzle. It’s almost complete, the pieces fitting perfectly, and though the hours have flown by, you feel lighter, the atmosphere quieter.

“One more,” Ekko says with a smile, holding up a piece in the air. He passes it to you, and together, you place it in its spot, completing the picture. The puzzle is done, and though it’s a small accomplishment, it feels more meaningful than it seems. Not just because of what you’ve completed, but because you’ve managed to feel centered, accompanied.

When you look at the drawing you had left unfinished, now finally complete, you feel a deep sense of satisfaction. Ekko helped bring to life the image that only existed in your mind, his hands working alongside yours, following every line with care.

“You did it,” Ekko says, his eyes shining with pride. “My girl is incredible.” He pulled you into his lap and kissed your forehead.

You look at him, your heart beating a little faster. The fatigue of the afternoon washes over you, but you don’t care. All that matters is that he’s here, by your side, and that, for once, you feel at peace. The air feels lighter, as if the space between you two has been reduced, softened by the stillness of the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your words barely a whisper, but full of gratitude.

Ekko turns toward you, his expression softening. “Don’t thank me. Thank yourself. You’re the one who made it happen, not me.”

The way he looks at you, the way his presence has become part of your space, makes you smile. And, in a moment of impulse, without thinking too much about it, you move a little closer. He seems to understand it instantly, and before you can second-guess yourself, his lips brush against yours. It’s a soft kiss, no rush, no urgency, just a moment where words aren’t needed.

When you pull away, both of you stay there, looking at each other, the air between you charged with something that doesn’t need to be named. Ekko smiles, his eyes sparkling with that glint that makes you feel as though everything is right, as if the world, for a moment, is in its place.

“Everything’s okay now,” Ekko says softly, filling you with calm.

And in that instant, you believe him.

Silco Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

The air in Silco's office is thick with tension, as always. The sound of the bustling city echoes through the glass windows, but inside, everything is still, almost as rigid as the gaze Silco fixes on you. You're sitting across from him, feeling a familiar dizziness, as if everything is out of control and, at the same time, you're trapped in an empty space. A mix of confusion and anxiety courses through every fiber of your being.

Your hands tremble slightly, and although you try to control your breathing, each inhalation seems to sink you further into the internal chaos. The voices in your head blend together, demanding answers, claiming something you can't give. Silco watches you calmly, but it's a cold, calculated calm, as if everything that's going on inside you is a game he knows how to play.

You feel the emptiness consuming you, and yet an unbearable pressure weighs on your chest. Your mind betrays you, throwing destructive thoughts at you, telling you you're worthless, that everything you do is doomed to fail. The contradiction is overwhelming: on one hand, you feel lost, and on the other, you refuse to give in to the feeling of helplessness.

"Are you alright?" Silco asks, his voice low and steady, but there's a slight intensity in his tone. He doesn't break eye contact, as if he's evaluating every micro-expression on your face, every movement. He knows you're not, but still, he asks. Is it a test? A need to know how far you can go? The silence stretches on, and your thoughts only intensify.

The urge to stand up and run from it all is strong. Everything in you screams to follow your impulses, to escape, to flee from the overwhelming weight of it all. But you stay there, because something in you knows that running will only plunge you deeper into the darkness you're feeling inside. You see yourself fighting, trying to maintain control, but every second makes you feel more lost.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what's happening to me," you whisper, your voice broken, struggling against the avalanche of emotions threatening to drown you. You feel the tears pressing behind your eyes, but you force yourself to keep composure. "It's just... it's all so intense. So confusing."

Silco keeps watching you in silence. There's no judgment in his gaze, only a calculated assessment, as if he's reading between the lines of your suffering. After a long moment, he sighs and stands up from his chair, approaching you slowly. It's not a sudden gesture, but calm, as if he's used to dealing with people who struggle with their own minds. He says nothing, but his presence is the only thing anchoring you in this moment.

With one hand, he takes yours. The contact is firm, but not aggressive, as if he's giving you space to breathe, but also space to not escape. In his eyes, something changes. There's an understanding that you can't fully decipher, but it fills you with a strange sensation, like, for the first time in a long time, you're not alone in the storm raging inside you.

"Your mind is betraying you," Silco says calmly, his voice soft but full of an authority that makes you feel that everything happening has a purpose. "It's an enemy that everyone must face at some point. But you don't have to face it alone."

The words fall on you like a stone, but strangely, they allow you to relax, even if only for a moment. The internal chaos you've always felt halts for an instant. And in that silence, you're finally able to breathe.

"All of this... this emptiness, the feeling that nothing matters, it's not your fault," Silco continues, his tone firm, though not without a strange gentleness. "It's just a phase, a moment that will pass. But you need to control it. Not let it take over you."

You feel vulnerable, but at the same time, a part of you relaxes in his closeness. Silco doesn't tell you that it's okay, nor does he promise easy solutions. He speaks to you with reality, with that harshness that you know comes from someone who understands suffering, but who doesn't have time to sugarcoat the truth.

"What you're feeling is real, but it's also transient. Not everything is as final as you think," he adds, his gaze fixed on yours with intensity. "You can be stronger than this."

The words resonate in your mind as you take a deep breath. You don't know if you fully believe them, but for some reason, in this moment, the darkness feels less imposing. You're not completely free of it, but at least you feel you're not entirely alone. Silco is here, firm and without judgment, waiting for you to take control of your own mind, without expecting you to do it immediately, but giving you the possibility to believe that you'll manage.

The pressure in your chest doesn't disappear completely, but a small crack of calm starts to open within you. And though you know your inner struggles won't end immediately, for the first time in a long while, you don't feel as lost. Silco looks at you one last time, without haste, but with a silent certainty.

"When you're ready, you can get out of this. I'll be here."

You're surprised by how firm his voice sounds, as if, by saying it, he's committed to being a constant presence. And although you don't fully understand how he does it, you realize that, in this moment, his steadiness helps you more than any empty words of comfort.

The world continues around you, but somehow, Silco has given you the strength to face it.

The silence between you and Silco lingers for a moment, but it's no longer the same silence as before. There's a strange peace, almost comforting, in the way he holds you, in the closeness you now feel between you both. The contact of his hand, firm and steady, gives you an anchor amidst the storm that still rages inside you.

A sigh escapes your lips without you noticing, and for a moment, it's not one of despair, but of relief. Silco, still keeping his gaze fixed on you, takes one more step closer. It's not a quick or rushed step, but a calculated one, as if he's sure that, in this moment, the only thing you need is that closeness, that calm presence.

Without saying anything, his fingers gently caress your cheek, a soft gesture that cuts through you. There's a tenderness in his movements that you hadn't anticipated, something that seems in complete contradiction with the person you know, but that, in this moment, comforts you more than any words. You feel vulnerable, but you don't fear it, not now.

Your breathing gradually calms, and Silco, silently, moves a little closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body. The space between you is almost nonexistent now, and you can feel his breath in rhythm with yours. There's something in his presence that soothes you, that gives you the feeling that everything will be okay, even though it still feels hard to believe.

Finally, his lips come close to yours with an unexpected softness. It's not a hasty or desperate kiss, but something slower, more measured. The brush of his lips against yours is so gentle that it surprises you, as if he's waiting for you to accept it, for you to be ready. And you are. Though your mind is still filled with doubts and fears, something inside you tells you that this is the moment you can allow yourself to be vulnerable, that you can receive something that won't hurt you.

The kiss deepens slowly, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away around you. All that remains is the warmth of his body, the firmness of his arms around you, and the gentle contact of his lips, like a silent promise that, even though the future is uncertain, for a moment, everything is alright.

When you finally pull away, no words are needed. Silco looks at you with an intensity you've never seen before, but in his eyes, there's something more, something you can't describe, something that makes you feel that, despite everything you've been through, you're not alone.

"I told you you were strong," he whispers, his voice deep and soft at the same time.

And for a moment, everything seems enough.

Mel Chronic Stress Disorder

The atmosphere is thick with tension, but it's a different kind of tension. It's a quiet calm, yet at the same time, it is filled with the constant threat of what could happen. You’re there, in one of the rooms of the mansion, sitting on a chair by the window, gazing out at the illuminated city, but unable to really see anything. The world around you seems to blur, as if a layer of fog has settled over your senses, blurring every detail and leaving only the emptiness of your thoughts.

Mel, who has been watching your behavior for the past few minutes, approaches with a palpable gentleness in her movements. Her presence is firm, but not intrusive. From a distance, she’s observed how the symptoms of your chronic stress have taken over you, how anxiety and mental exhaustion have combined to make you feel beyond your limits.

She crouches slightly to be at your level, her eyes fixed on yours, searching for your attention. “I notice you’re not yourself, and I know it’s because the weight of everything has piled up,” she says in a low voice, her tone soft yet firm. “But I want you to listen. You have the right to rest. You don’t have to carry the world, not all the time.”

Despite her words, you feel a pressure in your chest that won’t ease. Everything feels too big, too heavy. Chronic stress consumes you, leaving your thoughts tangled while your body responds with a deep exhaustion that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do.

Mel, noticing the internal struggle that consumes you, steps closer and, without warning, places a firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not a gesture of force, but of support. A sign that she’s here, silently, but available to help you find the balance you need.

“Your body is telling you it needs to stop,” she continues, with a softness that’s hard to deny. “Those moments of despair, of exhaustion... they’re real. But you don’t have to go through it alone, no matter how much you think you can.”

The contact of her hand on you, her quiet strength, begins to offer some relief. Even though the weight still lingers, something in you relaxes. It’s as if her words offer you a rope to hold onto, something tangible in the fog that seems to surround your mind.

You lean forward, your fingers briefly touching your forehead as you try to calm the agitation still coursing through you. The stress, that constant pressure in your life, seems unwilling to let go of you, but at least in this moment, with Mel by your side, you can breathe a little more deeply.

“I’ll be here,” Mel whispers, like an unbreakable promise. “If you need to rest, I’ll help you find peace. You don’t have to go on alone.”

For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to think that, maybe, it’s possible to let go of some of that burden. Mel’s voice, soft yet full of certainty, is a refuge in the midst of the chaos in your mind.

Mel doesn’t expect you to feel guilty for your exhaustion. She doesn’t demand that you change or “overcome” your chronic stress overnight. She only gives you space to feel what you need to feel and to acknowledge that, even though the road may be long, you don’t have to walk it alone.

When your eyes lift and meet hers, there’s something in your gaze that softens. The stress doesn’t vanish immediately, but the simple fact that someone understands you, that someone is staying with you without judging, gives you something you didn’t have before: the possibility of healing.

The silence between you both is comfortable. It’s a silence of acceptance and understanding. And as Mel remains by your side, her presence becomes something that offers comfort, not an immediate solution, but a step toward the calm you so desperately need.

After a long silence, Mel slowly approaches you, and her eyes, filled with softness and understanding, capture you. She takes your hand, with a delicacy that makes you feel lighter, as if the weight of your mind could lessen just with that contact.

“You know, right?” she whispers, her voice gentle but firm. “I’ve seen you fight, and still, you’re here, being so incredible. And to me, that’s what really matters. Not everything you’ve been through, but who you are now.”

The sparkle in her eyes makes you blush slightly, and your heart beats a little faster.

“Mel...” you whisper, barely able to find the words, feeling your nerves breaking. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

She smiles, moving closer. “I’m here, for whatever you need, for anything, always.”

Without saying another word, Mel gently caresses your cheek, as if every movement is a silent promise. Then, you see her lean in toward you, her face so close to yours that you can feel the brush of her breath.

“You’re my refuge, you know that, right?” Mel says, with sincerity that runs deep within you.

And without another word, her lips find yours, in a tender, almost urgent kiss, as if she wanted to convey everything she couldn’t with words. When she pulls away, her eyes shine with an unmistakable softness.

“I love you, with all my being. And that won’t change.”

You shiver slightly at her words, but instead of insecurity, you find comfort. Her eyes transmit calm to you, and for the first time, you realize that she’s willing to be the peace you so need.

Sevika Bipolar Disorder

The darkness surrounds you, but it’s not physical darkness; it’s something denser, creeping through every corner of your mind. It’s one of those days. You don’t know for sure, but you feel it deep in your gut: something has changed. There’s a void in your chest that you don’t know how to fill, and a sensation in your stomach that twists you up. You’ve been through this before. The bipolar disorder drags you, takes you as its own without warning, pushing you from one extreme to the other in a matter of hours, minutes.

You wake up feeling the weight of sadness, a sadness that feels physical, sinking you into the mattress as if the sheets were lead. You don’t want to move, think, or do anything. You just feel empty, as if all your strength has evaporated. The room seems smaller, the walls pressing in on you. Your legs don’t respond when you try to get up. A knot forms in your throat, but the tears won’t come. There’s no energy for that, just the weight of despair.

You don’t see her enter. Her presence is silent, but solid. Sevika knows something is wrong, she feels it even before you tell her. When you look at her, her expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you feel that the situation is serious. There’s no surprise, no fear, just a cold, calculating understanding. Sevika isn’t one to lose her calm easily. And that makes you even more confused, making you feel like you don’t belong in that moment, like you’re not the person she expects to see.

“What’s going on?” she asks, not softening anything. The question isn’t condescending, nor filled with concern. It’s direct, almost harsh, she doesn’t beat around the bush. She knows that, when you’re like this, empty words don’t help.

You struggle to form a response. You can’t, really. Your thoughts are tangled in an incomprehensible chaos. But she doesn’t expect you to explain anything. Sevika approaches, sits on the edge of the bed. Her gaze never leaves you, as if she’s evaluating your soul, searching for a point of vulnerability, a sign of what to do next. She has the ability to see beyond your emotions, beyond the depression that consumes you and the anxiety that makes you tremble. She knows that right now there’s nothing rational in your mind, but understanding is her only response. Patience mixes with a slight touch of toughness, as she always does with things she can’t control.

“You’re staying here. You’re not going to do anything impulsive. You’re not going to try to run out of here or make this worse,” she says with a calm coldness that leaves no room for objection. You know that, in this moment, she’s the only voice of reason you can hear.

You’re aware that Sevika is used to dealing with extreme situations, but this one is different. She watches you closely, but from a distance, as if she’s weighing the damage, calculating what she can do to keep you safe. You don’t see fear in her, but you see resolve. She doesn’t switch into “rescuer mode,” she doesn’t try to hug you or tell you that everything will be fine. What she says, she says with authority because she knows that if she gives in, chaos will take control, and everything she’s worked to keep stable will fall apart.

In the internal struggle between your broken mind and the anger that begins to build up inside of you, Sevika is the rock that keeps you from diving into the void. But she also knows she can’t ignore your emotions. Her expression hardens slightly when she realizes there’s something more going on. “I’m telling you this because you know it, not because I need to explain it to you,” she whispers, making it clear that there’s no room for games.

When you finally speak, it’s in whispers, as if your words have weight and could break you. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m... I’m so tired of this constant back and forth. I can’t handle it.”

Sevika doesn’t change her posture. She doesn’t tell you that she’s going to “fix” you, nor does she try to cure you. She knows that what you have doesn’t have an easy fix, but she does have tools to deal with the situation. “You don’t need to fix anything right now. You need to rest. Let what’s going to happen, happen, but don’t make decisions you’ll regret later. Do you understand me?” her voice is firm, but underneath there’s something else, a touch of softness she rarely shows.

The air in the room is heavy, laden with the weight of your thoughts, like a fog that prevents you from seeing beyond. Sevika is there, watching you with the same intensity as always, but with an odd calm, a calm that scares you because it makes you feel like she sees it all: the chaos consuming you, the internal battle between despair and rage.

“I don’t want this to control me. I don’t want to be like this,” you murmur, the words coming out broken. You know you’re saying it more to yourself than to her, but still, the guilt pierces your chest like invisible needles. You feel like you’re not being who she expects.

Sevika stays silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on you. There’s something in her face, a line of tension in her jaw, as if she’s weighing every word before speaking. Finally, she gets a little closer, breaking the distance between your bodies.

“It’s not about what you expect from yourself. It’s about what you need right now. And what you need right now is rest, stop fighting against something you can’t control.”

Your eyes search hers, those eyes that always seem to understand more than you can verbalize. And, somehow, you feel that there’s no judgment in them, just a silent acceptance of what you’re going through. It’s strange. In the middle of the storm in your mind, Sevika gives you the feeling of being the only anchor left in your world.

Suddenly, she stretches out a hand toward you, not rushing, not in a hurry, but with the firmness that characterizes her. You take it without thinking, as if it’s the only thing that can stop the flood of erratic thoughts flooding your mind. Her touch is warm, comforting. There’s a strength in that simple gesture, something that allows you to relax, even if just for a second.

“I’m going to take care of you, understand?” she whispers, her voice low, barely a breath. There are no empty promises in her words, just a statement of fact. But in her tone, you find a softness that she rarely shows. It’s like, for a brief moment, her heart opens a little more, even if she doesn’t fully recognize it.

The moment stretches on, and even though the storm in your mind hasn’t ceased, there’s something in you that feels a little lighter. Sevika doesn’t have the solution to your pain, but her presence, her closeness, gives you a peace you never even imagined.

Without thinking, you move a little closer to her, seeking that warmth. Her fingers interlace with yours, and for the first time all day, you don’t feel completely broken. Sevika has never promised you a happy ending, but in this moment, you don’t need one. The simple fact of being here, of having her close, gives you a reason to keep going, even if just for a little while longer.

“I love you,” you say without thinking, and the words come out with a clarity that surprises you. It’s not a grand declaration, it’s not a promise that everything will be okay, but it’s something real, something you never thought you could say to anyone before.

“I love you too, doll,” she responds with a half-smile, though her eyes seem softer than ever. And, for a second, the world seems to stop. The anxiety, the disorder in your head, dissipate, if only for a brief moment.

She leans in a little toward you, and in that instant, all that matters is the touch of her lips on your forehead, a simple gesture but filled with affection. The silence between you both is comfortable, no pressure, just the comfort of being together, knowing that, even if the world around you falls apart, Sevika will be the one to keep you steady.

[elihermit]

lost in the memories

pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley x fem!reader

summary: after the incident at work where Buck had to rescue you, you ended up in coma and relieved every moment of your relationship with Buck

word count: 2,1k

note from the writer: i’m so excited to finally share my first imagine with you! i’m taking requests 🫧

Breath in and breathe out. That’s what Buck always said when you start panicking and feel anxious. But today this panic was not over missing a deadline for your task at work, it wasn’t something you could easily fix.

You work as a psychologist who helps your patients get through the trauma of the past and find the strength to move on.

The day started as usual: morning kisses and cuddles with Buck, breakfast, I love you's, and you both went to work. But then everything is just blank, you didn't even get a chance to take your first patient or maybe you did? You can’t even remember.

You woke up at your apartment, cuddling your favorite toy, you got it when you were 9 years old and since then — it’s your lucky charm. You look at your screen to check the time — “8am”. Good, you have time to grab the breakfast at your favorite spot.

Brush your teeth, shower, get dressed, put on some makeup and you’re ready to go.

“Good morning, (Y/N)! Let me guess, latte with raspberry syrup and English breakfast?” — it was Alice, the waitress in your favorite spot. You go here almost every day and you truly can say that she became your friend.

“Good morning, Alice! Yes, you know I can’t start my day without you teasing me and my favorite coffee to get through this.” — you can’t help but smile, she really knows how to highlight your day.

“Of course.” — Alice smiled. “How many patients do you have today? I think I need to make you two coffees.” — she remembered when yesterday you had 5 patients and you came back to the cafe to buy one extra coffee. You loved your job, but sometimes it was too much even for your professional head. Poor people, they don’t deserve to live with all of those traumas.

“Yes please. You’re an angel!” — you gave her a grateful look and agreed on her offer.

Now you have 30 minutes to eat your breakfast and the place was so packed, you were lucky to take the table the moment you walked into the cafe.

About halfway through enjoying your breakfast and making your schedule for tomorrow, you heard someone approaching you.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry for disturbing you, but could I please sit with you? There’s no empty table and I think I will actually go nuts if I don’t eat.” — you raise your head and it was the most gorgeous man you have ever laid your eyes on. Pretty blue eyes, brown hair and the body of Greek God. Fuck, you stared too long, gotta answer quickly.

“Of course. I got you, this morning anger because of being hungry is not very cutesy.” — you laughed and pointed at the seat in front of you.

“Oh my god, yes! Thank you so much, my co-workers just got saved from my rudeness by…” — he sat down and didn’t finish his sentence so you could tell him your name.

“I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you. Happy to help, we don’t want to give your co-workers some traumas.” — you chuckled. God, you can’t forget about your work even when you have free time.

“That’s very true.” — he laughed. “I’m Evan, but you can call me Buck.” — the way he smiled… This image definitely won’t leave your head.

Suddenly, everything went dark. It’s like there was only one lamp that shined on your table. Buck started crying. You never heard any man cry like this. So much pain, desperation and suffering. With his head on his hands, you could see how his shoulders trembled with every cry.

He raised his head and looked into your eyes with so much sadness.

“Please, come back to me.”

Darkness. You move your finger. Why can you move ONLY your finger? What’s going on? It doesn’t feel right. You can’t see, you can’t move, you can’t speak and hear. Just darkness.

You open the door. Here he is, in all of his glory. Your partner, your love, your friend and your boyfriend in one person.

“Okay, I got every snack you like, you ready for our movie night?” — there’s a big bag of goods in front of Buck and he’s smiling like The Cheshire Cat.

You smile and pull him into the kiss. The sweetest kiss you have ever had. The best lips you have ever tasted. You already knew it would end up being Netflix & Chill.

“I missed you so much.” — you say into his lips and he gives you one more kiss before leading you to the couch.

You sat on the couch immediately getting trapped in his embrace. You didn’t mind at all. There’s no place in the world where you would rather be.

“Did you pick a movie? It’s your turn today, baby.” — you loved your tradition when at least 2-3 times a week you have movie nights. Last time you watched a movie called… You actually can’t remember, making love to each other sounded better after 15 minutes into the movie.

“Yes.” — he makes you look into his face. “Come back to me.”

Darkness. What the fuck is going on? You can feel you squeeze someone’s hand but you can’t see anything. Is that some kind of dream? More like a nightmare actually. Why are you getting pulled out of the most happiest moments of your life?

Buck. You feel so scared without him, you feel so alone. You want to scream “I’m here!”, but not a single word comes out of your mouth. That must be some kind of horrible joke.

You look into the mirror one more time and notice Buck staring at you with a smile.

“Okay, baby, first of all — you know you can stare and touch.” — you said with a smirk and Buck immediately made his way over you. He put his hands on your waist and yours gently fell on his neck. “Secondly, remind me again why we’re gathering in the middle of the week?”

You took a day off, because Buck was convincing you that no one has any other free day and only today they can all meet up together. Honestly, you loved being at Bobby’s and Athena’s house, especially when everyone was there too. Eddie with Christopher, Hen with Karen, Chim with Maddie. It’s like having a second family and you were grateful that they accepted you and loved you as much as Buck loves you.

“(Y/N), I told you it’s the only day when everyone is actually free.” — he said and kissed you. “And to be honest, I just wanted one more day off for you, you were working your ass off past weeks.”

True. For some reason you took more patients than usual and it was exhausting two weeks. Buck is always worried when you overwork yourself, so you didn’t hesitate long when he asked you to take a day off, you felt like you needed that too.

The evening was going great. Everyone is talking, laughing, dancing and eating. It was the most fun days when you all meet up together and Buck knew you loved it. So when Buck asked everyone to give him a little attention, you giggled, because usually it was the beginning of Buck doing something funny.

“Yeah, I know you all are probably expecting me to do a back flip.” — everyone laughed. “But today is a bit different. Not gonna lie, probably it was the hardest task in my life to keep everything a secret.” — you furrowed your brows, what secret?

But Buck continued.

“(Y/N), can you stand next to me, please?” — you’re confused, but you did what he asked. “My love, I know you’re confused and probably thinking that I had too many drinks. And I might be drunk, but I’m drunk in love. The moment I saw you in that cafe, I knew I couldn’t lose you. Honestly, the waitress said that there will be an empty table in 5 minutes, but I still chose to sit with you. Because how could I not?”

You started to realize. Is he… proposing? The love of your life is proposing to you?

“Buck…” — you could feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Baby, I can’t imagine my life without you and can’t even remember my life before you, that’s how well you filled all the missing pieces. So…” — Buck got on one knee, pulled a pretty little velvet box out of his pocket and asked the most important question that you didn’t even know you needed to hear. “Will you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?” — you froze, tears started streaming down your cheeks. All the love you had for Buck just got 10 times stronger.

“Yes!” — you smiled happily and fell on your knees to kiss Buck.

He pulled the ring out of the box, carefully placing it on your finger and looked into your eyes.

“Then please, (Y/N)… Come back to me.”

Darkness. Honestly, you’re getting tired of this. You either died or got trapped in the most fucked up dream. And knowing that you don’t really have dreams, there’s only one option left. Are you actually dying? This can’t be real, right?

In the past 3 years your life has finally fallen into the right places. You met Buck, work was going great, you’re supposed to marry the love of your life… You cannot miss that. “Till death do us apart” doesn’t mean that you have to die so soon. You need to come back!

“My love, I know you probably don’t hear me, but I can’t do it without you.” — you heard the echo in this pitch blackness. It was Buck. “We had so much ahead of us, do you remember? We wanted to buy the house, I wanted to surprise you with the best honeymoon, we wanted to start trying on our own bab-“ — his voice broke, you heard sobs.

Your breathing has become heavier. You could feel your chest rising. Can you just open your eyes? You can’t leave Buck like this, you can’t leave your new family. You need to come back, you had so much ahead of you. Wedding, kids, travels, joy, being a wife and mother.

You heard another echo.

“Please, baby, just please come back to me…”

NOW! YOU NEED TO WAKE UP!

You could feel your eyes trembling. Darkness was replaced by white light. Heaven? There is definitely no smell of medicines in heaven.

Slowly, you open your eyes. So slow that it doesn't scare away reality.

The first image you see when you open your eyes and move your head to your right is Buck. He squeezes your hand with his head almost on the hospital bed. He’s still sobbing. It broke your heart into a million pieces. He didn’t deserve to go through this.

“Buck…” — you whisper. You can’t talk any louder, because your mouth is so dry. But he heard you.

Buck raised his head and met your eyes. You’re awake. You’re actually awake. One moment he was in hell, now he’s praising God for bringing you back.

“You came back…” — he smiled with his puffy eyes.

“How could I not? I heard you wanted me back at least four times.” — you chuckled tiredly, making jokes was your defense mechanism against difficulties.

“I thought I lost you, these 4 days were the hardest time of my entire life…” — he wanted to continue, but you interrupted him.

“4 days? W-what happened?” — you couldn’t believe it, you were out for 4 days.

“The building where you work collapsed. There was a mistake made when designing the building and it just fucking collapsed. I found you under the concrete slabs.”

Of course he was the one who rescued you. Your hero. On one hand you were happy that it’s him who saved you, but on the other he probably blames himself for not doing more, for not providing the proper safety. But let’s be honest, he did everything he could and you’re so grateful for that.

“Thank you for saving me.” — tears falling down your cheeks and you’re just happy to be back to him. To your lifeline.

He didn’t say anything, just got up and placed the most gentle kiss on your lips. Almost like he was afraid he could break you and you would vanish, that’s why you placed your hand on his cheek as a confirmation that you’re really here with him.

“So, what’s the best honeymoon you wanted to surprise me with?” — you said into his lips.

“You really heard everything?” — he asked confusedly, you giggled and kissed him once more.

Time to make more memories together.

[defmaybe]

Noona from the Bar

IVE's Kim Gaeul x Male Reader

5.2k words

A/N: Ahh, my debut! Thanks to @msafterhours and @i-am-lifeform24 for editing and beta-reading! And thanks to all the kind writers and fellow readers who have been nothing but supportive of me. I know my skills aren’t really up to the task yet (I have a Minji-Haewon 15k draft with broken grammar sitting lol), but I’ll seek my way through it. Thanks for reading!

—

It’s Friday night. The sound of the electronic beats echo throughout the bar, accompanied with the shaking bass. Customers are cramped into small tables, shuffling together to accommodate the enormous crowd. And there you are, sitting in front of the vacant stage, which, to your knowledge, is usually reserved for the band to play, with the Nordic-esque climate sending shivers through your body.

Leehan and Sungho dragged you with a few other guys here after your sophomore finals. You wouldn’t say that it’s a chore, but there are definitely better things to do than get drunk. These two are the most outgoing guys of your diverse group. Meanwhile, you aren’t much of a social butterfly, preferring the more busy student council member life. Sitting in between them, you can only scroll through your phone to pass the time.

“To our grades!” Sungho raises his glass and looks around, inviting you and the other friends to join him.

“To our grades,” you say, barely able to hear your own voice before clinking your glass with others.

You chug half your beer, ready for a long night, your friends laughing as they do the same.

Sungho sighs, putting down his drink, and saying, “Thanks to Seokjin, or we wouldn’t have today, drinking beers and listening to music!”

All eyes on your table turns to Seokjin, the kind, quiet nerd of your group. “It’s nothing really, you’re my friends, and—”

“To Seokjin!” Leehan puts his glass up for another toast, while Seokjin scans around him, seeing all his friends doing the same, smiling. 

“Thanks, guys.” Seokjin says, as he raises his glass for a toast with yours.

—

As the night goes on, the music shows no sign of calming down. NewJeans booms through the speakers, interspersed with remixes of local songs. Alcohol has started to take hold of you, plaguing your inhibition with sharp tingles as you chug your glass away.

“Shit, I have to go to the bathroom,” Leehan suddenly says.

“I’m coming with you,” Namjoon follows. “Anyone else?”

Everyone around the table stands up except for you, and you watch as they shoot you apologetic glances. “Watch the table for us!” Sungho shouts at you, his voice struggling to carry through the loud music. “Use your student committee power to protect this table or whatever.”

“Fine, and I’m only a secretary, by the way. Don’t be gone for too long.” You smile, waving to your friends as they leave one by one. 

“I think Leehan is going to stay there for quite a while. I saw him heaving a bit earlier,” Seokjin sighs, worried.

Your eyes widen. “Well, I’ll wait for you guys here. Take your time,” you assure Seokjin, with him gesturing a thanks with a grateful smile. 

—

On the other side of the bar, another group revels as their finals come to an end.

“Jiwon, pass me the liquor, please,” Gaeul asks.

Jiwon holds the half-full rum bottle. “Gaeul, this is your fourth glass of the night. Are you sure you wanna drink more?”

Gaeul scoffs, voice already slurring. “Yeah, why not?” 

“Well, the last time this happened, I was holding your head above my toilet by the sixth shot,” Yujin adds.

“It will be different this time, come on~” Gaeul pleads, sulking in her chair, matched by her descending tone.

“Fine,” Jiwon huffs, finally passing the rum to Gaeul. “I’m not holding your hair again, though,” she pouts, with Yujin nodding in agreement.

“Thanks!” Gaeul pours the drink into her ice-filled glass before topping the golden liquor with cola. She glances around her table. “I promise, I’ll be the one who holds Wonyoung—,” her stream of thoughts is cut off, as she catches your presence not too far from her, alone, sliding one video after another, gleaming her with flame.

Yujin follows her sight to you. “Well, well, another freshman, huh?” She scoffs.

“Oh, come on, I never get to do this. God, Jiwon brought like three guys to her place in the same month before,” Gaeul deflects.

“Hey!” Jiwon reaches to slap her hand. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Gaeul pouts, making Jiwon roll her eyes, smiling.

“If you want him, then go get him!” Wonyoung adds. “We may not have another chance in our senior year. They are going to kill us with those goddamn projects.” She takes a sip from her glass and contorts her face after that.

“You know men don’t like older women, right?” Gaeul turns her head back onto Wonyoung, who’s still trying to make peace with the content of her glass. “He’d say no.”

Yujin laughs, “That attitude is why you’ve brought no one back to your place!” She pushes Gaeul’s drink into its owner’s hand, pointing at her face. 

“Don’t live to regret this.”

Gaeul taps the table with her fingers rapidly, contemplating her approach. Her friends watch her hesitation with anticipation, until Gaeul retorts, “Alright, fine. If that’ll make you guys happy,” before getting up from her chair and walking towards you, glancing back to see her peers watch the scene unfold from afar.

—

It has been twenty minutes since your friends left. You are caught under the crushing weight of the foreign sounds and solitude among the crowd. Leehan is probably having his face in the toilet. And being the good friend you are, you bring up your phone to text Seokjin to ask about the situation.

Before you hit send, a sound comes from your right, catching your attention.

“Hi!”

You turn to see a woman with short, raven black hair standing before you. Her hand is holding a glass of what your best guess seems to be cola. Her nails are cut short and plain. She’s wearing a black cardigan that somehow shows off her lean curves. Her jeans don't make it even easier for you, leaving you with little to imagine.

“Is this seat taken?” she asks, bending down to hover her glass above Sungho’s seat.

“Hey!” You greet her. “Yeah, it’s taken. I’m sorry about that.” You plant your hand on the vacant chair, inadvertently touching her long fingers, eliciting a giggle from her.

“Shit, sorry! …Again.” You pull your hand back as you feel her warm skin. You can feel a small fire in your cheeks.

Gaeul lifts her glass to cover herself laughing. “Haha, it’s fine. Still, are your friends coming back soon? I’m kinda looking for… company tonight.”

It’s quite rare to find someone approaching you, let alone stating their romantic needs this clearly. Yet, it’s a bar after all; alcohol strips people’s inhibitions off here. And who are you to say no to this beautiful woman?

“Oh, sure! They are probably taking care of my friend in the toilet. Go ahead.” You gesture at her to sit down, as she moves the chair a little to comply.

“I’m Gaeul, by the way.” She offers you a handshake, smiling, to which you happily accept. Unlike yours, her hand is silky soft, 

“Hi, Gaeul. I’m from engineering, civil. What do you study?” You ask.

“Architecture! I’m just beside you, haha,” as she pulls her hand back and placing her glass on your table. The architecture faculty is bordering your engineering main building, and you’ve walked past it often during lunchtime.

“Have I met you before?” You inquire, squinting your eyes on you to examine her shadowed features.

“I don’t think so. I would have remembered you with that face.” Gaeul playfully points at your face, chuckling.

You chuckle along to hide the fact that she’s really influencing you with such an irresistible charm. “Thanks, I guess.”

“What year are you in?” Gaeul asks. “I’ve recently finished my junior finals. I made a lot of home models this year.” She rolls her eyes and sighs while recounting her experience.

“You are a year above me. I’m just a sophomore.” You answer.

“So, I’m your noona, right?” She giggles, tapping your shoulder softly with her finger.

“Yes, Gaeul noona,” you pout, placing your hands on your thighs.

Gaeul giggles, “No need, haha. Just Gaeul is fine, really.”

“Alright, Gaeul.” You smile along with her.

The night with Gaeul advances, while you quickly forget about your friends taking care of Leehan. You learn about her aspirations of being an architect, and how she also hates drawing to death. 

“And you want to become an architect?” you ask, baffled in such contradiction.

“Yeah, haha, I’ve always loved elegant buildings, and I really want to create them myself as I grow up.” Gaeul smiles, gladly sharing her wishes. 

She continues, “But when it comes to drawing, I’ve always had the feeling of having to perfect them. And that eats up a lot of my energy, really.”

“So, you’re a perfectionist?” you continue to shoot questions at her, giggling.

Gaeul laughs. “You can say that.”

She then tells you about the pets at her home, as she learns about your ambitions. And you feel like the conversation is sparking everywhere; it flows like the alcohol in your blood, suppressing your shyness just for her.

—

“Yeah! I just got my driver’s license a few months ago.” The clock strikes almost ten, over half an hour after your first words with her, and the topic is lingering on driving at the moment.

Gaeul takes a deep breath before gaining the courage to ask. “Hey, do you want to go back to my place?”

“Really?” you ask.

“Yeah, talking in here doesn’t give us much privacy.” Gaeul seems to be going all-in here.

Unable to bother yourself under these waves of songs you can’t sing along to anymore, you answer in a quickfire, “Sure! Where do you live, though?”

Gaeul points her thumb behind her, towards the outside. “Just across this bar. I usually have my friends crashing for the night if they can’t walk to their dorms.”

“Lead the way, then.”

—

“Well, show’s over, girls,” Jiwon huffs, seeing Gaeul guiding you out of the bar. “It’s the three of us now. Anyone you guys are eyeing on?”

Yujin and Wonyoung shrug. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the night first,” Wonyoung says.

“Yeah.” Yujin adds and signals a toast, as Jiwon and Wonyoung join her.

—

Gaeul unlocks the door to her room before leading you inside. Her room is pretty tidy, aside from the lump of unfolded clothes on her bed on the left, covered by brown bedsheets. She has a few stuffed animals sitting at the top of it: some Care Bears, a cylinder piggy doll, with Shaun the Sheep gracefully sitting in the middle, and a few more aquatic animals.

“I’m saving up my money to buy my fifth Care Bear,” Gaeul says with a smile, determination sparks in her eyes.

On the opposite side, there’s a drawing table with a few sketches of buildings, showcasing her architecture works. You close the door and lock it for her.

Noticing the mess, she darts toward the bed. “It’s a little messy, sorry,” she says, picking up the pile before cramming it inside her closet. “I didn’t have time to take care of it when I was coming out.”

“I don’t mind, really.” You smile, understanding her struggle of doing laundry.

Gaeul smiles back as she shuts her closet door. “Where were we again?” she leans against it, giving you a questioning look.

“I—,” you pause, further taking in the atmosphere of her room. You find a few movie posters on her wall above the bed: Thirteen, Little Women, and After Hours are the ones standing out. She also has her Jubilee vinyl on display just by her table.

“So, you like Japanese Breakfast?” you ask, before she follows your gaze onto the album. You’ve never expected someone you find at a bar to listen to Michelle Zauner’s band, to be honest.

“Yeah, it was my sister’s before she moved out,” Gaeul answers. “But the album itself is pretty good. I pick it up now and then to let it loop while I’m drawing.”

“I’ve heard about its quality.” You tap your fingers on your thighs, eyes darting everywhere except onto her.

Gaeul taps her chin in a staccato rhythm; she seems as unsure of her next action as you do. The humming of the air conditioner lulls from behind her. She ponders for a while, before stepping towards you.

“You know the implications, right?”

And that’s it; the way she says ‘right’ tingles you in a peculiar way. Gaeul looks into your eyes as she does, eliciting an indescribable feeling inside you. Your hands shake as she closes her distance to the point where you can feel her breathing.

“May I?” she asks, lips just inches away from yours.

“S—sure,” you stutter out in front of this gorgeous woman.

Without further ado, Gaeul kisses you ardently. Her tongue doesn’t let your mouth simply rest on hers, as she invades your cavern to display the passion she has been holding. She cups your cheeks so that she can taste you more thoroughly. You moan at such a confident act right into her mouth, before you let your tongue wrestle with hers.

As the kiss deepens, Gaeul draws her hand down your neck, and you shudder in response. “Fuck, noona,” you utter through the connected lips. Your hands cup her face, letting her take control. And without initiation from you, her fingers sliding down your abdomen seem to invite you to engage with her under the same depravity. Yet, your hands linger on her facial features.

Soon, Gaeul’s hand works its way to your crotch, stroking your erect length through the pants. “Wow, all excited for me, huh?” she says, suppressed under the kiss, and you moan through the gaps, having your shaft fondled.

Gaeul breaks off from the torrid act, but her lips leave just a little distance from yours. However, it’s far enough to keep you wanting her more. She lifts her arms to wrap around your neck. “I want to ask you something.” She says in a whisper while looking into your eyes; her deep voice shakes you.

“Go ahead.”

Gaeul clicks her tongue a few times, glancing at the wall before asking. 

“Are you comfortable calling me noona again? I know I told you back in the bar to drop it, but seeing you being all obedient because of me is a bit of a…” She bites her lip as if to resist the inevitable. “…turn on.” She grins, unsure, not even believing the words coming out of her mouth.

You chuckle before answering without another hesitation. “Sure, Gaeul noona.”

Gaeul smiles. “Alright, baby boy.” She slides her hands down to work on your top button. “Let’s go to our main course.”

You quickly unbutton your shirt upward to meet her trembling hands. And quickly, your shirt is up for Gaeul to toss it away into the void. She runs her right hand down your chest. “You take care of yourself well, don’t you?” As her fingers tap on your flat stomach, hitching your breath.

“C—Cardio from time to time, noona.” You stutter out; fuck, this woman is burning your skin.

“Good for you.” She says in a deep tone, while her right hand is still feeling your midriff.

“Now, leaving you like this wouldn’t be… fair, right? Bare for me to—” The next word cut short for her to plant her lips on your nipple, tasting your body and eliciting a moan from you.

“Noona…” You are now lost in the pleasure; jolts after jolts from her lips rush through your body, making you shudder. Her saliva coats your nipple, and you lock your hand behind your noona’s head to keep yourself from falling over.

Gaeul keeps switching her suction on your peaks before she pushes you onto her bed. “I was talking about fairness, right?” She says with her fingers tilting your head down on your chin a little to meet her eyes. Her legs are straddling yours, keeping you in place.

“Y—Yes, noona,” you speak out.

“So, since you are half naked… under me.” She traces a line down your abdomen, igniting a fire in its wake. “You get to choose which half of me… that you want to see.”

You gulp, eyes wide. Fuck, this woman is really having her way with you now, and there’s nothing you can do to resist her seductive endeavor. Your mind goes into overdrive with the choices: top or bottom, top or bottom, top or—

“Every second counts, my baby boy.” Gaeul taps her bare wrist, grinning.

You swallow another gulp. “Your pick, n—noona.”

Gaeul giggles. “Well, since I’m a believer in justice…” She moves her hands to the top button of her black cardigan, ready to unlock it. “Say please, baby,” she says with her sultry voice.

“Please, noona.” You succumb to her domination. As Gaeul unlocks the first button, putting her soft cleavage into view.

“Please what, baby boy?” She continues her seduction; her hands are toying with the second button now. She pulls the neckline down to reveal the strings of her bra and the full view of the valley between her mounds.

“Please take your top off, noona,” you plead.

Giggling, “Alright, baby boy.” Gaeul quickly unbuttons the remaining locks, as her unending tease also seems to affect herself. Her toned midriff quickly reveals itself to you, decorated by the sky blue laced bra above, sending you further into a spiral.

Slowly, she strips herself off of her cardigan, your tongue becomes drawn to the thin string that holds two sides of the chest cover together. You can taste the hints of her salty sweat absorbed by the cloth.

“Fuck,” Gaeul whimpers. “S—So needy, aren’t you?” She tosses the outer garment away before pressing your head onto her. Being pushed even more, you map a straight line up the hollow of her chest with your tongue, causing her to moan out.

“Alright, I—I get it, you’re a—a tits person,” Gaeul cries out, quickly retreating her hands to unclasp the back of her remaining top attire. “This doesn’t mean y—you have p—power over me or anything, though.”

“Yes, noona,” you say through your licks, her bra falls off right between you two. As you pull yourself back to take a break from your appetizer, you are given the heavenly sight of her succulent tits. They are small, but you’ve never been the one to care, anyway. Her nipples are already erect, aroused as she expects the divine rapture from no one but you.

“You like the view, baby boy?” Gaeul chuckles at the sight of you salivating in front of her perky mounds. 

As an answer, you dive in to savor her excited brown nubs. There’s no particular taste to them, yet you’re being commanded by these peaks to satisfy her overflowing lust, making her a writhing mess right before you.

“God, fuck!” Gaeul moans out. You remain fixated on her tits, sucking on them as if your life is hanging on the strings of her cries. And to further stimulate her, you use your hand to caress the freed side of her frame. You roam from her shoulder to the waistline, squeezing her chest with each passing.

Gaeul, again, presses you onto her soft chest, yet she’s unable to let herself being satisfied just on the outside anymore.

“F—Fuck, shall we go to the m—main course, baby boy?” her words come out ragged; she can’t further shackle herself from the peak of intimacy.

You remove yourself from her nubs. “Yes, please, noona.” Gaeul pushes you down onto her bed, signaling you to unzip your pants while she does so. And within a blink, your erect cock and her soaked cunt are just a breath away from each other. She seems to be an all-natural girl too, choosing to let her hair grow above the canal, and that just makes her even more mouthwatering.

Still, the sex education lessons hold you back on the ground. “Do you need protection?” you ask, concerned about the prospect of unwanted consequences.

“I have my contingency plans, baby,” she huffs with a smile as she hovers her sex just above your shaft now, ready for the ride of her life.

With no words, you nod, and she slowly sinks herself onto your rod. You cry out as your tip gradually disappears into her. You pull your head back under the overwhelming sensations. “Fuck,” and you can do nothing but whimper.

“D—Do I feel good on top of you?” Gaeul asks, voice and her body shuddering in the descent. You are halfway inside her now. Her hands are roaming on your writhing frame, determined to push you off the edge even faster.

“Yes, fuck, noona. You feel so fucking good.” You’re enamored by the throes of pleasure surrounding your body. She slowly impales herself down to the hilt, fully coating your cock with her nectar.

“Fuck!” Gaeul’s tone becomes a scream now. She bends herself back, showing her fragile frame. Traces of ribs are visible under the room light, and her immaculate chest stretches for you to view.

Gaeul remains in the position for a while, before she drags her wet cunt off of you, just barely seeing your tip, grazing your dick with such an unbearable pleasure. Your length now glistens with her honey, but the shackling gratification lets you register only her up and down motion. And as she slams down, you can do nothing but moan under such divine elation.

Wet squelches and moans echo throughout the room, as Gaeul picks up her pace to quicken this perversion. She cries out in every movement, and you echo out every moan. Her short hair becomes really helpful in situations like this, since, with each bounce, they don’t seem to cover her face as much as it should. And you’re one lucky man to see her all invested in the depravity - every contorted face, every line drawn on your abdomen with her hands, and God, how her moan is a symphony you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

Inevitably, with each of her bounce, it drives you toward the precipice. Her angelic moans and the bouncing chest ramp you up closer to paradise. The sight of her riding you - mouth agape, perky tits bouncing, hands shuffling her strands to make sense of the pleasure, creating such an immaculate image - with the sensations around your cock is just unyielding.

“N—Noona, I’m gonna cum, slow down,” you plead, and Gaeul looks down at you, hands still locked in her olive hair. Her breaths become ragged, and her whimpers seem to scale up with each insertion.

“Me too, baby boy, me too,” Gaeul cries out. “Cum with me.” 

She keeps the moderate tempo she has been putting on you. Her bare, untrimmed, drenched cunt rams your cock with steady speed to keep your orgasms alight. Sounds of fleshes crashing into each other; an unyielding amount of Gaeul’s honey is mixing with the notes that come out of her gorgeous lips, creating a concoction that sends you into ecstasy.

And with one last thrust, along with you, Gaeul becomes a squirming wreck. With eyes fluttering, delectable chest heaving, wailing such a symphony that only a deity can sing. Her entire frame shakes with exaltation. You cry from the depths of your lungs, and the knot in your stomach becomes undone. Your cock shoots spurts of cum inside her, as Gaeul’s delicate cunt gushes out torrents of clear juice onto your crotch.

With each twitch of your length, they serve the purpose of unloading into her womb to the brim, and they shake you to sing out such a beautiful melody, joining Gaeul into composing an amorous masterpiece. Your nectar finds its way out to concoct with hers, pooling on your crotch. It’s a breathtaking sight, seeing her undone like this - juice spilled, wails unrestrained, walls contracting to drain you dry.

Gaeul’s climax subsides; her moans show signs of her normal voice again. “G–Good job, baby boy,” she chuckles through her whimpers. Her pace decreases, and you’re thankful that she doesn’t ride your consciousness out.

“You’re getting sensitive, right?” She brings her motion to a stop, but still enveloping your length within her needy core. It’s warm; she’s warm.

“Yeah, noona. You can–,” you stop halfway for a few breathers. “You can stay like this, to be honest.”

“Oh, my poor baby boy~,” Gaeul laughs. “We can stay like this if you really want it.” Her voice still carries hints of intoxication, yet you can’t deny that the potential of it being genuine affection entices you. “I’ll have to go to the bathroom first, though. I can’t sleep with our cum being everywhere like this.”

She bends down to give you a peck on your forehead, before slowly, agonizingly, pulling herself off of you. And doesn’t that make you whimper out, as your cock is still sensitive from shooting spurts of your seed inside her dainty cunt? The feeling of unloading still lingers in your filthy mind.

Maybe it’s a mix of all the sensations you’ve ever felt - mostly pleasure with pain. You moan out as she chuckles at the sight of you crumbling under her final touch. “Alright, baby boy, wanna take a shower?” Gaeul gets up from the bed before sauntering towards the bathroom. “Maybe we can have another round~,” she winks across her shoulder, before going into the shower.

“I’ll be there, noona,” you reply, as you collect your inhibition enough to take another shot of intimacy with her under the running water.

—

Sunlight peeks through the curtains, waking you up after the rough night, naked. Last night’s debauchery remains clear in your head, as the images of Gaeul commanding you around are still in high definition. You look around the room to catch your noona examining the contents of her fridge, bending over to show you her bare, plump ass, only slightly covered by her baby blue shirt.

“Up already, sleepyhead?” She notices you through the gap between her arm and the single garment on her. “I have some banana cake left, not expired yet,” she says before picking it up and surveys the package. “Yeah, a day left. You want one?”

“How much is it? Can you send me your QR code after this, noona?” The memory of you acting all-obedient shows up again, and you can only cover your mouth after that. 

“No need, ‘baby boy’,” Gaeul chuckles, pulling up an air quote, mocking the tone she used last night. “Consider this as part of the one-night plan.”

God, she looks flawless under this morning’s light. The way her short hair is messy; the tired eyes, and that pair of legs - the pair you wish to be caught between - makes you want to spend another day with her. 

“Can I extend my subscription?” you utter out involuntarily. The alcohol hasn’t returned your reticence yet, perhaps.

Gaeul considers your proposal for a while, nibbling her chin with her free hand, while tapping her feet with the cake still in the other hand. 

“Well, I’m not sure, really,” she says. “I have only known you for barely half a day, with the help of alcohol.”

“I know, Gaeul,” you groan. “But like, I want to know you more.”

“I don’t know.” She chuckles as she closes the distance between you two. 

Gaeul continues her interrogation, “do you, really?” Her bare, untrimmed pussy comes in at your face level. She changes her motion to crossing her legs forward, slowly, covering the lower part of her sex as she gets right in front of your eyes.

You drool at the sight, tranced, as your morning wood is twitching. Your tongue involuntarily sticks out, aimed at her nub, and you are magnetized to her cunt again. You are so ready to please your noona again, making her a drenched disarray before you, before Gaeul breaks your train of desire, grabbing your chin and tilting your head up to watch her smile.

“Alright, I believe you now.” She simpers with your tongue still out. “I’ll give you my Instagram before you leave.”

You sign an okay to her, as you retreat your tongue back into your mouth.

“Good boy,” Gaeul laughs. “Here, your breakfast.”

You take the banana cake from her. “Thanks, noona.”

“I’ll give you more than this the next time, if you can make me fancy you.” She lets go of you before climbing onto her bed to the other side, giving you a view of her luscious cheeks once more. She bends down to pick up your discarded, now-creased clothes, involuntarily (or not) putting her sex into display, and you can do nothing but let your length twitch at the sight.

You gulp at the sight, mustering the courage to ask out, “Really?”

She sits back up after her teasing act, legs crossed, but you can still see flashes of her. Gaeul ponders for a while, tapping her chin in the same veins she did before the explicit scene of you two.

“Definitely, maybe.” She laughs again, shooting the garments at you, and you can only join along with her.

—

As you walk back to your dorm, your phone suddenly rings. You pick up the phone, eyes widen. It’s Sungho, the ‘friend’ you left with no trace for him last night.

“Shit.” You utter before accepting the call.

“Where the fuck have you been last night, bro?” His breath is coming in shorts. “We were worried about you. We came back around ten—”

“I was with a woman; her room is just across the bar. I’m fine, Sungho,” you reply.

“Oh.” Sungho pauses. “Oh damn. Wow.” He’s left speechless for a few seconds.

“Yeah, and we—, uh—” You stop, contemplating on whether to tell him.

“No need, bro.” You can hear Sungho chuckling through your phone. “Who’s the lucky woman who takes your virginity, huh?”

“Architecture,” you play coy, withholding Gaeul’s identity. “And we trade each other’s contact just this morning.”

“Goddamn, you had been inside her, and you just asked for her contact after that? Fucking hell, man.” Sungho laughs again. “Well, we’re happy that you didn’t lose an arm or anything, bro.”

You smile before remembering about your sick friend. “Oh, what about Leehan? How’s he now?”

“Fine, he’s still sleeping on my bed,” Sungho affirms. 

You smile, and reply, “Alright, good, thanks for calling.”

“No problem, see ya!” Sungho says.

“See ya.” And you hang up the phone.

On the way back, the prospect of building your relationship with Gaeul reels in your mind. The probability of you two working remains shaky. Emotions might take hold of only one of you, dragging its victim into an unbearable sorrow. What if a crush turns into a craving? Either way, the shared moment of your bodies clashing into each other is going to be etched into you, and, hopefully, her.

And as you unlock the door, a notification pops up on your phone, and it reads as:

actualgaeul started following you.

—