#love to see him crushed by the weight of being alive in a time that isn't his own

[earl-grey-crow]

"I'm...I'm alive. I'm okay" I heard your voice crack jacob

[webanglikethat]

Inho and Gihun have consumed my brain: a rant.

their dynamic is absolutely insane, like watching two halves of a broken mirror slowly shift toward each other, each reflecting something so raw, so !! unbearably !!! human !!!

they are opposites in the most obvious way: one, a cold-blooded killer who thrives on power, privilege, and pain (though they both come from a similar background); the other, a man haunted by his own humanity, stubbornly holding on to the last shred of his moral compass, believing in a better life, a greater future.

but it’s the tension between them that burns — the way they orbit each other, drawn together by something darker than either of them is willing to admit. and it drives me insane, insane I tell you.

Inho studies Gihun like a predator; he is disguised as an ally, draped in the mask of sympathy and empathy, but every moment spent with him … it’s like watching a snake move through tall grass, its every flicker of movement calculated, controlled and designed to ensnare, trap, conquer, destroy. he watches his every more, everything he does and he doesn’t do. it’s a real time dissection !! he watches Gihun's cracks, his weaknesses, his flickers of anger and despair. every subtle movement doesn’t escape him.

he needs to see that part of him, the part that’s been broken, the part that still hurts. and in a way, he’s intoxicated by it. it’s like he wants to drink from those wounds, to feel the sharp, stinging taste of anguish on his tongue, to experience that pulse of pain, just so he can savor it, dissect it, and make it his own.

he watches Gihun not because he’s merely intrigued, but because in his suffering, in his brokenness, there is beauty. a beauty that can only be savored when torn apart, shredded, dissected, bruised. and the more he watches, the more he feeds on that agony, the deeper he falls into the nightmare of this endless fucking twisted game.

Inho is too far gone. he’s lived through the games, seen how the system works, and he’s embraced it without shame. to him, the so called “blood money” he earned is a truth. he doesn’t hide from it. he doesn’t pretend it’s anything else. he has seen too many bodies pile up to think there’s any other way. Inho believes the only way forward is through destruction. he’s accepted the curse of the games. hell, he’s fucking embraced it ! the lives lost are nothing more than fuel for his ascent to power. people are pawns, and pawns don’t matter. it’s all part of the game.

Gihun, though… he’s not like Inho. he too has been brutalized by the games, crushed under the weight of the world’s cruelty, watching as the lives of those he loved dimmed. BUT! even so !! there’s this flicker of light in him — a really fucking stubborn and desperate hope to protect those who still live, to undo the wrongs. for all the pain he’s endured, he hasn’t completely surrendered to the darkness. he’s been pushed, stretched to the breaking point by the horrors he’s witnessed, by the blood shed that he can never wash away and still lingers even in his dreams … but there’s this part of him that still fights to hold on to the fragments of the man he used to be. he’s so stubbornly human.

and yet, it’s not the break that Inho is after imo — it’s the collapse. he doesn’t just want to see Gihun’s humanity crack; he wants to see him fold. he wants to make him question everything, even his need to protect others, even the value of his own moral code. to descend into madness, forsaking logic.

you can see him being fascinated when Gihun agrees to sacrifice people for the greater good. I swear, you can see Inho alive in that moment. I can’t explain it other than he’s feeding on him. he’s watching this man, so different from him, with scars that shine the same way, who once held onto some semblance of hope, succumb to the same darkness that devoured him.

he wants to see the man who refused to let the games destroy him finally fall into the same dark logic that built those games in the first place.

but here’s the thing — Gihun’s resistance, his refusal to just surrender to Inho's desires, drives him insane. Inho, for all his power, for all his twisted thrill at orchestrating this, isn’t immune to that same hunger. he sees Gihun as both a reflection and a challenge. it torments him. he wants to unravel him from the inside. the more he watches, the more he understands just how much it is tearing at him, how much he wants it.

there is a tenderness to it, a chilling, perverse tenderness, where one offers the illusion of safety while the other inches closer to the slaughter.

what drives me insane is that Gihun doesn’t know. he doesn’t know that the man he’s grown to trust, the one who’s quietly listened to his every confession, who has offered him that flicker of human connection in the desolate wasteland of the games, is the very demon he’s been chasing. the one that has orchestrated every nightmare he’s endured. and every time Gihun speaks of his mission, of his burning desire to kill the one who created this nightmare, to undo the games and get revenge Inho just listens intently, relishing in every moment of vulnerability.  and it’s delicious. Gihun is literally unraveling before him, piece by piece, and Inho hasn’t even revealed the true extent of his power!

the betrayal scene is going to be so good. SO FUCKING GOOD. it’s when Gihun talks about revenge, when he plans to end the game, to kill the person behind it all, that Inho feels that twisted thrill in his chest. because what Gihun doesn’t realize is that all those plans, all those quiet declarations of death, have been heard and they’ve been absorbed, broken down, and processed. Inho already knows what Gihun is capable of, what he’s willing to do, and how far he’s willing to go to get his revenge. it doesn’t matter to Inho. it never has. he’s already five steps ahead. Inho has studied Gihun like a surgeon carving through flesh, patiently unraveling his soul, savoring each fragile thread of hope only to tighten the noose, knowing that the moment Gihun’s trust shatters, so too will his humanity.

-> and like … Gihun’s humanity is his greatest weakness. his desperate hope to protect, to save, to make things right when he couldn’t before (example: in season 1 when a dying man reached for him and he looked away, in season 2 he helped a dying man) that's what Inho sinks his teeth into, because he knows that in this world, hope is the ultimate poison, the biggest gamble. every moment Gihun spends clinging to the idea that he can save anyone, that he can stop the game — that he can stop The Frontman — it draws him closer to the truth that will eventually shatter him.

and imo — Inho watches him with a twisted admiration, because in that desperate struggle, he sees himself or rather, the version of him that could’ve been if he had not embraced the game so fully. and in that, their paths, though seemingly different, are always converging. they are the same in the most brutal way: two sides of a coin, both marked by the same blood, the same violence, the same emptiness, and in the end, they are not so different after all. for all their differences, in the end — they are mirrors.

addition cause I saw this post and omg ?? it’s an intentional, almost possessive move. he’s not just playing along with their conversation; he’s LITERALLYYY replacing Jungbae with himself in Gihun’s mind, stepping into the role of someone who belongs in Gihun’s future.

Inho doesn’t just want power or control over the situation — he wants needs Gihun to need him, to see him as the one who’s always there, the one who understands him, the one who can stand beside him.

and to me, it feels like a possessive kind of longing that goes beyond mere rivalry or control. it’s ugh — just the way they orbit around each other, the way Inho needs Gihun to acknowledge him, to see him as more than just the “other guy that joined my team”.

and as much as Gi-hun is fighting to hold on to his humanity and the relationships that matter to him, Inho is just as desperately fighting to be the one that Gihun turns to in the end. it’s obsessive. it’s possessive. it’s dangerously romantic and I need them to fuck it out.

[zerocoded]

summary: when caleb appears at your front door on a random thursday night after faking his death for weeks, you can't help but want to punch him straight in the knees. luckyly for you, you do just that.

authors note: this beautiful drawing that i'm using in the banner is from this lovely artist, credits to them! go check their x account ♡ ANYWAYS, the caleb post i've been daydreaming about the last two days is finally here. CALEB GIRLIES I GOT YOU. let's hold each other's hands until the 22nd comes. i hope i succeed in portraying a real mc bc i'm tired of seeing us being just happy when seeing caleb for the first time when BRO DECEIVED US and played with our emotions like that. without further bs, live laugh love caleb.

warnings: SLIGHT yandere!caleb • gaslighting and manipulation • sfw content • bad writing lol, be warned! • depressive thoughts • reader is on her grieving period • work exhaustion • mental illness mentioned • minor injury • manhandling and pining • height & size difference • caleb literally invades our home • fighting bc reader is a badass and tolerates no bitches • mc bites caleb's hands lol • others LI mentioned • one kissy scene hehe • caleb screams at mc once (boo) • ANGST Y'ALL!

word count: 6.1k

you're here┃caleb uses you as hostage at the farspace fleet┃caleb teaches you his love language ( on going series )

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

you loved him so much it hurt. you wish you’d told him more times. why didn’t you told him more times?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like it would be nice to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies by heart.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the uniform of the unknown man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in the hunter’s association uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told him no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

realization set heavy on your shoulders—did he... did he fake his own death?

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ���us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, asshole.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”. 

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you look as pretty as always, princess", his whisper reached your ears and you felt a wave of anger wash over you.

"i don't know what you did to caleb, but right now is not the time for games". you spat the words with disgust.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you. 

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. 

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and move on."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you at risk."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed him with force until he stumbled back a little, eyes on you the entire time. still, he didn’t react. so you pushed yourself past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i… i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already hard enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, i can see why you’re upset but here it’s not the right place to talk about this. i promise i’ll explain it later”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess, don't you see?”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his eyes seemed to ignore every red signal your body emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? c'mon, it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “i don't know why you changed so much. you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. for a moment, you flinched at his tone. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core that lives inside of you?”. he motions for your chest and you lean away from him.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

you were... at a loss of words.

your ribs screamed in pain against the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

everything felt unfair because you were oh so tired. since onychinus, sylus and the aether core, your mind has been settled into finding answers of questions that were never asked in the first place. you were running in circles and you dreamed every night about how you missed caleb. how you knew he would guide you into the right path if he was alive at the moment.

now that he was here, something felt uncharacteristically right for the first time in weeks.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him right now? just because his posture changed and his eyes seemed a little darker?

had you the privilege of saying no to him?

you have always been so weak for him, haven't you?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

you stayed in silence.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you. he brushed away the tears you were shedding, breath in synch with yours as if he wanted for you to share your burden with him.

his thumb brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that your brain always seemed to tie with the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using his evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

when did he became so big?

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

I JUST POSTED PART TWO OF THIS, go check it out!

author’s note: want to cry more while reading? listen to remember me by d4vd and tell me that this song doesn't describe mc and caleb perfectly. SORRY FOR THE POOR ENDING, i'll make a part two of this post soon, follow me to get updated when i post or just check my masterpost from time to time :) send me a request • my masterpost

[saksukei]

simon ‘ghost’ riley has a crush on you

masterlist | subtle things he does for you | simon my love

simon’s feelings hit him like a truck, as if he's a deer caught in the headlights. he only comes to realize it in the heat of the battle, chests heaving up and down as the two of you hide behind a wall for cover. you tell him to reload first and it's something so insignificant, so minute and yet it pieces things together for him. so he does what his first best. swallow the lump in his neck, ignore the swelling of his heart and focus on what’s next.

except

he sucks at it and boy is it evident.

it is so subtle though, subtle enough for it to slip under everyone’s radars including yours. except, captain price is no fool. he's known simon long enough to see the little change in his demeanor when you enter the room. how simon immediately sits up right, in his best posture, giving you a firm nod of acknowledgment.

how simon always looks your way, always. even when you’re not looking, he’ll still check what you're doing, where you are. it’s not intended to be creepy, it's just a form of reassurance that you’re alive, that you’re okay, that he has another chance to confess. (also the type to lean against the door frame and observe you)

what’s shocking is that even during his infamous cigarette breaks, he chooses to hang out with you. he adores the fact that it’s comfortable silence between the two of you. and more importantly, it contains the two best things he needs, silence and you. “what a view” he thinks to himself.

moreso, the lieutenant’s eye for detail is insane. simon is incredibly nuanced, he can notice when your mood is off, when you’re hurt, irritated or whatsoever. he tries to deal with the issue silently, like handing you a bottle of water, leaving a seat for you beside him, ensuring that he does most of the paper work and so on.

simon reacts at the speed of lightning if he notices you’re hurt or in range of fire. he remembers the one time he ran, grabbing you by the waist to make sure you don’t get shot. your small frame clinging against his, your body weight almost nothing to him and he felt lightheaded. he desperately wanted to keep you in his arms but he settles for asking, “you holdin’ up fine?” as he lets you out of his grip.

he enjoys bantering with you so much. such snide and snarky remarks all the time. from “what? can’t handle a little teasing from your superiors?” to “you know it's bad manners cussing behind your lieutenant’s back,” to “thought you were tough?” to “all that back talk, why don't you come and prove it?” he absolutely loves the reactions you give him.

moreso, when he begins getting more and more comfortable, he invites you eat lunch with him as opposed to with the rest of the soldiers. adores the fact that you both can converse without having eyes on the two of you. “plans for lunch?”

oh and of course, the most difficult moment of his life, when you reached forward on your tippy toes to fix his balaclava, simon thought he’d have a heart attack. took all of his strength to not lean forward and press a kiss to your forehead. “looking alright now?” he jokes, you can almost hear his smirk.

he hates the vulnerability, he does. but what he doesn't hate is the fact that it's you. it's you he’s being vulnerable with. and he repeats it to himself every night that you’re the best choice anyway.

[leaawrites]

Slim Pickins (LN4)

Lando Norris x fem!photograpgher!reader

Summary: In which, she can't find a guy who's jacked and kind. Until she does.

Warnings: this is all fictional!, reader has a crush on Oscar in the beginning, Lily is an angel as always, swearing, bad jokes, suggestive at moments, Lando being a fuckboy, this is the end of this seriess :( It was so much fun, holy shit.

Wordcount: 9.1k

Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series

Bright lights. Cars flashing by in a second before her. She made them brighter - more colourful. She made them come alive in a way only pictures could. She made them her own. Adding the preset she usually used and adjusting whatever needed to be adjusted. Whether it be the brightness or whites, darks, shadows, temperature.

The pillow behind her back made the position she was in feel more comfortable than it actually would be. Hunched over her laptop, the light of it illuminating her face, glasses on top of her nose. She had to get the pictures ready before midnight. Headphones over her ears to drown out the noises from the room next to hers. Girlish moans fighting the wall to get through her. But she wouldn’t let them. The loud volume of the music made it impossible for anything to get through to her. Not even the loud banging sound that was heard from the hallway.

Oscar furiously knocked his fist against the room of his teammate. He had a long night already, being dragged out by Lando for a couple of hours beforehand, exploring some clubs and bars and girls. It wasn’t in any of his interest. He had a girlfriend which he loved, he wasn’t in need for more than one. Not like someone else.

In the corner of his eye he saw a shadow slip out of the room next to Lando’s. He felt sorry for the girl, having to hear some kind of animal like Lando after a few drinks and in a horny state. It was unbearable to sleep at that.

“He won’t answer you any time soon,” the girl said, putting the headphones around her neck, stopping the music that was once playing in order to hear him in case he should answer. She hoped he would. She loved his voice. The soothing feeling of it, almost giving you the feeling of his mouth travelling up your skin. Speaking closely; calm.

“Yeah,” he agreed with her, snapping her out her daydreams. “But, thought I might as well try since I can’t sleep now.” He crossed his arms over his body, stepping towards her. Even if only a few centimetres, it was something. Still though keeping a respectful distance between them to not over step any lines.

How can anybody be so perfect? she thought. Her eyes trailing over his face, following his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

“No luck, apparently,” she said, leaning against the door frame next to her.

He nodded his head again, looking at Lando’s hotel room door once again. “Where are you off to now in the middle of the night?”

“Just getting a snack before going back to work,” she answered, holding up the wallet in her hand.

“You’re still working?” Oscar always believed that after 8 pm everyone - beside overnight jobs - stopped working, leaving the night to take over. Apparently not.

“That’s the disadvantage of putting it off for the whole night to meet up with friends. And now I’m in a rush and immense need of coffee,” she told him. She felt her eyes already wanting to fall shut.

The answer made him laugh, a breathy sound escaping his mouth. The amusement written clearly on his face. Y/n looked up at him at the sound of his voice a smile on her face, though it quietly faded as she saw the almost brother-like behavior radiating from him. He knew how girls could be, putting off everything until the last second to have a little more fun in life. He knew it all too well. His sister demonstrating her tactic more than often. The feeling of him seeing her as nothing more than just an additional sister weighted her down, the truth knocking on her door, telling her once again that there would be nothing more. She knew he was in a relationship. she wouldn’t wanna change that. Not after seeing how he talked about Lily, how he would mention whenever he could, how he still blushed at the mere mention of her name even after so many years of dating. The jealousy taking over the joy of being friends with him.

Though, the bigger hole she couldn’t fill, was that she didn’t want only him as a partner in particular, she wanted someone like him. Some guy who was willing to commit without fear, some guy who made her feel loved no matter how far away they would be from one another, some guy who saw her as she was, not what he wanted her to be.

It was a never ending story of disappointment in her life when it came to dating: finding a cute guy, going on a date, fucking, being told that it would only be something casual. What were guys so afraid of? Why did they make themselves look so insecure and frightened when it came to relationships? What did it even mean: casual? What was the purpose of dating casually if nothing would come out of it in the end?

Why did guys have to be so goddamn ashamed of love?

The door next to them opened, Lando standing in the doorway. Hair messy, grey sweatpants thrown on, his pupils were deflated, his breath still a bit heavy, eyes dancing between the pair in front of his door. A girl was heard inside, calling out to him with a drunk giggle, before she quietened down and fell asleep. He, himself, was hanging on to the door frame in a drunk manner. His eyes almost falling shut any second.

“What are you doing here?” he stammered, his eyes focusing on the girl for a bit longer before he let his head fell against the wood frame tiredly. His head was throbbing already.

“Getting coffee,” she answered.

“Thinking about handing in a noise complaint,” Oscar answered dryly, making the girl laugh at his answer.

Lando’s eyes flitted over to her frame, softening at the sight until he remembered she didn’t laugh because of him, she never did. She never found him funny, or so he thought. Truth been told, she did like his humour, finding it rather absurd than funny, but still. The only thing holding her back from laughing was the general distaste she had for the person telling the joke. Lando was the definition of everything she despised in a guy. He was a playboy, never taking on anything serious and having more than one girl at once by his side. It made her almost sick.

“Sorry for having a life,” Lando answered annoyed, staring at Oscar with bored eyes.

“You know not everything in life is about sex, right?” the girl asked him, growing more cold with him than she did while talking to Oscar.

“How would you know?” Lando mumbled, ready to head back to bed without further thinking about his behavior.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him. Oscar looked between the pair. He knew they weren’t particularly fond of each other, preferring to distance themselves when possible, but this - the annoyance at the other’s mere existence or voice - was something he never thought to experience. Lando slipped back into the room, closing the door and leaning against the door. He could still hear them talk, bidding the other goodnight, Oscar apologizing for his behavior, Y/n waving it off as ‘classical Lando’ and probably rolling her eyes at the memory of their interaction. He could hear Oscar telling her, that he had no idea why he acted like that around her and that he didn’t do it with anyone else. To which she only replied, that it was because of the same reason she couldn’t handle him for very long: they were too different to properly see eye to eye. She also said, that she was fine with that and that she even preferred it in that way.

What were they too different in? Lando couldn’t help but wonder about everything they had in common and everything they hadn’t as he laid in bed that night, wide awake. The alcohol breaking down, making him able to think more clearly. They both liked photography, racing, friends, family, travelling. They were both adventurous, both keen to learn new things whenever they could, staying up late, going out, staying in every once in a while. He liked parties, she preferred alone time - maybe even with a possible lover. And that’s when it hit him. When his eyes drifted over to the girl laying in his bed, sleeping tight, naked. He liked the company of people, the roaring feeling of a new experience every night. She liked the image of having one person to feel excited about forever, stepping in and out of the house with them, holding hands, kissing softly in the morning, telling secrets, fears and dreams.

But both didn’t like falling asleep alone.

While he coped with it by never being alone - even when it wasn’t the same as how he’d want it - she let the weight of loneliness heave down her chest. She let herself feel.

Taking a shower at 7 in the morning and leaving his hotel room shortly after, Lando walked out on the still quiet streets, camera in his hands. He caught barely any sleep, always wondering instead. Worrying. About everything he feared he couldn’t make right anymore, that everything he did wrong was already too fucked up to make it stable again. The camera gave him a sense of security, being a reminder that even only one photo was the reminder of something good. But coming back an hour later with his SD-card still empty he lost all hope for a good day. Being depressed in the morning made you feel bad the whole day. That was just the way life goes. He had to accept it. He had to feel it.

With his head bowed low, gaze focused on his shoes rather than in front of him, Lando soon smashed into a body. Catching whoever it was before they could fall down. A light surge of hope rushed through his veins, thumbing to his heart as he imagined it being Y/n. Looking up, he was faced with the girl he went to bed last night. Eyes wide, mouth open in shock. Neither thought it would be the other. She mumbled a little “thank you,” offered him a smile and then hurriedly headed out the hotel, climbing in the uber that stood at the side walk, waiting for her.

“Lovely reunion,” Y/n commented sarcastically as she walked past him. Heading out as well.

She almost slipped away from him until he caught up with her step, exiting the building again. His hands stuffed in his pocket, camera dangling from his wrist. “Where are you going?” he asked. They walked down the street he came from before.

The girl stopped walking, holding up her own camera and taking a picture. It was a way smaller one then she normally used. A digicam instead of a professional camera. He had never seen it before, though it was rather an older one.

Indirectly answering his question, she asked one as well. “Where were you coming from?” They continued walking down the street.

Lando held up his own camera to her, not taking a picture like she did in the process. She knew he liked photography as well, finding his jpg insta account rather quickly after doing a deep dive into him on her first day of work - can’t a girl be prepared? He took good pictures, some great ones even, impressing her more than once when she saw that he had posted new ones. Always interested in others talent and passion, she started conversing with him about the topic at hand.

“What pictures did you take then until now?” She asked eagerly, waiting for him to hand his camera over to her.

“None,” he answered, making her frown.

“What do you mean ‘none’?” She never understood how someone could take zero pictures in a new place. Always being the one finding beauty in the ordinary she felt lucky for such a talent.

Lando switched on his camera and showed her the 0/0 and No Picture Available lining his gallery screen. It almost seemed like mockery in his eyes, how it made him look so boring. She was finally interested in what he was doing and now he had nothing to show her. Y/n frowned at the sight in front of her, her eyes slipping from the screen to the person in front of her. Shaking her head in dismissal of his failure. She couldn’t just sent him back his own way now, could she? Not when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Not when she saw the look in his eyes, a rather hopeful one for her allowing him to stay. And when he looked at her like that, how could she deny him? It wasn’t too hard to push away the persona he had at night and at least try to see the version Oscar had told her about - the version almost everybody else told her about.

Lando was sure she would sent him away, sent him back to the hotel. He was ready to turn around and go, leaving her to her peace.

“Looks like we need to change that,” she said, before beginning to walk again.

After looking at her back perplexed for a second, he quickly followed her. Catching up with her quick step. Catching a photo of her figure while doing so.

“What do you shoot besides fast cars on track?” Lando asked, intrigued at seeing her walking through the streets and mostly not even looking twice at the cars driving by.

“Men,” she joked, smirking at him from the side. Seeing the septic look in his eyes, she added, “Just kidding. Only in America.”

Lando cracked a smile at her humour, but the lack of laugh leaving her worried. “Sorry, was it too much?” She asked, turning her head to see him smiling at her, shaking his head. Most people didn’t found her funny. Most guys she was out with thought she was being mean and arrogant, when mostly it was just sarcasm.

“No, don’t worry,” he assured her. “I like your humour.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, hands behind her back, clamping together. Her thumbnail pressing into her palm to keep her from smiling too much. He’s not a good guy, don’t let yourself be fooled, she reminded herself. He wouldn’t want any more from you than all these other douchebags in your phone.

“I mostly just shoot whatever looks beautiful, anything that captures my eye,” she answered again, truthful this time. Lando nodded at her answer, he felt the same, always photographing whatever looked good, never because he felt the need to stick to a certain type of object or action.

“Yeah, it’s kind of the best way to go at it, right?” Lando said, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, why capture something forever if you don’t like it?”

“Exactly,” she agreed with him. Her voice being barely a whisper now, thoughts coming through she wished to have pushed far away.

What’s the purpose of staying if you don’t even like me? A sentence she will never forget. The perfect guy - kind, sweet, alive, nice, respectful, hot - turned out to be another disappointment. That was a year ago, shortly after she was accepted by McLaren as a photographer. She told him about the news, thinking he’d be happy to hear her getting the job. Instead he accused her of not loving him because she would have to travel so much with all the races and not caring about how he felt about that. Was she really so unlovable to not get the one she wanted? The good guy. The one that felt as much a friend as a boyfriend. Was there really no way she could get someone she could truly love?

“Are you okay?” Lando asked, sensing her now stiff body and her sunken mood. Putting his hand on her shoulder to make her stop walking and look at him. He wore a frown on his face, some kind of worry flashing through his eyes when she faced him fully, eyes connecting.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” she said, mustering a small smile.

Lando learned that, unless they’re your partner, you shouldn’t pressure anyone into talking about something they didn’t openly talk about first.

The longer they walked, the more the streets came alive. But she barely cared about them, she took pictures of the buildings. Doors, windows, architecture. That was what she thought had to be remembered, the things human build and that would eventually fall apart because of them.

“You don’t really like photographing people, do you?” Lando asked as they sat down in a cafe, getting a coffee before walking home again.

They were already two hours outside, finding new streets every few minutes and just walking wherever light shone. When a street would be too dark for her liking, she would just keep on walking, ignoring Lando who promised to protect her. She only said, that she didn’t really trust his martial art skills, so she refused.

“I do, sometimes,” she argued with him. Her eyes turning sharp and a frown came on her face. “I just prefer everything else.”

“And still you photograph me and Osc after every race,” he smirked at her.

Y/n’s face turned red, her eyes widening in surprise that he noticed. She wasn’t assigned to take photos of them after races all too often, being used more to take pictures of the cars throughout the race, qualifying or practice. Still, she would often use her camera to take pictures of them from behind everyone else. Catching angles and moments the assigned photographers weren’t so likely to catch themselves. They were focused on the Instagram account, while she was more focused on sending them to their families for enjoyment and memories. Sometimes she would sent them to Oscar as well, so that he could show them to his girlfriend. A bitter sweet reminder how he saw her.

After being left with silence, Lando continued, leaning forward to talk quieter. “You sent them to my mom, my dad, even Osc, but never me. Why?”

“I don’t have your number,” she said simply, not having another explanation. It was the truth, but she also wasn’t too keen on having his number in her phone.

“I could give it to you,” he suggested.

“You could,” she said back.

She couldn’t get the perfect guy, but Lando was willing to take her. And maybe that could be enough.

“It was nice today,” Lando said, stopping in front of her room at the hotel. Hands tucked in his pockets.

He took about 130 photos, a third of them being of her. The girl standing in front of him, smiling sweetly and nodding her head.

“Yeah,” she agreed with him. “It wasn’t too bad.”

They stood opposite each other for a while until Y/n cleared her throat.

“I’ll see you later tonight at the dinner?” She asked, reminding him off the plans the team had for the evening.

His eyes widened in remembering, “Oscar said, that you wouldn’t be there.”

“I wasn’t going to go, but my plans got cancelled, so I don’t have anything better to do.” She shrugged.

“OK, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waved at him before closing the door as soon as she put a foot in her room again. Leaning against the wooden surface, she lets out a sigh. How did that happen?

Y/n pulled out her phone to look at the time, instead she was greeted by a dozen missed calls. All of them belonging to one particular person, Johanna, her best friend since kindergarten.

Calling back, she heard screaming on the other line: “Where were you? I thought you were kidnapped and killed. Holy shit, girl, don’t do this to me ever again.”

“I’m sorry,” she laughed at her friends exaggeration. “I was just out, taking pictures like usual.”

“For how long?”

“About 3 hours, I think? Maybe only two, I don’t really know,” she answered, falling down on the mattress.

“OK,” she squealed. “Who was with you?”

“I wasn’t with anybody,” Y/n defended herself, biting her lip to keep herself from saying more. To not unravel her lies.

“Sure you weren’t,” Johanna said, knowing she would get through to her in some way. “You would’ve answered my calls if you were alone, because you’d have your headphones on. But you didn’t. So, who were you with? Was it Oscar? Did you finally get him?”

“I was with Lando,” she confessed. Unable to keep anything from her.

Johanna gasped in shock, sucking in her breath while she spoke, “No.”

“We met in the foyer of the hotel and he just came back from being outside, taking pictures. Or at least, attempting to do so, because when I asked him about it, he confessed that he had taken no pictures. So, I offered him to walk with me again and we did. Taking pictures.”

“For 3 hours?” her friend asked, knowing how she could get annoyed very easily when having to pass by photo-possibilities in case of annoying the person she was walking with. That was why she always went out alone, until now.

“For 3 hours,” Y/n confirmed.

“Was he an asshole?” Being on the receiving end of most of the girl’s rants about how annoying Lando could be, she couldn’t stop herself from asking. Some things were just too bizarre to not be curious about.

“Surprisingly no. He was really nice, actually. We talked and when we got back, I asked him if he came to the dinner tonight.”

“He probably said no, because he hates those things.”

“He tried confirming that I came as well, because I actually had plans. Apparently Oscar told him about it.”

“You had plans? Why didn’t you tell me about those plans?”

Y/n sighed, not eager to share the news. “I was supposed to go on a date with this guy, nothing serious in the future, just something to get my fixings, you know? He canceled this morning, saying that he was back with his ex.”

“What an ass,” the girl on the other line said. She never understood why Y/n had to have such a bad taste in men, particularly because she deserved so much more. “Maybe you could use Lando to get your fixings?” she suggested, trailing off at the end of her sentence.

“I’m not gonna use him,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“What does he do with all the other girls? There isn’t much to it. It’s all the same, just you’ll get slut shamed if you’d do the same. Turn the tables,” she said.

Y/n shouldn’t listen to her, she knew that. Being the friend who had been through the most toxic relationships, and only barely holding onto her sanity because of the situationship she had at the moment, she wasn’t someone who should give out advice like it were pennies from her pocket.

“I’ll text you when I come back from the dinner, alright?” Y/n settled on the agreement with herself of leaving today to let things settle, maybe sleeping about it was the wiser choice.

The knock on her door was a signal that she should already be dressed and ready to go. Instead, she stood in front of the mirror for 30 minutes already, pondering if she should wear a jacket or not. She didn’t know whether they sat outside or not, most likely not. Shrugging the extra clothing off and throwing it on the bed, Y/n made her way to the door, expecting Oscar to wait for her.

“Lando, what are you doing here?” She asked the boy who leaned against the wall next to the door, fidgeting with his fingers. Waiting for her, she supposed.

“Waiting for you,” he confirmed. “I thought we could get there together.”

“I was actually already meeting up with Oscar.”

“Oh yeah, he had something he needed to talk about with Lily, so he will come after,” Lando said, scratching the back of his neck as if in need for a good answer to appear.

“Oh, okay,” the girl said, slightly disappointed, before turning around and locking her room.

“You look good,” Lando commented as they walked down the hall.

Standing in front of the elevator, she turned her head towards him. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

The dinner went by in mostly silence, besides Lando’s unusual presence and therefore also the unusual amount of bad jokes and laughter filled heated discussions about racing or video games. It wasn’t as irradiating as she thought it would be and the topics weren’t as confusing to her foreign mind as she expected them to be. All because, whenever Lando saw her eyebrows knit together and her lips parting in confusion, he would explain the subject at hand to her in the smallest detail to really make her understand what the conversation was about. Making it easier for her to follow than normally.

They stayed behind, engrossed in conversation with whoever was willing to talk about a certain topic, until even the last engineer decided to head back to their room and get their rest. Now, they were sat next to each other at the big table, all alone. The restaurant wasn’t empty by far, still enough people were talking and maybe even eating. Everyone paid for their own food and drinks, so now the only left open bill was theirs.

“I enjoyed going out to take picture with you today,” Lando confessed into their silence, sipping on his espresso.

“I did too,” she said back, surprised at her soft tone and faint smile. “You weren’t half as annoying as normally.”

He laughed at her answer, her smile growing bigger at the sound of it. “I didn’t expect any other answer.”

Their laughter died down with every passing moment, only smiles remaining, as the slow jazz music filled the place again. Cutlery on porcelain skimming through the air and conversation from different tables surrounding them once more. But in their heads, they heard none of that. All they were aware of was their heartbeat and the comfort they found so suddenly in the other. She felt his hand grazing her leg and he could feel her skin passing by under his fingertips.

“Maybe we could do it again in another city.”

“That would mean that you have to arrive earlier and spent less time in Monaco,” she reminded him, knowing how most drivers - him included - preferred to arrive at track the night before media day. He would never find the time go out with her and explore the city then.

“For you, I’m wiling to do that.” Lando leaned closer, his back against the chair he was sat on, but his hand now on her thigh.

“What a charming man you are,” she said back, mocking him in a way, but her cheeks still turned red at the contact.

“It’s natural,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

She scoffed at his behavior, turning her head away for a second before responding, “And the people on the internet call you Lando Norizz. I really understand it now.”

“Very funny,” he commented back. “Still I got you blushing.”

“It’s just very hot in here,” she brushed it off simply.

“Probably because of me, right?”

There it was again, the reminder why she couldn’t stand him.

“Dream on, Norizz.”

“I will.”

They drank their espresso before heading back to the hotel, walking side by side. With the restaurant being only one entrance next to the hotel, it made it all easier and faster to get back.

“Have a good night, Y/n,” Lando said as they reached her hotel room.

“Good night, Lando,” she said, her hand on the door handle and her mind gambling whether she should play the game or let it be. Turn the tables. She did, kissing his cheek and leaving him left standing with a deep red colour creeping up his neck, before slipping into her room and looking irritated by her own actions at the reflection in the mirror.

Sunday came around the corner and though she photographed Lando, she hadn’t talked to him yet.

Their conversation still hung in the the air every time they passed each other in the paddock or he smiled for a picture of hers. Receiving one in return when she looked at the photo appearing on her screen shortly after. She had never done it before, smiling at his face whenever she saw it, but now she couldn’t help it. Looking at Oscar photo bombing by accident made the picture just a little sweeter.

“You’re blushing,” a voice said from behind her. Turning around in a state of shock, she tried to hide the zoomed in on face on her camera from whoever was invading her private space. “It’s because of my face, right?”

“Oh, you wish, Norris,” she laughed back awkwardly, trying to slip into the easy banter as naturally as he did. Rolling her eyes half jokingly.

Slowly, bit by bit, they fell into a pattern. A pattern of meeting and kissing and flirting and growing closer. And no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that this was all for fun and that he was nothing she wanted, he seemed to become more perfect with every second she spent with him. He was gentle and kind. Funny, romantic, flirty, nice. A good listener and he watched movies with her no one was willing to watch with her before. He kissed her in the mornings and he held her at night. He took her out on dates and he made sure that everything was perfect for her. In his mind, a dream girl deserved a dream life. And he was willing to provide it for her no matter the cost.

She didn’t need much, but all his gentle gestures and romantic words. It was too much of all she learned to mistrust. He was a playboy, why wasn’t he acting like one? Why was he acting like this could actually be something?

She still posted more pictures of Oscar than him, even after they started seeing each other regularly. It had kept him occupied now for a while, the thought that maybe the woman he loved didn’t like him as much as she made pretend. Maybe, he wasn’t the one.

The tension in his apartment had never been this high. With her hunched over her computer, editing new shots from the weekend, which she didn’t get finished on the plane or before he left for his quick morning run she would never participate in, he could see Oscar’s smiling face look back. Trophy in his hand and victory in his eyes. He saw her smiling faintly every time she looked from the regulations of the warmth or colour to his face.

He definitely wasn’t the only one.

“You like him more than me, right?”

“What? Who?” She looked up at him. Confused and scared. Caught. He could see it in her eyes. How she prayed he didn’t ask her about the cards which were already laid out on the table, facing him. She prayed for him to see different cards, the wrong ones, but she knew that only one pair existed.

“Oscar. You like him,” he stated. “He has a girlfriend, you know that, right?”

“Of course, I do.” How could she forget?

“Why still sob after him then?” he asked, genuinely curious. He wasn’t as mad at her as she thought he would be. All that he felt was disappointment. In her. In him. In them.

Why still sob after him?

“He’s perfect,” she finally answered. She knew, being this honest would be a possible mistake. But what did she had to lose? Nobody else would know. As much of an asshole Lando could be, he would never betray someone like that, she knew that much. And they barely ever talked, so it wouldn’t be too awkward (she hoped). “He’s a good guy, with no problematic past. He’s nice and he knows how to be nice, which is even better. I mean, who wouldn’t want the nice guy?”

“You don’t care who it would be as long as they were a nice guy?” Lando asked, looking down at his cup.

“I will never get the nice guy,” she said back.

“Instead you took me? The guy willing to date you? You don’t even care about how I feel, do you? All that is important to you is not being alone, you don’t even care how it makes the others around you feel. God, you’re really an awful person, you know that? So self-centred and completely unaware about anyone else.”

“You aren’t really one to talk, Norris. In fact, you should be the one person to understand. Sleeping with random girls to fill in the void of your unbearable loneliness isn’t much better. At least I tried having something that could last.”

“I tried too, with you. I tried having something meaningful because I actually liked you and yes, I slept with many girls in the past, but at least I never lied to them. They always knew where they were at, they knew it was never meant for something more. I wanted something more with you.”

“Yeah, right.” She laughed dryly, rolling her eyes at his manners. He couldn’t be serious. Why would he want something more with her?

“Why can’t you believe me?” He seemed like he wanted to say more in his defence but she cut him off. Scoffing.

“Because, maybe, you are one of the most entitled people I have ever met. You see nothing more in life than adrenaline, in whichever way it’s closest. And when you want something, you get it. You are everything I never wanted in a man.”

“What?” His voice got quiet and suddenly time stopped. He was stuck there now. He was everything she’d never want, but she was everything he desired. She was everything he loved.

“You are arrogant and snobby and put your opinion above anyone else’s. Every time we went out for dinner with the team it was always you who was missing, out in a club or simply at home, probably with some girl too. You don’t care about the team.” Lando started walking around the living room, picking up stuff that was aimlessly laying around. “And when Oscar won, you weren’t even happy for him. I know they fucked up the strategy, I know that you were angry and I understand why. But god, he even felt sorry about winning. He was in pain the whole time - and I know you didn’t know - but maybe stop assuming you know everything about one’s life, because you don’t. You could’ve at least looked happy for him.”

“Yes, I was angry at the team. Yes, I may have been even a bit angry at Osc in that moment. Yes, I didn’t look happy then, because I fucking wasn’t. But after the race, I talked to him and we are great teammates. We talked it all out, I apologized and then I congratulated him.” He put the stuff into her arms, standing in front of her again. “So, maybe you should stop assuming you know anything about what isn’t happening in front of your eyes. Because you don’t.” She looked down at the stuff. It were a few books, a laptop, a shirt that was discarded on the floor the nigh before - all hers. He also brought a suitcase from the bedroom - hers.

“Leave,” Lando said, turning towards the big window, away from her. “Please.”

4 weeks. It had been 4 weeks already and the heavy feeling weighting down their hearts still felt the same. It felt like they could feel the other’s pain too, but both too prideful to admit that things could’ve ended differently. They should’ve ended differently. Nothing was making sense anymore. All of her pictures looked empty now without his face and huge smile covering half of the photo. All of his passions for racing felt dull now without the exciting ping of his phone whenever she posted a new photo dumb, the excitement of looking if there were any pictures of him in them was gone.

Both blamed it on themselves, but neither got over themselves to knock on the others door and apologize or talk it out.

Y/n knew she fucked up. She knew she deserved the reaction she received and she couldn’t blame him for it, having reacted the same when faced with that kind of situation. Though, for someone like Lando, who had to constantly live with the fear and possibility of being used by those people close to him, actually discovering such thing had to be much worse. He only selected a few people he trusted to be this close to him and she fucked it up. She fucked it up the moment she felt the same way he did, finally. The closeness and awareness she always craved to feel for and with someone was finally in the palm of her hands, until she threw it away.

Lando - though he was still disappointed - thought that maybe he could’ve waited with throwing her out of his flat after calming down and collecting his thoughts, though by the time that happened she was already gone, as was every trace of her. Almost every trace, he reminded himself as he looked at the small camera still laying on his bedside table. He hadn’t looked at the SD-card yet, neither did he tell her she forgot it when she left. He forgot to give it to her. But giving it back felt too real.

His eyes flickered from the TV to the camera every few seconds, the plot and characters only being a background story to his misery, a way of pretending to be alright. Although he would never say it out loud, he missed her. Every part of her, he missed it. And oh, how he hated that he did. Missing someone so cruel was the most devastating thing to happen. Missing the one who hurt you was never a good path to follow, but he did. It looked nicer than the shallow, lonesome one he took all these months before her.

From one moment to the next, the camera was in his hands and the SD-card was out of it, connected with his computer. Lando hesitated for a second before clicking on the folder titled with the camera model. It was the same one she took with her when they walked through Barcelona and the pictures on there were mostly, him. She still hated him then, so why did she take so many pictures of his body and face and shadow. There were hundreds of him, on the streets of Barcelona and after the race. Just him. No Oscar, no engineers or random people. The only person clearly visible was him.

Maybe there was more than she ever said.

God, he couldn’t do this now.

The Dutch Grand Prix was nearing. Practice 1 was good, though it could always be second. Racing on the track where his WDC rival won every consecutive race for the last 3 years, he couldn’t help but feel challenged by him every session he climbed into the car that weekend. If he wanted to stand a chance against Max, he needed to win this.

“People would just get more reasons to hate on me if I fuck this up,” Lando continued talking, oblivious to the stare of his best friend until he didn’t receive an answer. Looking up from his water bottle and stop picking on the straw attached to it, he tried catching Max’ gaze, though the Brit wasn’t focused on him or the ramble of words coming from his mouth, he was focused on something else. Someone else.

“I know you said, that she looked good, but man I doubt my knowledge of your taste now,” he answered without giving any context clues. Lando, slow as ever off track, was wildly looking around the area his best friend was looking at. Not finding what he he meant - or rather who he meant - until Oscar stepped aside for a moment.

There she stood, her face shallow, a forced smile on her lips (though it still looked scarily natural) and no life surrounding her once bright eyes. It all seemed empty now. The way she talked without any enthusiasm lingering in her words or the air around her, the way she shook hands so lazy and unmotivated, the way she stood more hunched over than normally, greeting Lily. Oscar’s girlfriend.

A few months - hell, even a few weeks earlier she would’ve lost her mind when the words left Oscar’s mouth after he called for her. “I wanted you to meet my girlfriend, Lily. Lily, that’s Y/n, the photographer you like.”

“Hi,” the young woman smiled brightly, extending her hand with excitement and looking genuinely happy to meet her. “I really love all the pictures you take, whether it be of Oscar, Lando or just the paddock. You really capture everything perfectly and naturally.”

“Thank you,” she said back, not being able to look past the fact that Lily was simply perfect. Not just from the way she talked or looked or was, she was simply perfect for Oscar. The boy looking at her like Y/n had never seen anyone look at someone. His eyes filled with love and passion for her. “Oscar, told me you were studying to become an engineer, that’s so cool. Like, we really need more woman around here, these blokes are just annoying.”

All three of them laughed and though - she hated to say it - it didn’t feel weird. Everything felt natural and nothing hurt. There was no jealousy or conflict building up inside of her, those people were simply great to be around. Especially together. Lily made Oscar talk more, urging him to answer questions or bringing up new conversation topics whenever the talk started to quieten down.

Though with all these distractions around, she still found him more often than she’d like to admit. In the garage, out on track, on the leader board, it was always his name, his face, his car that she seemed drawn to.

Meeting her eyes, Lando quickly turned around again, hitting Max’ leg under the table when he didn’t avert his eyes from her, but instead waved and smiled.

“What are you doing, mate?” Lando asked, slumping deeper and deeper in his seat as he felt her eyes still on the back of his head.

“What? I’m just being nice,” Max answered back, a smug grin on his face.

“Stop being nice to her. Start being nice to me.”

The drivers started getting ready for the qualifying, sitting in the car and waiting for the go. All eyes were glued to any sort of screen there was, whether it be strategy, the cars or simply the screen broadcasting the session.

Y/n and Lily were both stood against a wall in the McLaren garage, waiting for the cars to get out of the box and onto the track. The silence didn’t feel threatening, not after their conversation earlier, but it was still a bit awkward. Both girls were unsure of what to say.

“What happened between you and Lando?” Lily suddenly asked, breaking the silence and Y/n’s stare at the screen and that one car.

She noticed it, of course she did.

“Nothing,” Y/n quickly replied, a tad too quickly she noticed as Lily looked at her with unconvinced eyes.

“If nothing happened, then why are you so awkward around each other and stare at the other all the time?”

“We do not do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

Y/n took a deep breath; how was she gonna get this over with? She wouldn’t tell the Oscar part, obviously. But what other part wouldn’t be necessary and could milder the catastrophe they found themselves in again?

“Lando and I, we never understood each other much,” she started to explain, looking at Lily to see the focused look in her eyes as she listened to every word the girl had to say to give advice in the end. She knew it was needed. “But then, we went on a walk together, both taking pictures and something just clicked, I guess. We found something similar in our very different perspectives of the other. He kind of always seemed to be this fuckboy, dumb idiot that I could never get to like in my head and because of that, I never tried talking to him or anything. But after that walk, we talked more, on the phone and overall. I guess, we started dating sometime then as well. It was only like a month, but we grew really close until I completely fucked it up. We had a fight where he asked me if I even actually liked him and truth been told, I definitely only saw it as a bit of fun at the beginning, but then I started really liking him, but because of a past relation ship - that wasn’t the best example of healthy by far - I had a really hard time accepting that.” Sensing that she was already talking for far too long, she decided to keep the ending short. “I basically told him, that he embodied everything I never wanted in a man and then he threw me out of his flat, rightfully so.”

Lily was silent for a second longer, processing all the new information before she started to say something. “I think you should talk with him about it. From what you’ve told me, you really like him and pushing that feeling away is only gonna make it worse. You’re working with him, you can’t avoid it forever. And even when he doesn’t forgive you, it would still feel better to have it talked out for both of you.”

“Thanks, Lily,” Y/n answered, smiling gratefully at the girl next to her. She was truly a pure angel. “I just don’t think he wants to talk with me at the moment.”

“All you can do is try.”

He was back in again, looking at the data and thinking about how to get the fastest lap and pole. From Q1 into Q2.

And then it happened.

The garage came alive once more, when his name stood on top of all at the end of Q3. Lando Norris got the pole position for the Dutch Grand Prix, and he couldn’t fuck this up. He just couldn’t. All while she was watching from the sidelines once more with a small mile covering her face. Usually she would go out and take pictures for social media, but she wasn’t needed today. She was just another part of the crowd now.

Their hotel rooms were near once more, like they always were. She could hear the quiet music coming from his room as she sat on the balcony in a hoodie and sweats, watching the sun go down, seizing the moment where the clouds were gone from the sky, allowing it to be looked at by her. And him.

Lando watched her sit in peace from his balcony doorway. He wanted to go out, watch it with her, but then he had to face her and he wasn’t too keen on that. Not after the conversation he had with Max and how he overheard Y/n and Lily talking about the situation and her wanting to apologize. He needed to concentrate. But all his eyes were able to find was her.

Retreating back to his room, Lando put on a pair of his running shoes before exiting the room and building completely, letting his thoughts being swept away by the cold air and fresh breeze that flew through the city at this hour. He wouldn’t let her ruin this weekend for him too.

She watched his figure disappear into the night while he ran towards it. Snapping a picture of his back in the process.

Walking down the hall with her face stuck in her phone, Y/n didn’t notice the figure doing the same walking towards her. She didn’t notice him until he let his phone drop to keep her steady by holding her arms, pulling her towards him in the process.

“Uhm, sorry,” she mumbled, bending down to pick up his phone and give it back to him.

“Yeah, thanks,” Lando mumbled in return before he started walking away again. Ignoring her completely.

It was now or never.

“Lando,” she called after him, making him stop dead in his tracks. Fuck this shit, she thought as she took a step towards him and then another just to not having to yell all her feelings at him once more. Just now it’d be the truth. “I’m really sorry.”

��I wasn’t looking where I was going, don’t worry,” he brushed it off, facing her. He knew what she meant and she could see it in his eyes that it did. Part of him wanted for her to say it, but the other part knew he would run back to her immediately. That latter part knew it wouldn’t be wise to keep on listening to her.

“I’m sorry about what I said to you before Spa. I didn’t mean it, I truly didn’t.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself and trying to keep back the tears threatening to spill her every emotion. “I know I was a dick and I’m sorry about that, I know I’ve hurt you and I never wanted to do that.” He scoffed at her answer. “You were never what I wanted in a partner, but you’re everything I need. You’re really funny and charming and nice. I’m sorry that I took so long to notice all that when you were standing right in front of me all the time.”

She didn’t look up at him once while she was talking, her eyes were angled at the ceiling and when she walked past him, she did it in shame. Eyes on the ground and head low. She didn’t look at him, too afraid of his disgusted face she would receive probably.

But all Lando did, was standing there, in the middle of the hall, with his mouth agape like he wanted to say something in return though he was speechless. No words left his mouth until the elevator doors closed and made a ping sound he hasn’t heard in a long time.

“I’m sorry too.”

The garage was filled with anticipation, he could do this. He could win it.

She was ready for it, for the chaos that would break out and for the run needed to make when he actually crossed the chequered flag first and won. If he didn’t crash into a wall, he could do it. He could have a chance at being a world champion.

The chaos that broke out was worse than she expected, but she was there in Miami, so she had been through worse. The moment he was around the last corner, she started moving with the crowd, choosing another way than most of the engineers and team members to celebrate. She was still having to do her job. Photograph him. The moment Lando got out of the car, everyone seemed to explode in cheers and hollows. 20 seconds. Lando had a lead of 20 seconds.

Fucking amazing, Y/n thought, taking one snapshot after the other. Trying to hit all the angles she learned looked good on him over the last year. Or as in his words, simply lovely.

Lando jumped into the crowd, not as aggressively as in Miami, but the crowd felt the same nonetheless. Wild, ecstatic, prideful. He was so happy that, when he looked at her, he smiled, one finger next to his face and smiling at her. Not at the camera, at her. Y/n stood close enough to see the look in his eyes, he was forgiving her. After all she’d done to him, he was forgiving her and smiling while doing so.

And then he walked away, towards the cool down room, leaving her eyes to flicker down at the screen like she’d done so many times before. This was it. This was what she was hoping to receive, but better. She hoped for a pad on the back and a small smile, but when he looked at her, for a moment, it felt like nothing between them changed. It was still them, being reckless and in love.

The whole team gathered in front of the garage, celebrating the win like they’d always do. A big smile on Lando’s face as he sat in front of the sign with his P1 written on it, the trophies for him and constructor in front of them. The whole team was cheering and the moment the click on the camera went off, the champagne was popped.

It was more an instinct than part of a plan, though the moment Lando started to run away from the sticky liquid, running into her direction to shield her from the champagne. Hugging her waist and bending the part of his upper body what wasn’t already protecting her over her head to protect her hair. He felt her giggles against his chest. The champagne against his back got less and when it did near nothing, he took her hand in his and started running off from the crowd and into the back of the garage.

Letting his back fall against one of the walls, he pulled her in by her waist once more. Pressing their bodies together so they were breathing as one. Their chest heaving up and down from the adrenaline at the same time, both too excited still to process what they were even doing. The people outside were still heard cheering but to them that meant nothing. Especially not when one adventure swept right into the next one.

His lips crashing on hers like they were a lifetime separated. Like nothing they’d done before felt quiet like this and it didn’t. This was more. This was everything.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted and I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything yesterday,” he panted against her lips. “But I swore to myself that when I won today I’m gonna listen to the immature part of me and try to make you mine for real this time.”

“I just wanna be yours.”

[winwintea]

tetris

PAIRING ↬ gamer!park jisung x fem!reader (feat. zhong chenle)

TAGS ↬ fluff, action, romance, some angst, hidden feelings, 80s au, video game competitions, unrequited love or so he thought, best friend's girlfriend trope, winwin shows up randomly i love you my winsung anon

SUMMARY ↬ living up to the pressures of becoming a famous tetris player might be hard for a guy like park jisung. but it's much more difficult when the girl he’s got a crush on may actually be his best friend's girlfriend.

WORD COUNT ↬ 10.1k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ happy birthday queen @viasdreams !!! hope you enjoy as much as i had writing this (i suffered) and thank you to @polarisjisung for usual for being my beta reader <33. also i know tetris came out late 80s and was popular during the early 90s too but for aesthetic purposes im saying 80s

PLAYLIST ↬ saturday night - bay city rollers; tetoris - hiiragi magnetite; jessie’s girl - rick springfield; working for the weekend - loverboy; shoot to thrill - ac/dc; don’t play games - martin jensen; i’m still standing - elton john; cherry bomb - the runaways; hold on tight - aespa; one way or another - blondie; i ran - a flock of seagulls; choose your fighter - ava max

THE FIRST TIME PARK JISUNG PLACED HIS HANDS ON AN ARCADE MACHINE, HE WAS HOOKED.

When he felt the rough texture of the joystick, he felt a tremor in his chest. It wasn’t fear, nor excitement, but something in between. The flicker of the screen pulled him into a world he didn’t yet understand but felt desperate to explore.

The arcade around him was alive, buzzing with the electric hum of machines, the crash of digital waves, and the clatter of coins. Yet, in this moment, all the chaos faded into one singular thing: the falling blocks on the screen.

His fingers hovered over the controls, trembling. When they pressed down, the buttons responded with a slight resistance that grounded him, pulled him into the world on the screen. The joystick was smoother than he expected, gliding under his unsure grip. The first piece—a long, yellow bar—fell into place. Then another. And another.

For Jisung, the world seemed to shift with each line he cleared. These weren’t just blocks; they were each a piece of himself, shifting and rearranging to fit into something bigger. Each ping from the machine was a quiet reassurance, telling him that for once, he was doing something right.

The weight of his usual insecurities were being lifted, then replaced by an unfamiliar confidence. His heart raced, not from anxiety but from a kind of joy he didn’t think he was allowed to feel. This machine didn’t care about how shy he was, how awkward his words sounded, or how he tended to shrink away when the world got too loud. All it asked was that he see the shapes, find the patterns, and keep going.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he’d found something. A purpose.

Jisung didn’t think of himself as anything special, and most of the time, neither did anyone else. He was the kind of person who slipped into a room without making a sound, his lanky frame perpetually hunched as if apologizing for taking up space. His dark hair often fell into his eyes, a convenient shield against the world’s attention. At school, he was known only as “that tall, quiet kid.” Teachers liked him for his politeness. Classmates tolerated him for his unobtrusiveness.

His best friend, Chenle, was the exact opposite. The sun to Jisung’s shadow, always shining and dragging Jisung into the light whether he wanted it or not. When Jisung hesitated, Chenle jumped in headfirst, loud and full of laughter. Their friendship didn’t make sense to most people, least of all Jisung, but somehow it worked.

“C’mon, slowpoke!” Chenle called over his shoulder, his voice easily cutting through the noise of the crowded street. “Pixel Haven’s gonna get packed if you don’t move!”

Jisung trailed a few steps behind, his hands stuffed deep into his hoodie pockets. Friday nights at the arcade were a tradition Chenle had started months ago, and Jisung tagged along because… well, because it was Chenle. He didn’t really play the games. Watching Chenle dominate the machines or charm the employees was enough for him.

Pixel Haven came into view, its neon sign glowing pink and blue against the dim evening sky. Inside, the arcade was a sensory overload of flashing lights, cheerful 8-bit melodies, and the unmistakable clink of coins being fed into machines.

Chenle pushed open the door, holding it wide. “Hurry up, man! They got a new game in!”

Jisung shuffled inside, his head immediately dropping down to look at his sneakers. Even though the arcade was bustling with busy teenagers, he felt like every pair of eyes could land on him at any moment. He stuck close to Chenle, who bounded ahead like an excited puppy.

The arcade was Chenle’s kingdom. He knew everyone. He always high-fived the regulars, playfully bantered with his street fighter competitors, and was always trying to introduce someone to Jisung. But Jisung was content being a silent observer, finding a quiet corner to lean against while Chenle made his rounds.

Unfortunately for Jisung, Chenle had other plans.

“Hey, Jisung, check this out!” Chenle pointed to the brand new Tetris machine, it’s screen cycling through vividly colored blocks. “Bet you’d be good at this.”

Jisung blinked at the machine, his lanky frame stiffening as if the suggestion were a spotlight being aimed at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Before Jisung could protest, Chenle shoved a quarter into his hand and practically dragged him toward the machine. The crowd around it thinned slightly, making space as Chenle announced, “Alright, people, make way for my boy here. Jisung’s about to show you how it’s done.”

Jisung’s ears burned as a few heads turned toward him. He could already feel the weight of their eyes, his anxiety prickling at the edges of his mind. “Chenle, I—”

“Stop overthinking,” Chenle interrupted, patting his shoulder. “Just play. I promise, you’ll love it.”

Jisung stared at the glowing screen. The cheerful music beckoned him, the falling shapes almost hypnotic. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, sliding the quarter into the slot. The machine chimed, and the first piece appeared at the top of the screen.

Although this was his first time, the controls felt familiar. The buttons responded with a satisfying click to his every touch, the joystick smooth under his palm. He hesitated for a split second before rotating the first piece and sending it down. It clicked into place.

Then another piece came, and another. His fingers moved instinctively, rotating, shifting, dropping. The lines started clearing, one after the other, and the game's upbeat sounds grew more frequent.

The world around him faded, the noise of the arcade blending into a dull hum. His focus sharpened, each piece fitting perfectly into a strategy that seemed to form effortlessly in his mind. Shapes became patterns, and patterns became solutions.

“Holy shit. He’s actually good,” someone murmured behind him.

“Good? Are you kidding? He’s crushing it!” Chenle exclaimed, his voice cutting through the growing excitement.

Jisung didn’t register their words, his eyes fixed on the screen. The pace quickened, the pieces falling faster, but he kept up. His long fingers danced over the controls, rotating pieces with precision and dropping them into place. A four-line clear flashed on the screen—a Tetris—and the small crowd erupted into cheers.

Jisung blinked, momentarily snapping out of his trance. He looked over his shoulder, startled by the group that had formed behind him. Chenle was at the front, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Keep going!” Chenle yelled. “You’re on fire!”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Jisung’s lips, the rare feeling of pride warming his chest. He turned back to the game, determined to see how far he could go.

For the next few minutes, Jisung played like he was in a world of his own, the lines stacking and clearing in rapid succession. When the inevitable “Game Over” finally flashed on the screen, a ripple of applause broke out behind him.

Jisung stepped back, his cheeks flushed, his heart racing. Chenle clapped him on the back, his laugh loud and contagious. “What did I tell you? Tetris wiz, right here!”

Jisung glanced at the score on the screen—higher than he’d expected, but the number barely mattered. For the first time, he felt like he belonged, like he’d found something he was actually good at.

And judging by the awed looks from the small crowd, they thought so too.

Jisung didn’t know much about you, other than the obvious. You worked the counter at Pixel Haven most nights, moving between tasks with effortless ease. Always handing out quarters, fixing the occasional glitchy machine, and keeping the arcade running smoothly. And, of course, you were Chenle’s girlfriend. That part was impossible to miss.

Chenle had introduced you once, casually slinging his arm around your shoulders as he bragged about beating the high score on Galaga. Jisung remembered offering a small, awkward wave while you smiled politely, your attention more on Chenle than him. Since then, you’d only been a background presence, someone Jisung saw but never really thought about.

Until tonight.

He’d run out of quarters after his third Tetris run and found himself lingering near the counter, clutching a few crumpled bills in his clammy hands. Chenle was off challenging someone at Street Fighter again, leaving Jisung on his own.

You were busy at the counter, sorting a handful of tokens while chatting with another customer. The neon glow from the sign above cast soft shadows across your face, and for a moment, Jisung hesitated. Asking you for change felt… strange. You weren’t just the person behind the counter. You were Chenle’s girlfriend. That fact alone made this simple interaction feel like crossing some unspoken line.

But he needed quarters, so he shuffled forward, his head down, and placed the bills on the counter.

You looked up, and for the first time, your eyes met his directly. “Oh, hey,” you said, your voice light and friendly. “Need some quarters?”

He froze, the words stuck in his throat. You were smiling. Warmly, like you genuinely wanted to help. Jisung nodded, sliding the bills closer to you.

You took them, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment as you counted out the quarters. “Here you go,” you said, placing them into his outstretched hand. “Good luck out there.”

That smile. It wasn’t just a gesture. It felt different, even if Jisung knew it probably wasn’t. You were like this with everyone, weren’t you? Friendly, approachable, easygoing. It was why Chenle liked you so much.

But still, Jisung felt something shift inside him. Your smile lingered in his mind as he turned away, clutching the quarters tightly in his fist. His chest tightened, but not with the usual pang of nerves. Instead, it was with something he couldn’t quite name.

It was strange, the way that tiny moment replayed in his head as he walked back to the Tetris machine. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. You were just being nice, just doing your job.

But as the night wore on, Jisung found himself glancing toward the counter more often than he meant to. He tried not to think too much about it, but something small and misshapen had taken root in his chest, fragile but undeniably there.

You were Chenle’s girlfriend. He barely knew you. And yet, your kindness had left a mark he couldn’t ignore.

The arcade quickly became Jisung’s second home. Every chance he got—between school, homework, and the occasional group hangout he reluctantly attended—he found himself back at Pixel Haven.

At first, it was a way to pass the time, a distraction from the things that weighed him down. But soon, Tetris became more than that. The falling blocks weren’t just shapes anymore; they were puzzles waiting to be solved, challenges daring him to do better, to think faster. He didn’t just play the game—he immersed himself in it, memorizing patterns, calculating strategies, and finding a strange sense of peace in the rhythmic clearing of lines.

The change didn’t go unnoticed.

“Dude, you’re, like, a full-blown Tetris addict now,” Chenle teased one night, leaning casually against the machine as Jisung started yet another round. His hands were full of snacks he’d grabbed from the counter, and his grin was as wide as ever. “I should start calling you ‘The Tetris Wizard or ‘TetWiz’ for short”.

Jisung flushed, his long fingers hovering over the controls as the pieces began to fall. “I’m not that good,” he muttered, barely audible over the hum of the arcade.

“Are you kidding me?” Chenle laughed, nearly spilling his soda. “You’re insane at this. Like, next-level insane. You’ve got the whole crowd thing going on, too.”

Jisung paused mid-game, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, a few regulars had gathered nearby, casually watching his progress. Their murmured admiration sent a wave of heat to his cheeks.

Chenle clapped him on the back. “See? WizKid status.” He took a swig of his drink, then grinned mischievously. “Hey, you know what? There’s a tournament coming up. Local thing. You should totally enter.”

The words hit Jisung like a truck. No, like someone dropped a T-piece on his head. He fumbled with the joystick, sending a block spiraling into the wrong position. “What? No. No way.”

“Why not?” Chenle’s voice rose in playful disbelief. “You’ve been killing it lately. This is your chance to show everyone how good you are. Plus, think of the bragging rights. I’ll tell everyone I trained you.”

Jisung’s heart pounded, the idea of playing in front of a crowd making his palms sweat. He’d barely gotten used to the small groups that gathered at the arcade. A tournament meant real attention. Real pressure.

“I… I don’t think I can,” he stammered, his gaze fixed on the screen.

Chenle rolled his eyes but didn’t push. “Alright, alright. Baby steps, TetWiz. But think about it, okay? You’d crush it.”

Jisung nodded absently, but the thought lingered long after Chenle wandered off to bother someone else. A tournament? It seemed impossible, unthinkable. Yet, as he continued to play, clearing line after line with growing precision, a small, persistent voice in the back of his mind whispered something different: What if you could?

The flyer for the Pixel Haven Tetris Tournament taunted Jisung from his desk, its bright colors and bold letters shouting promises of prizes, glory, and recognition. He’d stared at it for days, the weight of Chenle’s encouragement and your casual, kind words tipping the scales of his indecision.

“You’d do great,” you’d said just a few nights ago when Chenle joked about Jisung’s reluctance. There wasn’t much to your comment—just a simple smile as you slid quarters across the counter. But it stuck with him, a quiet nudge in the direction he wasn’t sure he could take.

When he finally signed up, his hand trembled so much he nearly misspelled his own name.

The tournament day arrived far too quickly. Pixel Haven was louder than ever, filled with spectators and players buzzing with excitement. The Tetris machine had been moved to the center of the arcade, its screen glowing like a beacon under the dim, colorful lights.

Jisung stood at the edge of the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. His palms were clammy, his legs stiff, and every sound around him felt amplified—quarters clinking, machines chiming, people shouting.

Chenle found him near the snack counter, looking pale and uneasy. “Hey, TetWiz,” he said, clapping Jisung on the shoulder. “Don’t psych yourself out. You’ve got this.”

Jisung shook his head, barely able to meet Chenle’s gaze. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course, you can!” Chenle’s voice was loud, confident, and exactly what Jisung wished he could feel. “You’re the best player here. No one’s even close. Just… pretend it’s like any other Friday night.”

“Except with an even bigger crowd watching,” Jisung muttered under his breath.

At that moment, you appeared, slipping out from behind the counter to join Chenle. Your presence was calm, grounding. “You’ve got this,” you said simply, your eyes meeting Jisung’s.

His stomach twisted. You were Chenle’s girlfriend. 

Off-limits. 

But your words carried a strange weight, one that settled the storm in his chest just enough.

The tournament began. Jisung’s hands trembled as he approached the machine, the controls suddenly feeling unfamiliar under his fingers. The room seemed to close in around him as the first piece appeared on the screen.

The opening rounds blurred together, a mix of adrenaline and fear propelling him forward. Each cleared line earned cheers from the crowd, but Jisung barely registered them. His focus tunneled in on the screen, every move a desperate attempt to keep the pieces from piling too high.

By the time he reached the finals, his nerves were raw, his breaths shallow. Chenle stood nearby, shouting encouragement, and you offered a quiet thumbs-up that somehow cut through the noise.

The final match was intense. His opponent was fast, their moves sharp and deliberate. The pieces fell faster than ever, the music speeding up to a frenetic pace that matched Jisung’s racing heart.

You can do this, he told himself, gripping the joystick tightly. He visualized the patterns, the strategies he’d practiced endlessly. The lines cleared one after another, the Tetris flashes lighting up the screen.

When the final piece fell into place, and the victory chime rang out, the room erupted into cheers. Jisung blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

“You did it!” Chenle shouted, throwing an arm around Jisung’s shoulders. “First place, TetWiz! I told you!”

Jisung stared at the screen, his name flashing in bold letters at the top of the leaderboard. His hands shook—not with fear, but with something new. Pride.

You approached him, your smile soft and genuine. “Congratulations, Jisung. That was amazing.”

He swallowed hard, unable to find the words to respond. But as the applause continued and the weight of the moment settled in, something shifted inside him. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, he was capable of more.

Jisung wasn’t sure when it started. The way his chest tightened whenever you were near, or how your smile lingered in his thoughts. Maybe it was during one of those small, fleeting moments when you actually listened to him. Not the way most people did, with polite nods and half-hearted attention, but really listened.

You never looked bored or impatient when he talked. Never when he stumbled over his words trying to explain a tricky T-spin maneuver or the satisfaction of a perfectly timed Tetris. Instead, you leaned on the counter, your eyes warm and curious, asking questions that made him feel like his passion wasn’t just valid but worth sharing.

And that was the problem.

Because as much as he admired you, as much as his chest filled with warmth during those rare conversations, there was always Chenle. Loud, confident, and so completely your match.

Jisung couldn’t deny it: Chenle made you laugh in a way that lit up the whole room. He’d see you together. Your arm looped through Chenle’s, his jokes drawing out those bright, unrestrained giggles. All of it felt like a sharp, twisting ache in his chest.

He hated the feeling. The guilt. The jealousy.

Chenle was his best friend, the person who dragged him out of his shell, cheered him on, and believed in him when he barely believed in himself. And you—kind, patient, radiant—you were Chenle’s girlfriend. That was the unshakable truth.

So Jisung did the only thing he could think of to cope. He played tetris.

Hours at Pixel Haven turned into entire evenings, his focus narrowing to the Tetris machine like it was his lifeline. The rhythm of the game, the familiar patterns and strategies, became his escape. When the blocks fell into place, clearing line after line, the noise in his head quieted.

He didn’t have to think about the way his heart raced when you smiled at him or the pang of envy when you rested your head on Chenle’s shoulder.

Chenle noticed, of course. “Man, you’re really going hard lately,” he said one night, watching Jisung rack up yet another high score. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re basically a celebrity here now.”

Jisung forced a smile, his hands tightening around the joystick. “Just… trying to get better.”

Chenle didn’t press further, but Jisung could feel his gaze shift, a flicker of concern hidden behind his usual grin.

And then there was you.

Sometimes, you’d wander over to the Tetris machine during a quiet moment at the counter, watching him play with that same patient interest that made his heart ache.

“You’re amazing at this,” you’d say, your voice soft and genuine.

And Jisung would mumble a shy thank you, barely able to meet your gaze. He wondered if you noticed how fast his hands moved on the controls when you were nearby, or how the screen blurred just slightly because his focus wavered.

He told himself it didn’t matter. It couldn’t. You were Chenle’s, and he had no right to feel the way he did.

So he buried it, block by block, line by line, throwing himself deeper into the game as if sheer determination could erase the feelings growing stronger with every interaction.

But no matter how many lines he cleared, the ache in his chest remained.

Chenle wasn’t the type to dwell on things. He lived in the moment, taking life as it came, confident and carefree. But lately, something about Jisung had been bothering him.

It wasn’t just the obsessive way Jisung threw himself into Tetris, though that was part of it. Chenle had always known Jisung to be shy and focused, but lately, he seemed… different. Distracted. Like his thoughts were someplace—or with someone—else.

And then there were the looks.

Chenle didn’t want to read too much into it, but he’d caught Jisung’s gaze more than once when you were around. At first, he brushed it off. Jisung was awkward around everyone—why would this be any different? But the more it happened, the harder it was to ignore.

One night, after another long session at Pixel Haven, Chenle finally decided he couldn’t keep quiet.

Jisung was hunched over the Tetris machine, his face illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. The arcade was quieter than usual, most of the crowd having thinned out as the evening wore on. Chenle approached with his usual grin, though this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, TetWiz,” he said casually, leaning against the side of the machine. “Taking over the world one line at a time?”

Jisung glanced at him, his hands never leaving the controls. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

Chenle studied him for a moment, his grin fading. “You know,” he began, his tone light but laced with something sharper, “you’ve been acting kind of weird lately.”

Jisung’s fingers faltered, and the game over screen flashed before he could recover. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping back from the machine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chenle said, crossing his arms, “you’ve been avoiding me, for one. And for another… I’ve noticed the way you look at her.”

Jisung froze, his heart sinking. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb, Jisung. You think I haven’t seen it? The way you watch her when you think no one’s looking? How you act all nervous when she’s around? Come on, man. You’re my best friend. If there’s something going on, just tell me.”

Panic surged in Jisung’s chest. He shook his head quickly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “There’s nothing going on,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t… I don’t feel that way about her.”

Chenle’s eyes narrowed, his usual easy going demeanor slipping away. That wasn’t what he was suspecting. He actually thought you had said something to Jisung that made him uncomfortable. But having feelings for you? Chenle forgot that was even an option. He suddenly felt a surge of jealousy. “Jisung, I’m not stupid. I know you better than anyone.”

“I don’t!” Jisung’s voice rose slightly, the desperation clear. “I—I swear, Chenle. It’s not like that.”

The tension hung heavy between them, the arcade’s neon lights casting sharp shadows across their faces.

Chenle exhaled slowly, his expression softening just a little. “Look, I trust her, okay? I trust you. But if there’s something you’re not telling me… just be honest. Don’t let this mess things up.”

Jisung’s throat tightened, guilt clawing at his insides. He wanted to tell the truth, to admit the feelings he’d tried so hard to bury. But the fear of losing Chenle—his best friend, his biggest supporter—was too much to bear.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said quietly, his hands clenched at his sides.

Chenle studied him for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his posture remained. “Alright. If you say so.”

But as he walked away, leaving Jisung alone by the Tetris machine, the rift between them felt wider than ever.

For the first time in years, Jisung wasn’t sure if Chenle still believed in him—or if he even believed in himself.

The state Tetris championship was a dream Jisung never dared to dream. And now, as his name sat proudly on the qualifying list, it felt more like a nightmare.

The arcade was quiet that night, the usual hum of voices replaced by the occasional beep of a forgotten pinball machine. Jisung sat slumped on a bench near the Tetris machine, the glow of the screen casting long shadows across his face. His hands fidgeted with the crumpled flyer announcing the championships, the bold letters seeming to mock him.

State Champion. The words felt impossibly big, like they belonged to someone else.

The weight of it all—the expectations, the pressure, the growing distance between him and Chenle—pressed down on him like a heavy block he couldn’t clear. His chest felt tight, his thoughts spiraling in an endless loop of self-doubt.

He didn’t even hear you approach.

“You okay?”

Your voice was soft, cutting through the quiet like a gentle melody. Jisung jumped, his head snapping up to see you standing nearby, concern etched across your features.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

You didn’t buy it. Instead, you sat down on the bench beside him, leaving just enough space to respect his shyness. You glanced at the flyer in his hands, then back at him.

“It’s a big deal, huh?” you said, your tone light but understanding.

Jisung hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s too big,” he admitted quietly. “I… I don’t think I can do it.”

The words felt like a confession, raw and vulnerable. He didn’t know why he was telling you this. Maybe it was the way you always seemed to listen without judgment, or the way your presence felt steady and safe.

You tilted your head, your eyes warm. “Why not?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because… because what if I mess up? What if I let everyone down? Chenle’s been calling me a ‘wizard,’ hyping me up to everyone. People actually watch me now, like I’m supposed to be… someone. But I’m not. I’m just…”

“Jisung,” you finished gently.

He nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. Just Jisung. And I don’t think just Jisung is good enough for this.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The hum of the arcade filled the silence, a soft, steady rhythm that seemed to match his unsteady breathing.

Then, you leaned forward, your voice quiet but firm. “You know, when I watch you play, it’s not just about the score or the tournament or any of that. It’s the way you light up when you’re in the zone, like nothing else matters. It’s like… you’re in your own world, and it’s incredible to see.”

Jisung blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

“You don’t have to know right now,” you said with a small smile. “But Jisung, this isn’t about being a wizard or a champion or whatever anyone else thinks. It’s about you. Your love for this game, your talent. That’s what matters. Not winning. Just you doing what you love.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. Jisung’s heart raced as your words lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a lifeline. He hadn’t expected you to understand him so completely, let alone say the exact thing he needed to hear.

For a brief moment, he forgot about everything else. The tournament, the pressure, even Chenle. All he could focus on was you. The warmth in your voice, the way you looked at him like he was someone worth believing in.

The weight in his chest shifted, and before he knew it, his thoughts spilled over.

“I—” He paused, the words catching in his throat.

You tilted your head, curious but patient, your expression inviting him to continue.

He could feel it, the overwhelming urge to tell you. To say something, anything, about the way he felt—the way you made him feel. How his heart ached and soared all at once whenever you were near.

But then, just as quickly, reality crashed back in.

Chenle. His best friend. Your boyfriend.

Jisung swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He couldn’t do it. No matter how much his heart screamed at him to say the truth, he couldn’t betray Chenle like that.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, his voice barely steady. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks. For, you know… everything.”

Your smile softened, and you nodded, as if sensing that he wasn’t ready to say more. “Anytime,” you replied, standing up to head back to the counter.

Jisung watched you go, his chest heavy with unspoken words. He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching the crumpled flyer in his lap.

But he wasn’t the only one watching.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Chenle stood near the doorway, hidden by the dim light and arcade cabinets. He had arrived just moments ago, intending to meet Jisung and hang out like they always did. But instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, watching the two of you.

At first, it didn’t seem like much—just a quiet conversation between friends. But the way Jisung looked at you… it wasn’t hard for Chenle to see what was really going on.

It wasn’t the look of someone simply grateful for support. It was something deeper, more vulnerable. Something Chenle had never seen in Jisung before.

His chest tightened, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. He wasn’t angry—not yet. But there was a pang of something sharp and unfamiliar, like jealousy’s distant cousin.

He trusted you, and he trusted Jisung. But trust didn’t erase what he had just seen.

Chenle stepped back into the shadows, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t shake the image of Jisung’s expression—the way his gaze lingered on you, filled with something Chenle couldn’t quite name but knew wasn’t meant for him.

For the first time, Chenle felt uncertain. About Jisung. About you. About everything.

And as he walked away from the arcade that night, the unspoken tension between the three of you began to grow, pulling tighter with each passing moment.

The auditorium buzzed with energy, the hum of anticipation vibrating through the air as rows of arcade cabinets lined the stage, each boasting the Tetris logo in bright neon. Competitors adjusted their machines, the crowd murmured excitedly, and Jisung stood frozen at the edge of it all, feeling impossibly small.

The state Tetris championship. He was really here.

Jisung’s stomach churned, his nerves nearly overtaking him. He gripped the strap of his backpack, his fingers twitching with a restless energy. His mind wasn’t just crowded with thoughts of the game but with everything else—Chenle, you, the weight of unspoken feelings.

Before he could spiral any further, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?”

Jisung blinked and turned to see a tall, relaxed guy about a few years older standing next to him. The stranger held a can of pop, his messy hair framing a face that somehow managed to look both half-asleep and mildly curious.

“I—uh…” Jisung stammered, caught off guard.

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” the stranger said bluntly, taking a sip of his pop. “Big deal tournament jitters?”

Jisung hesitated, but something about the guy’s laid-back demeanor made him exhale a little. “Yeah, kind of,” he admitted.

“Let me guess,” the stranger said, leaning against a nearby wall. “Scared you’ll lose? Or scared you’ll win and, like, your entire life will change forever?”

“Both,” Jisung muttered.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Yeah, fair. Tetris is wild like that.”

Something about his casual tone loosened Jisung’s tongue. Before he knew it, he was rambling.

“It’s not just the game,” he confessed, the words tumbling out. “It’s everything else. My best friend…he’s been supporting me, but I think I’ve messed things up between us. And then there’s this girl…” His voice trailed off, his ears burning.

The stranger tilted his head. “Oh, so it’s love and Tetris. Double whammy.”

Jisung winced. “I don’t know what to do. I like her, but she’s with my best friend, and I feel like the worst person in the world. And now I’m here, and I’m supposed to play like none of this matters, but it does.”

The stranger stared at him for a moment, then sighed, setting down his soda. “Okay, look. I’m not great at advice, but here’s what I’ve got: You’re not gonna fix your love life today. But this tournament? It’s yours. You’ve got one job—play your absolute fucking best. Worry about the rest later.”

Jisung blinked, the simplicity of the advice sinking in. “That’s it?” 

“Yep.” The stranger smirked. “Oh, and maybe stop thinking about her for like, five seconds while you play. Otherwise, you’ll never clear a line.”

Despite himself, Jisung let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks, uh…”

“Sicheng,” the guy said, giving a small wave before walking off with his soda.

Jisung stood there for a moment, the stranger’s words echoing in his head. One job. Play your absolute fucking best.

The announcement of his name jolted him back to reality. Heart pounding, he made his way to the stage, the crowd’s cheers swelling around him.

He spotted Chenle instantly, standing in the front row and waving wildly, his energy uncontainable. “Go, TetWiz!” Chenle yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

Jisung’s chest tightened. Despite everything, the tension, the doubts, Chenle was still there, cheering him on.

And then he saw you, standing beside Chenle. Your smile was quieter, softer, but it carried the same weight of belief that you’d shown him back at Pixel Haven. Your eyes met his, and you gave a small, encouraging nod.

Jisung took a deep breath, his hands gripping the controls as he sat down.

The countdown began.

Three.

The noise of the crowd faded away.

Two.

His fingers hovered over the buttons, his mind sharpening to a single point of focus.

One.

Play your absolute fucking best.

The game began, the familiar shapes dropping from the top of the screen like old friends. His nervousness melted away as he found his rhythm, the blocks slotting into place with satisfying precision.

The crowd roared as he cleared line after line, the tension building with each level. But Jisung didn’t hear it. For the first time in weeks, his mind was clear, his focus solely on the game.

This wasn’t about Chenle, or you, or even the title. This was about Jisung—the quiet boy who found a spark of something extraordinary in the chaos of falling blocks.

Then the final round began, and the stakes had never felt higher. Jisung sat at the machine, his hands steady but his heart pounding as the screen lit up with the familiar grid. Across from him, his opponent—a seasoned Tetris player with years of experience—cracked their knuckles, exuding a calm confidence that only added to Jisung’s nerves.

The crowd quieted as the final countdown began again.

Three.

Jisung tightened his grip on the joystick.

Two.

His gaze locked on the screen, blocking out everything else.

One.

The pieces started to fall, faster than in any game he’d played before. The early levels felt manageable, his fingers moving on autopilot as he cleared lines with precision. But as the speed increased, so did the tension.

His opponent was good. Better than anyone Jisung had ever faced. They kept pace with him, their screen just as clear, their movements just as calculated. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was a test of endurance, strategy, and nerves.

The minutes stretched on, each line cleared pushing Jisung further into uncharted territory. His heart raced as he reached the kill screen level—the point where the game’s speed maxed out, and most players couldn’t keep up.

Most players.

Jisung’s vision narrowed, his world shrinking to the grid in front of him. His fingers danced over the controls, rotating and dropping pieces with a precision that felt almost otherworldly. The crowd was a distant roar, his opponent a vague shadow in his peripheral vision.

He wasn’t thinking anymore; he was flowing.

When the final piece dropped into place, clearing a line and bringing his score to a record-breaking high, the machine emitted a triumphant chime.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the auditorium erupted.

The crowd leaped to their feet, cheering and clapping, the noise echoing off the walls. Lights flashed, cameras clicked, and Jisung sat there, stunned, as the reality of what he’d just accomplished began to sink in.

He’d won.

Not just the championship, but something deeper. For the first time, Jisung felt the rush of pride, not just for the victory but for the journey that had brought him here.

Chenle’s voice cut through the chaos, louder than anyone else’s. “You did it, Ji! He fucking did it!”

Jisung turned to see his best friend grinning so widely it looked like his face might split in two. Despite the tension between them, Chenle’s joy was pure and infectious.

And then his eyes found you.

You weren’t shouting or jumping like the others, but the pride in your expression was unmistakable. You clapped along with the crowd, your smile warm and genuine as your gaze met his.

Jisung’s chest swelled, the mix of emotions nearly overwhelming. He stood slowly, his legs shaky, and accepted the medal from the tournament official with trembling hands. The announcer declared his name, calling him a prodigy, a champion, but none of it felt as real as the faces in the crowd—Chenle, you, and everyone who had supported him.

As the applause continued, Jisung looked back at the Tetris screen, now frozen on his record-breaking score. For the first time, he saw himself not as “just Jisung,” but as someone capable of achieving something extraordinary.

The crowd had finally begun to disperse, the cheers fading into the background as competitors and spectators alike spilled out into the night. Jisung stayed behind, lingering near the now-quiet Tetris machine. His medal hung heavy around his neck, a tangible reminder that this wasn’t just a dream.

He turned the medal over in his hands, his mind still reeling. He should have been basking in the glow of his victory, but his thoughts kept circling back to you. How your smile had stood out even among the applause. How your quiet presence had kept him grounded.

“Jisung?”

Your voice startled him, and he looked up to see you standing a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket. The faint hum of the arcade machines illuminated your face in soft, flickering light.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped closer, your gaze falling on the medal around his neck. “Congratulations,” you said, your smile warm but understated, as though you understood he wasn’t one for grand celebrations. “You were incredible out there.”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks. I… I still can’t believe it.”

“You should,” you replied, your tone gentle but firm. “You worked so hard for this. You deserve it.”

The sincerity in your voice sent a wave of emotion through him, and he found himself meeting your eyes. For a moment, everything else fell away. The noise of the arcade, the lingering spectators, even Chenle.

“It means a lot,” he murmured, “that you were here.”

You smiled softly, stepping even closer. “Of course I was. I wasn’t going to miss this. You’re… special, Jisung. You have something really rare. Not just your talent, but the way you put your heart into everything you do.”

Your words hit him like a gentle but powerful wave, and for the first time, Jisung felt like you saw him, not as Chenle’s shy best friend, not as the Tetris Wizard, but as him.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he reached up and touched the medal lightly, as if offering it to you.

“This… it’s not just mine,” he said quietly. “You helped me get here. You believed in me when I didn’t.”

You shook your head, your smile deepening. “That was all you, Jisung. I just… reminded you what you already knew.”

The air between you shifted, the unspoken feelings thickening the silence. It wasn’t the boisterous, high-energy dynamic you had with Chenle. It was quieter, steadier, like a river carving its way through stone.

You reached out then, your fingers brushing his lightly as you adjusted the medal around his neck. The small, intimate gesture sent his heart racing, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re going to do even greater things,” you said softly, your voice carrying a certainty that made his chest ache.

For a fleeting moment, Jisung thought about telling you everything. Telling you how much he cared for you, and how much this moment meant to him. But he stopped himself, the memory of Chenle’s unwavering cheers still fresh in his mind.

Instead, he held your gaze and said, “Thanks. For… everything.”

Your smile lingered as you stepped back, leaving a small but undeniable space between you. “You’ve got this, Jisung. Don’t forget that.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, the warmth of your touch still buzzing on his skin.

Jisung let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his hands brushing the medal around his neck. His feelings for you weren’t just a crush. They were something deeper, something that scared and exhilarated him in equal measure.

But for now, he would hold onto the moment, replaying your words in his mind like his favorite song.

As you disappeared into the crowd, Jisung stayed rooted to the spot, the medal’s weight now feeling symbolic of something much heavier. His fingers grazed the cool metal, his thoughts swirling in an uncontrollable storm.

He should have felt elated, on top of the world. And part of him did. But the other part felt like he was standing on the edge of something far scarier than any Tetris grid.

She believes in me. She sees me.

The thought filled him with a quiet joy, but it was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. Chenle had been there too, cheering the loudest, always his most loyal supporter. And Chenle was your boyfriend.

Jisung closed his eyes, trying to silence the war inside him. How could he feel this way about you while knowing it wasn’t his place? He’d spent years being the guy who didn’t take up space, who stayed on the sidelines, who let others shine. Was it selfish to want something or someone so badly now?

“Hey, champ.”

The voice startled Jisung, jerking him out of his spiraling thoughts. He turned to see the familiar figure of Sicheng standing a few feet away.

“I, uh…” Jisung stammered, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Didn’t know you were still here.”

Sicheng shrugged, “Yeah, well, figured I’d stick around and see how the hero handles his post-victory glow. Looks like you’re more ‘existential crisis’ than ‘glow,’ though.”

Jisung blinked, unsure whether to laugh or deny it. “It’s… complicated,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping.

Sicheng nodded as if he understood completely. “Love and Tetris, man. Both are way harder than they look.”

Jisung couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, the tension in his chest easing just a little. “I didn’t say it was about that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Sicheng grinned, leaning against a nearby arcade machine. “You’ve got that look. You know, the one that says, ‘I’m hopelessly in love and it’s ruining my life.’”

Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone as wise and experienced as me,” Sicheng said, his tone deadpan.

Jisung peeked at him through his fingers. “What would you do, then? If you were me?”

Sicheng tilted his head thoughtfully, “I’d probably mess it up completely, to be honest. But here’s the thing—you’re not me. You’ve already done the hard part. You put yourself out there tonight. You faced something scary and came out on top. Maybe it’s time you do the same with… other things.”

Jisung frowned, the words sinking in. “But what if it goes wrong? What if I lose what I already have?”

Sicheng shrugged. “Maybe you will. Or maybe you won’t. But if you keep letting fear decide everything, you’re just gonna stay stuck at the start screen forever. And trust me, that’s no way to play.”

Jisung stared at him, the simplicity of his words somehow cutting through the noise in his head. “You’re… surprisingly good at this,” he said, half-joking.

“I have my moments.” Sicheng smirked, pushing himself off the arcade machine. “Anyway, I’m out. Congrats again, champ. And, uh, good luck with… whatever you decide.”

As Sicheng walked off, Jisung found himself standing a little straighter. The stranger’s words had left him with no concrete answers, but maybe that was the point.

Jisung glanced down at the medal one last time before tucking it under his shirt. For now, he’d focus on the present. The victory he’d earned and the path it was opening up.

But deep down, he knew that the harder game was just beginning.

Jisung didn’t see Chenle after the championship that night. 

The victory should have been enough. It was everything he’d worked for, proof that he wasn’t just the quiet kid in the background. But his mind kept circling back to you—your smile, your words, the warmth in your eyes that seemed to see right through his fears.

Why does it feel like this isn’t enough?

Jisung sighed, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. He thought about Chenle. The guilt gnawed at him. Chenle had cheered for him louder than anyone, had believed in him when he couldn’t believe in himself. And yet, every time Jisung saw you two together, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. This isn’t fair to Chenle. He deserves better than this.

But the memory of your touch, the way your voice softened when you spoke to him, was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just a crush. It was something deeper, something that made him feel seen in a way he never had before.

“Hey, Wiz.”

Jisung jumped at the voice, turning to see Chenle standing behind him. His best friend’s grin was still as bright as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, something quieter, more serious.

“Oh, hey,” Jisung mumbled, trying to mask the whirlwind of emotions on his face. “What’s up?”

Chenle didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

Jisung’s stomach sank, but he nodded, following Chenle out into the cool night air. The buzz of the arcade faded behind them as they walked a short distance to a nearby bench. Chenle flopped down first, his usual energy replaced by a rare stillness.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Jisung fidgeted with the edge of his medal ribbon, waiting for Chenle to break the silence.

“I saw you,” Chenle finally said, his voice unusually calm.

Jisung froze, his heart lurching in his chest. “Saw me?” he echoed, his voice tight.

Chenle leaned back, his gaze fixed on the starry sky. “You and her. After the tournament.”

Jisung’s throat went dry. “I—Chenle, it’s not what you think—”

Chenle cut him off with a small, tired laugh. “Relax, dude. I’m not mad. And I know you wouldn’t do anything. You’re too much of a pussy to make the first move.” He turned to look at Jisung, his expression softer than Jisung expected. “I mean, yeah, it stings a little. But I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

Jisung blinked, confused. “Thinking about what?”

Chenle sighed, running a hand through his hair. “About us….me and her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great. But... I don’t think we’re great together, you know? We’re fun, we laugh a lot, but it’s not... deep.”

Jisung stared at him, struggling to process the words.

“And then I see the way you look at her,” Chenle continued, his voice quieter now. “And the way she looks at you.” He let out another soft laugh. “I’d have to be blind not to notice it.”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung blurted out, his guilt spilling over. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear, I tried not to—”

“Hey, stop.” Chenle held up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not mad, okay? It’s not like you did this on purpose. Feelings are... messy. Trust me, I get it.”

Jisung’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Chenle’s understanding both a relief and a fresh wave of guilt. “So... what does this mean?” he asked hesitantly.

Chenle shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It means I’m stepping back. You two have something real, Jisung. Something I don’t think I could ever have with her.”

Jisung stared at him, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions. “Are you sure?”

Chenle nodded. “Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ll probably be a little salty about it for a while. But at the end of the day, you’re my best friend. I want you to be happy.” He clapped Jisung on the shoulder, his grin returning in full force. “And who knows? Maybe this means I’ll finally have time to beat your high score.”

Jisung let out a breathless laugh, the tension easing slightly. “Thanks, Chenle. For everything.”

Chenle stood, stretching dramatically. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. Just... don’t mess it up, okay? She’s too good for that.”

Jisung nodded, his heart lighter but still full. As Chenle walked away, Jisung sat for a moment longer, staring at the medal in his hands.

Jisung’s heart pounded like it had during the tournament, maybe even harder. He clutched the edges of the medal still hanging around his neck, his thumb running along the engraved letters as if they could grant him the courage he desperately needed.

He found you sitting at the counter in Pixel Haven, a quiet lull settling over the arcade now that the evening rush was over. You were tinkering with a small machine part, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Jisung couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten at the sight.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the arcade lights.

You looked up, surprised but smiling as soon as you saw him. “Jisung! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your big win?”

He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I needed to talk to you,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly.

You set the part down, giving him your full attention. “Is everything okay?”

Jisung nodded, but the lump in his throat made it hard to speak. He took a deep breath, the memory of Chenle’s words earlier that night giving him the final push.

“I—there’s something I need to say. And I don’t know if it’s the right time, or if I’m even allowed to feel this way, but I can’t... I can’t keep it in anymore.” He paused, his hands gripping the medal tightly. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I know Chenle’s your boyfriend. Well, was—but I had to tell you.”

Your eyes softened, and you stood, closing the space between you. “Jisung…”

“I’m sorry if this is too much,” he continued quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I just... you mean a lot to me. More than I can explain. And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just—”

“Jisung.” Your voice was steady but gentle, cutting through his nervous rambling.

He stopped, his breath hitching as you placed a hand on his arm.

“I like you too.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. He blinked at you, his mind struggling to catch up. “You... you do?”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re kind, thoughtful, and ridiculously talented. And more than that, you have this quiet strength that I admire so much. I’ve been drawn to you for a while now, even when I didn’t fully realize it.”

Jisung’s cheeks flushed, his heart soaring as your words sank in. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, your smile widening. “But we’ll have to take things slow. This is all new, and I want to make sure we’re both ready.”

Jisung nodded quickly, his nervous energy giving way to a shy grin. “Of course. Slow is good.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the quiet arcade. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

Jisung’s blush deepened, but for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to hide it.

As the two of you stood there, the arcade lights casting a warm glow, Jisung felt something shift inside him. It wasn’t just the joy of hearing you say you liked him too. He’d taken a risk and won.

And this victory? It felt like the best one yet.

This was it.

The moment he’d worked toward for months.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, “Park Jisung is on the verge of breaking the world record for highest Tetris score! Can he do it?”

Jisung’s heart thundered in his chest, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was adrenaline. Focus. Determination.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of you and Chenle in the crowd. You were leaning forward, your hands clasped tightly in anticipation, your eyes shining with pride. Beside you, Chenle was shouting encouragement so loudly it drowned out the rest of the noise.

“Come on, Wizard!” Chenle yelled, his grin so wide it could’ve split his face. “You’ve got this! Show ‘em how it’s done!”

Jisung’s lips twitched into a small smile. Chenle’s voice, your presence, the energy of everyone around him, all pushed him forward.

The final minutes were a blur of movement and sound. The blocks sped up to an almost impossible level, but Jisung’s hands didn’t falter. His brain worked in overdrive, every decision precise and calculated. He could feel the rhythm of the game in his bones.

And then, with one last perfect Tetris, the machine let out a triumphant chime.

The words NEW WORLD RECORD! flashed across the screen, and for a moment, the room seemed to freeze.

Then the crowd erupted. Cheers and applause filled the arcade, the sound almost deafening. Jisung sat back, his hands trembling as he let out a shaky breath. He’d done it.

You were the first to reach him, weaving through the crowd with your face lit up in a beaming smile. “Jisung, you did it!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug.

For a moment, he froze, still overwhelmed by everything, but then he relaxed into the hug, his face flushing as a shy grin spread across his lips. “I... I guess I did.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still on his arms. “No, Jisung. You didn’t just do it. You literally broke a world record. That was fucking incredible.”

Before Jisung could respond, Chenle burst through the crowd, practically tackling him with a clap on the back. “That was insane, dude! You’re officially a legend!”

Jisung laughed softly, his nerves easing as the weight of his friends’ support sank in. “Thanks, Chenle. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Chenle scoffed, his grin turning playful. “Obviously. I mean, who else would’ve dragged your sorry butt to the arcade every week?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “And who else would’ve cheered louder than the announcer himself?”

Chenle puffed out his chest dramatically. “It’s called dedication. But seriously, man.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to something softer. “I’m proud of you. I always knew you had it in you.”

Jisung blinked, his throat tightening with emotion. “Thanks, Chenle. That... that means a lot.”

“And me,” you added, your gaze locking with Jisung’s. “You’ve worked so hard for this, Jisung. You deserve every bit of it.”

Jisung’s face burned, but he managed a small, grateful smile. “I... I couldn’t have done it without you either. Both of you.”

Chenle grinned, clapping Jisung on the back again. “Okay, enough sap. Let’s go celebrate! First round of drinks are on me!”

“Chenle, you’ve never paid for drinks in your life,” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Today’s a special occasion!” Chenle shot back, already heading toward the counter. “Besides, I’ll just borrow some cash from Jisung’s prize money.”

Jisung chuckled, the sound lighter than it had been in months. He looked between you and Chenle, his chest tightening with a strange mix of gratitude and joy.

In this moment, he realized that no matter how far he went. No matter how high he climbed in the Tetris world. He wouldn’t be alone.

He had Chenle, his loud, chaotic best friend who always believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. And he had you, the person who saw him, really saw him, and made him feel like he could be more than just the quiet kid in the background.

For the first time, Jisung felt like he wasn’t just playing to win. He was playing for the people who mattered most.'

Though it stung at first, Chenle proved himself to be the supportive and selfless friend Jisung had always known. It didn’t take long for him to bounce back—literally. A chance meeting at a K-TV bar introduced him to a bubbly, energetic girl named Yizhuo, whose laughter was as infectious as his own. Their chemistry was instant, and soon Chenle was filling the arcade with stories of his new escapades. He still teased Jisung relentlessly, but it was clear he harbored no ill will.

The trio’s bond remained intact, stronger than ever, though their lives began to diverge.

Jisung, now a bona fide legend in the gaming world, found himself swept into a whirlwind of tournaments, sponsorships, and interviews. Though he remained shy and soft-spoken, his quiet charisma and undeniable skill won over fans around the globe. He still made time to visit Pixel Haven, the arcade that had started it all, but his visits were less frequent now, as his journey took him to stages he’d only dreamed of.

You, on the other hand, had left Pixel Haven behind for a new chapter of your own. Inspired by the energy and community of the arcade, you decided to pursue a career in game design. Late nights were now spent sketching out ideas for games that combined strategy and storytelling, with a little bit of heart and soul, something you’d learned was just as important as the mechanics.

Jisung was your biggest cheerleader, always eager to hear about your latest ideas, even if his input sometimes boiled down to, “As long as it’s not as stressful as Tetris.”

Chenle, ever the social butterfly, had shifted his focus to broadcasting. His infectious personality made him a hit on television screens, where he’d commentate on retro games, pull off absurd challenges, and occasionally rope Jisung into appearances. “The TetWiz and Lele Show,” he called it, though Jisung mostly just sat there, looking flustered as Chenle stole the spotlight.

Still, every once in a while, the three of you would reunite at Pixel Haven, now under new management but still holding its nostalgic charm. You’d share snacks, reminisce about the good old days, and maybe even challenge each other to a game or two—though no one dared to take on Jisung in Tetris.

And as Jisung watched you and Chenle laughing over some ridiculous bet, the soft glow of the arcade lights reflecting in your eyes, he realized that life was a lot like Tetris. The pieces didn’t always fall the way you wanted them to, but with patience, a little bit of courage, and the right people by your side, you could make something beautiful out of the chaos.

GAME OVER.

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

[bunnygirllover45]

— VIVISECTION IS ANOTHER WAY OF SPELLING LOVE. ﹑◌﹒WARNINGS﹕Graphical descriptions of the body, Seth wants to study you like you're a computer or something, MC has few to no dialogue, gender neutral MC. Very bizarre at certain points. Medical bullshit and philosophical stuff. Bad English.

♱ ✧ ⤷ Word count: 1,6k words. (This one is a long mf)

The nights always brought the same dream with them; four walls and a room that belonged to an old movie, the walls were decorated with shelves filled with pots, pots with colorful flowers on them, some of them were carelessly placed on top of each other, pressing on top of the poor flower that was under the crushing weight of the other.

This room only had two big windows that illuminated the whole room, illuminating it in a red hue, no matter how much you tried to stare out the window nothing but red was visible. It seemed like if you stared too much into that void for a second, it would swallow you whole, making you part of the bloody landscape.

The furniture was scarce. A table, something that resembled a bookshelf that contained a few books, but the letters were illegible to you since you couldn’t move from your assigned seat; a chair by the aforementioned table. In the center of the table, was a small vase filled with fresh poppies.

The ambiance was a little theatrical, to be honest, you couldn’t even imagine someone living in a place like this, it didn’t look like a place where you could have plants either, most of them were placed against a wall all the way in the back of the room, shrouded by darkness. Not even the crimson light from the window could reach them.

“The light of this place isn’t good for them, I have checked it countless times. Instead of giving them life, it kills them.” You heard the voice of your companion seated in front of you, and when you turned your face to look at him you found the crimson again, but it wasn’t from the window this time, it was from his eyes.

Red. Red. It looked like it wanted to swallow you whole. Those spirals were like the circles of hell, one by one looking at your movements with caution. You tried to answer his words, maybe with a question, maybe with an affirmation, but it was always complicated talking when you entered this ‘dream’ and Seth knew it.

“You know.” he started. 

Standing up from his seat and dragging his fingers across the wood of the table he began to circle it, never breaking eye contact for a second. “I have been reading some very interesting books lately.” he continued, his voice dragging across the whole place with an ominous echo to it, which was impossible due to the small size of the place. “They're medicine books, vivisections, that’s what they call it.” a small smile formed on his lips.

“Vivisections?” you managed to ask, your voice merely a whisper. Seth sharpened his gaze, pleased with the sweet sound of your voice, and then he nodded. 

“Yes, vivisection. It’s like… taking an organism that’s still alive and opening it, to learn how they function on the inside.” 

Seth continued, his leather gloves dragging across the table from side to side while he continued to circle the table, like a vulture, though it looked like a mere distraction, a small gesture he did while talking. It didn’t stop it from being spine-chilling though, the elegance in his movements wasn’t natural. “It seemed interesting to me, sounds nasty, it probably is.” he laughed.

One blink was enough to make him disappear from your sight, but when you felt two hands resting on top of your shoulders you knew he was still there. “Seth?” you called out his name, and he responded with a gentle squeeze against your frame, then you felt his hot breathing against your ear, it made you shiver.

“I’m here,” he reassured, you couldn’t see his expression but you were pretty sure he was still smiling, it was rare to see him without that grin on his face. “Can you close your eyes for a second?”

His petition made you nervous, the fact you couldn’t even turn to look at him worsened the uneasy feeling, your survival instinct screaming for you to not close your eyes, to not give in. But Seth was always good with you every time you came here, so why not? “Please.” Seth whispered against your ear when he noticed you still didn’t close your eyes, the sound of his voice so close it made you tremble.

Going against all common sense you closed your eyes. Feeling Seth’s hands pulling away from your shoulders you almost opened them again unconsciously, but for some reason, it was like they were closed shut by an invisible force, heavy like lead.

“How obedient. How precious. This is one of the many reasons why I like you.” 

First, you felt his gloved hands on your face, the sensation now multiplied thanks to one of your senses being removed, the leather felt softer, the sounds louder, and Seth’s breathing hotter. “The brain is like the body’s computer, an insistent and adaptive little thing, it’s truly fascinating.” 

“I think your mind is the thing I like the most about you. From the small unconscious movements you make while you’re asleep to the most trivial conversations are born in this beautiful place. It never stops to amaze me.” 

Now his voice came from the right, his fingers slipping from your face to your back, your breathing quickening as soon as you felt his hands slipping under your clothes, Seth traced invisible circles on the now exposed skin. “From here I can feel your breathing, you moved a little, do my gloves feel cold?” 

Seth removed his hands and the next second you could feel the touch of his fingertips on top of your skin, it seemed like he had taken off his gloves. “Better~?”

His voice sounded a little playful. “Skin-to-skin contact is even more pleasurable, no? I imagine having your eyes closed makes the experience even more intense.” 

“I can hear your breathing more clearly. Your lungs are closer to my hands.” And you could feel his breathing, even hearing how we swallowed heavily, like trying to hold back any unwanted sounds from escaping. “What a celestial sound.”

“If I put my mouth on top of you right now I could kiss you until you ran out of air. Then you wouldn’t have any other option than breathing the air I give you, that way each particle of oxygen that enters your system would have my name written on it.”

You tried to move, expecting your legs to crash against the table in front of you, but again. you couldn’t move, but you could feel like… everything around you disappeared for a second.

“You like that? You want that?” And when you heard Seth’s voice coming from in front of you it was unmistakable, everything felt like a small space where only you and Seth existed. “Ask me. Ask me and I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything.” 

Then everything fell silent, eerily silent. Then his hands felt like they were back again in all the places he previously touched at the same time, your face, your back, your shoulders, his touch was hot, enveloping you like he wanted to swallow you, like the red color outside the window, like the red in his eyes.

“Here.” His fingers moved like snakes against the skin in your chest, you took a deep breath unconsciously, and Seth laughed. “Here’s your heart.” 

“Sometimes I want to push my fingers under your skin, I don’t want to hurt you, of course I don’t, but I would love to see how beautiful you’re from the inside.”

“Like a computer with all its parts exposed, I would like to grab them and build you again like a puzzle, no — like a beautiful statue.” 

Now his fingers moved up and down across your skin, just like the way he had touched the table before, it seemed like he had anticipated this moment from much before, what a macabre little thing his brain was. “Mhm…” you felt Seth’s soft hair against your chest, he was drinking the sound of your heart beating like he was in the middle of the desert and you were the most beautiful oasis. “This sound is even more beautiful.” 

“It’s beating fast, the little thing, how adorable. Is it fear? Is it love? What kind of feeling is accelerating your beautiful core? Is it me? It must be me, there’s no one else here.” 

“Hey, do you love me?” You couldn’t answer, Seth knew that. “I love you too, I love you too much.” 

“I want to grab you in between my arms and squeeze you so hard you’d break, I’ll kiss each piece while I put you back together. I would call you my most beautiful creation, there’s nothing more charming than being God’s favorite creation, no?” 

Now his voice didn’t come from the left nor the right, it felt like you were being enveloped by him, all your senses, your body, Seth wanted to kill you with soft caresses and sweet whispers of eternal devotion. He wanted to swallow you. He wanted to vivisection you.

“When you wake up from this, please remember my touch, remember these sensations, remember our vivisection. You’ll give me that, right?” 

“When you come back I’ll be waiting, I promise I’ll hug you so sweetly you’ll never want to wake up again. I’ll give you a paradise so sweet you’ll want to poison yourself in it.” 

Finally, you opened your eyes, but you weren’t in that eerie room, nor was Seth there anymore. You stared at the sheets of your bed, everything looked too white, it made your eyes hurt. Taking a deep breath you held your hand against your chest.

You could still feel him there. His touch was still present, tingling against your skin.

And when your eyes fell to the skin of your chest you could see it better, the red marks, like the light coming from the light from that room, like the color of the blood flowing through your veins.

The marks of Seth’s fingers were still there, in your skin.

[ferrarifinnick]

SWITCHING POSITIONS! | THE HUNGER GAMES HEADCANONS

going feral thinking about thg men and their fav positions to put you in. this was so much fun to write and sooo hot 🫢🫢 also this is a lil bit longer than my other thg headcanons. are we loving longer or shorter headcanons pls lmk?? anyway, enjoy <3

includes: gale, finnick, peeta

warnings: sub/dom, switch, p in v, manhandling, teasing, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum, creampie.

gale has an insatiable need to overpower you. he likes his body to be on top of yours, pinning you down and threatening to crush you if he ever decides to stop supporting his own weight. he’ll lift your legs over his shoulders in missionary then lean down to kiss you, just so you feel his weight pressing you into the mattress. but he doesn’t just want to weigh you down. no, he wants you to feel powerless. expect him to manhandle you. he’ll toss you around, lifting and bending you into whatever shape or over any surface he desires. and resisting is futile, so if you do, don’t be surprised when he takes hold of your chin and forces you to look up at his disappointed face. “thought you knew better,” is all he’ll say, before he’s lifting you into his big arms and bouncing you up and down on him.

it’ll be too slow, slow enough for you to whine at the punishment, and that pathetic cry is almost enough to bring him to his knees. almost. instead, he’ll say, “oh, so now it’s too slow for you?” with feigned shock. then he’ll shrug and say, “don’t be sorry for what comes next.” cue him pinning you to the mattress, face in the blankets as he rams in and out of your pussy from behind. when you’re crying out at your second orgasm, he’ll say “no tears! you asked for this.”

he comes alive in missionary, standing up cowgirl, and PRONE-BONE (hands on your back, full weight crushing you into the mattress).

when it comes to sex, finnick has very few reservations. despite his sexual past, he will turn very little down for you because for once he feels safety in his sexual explorations. the only nonnegotiable for him is being able to see your face at all times. it grounds him, and more importantly, it encourages him to enjoy sex. like gale, he likes showing off his strength by lifting you up and down on his cock. but finnick is a switch, and he loves the feeling of falling out of power just as much as he loves the feeling of getting it. so when you push him down on the bed (or sand, boat deck, or shower floor), he’ll put up no fight as you climb on top of him and take charge. expect strong eye contact, but don’t blink here or you’ll miss that smirk stretching into a grin. the only time it will disappear is when he’s about to cum. eyes rolled back, throaty moans spilling through his open mouth, and don’t be afraid when he pinches your hips and fucks his own up into you. he just really likes getting deep inside you when he cums.

shines best in standing cowgirl, cowgirl, missionary (he likes watching your face when he first pushes himself inside you).

peeta isn’t fussy. as long as you’re the one who’s over or under him, he’ll be up for anything you want. but being underneath you is his favourite, especially when you get a little bossy and tut at him for trying to push up into you, or when you peel and throw his hands away when he cups your tits without your go ahead. it drives him crazy to be so powerless, and he appreciates every second that he gets to watch you bounce or squat on him, because he knows just how lucky he is that this is his view. but sometimes you go too far. sometimes you pin his hands down for too long, or he’s had enough of your tuttings and teasings. sometimes he thinks you forget that he lets you be in control.

you might miss the dark shift in his eyes when he’s decided you’ve gone too far, but you’ll know it when he has your face pressed into the mattress, strong arms caging you beneath him as he grunts out “think you can tell me off, huh?” between powerful thrusts. “no, peeta,” you’ll cry out, but he’ll ignore you. he’ll keep going, thighs slapping heavily against the backs of your own. “peeta!–” you’ll beg, but this time he’ll tut at you and slide his hand over your mouth. “shh, i didn’t say you could talk, did i,” he’ll say, and when you silently shake your head, he’ll grin and affectionately say “ah, there’s my good girl.”

routinely finds himself in under you in cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, but comes alive in DOGGY!!

sorry but peeta’s makes me GIDDY hehe. please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging. love <3

[fumekara]

ALL THE THINGS I HAVE DONE (Part 2)

SatoSugu x Gn reader 

Plot: Your relationship with the strongest sorcerers in Japan was falling apart after they yelled at you and broke your heart. 

n/a: English is not my first language, there will be a final part of this writing experiment, I am not very satisfied with how it came out. 

Tw: A lot of angst, season 2 spoilers, mention of sex, polyamorous relationship, mention of the death of one's pet, the reader has a cat, in this version Geto is a sorcerer. 

If you are sensitive to mourning for your pets, do not interact with this fic. 

WC: 1.9K

Click here for part 1

You had lain down and held Nuko in your arms the night you found him under the bed in the guest room and, without your noticing, you had fallen asleep, but no one seemed to care, Sutoru and Suguru had not come to wake you up to join them. 

You were sure they were still angry with you for what had happened the night before and you didn't want to think about it, since you now had another problem to deal with, Nuko's. 

He wasn't well, not at all, you could see it from the way he was lying on himself, the way he avoided moving and the way he occasionally meowed as if to warn you that he was still alive, for now. 

You stroked his back and he let you, after all he couldn't do much. 

Suddenly you heard the sound of approaching footsteps in your room. Immediately you rolled onto your back and pretended to be asleep.

When Suguru and Satoru entered your room, trying to make as little noise as possible, Nuko lifted his head as if to find out who was interrupting your fake sleep.   

You felt their weight sink into the bed when they sat beside you and then you felt a hand gently stroking your back.

"Y/N?" Satoru called you in a low voice. You didn't answer hoping that would be enough to convince them to leave you alone.

"We know you're not sleeping," Suguru said as he approached you from the other side of the bed, being careful not to crush Nuko with his weight. 

"How did you know?" you asked resigned by the fact that it was now useless to pretend.

"Your breathing was too irregular, that's not what you do when you sleep. We know better by now after so long sleeping together." you heard Sato chuckle as he rested his head on your shoulder. He was uncertain of the movement because he was afraid you would reject him because of what happened yesterday, but when you didn't he kept to your side. 

Suguru who was in front of you removed a lock of hair from your face very gently, as if you were made of glass, the same gesture you had made to him yesterday, and it broke his heart when he thought back to how badly he had treated you after you had given him a taste of your love. 

You reached out your hand again, but not to return the affection of the two men beside you, but to stroke your cat again, who was taking quick, heavy breaths.

"He's sick" you broke the silence.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Satoru looking at Nuko.

"I don't know, but he doesn't eat, breathes poorly and sleeps all day." You rolled onto your back and the white-haired man pulled away from you to give you space.

"Is that why you didn't sleep with us last night? Or even because of what happened yesterday?" asked Suguru worriedly, but you had a hunch he was using it as an excuse to criticise you. 

"What do you mean, that I use my cat being sick as an excuse not to sleep with you?" you asked without hiding your irritation.

"I didn't mean that, we're just worried." 

"Really?, so why didn't you come to wake me up if you care so much?" you sat up and so did they. "Don't pretend you care so much, I know you don't" you spat, by now you had a feeling you didn't care what they thought anymore, not after the words they said to you last time. 

"Y/N, we do care about you. We came here to apologize to you," Satoru told you, trying to find the right words to keep you from getting angry. 

"We went too far yesterday, Y/N, we shouldn't have treated you that way" Suguru picked you up and made you rest your head on his chest and shortly afterwards Satoru joined in the hug "We are sincerely sorry for what happened".

You felt the strong urge to cry and let them wrap their arms around you, but part of you did not believe their words. By now it seemed to you that they were only pretending to really love you. All you had been thinking about for weeks was how you felt like the third wheel in your relationship, as if they were only with you for convenience, because you were fun for them and not because they cared about you. 

The way they talked to each other, cuddled and had fun without you had started to make you feel insecure about your role in the relationship with Suguru and Satoru, even though those moments made you suspect that they didn't really need you, it still remained an assumption. But you also suspected that they were more aloof and impatient with you in a different way than between the two of them, and yesterday's discussion and the fact that they didn't want you with them in bed seemed to have awakened in you the confirmation of your worries. 

"How many times do we have to go through this again?" you said trying to hide the urge to cry "Now you apologize, but I know it will happen again in the future."

They looked at each other not believing your words.

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" asked Suguru. 

Then you confessed: "I am not part of this relationship.". 

"Yes, you're part of it, we love you Y/N," Satoru told her by taking her chin mat so she could look straight into your blue eyes "I know what we said to you was mean, but you mustn't think we don't love you just because we had a fight once. We..." 

"It's not just that" you interrupt him "I watch how you treat each other and you don't do it the same way you treat me. It's not the first time you've made me feel clingy, when you often do things as if I'm not there, when you change the subject as soon as I butt into the conversation or when you get nervous about the smallest things I do." you continued "I feel like that all the time, when we're together, when we talk to each other, even when we make love I feel like I'm just a fun for you, not someone you love."

After you opened up to them, your boyfriends stared at you, not believing what you had just told them. They were not sure what had made you doubt the love they both had for each other, but they thought back to the fact that the two of them had known each other longer than you, worked together and always together had faced so many problems and dark pasts that, although they had hurt them deeply, they had learnt to face them together and, no matter how hard you had tried to support them, as they had supported each other in the darkest moments of their lives. You were not to blame, they were simply part of a world of which you were not and could not be a part. 

Together they faced the death of Haibara and Riko and both shared the scars that had been inflicted on them by Toji Fushiguro. For years they supported each other and loved each other unconditionally, sharing everything with each other, everything they loved most, including you. 

They loved you, really loved you, but they knew that they had both shared something in their experience as sorcerers that had allowed them to strengthen their bond and their love, but they had left you behind.

They both did not know what to say because they knew that was the truth. The only thing they felt able to do was to hold you in their arms again, this time with more strength, with more affection, as if they did not want to let you go. Their faces were buried in you, Suguru in your back and Satoru's in your shoulder, and you heard them crying. 

"I have to take Nuko to the vet. But I think there's not much to do with him," you said, letting a silent tear slide down your cheek.

"Let us take you," Satoru told you, holding you tightly, rubbing his head in the crook of your neck.

"No, I need to be alone," your voice broke. By now you knew you had lost the boys you had fallen in love with and you just wanted to run away.

By now you could no longer contain the tears that fell uninterruptedly from your eyes, they let you go, and as you left the room carrying Nuko with you, you heard their sobs and your heart broke. 

______________

And now here you were, in the driveway of your backyard sitting on the seat of your car holding Nuko's yellow collar. 

You had been there for fifteen minutes already, but you hadn't yet made up your mind to get out and go into the house; you didn't know how you would face Satoru and Suguru. You were afraid that after all you had confessed to them before you left them alone in tears it would be the final turning point that would end your relationship. You didn't want to hurt them, just the thought of making them cry made you feel bad, you loved them, you loved them so much and you would probably separate. 

You took a couple of deep breaths and got out of the car. 

After entering the house you closed the door and took off your shoes still holding the collar. 

You had been out of the house all day and by now everyone must have gone to sleep. The house was silent and shrouded completely in darkness except for a light coming from the kitchen. 

As you silently entered you saw Suguru and Satoru sitting on either side of the dining table who, as soon as they noticed your presence, although you could glimpse tiredness and sadness in their eyes, tried to show you their best smile. 

They had been waiting for you.

They both extinguished their smiles when you approached them pointing out the traces of crying on your face, and only then did they realize that you had returned alone. 

You sat by Suguru's side with Satoru facing you and placed Nuko's collar on the table, letting them know that your cat was gone forever. Suddenly you felt tears fill your eyes again.

"Oh love, come here," Suguru hugged you, while Satoru got up from his chair to join you and do the same. You stayed like that for you don't know how long, despite everything that had happened, they were there for you at that moment, just as you were always there for them when they needed you. They let you cry and vent, hugging you as if to protect you from all the evil in the world. 

At one point you felt your body lift off the ground, you didn't know if it was Satoru or Suguru holding you, but you buried your tearful face in his neck as he carried you to the bedroom. 

They laid you in the middle of the bed and held you close all night, even when you all fell asleep together. 

Perhaps there was still hope between you, perhaps all was not lost.  

Click here for the final part

Tag: @tatahungry

[ms-snape]

Snape propose reader right after end of the war. She is like.: You are alive ? But she say yes anyway.

Title: You're Alive

Warning: Kinda depressed reader....

Words Count: 1700+

A/N: Girllll, your requests are literally my favorites to write

Masterlist

---

It had been months since the war ended, but for Y/n, peace never truly came. While the rest of the wizarding world began to piece itself back together, she was trapped in a ceaseless cycle of grief and loss. Her days became repetitive, like a cruel loop, each one identical to the last, and every morning, when she forced herself out of bed, felt like another small act of survival. There was nothing left for her but the weight of an unspoken goodbye, a farewell she had never had the chance to utter.

Severus was dead.

The words echoed endlessly in her mind, like the tolling of a death bell. When she had first heard the news, it hadn’t felt real. It had come from Minerva, her voice soft and laden with sympathy, eyes full of sorrow as she delivered the news. Y/n had stood there, numb and silent, as Minerva explained what had happened in the Shrieking Shack. Severus had died alone, his body found hours later among the debris and bodies scattered across the battlefield.

He was gone.

For days after, Y/n had simply wandered through life like a ghost, unsure of where to place her grief. She barely remembered the days following his death—the endless condolences, the quiet murmurs of pity. The world continued to move around her, but it had lost its meaning. There were times she thought the grief might swallow her whole, that the crushing weight of it would pull her down into a pit she would never be able to climb out of.

She stopped seeing friends. Stopped talking to the people who reached out. What was the point? They couldn’t give her back what she had lost. She spent most of her time alone, secluded in her small cottage, where the silence was only broken by the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. The space she had once loved now felt like a tomb—its quietness amplifying the hollow ache inside her.

Her only solace came in the routine. Each morning, she rose before dawn, despite the ever-present exhaustion that clung to her bones. She would make herself a cup of tea that she rarely drank, then head out to the greenhouses. The plants there didn’t judge her, didn’t expect anything from her. They simply grew, day by day, providing her with something to nurture, something to keep her hands busy.

Tending to the plants had become a way to distract herself from the constant ache. In the quiet of the greenhouses, she would lose herself in the familiar rituals—watering, pruning, checking for pests. She would kneel in the dirt, feeling the earth between her fingers, grounding herself in the life that persisted around her. It was the only thing that seemed real anymore.

She remembered how Severus had once stood at the edge of the greenhouses, his dark eyes watching her as she worked. His expression had been unreadable, but she had known, even then, that he found some strange comfort in seeing her amidst the greenery, her hands busy with life. He never said as much, but she could always sense the unspoken bond between them, the way he softened just slightly in her presence.

But now… there was nothing. Just the emptiness where he used to be.

As the weeks passed, the numbness gave way to something darker—anger. How could he have left her? How could he have gone off to fight in the war and not come back? It wasn’t fair. She hated him for it, hated him for being so brave and selfless, for choosing to sacrifice himself when she had needed him most.

And yet, even in her anger, she missed him with a ferocity that bordered on madness. The memories of him consumed her—his quiet, sarcastic remarks, the way his lips twitched ever so slightly when he found something amusing. She would catch herself sometimes, expecting him to walk through the door, to hear the familiar creak of the floorboards under his boots, only to be met with silence.

The nights were the worst. Alone in her cold bed, she would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment they had spent together. She longed for the warmth of his body beside her, for the steady rhythm of his breathing in the dark. But those moments were gone now, like a dream she could never return to.

As time wore on, the others began to accept Severus’ death as an unfortunate but necessary casualty of war. They moved on. They rebuilt their lives. But Y/n couldn’t move forward. She was stuck in the past, trapped by the memory of what had been and the unbearable weight of what never would be.

It was a stormy evening when the impossible happened.

The rain had started in the late afternoon, a slow drizzle that steadily grew into a downpour. Y/n had finished her work in the greenhouses early, her head pounding from a persistent headache. She trudged through the rain, not bothering to cast a spell to shield herself from the wet. What did it matter? Nothing really mattered anymore.

As she approached her cottage, something caught her eye—a figure standing near the front door, half-hidden in the shadows.

For a moment, she froze, her heart stuttering painfully in her chest. She squinted through the rain, trying to make out who it could be. Her mind immediately leapt to the worst possibility—had something else happened? Was someone here to deliver more bad news?

But as she stepped closer, she saw the unmistakable silhouette of a tall man, his dark robes billowing slightly in the wind.

Her breath hitched.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Severus?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain pounding against the ground.

The figure turned, and in that moment, her world shattered and reassembled itself all at once.

It was him.

Severus Snape stood before her, alive and whole, his dark eyes staring at her with an unreadable expression.

She felt as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath her, her knees nearly buckling under the weight of the shock. She had spent months mourning him, months believing that he was gone forever. And yet here he was, standing in the rain like some ghost returned from the dead.

“You’re alive,” she breathed, her voice trembling with disbelief.

He nodded, his face pale and gaunt, but unmistakably real. “I am.”

For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her hands shaking violently. This was real. He was real. But how? Why hadn’t he come to her sooner?

“I—I thought you were dead,” she managed to choke out, her voice breaking. “I… I thought you were gone.”

Severus’ expression softened slightly, a rare crack in his usual stoic demeanor. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I didn’t mean for you to think that.”

Y/n shook her head, her emotions a chaotic storm inside her. She didn’t know whether to scream at him or collapse into his arms. Anger and relief warred within her, and she wasn’t sure which one would win.

“I waited for you,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I waited… for so long.”

Severus stepped closer, his dark eyes never leaving hers. He reached out, hesitant at first, then cupped her face in his hands. His touch was warm, solid, and the reality of it sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’m here now,” he said softly.

Tears welled up in her eyes, the dam breaking after months of holding everything inside. She had been so strong, so determined not to let the grief consume her, but now, with him standing before her, the weight of it all was too much to bear.

“I thought I lost you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Severus’ thumb brushed away the tears that slipped down her cheeks. “You didn’t.”

They stood like that for a long moment, the rain pouring down around them, soaking them both to the bone. But neither of them seemed to notice. The world had shrunk to just the two of them, the space between them charged with the weight of all that had been lost and found again.

And then, as if spurred by some unseen force, Severus reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, simple ring. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat as he held it up, his dark eyes flickering with something she hadn’t seen in him for a long time—hope.

“I should have asked you this a long time ago,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… will you marry me?”

For a moment, Y/n couldn’t breathe. The question hung in the air between them, heavy and full of meaning. She stared at him, her mind racing, trying to process everything that had just happened. He was alive. He was asking her to marry him. It felt surreal, like a dream she was afraid she might wake up from at any moment.

She didn’t answer right away.

Severus’ expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He lowered the ring slightly, his grip tightening around it. “You don’t have to say yes,” he said quickly, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I understand if—”

“No,” Y/n interrupted, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. “No, I just… I need a moment.”

He watched her, his dark eyes searching hers for any sign of rejection. But Y/n wasn’t rejecting him—far from it. She was just trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the man she had mourned for months was standing here, asking her to spend the rest of her life with him.

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded, a small, teary smile breaking through her grief.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Severus’ face softened, and without another word, he slipped the ring onto her finger. It was simple, elegant—just like him. And as he pulled her into his arms, Y/n let herself collapse into him, her tears mixing with the rain as they clung to each other like lifelines.

For the first time in months, Y/n felt something other than grief.

She felt hope.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Mockingjay

Hi guys!

Sorry for the wait but here is finally the first chapter for the Luna's Hunger Games :)

I don't know for now exactly how I will ends this, but if you have any suggestion please feels free to send them to me, I might take them for the next chapters.

Also a big THANK YOU to @w-owwomen for your help, you are lovely ♥

Please enjoy ♥

TW : Nothing much for now I think, please let me know if you're not ok with it.

Ona was nervous. Fidgeting with her fingers, she looks at the people on the stage as trying to switch the microphone on. She hates this moment every year, the one where they are selected : the next young people to go to the Capitol. And then, they need to fight for their life in the arena. 

As she's in the oldest of the selectable population, she's in the front now. Her gaze left the people in front of her to look for her family in the crowd. Their parents aren’t far from her, standing next to her brother. Joan’s name never was raffled, their parents only needing to save one more child to be happy. And now he’s too old to be a part of the Games.

At least, that’s what people in the city say.

They also say that they won’t select a child of one of the best craftsmen of the district. But Ona isn’t stupid and she knows that it has nothing to do with that. Sighing softly, she averts her gaze again when she realizes that her mother is almost crying. 

Ona distracts herself as they give their speech and video reminding them why the children must die for the Capitol. Ona hates them. It’s only when they call the name of the male tribute that she listens again. 

“Tony Sanchez”

Ona knows him. He's exactly between her and Joan in age and clearly terrified as he manages to walk to the stage and face the crowd. He's more Joan's friend then hers but they'll still talk when he came to their house.

“Alright, thank you, thank you” the presenter says, stopping fake clapping. “Now, the girl!”

Ona looks at the man carrying the pot and at the presenter as she puts her hand in. She takes several seconds to mix the papers, before taking one out. Ona knows before she opens her mouth.

“Ona Batlle”

She can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on her and it’s possibly weighs heavier on her than the fact that it’s her turn to go face her death. She remembers the first times she was standing here, holding her brother’s arm. He always managed to reassure her, whispering to her that he will take her place if it was needed. But today, he can’t. And Ona probably wouldn’t let him do it. 

Ona looks at her family again when she’s up the stairs. Her ears are buzzing, making her unable to hear anything around her. Her mother’s crying, her brother placed an arm around her shoulders. And her dad might pass for impassive, but Ona can see the terror and sadness in his eyes. 

After the presentations, Ona and Tony are taken to go to a room to say their goodbye to their family. Ona already knows that room for being here two years ago, saying goodbye to someone she loved. A simple look only informs her that nothing has changed since the last time she came here. 

She doesn’t have time to look at it for very long though, the door opens suddenly, letting her family enter the room. She’s almost crushed in her mother’s arms, deeply sobbing. Just a shared look with her father makes her understand that they think the same things. The tributes from district 8, where she comes from, never stay alive for long in the Games. They aren’t prepared for what is happening during the fight, they don’t know how to survive. 

Joan seems to think the same, too. 

“Take all your classes about survival. Maybe learn to make a fire but don’t do it at night, it will attract your opponents” he says.

Ona nods. She doesn’t need to hear that, she already knows. They had watched the Hunger Games together since they are allowed by their parents.

“Don’t eat something you don’t know and if you have to eat something raw, eat fish not meat yeah?”

“Okay” she says softly, still in her mother’s arms.

She knows that too, but she has the feeling that it helps Joan to say all of this to her. Ona doesn’t want them to cry at her departure. She wants them to stick together. Her family is the thing that helps her survive and be at least a little happy these last few years. 

“Are you going to watch me?” she asks anyway.

“Of course we are” her father talks for the first time. “And no matter what Ona, we are proud of you and love you more than anything.”

Her mother cries harder and despite everything, Ona can’t help but smile softly and rolls her eyes. She’s happy to mean so much for her family, but she doesn’t want them to cry.

“I love you too, all of you.” she answers, trying to have a look at her mother’s face.

Someone is suddenly knocking on the door and Ona feels her heartbeat getting faster. Is it already time to say goodbye? But no, it’s only her best friend who came to say goodbye too. She just wanted to give the Batlles’ some time alone.

Aitana takes Ona’s mother place in her arms and hug her so hard that she might break her several ribs.

“She’ll needs all of her body intact” Joan says, with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“Promise you’ll fight to come back” Aitana whispers in her ears.

Their eyes cross when she releases Ona and Ona only nods for an answer. Aitana doesn’t seems to need much, stepping back to let someone else have her place. Her best friend knows what Ona is thinking, their connection never having failed since they met when they were maybe six months old. 

Ona loses track of time and soon her parents are talking at Aitana about something. Ona takes advantage, grabbing her brother’s arm. 

“If I don’t come back, promise me you’ll take care of them. And of you.”

Her brother frowns and open his mouth to answer something, but Ona cuts him off. She knows that he probably will say not to talk like that, that she has her chances to come back and everything, but that’s not what she needs right now.

“Please.”

They look at each other, Ona’s brown eyes deep in her brother’s blue ones. He finally sighs, putting a hand on her arm. 

“I swear. But you have to swear back that you will fight for your life, Ona. You are clever enough to survive. You might not have the strength of a bulldozer, but you are smart, quick and tricky”

“I swear too” Ona answers calmly. 

They look at each other for several seconds before Joan nods and takes his little sister in his arms. He wants to say that he’s sorry not to be able to protect her anymore, but he knows that she doesn’t need to hear it to know it. 

********

One and a half hours later, she’s in the train taking her to the Capitol. The journey is long, two days and two nights. It will be the first time that Ona will cross another district. It won’t be too long though, because of the length of the district 8. When she enters the train, someone takes her to her room and asks her about her clothes size. She will need to get rid of the ones she’s wearing now and have to wear what they are giving her instead. 

Thanks god it wasn’t awful, even if it looks like they are keeping the nice clothes for the TV shows. 

She’s sitting in the main room when Tony comes to sit next with her. It’s weird to be face to face with someone who will be your opponent in a few days. He seems unsure too, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. 

“You’re little Joan sister, right?” he says finally after many minutes. 

He knows who she is, Ona thought. But she takes pity on him, he always been friendly with her when he came to see Joan. 

“Yeah” she mumbles. “And you’re Tony.”

“Yeah.”

Awkward.

“So, uh. What were you up to before coming here?” Ona asks. 

The possibilities aren’t multiple in the district, but it’s always nice to ask, Ona thinks. Her parents' finances were pretty good. Ona was living with them in a pretty nice apartment in a pretty nice building. She knows it’s not the same for everyone. 

“I was working in the Armory with my father” he shrugs. 

Ona nods only. What can she answer? The good thing for Tony is that he probably knows about weapons now, unlike her. He doesn’t have time to ask her the question back, before the automatic doors of the wagon opens again. 

Ona raises her eyes to look at the woman coming inside. Her long, blond hair looks like they are the softest she has ever seen, and she has to fight the urge to touch it. Her almond eyes are scanning both of them, before she smiles at them. 

“Hi. I’m Alexia, I’ll be your advisor during the Games.”

Ona recognizes her. She won the Games five years ago, in an arena with the theme of an island. She was strong and never failed anyone. 

“You’re not from district 8” Tony frowns. 

Alexia doesn’t have time to answer before Ona speaks for her. 

“We don’t have a winner who is still alive” she mumbles, rolling her eyes.

She doesn’t look away when Alexia looks at her, shrugging. Like said before, their district isn’t really lucky in the games. A small smile appears on Alexia’s face and it’s still here when she talks again. 

“Ona’s right. That’s why I nominated myself to help you to change that.”

She’s still looking at Ona when she sits down, and the young woman can’t help but look away. She feels like Alexia is scanning her soul with her eyes and it’s quite disturbing. Alexia seems genuinely intrigued by her. 

“First, I’ll answer your questions if you have some and then I’ll explain to you what will happen now. You’ll have several classes with options during your training, we can talk and choose which ones are the best for you. I think it’s more important to value your strengths and not try too hard to work on your weaknesses, we don’t have time for that. It’s important to know them, though.”

Ona likes the way Alexia seems to be thinking. She was scared she’d have to face someone who will tell her that she has her chances to win. She knows it’s wrong. She wants someone to help her, and Alexia seems the right person for her. 

The three of them spend almost a full hour speaking together. Tony seems a little reluctant to open up to Alexia, which Ona thinks is stupid. She’s here to help. As a result, Alexia decides to talk to Tony one on one first. 

“Don’t be shy to use the facilities of the train” Alexia advises her when she leaves the room. “I’ll meet you in your room in around one hour”

Ona decides to explore the train a little more before going back to her bedroom. There aren't a lot of windows on this train, probably to hide the road to the Capitol. Like she would be going back one day.

She passes a room where Peacekeepers are looking at some screens. Ona realizes that some are of places in her district as well as many she doesn’t know. She doesn’t have time to look at it for any longer though, because one of them suddenly sees her and harshly closes the door.

When she comes back in her room, she realizes that a bunch of other clothes are on her bed, neatly folded and ironed. They look nice and Ona carefully puts them in the drawer facing her bed. She then takes a look at the stupidly big bathroom with a bathtub that could probably comfortably fit three people. She decides to refresh herself anyway and when she comes back, changed and showered, Alexia is waiting for her on her bed. 

“Oh, sorry” Ona mumbles.

“No problem.”

They look at each other before Alexia nods towards the bed, asking her to take a seat next to her. Ona obliges, sitting cross-legged and grabbing a pillow to hug it without really thinking about it. 

“So. You are Ona Batlle, 17, both your parents are alive, same as your big brother.”

She waits for Ona to nod before continuing. Alexia seems to have memorized everything as she is not reading off anything.

“What would you say are your strengths?”

Ona shrugs softly, before remembering what her brother told her. He’s probably right, but she hates talking about herself. 

“I can be tricky when I need to, I guess.” she finally answers.

Alexia looks at her with the same scanning-disturbing look that earlier. Ona bites her lip and searches for something else to say, but it’s Alexia that talks first. 

“I hated that too, talking about myself. But you have to realize that it will be talking about yourself that will make Capitol and Sponsors love you. They need to see themselves in you. Sure, there will be shy people watching, but shy people won’t get you any bonus.”

Ona nods. Of course, Alexia’s right. The brunette doesn’t usually like when people try to scold her, but Alexia has the ability to make her understand her point without seeming condescending. She likes it. The blonde grabs a pile of paper behind her and gives it to Ona. 

“Those are the questions that will help me to understand you better. Please fill them in so I can see how to help you.”

Ona takes them, frowning slightly. Her eyes roam them before she looks at Alexia again. The blonde smiles at her before making herself comfortable against the headboard of the bed. Grabbing the pen hanging on the sheets, Ona starts to answer the questions.

********

The next day, Alexia joins them at breakfast with a plan about the obligatory classes and the optional ones she is advising each of them to attend. A quick look at Tony’s sheets makes Ona realize that they aren’t sharing a lot of them.

“Isn’t it better to stick together at the beginning?” she asks their Mentor. 

“It can, but I really think that if you want to work together, it’s better to separate your strengths. And we never know, you can be separated at any point during the Games. It’s important that you can survive alone.”

It’s a polite way to say that they could betray the other at any time, Ona thinks. She looks closer at her sheets, seeing that Alexia added some survival classes like Ona had asked her yesterday. 

“I’ll protect Ona at any coast” Tony says, frowning deeply. 

Ona raises her eyes on him, surprised and a little uneasy at this statement. She feels Alexia’s quick gaze on her before the blonde talks. 

“Great. But she can handle herself and all of the classes will help you both be stronger as individuals.”

She doesn’t add anything while grabbing a plate to put some waffles on it. Ona looks at her sheets again without really seeing them. She’s grateful for Tony’s protection, but doesn’t like being seen as a poor little girl. Sure, she’s may be small and not very muscular, but like Joan said she’s fast. Alexia putted some physical trainings on her timetable, but she doesn’t know what it means exactly. 

********

The train ride is a little boring until they pass District 2. The landscapes are way more beautiful than District 8 which is not surprising. Ona feels impressed by the mountains and the small villages with beautiful small houses. It is nothing like the endless buildings in District 8.

“Oh sorry” Ona says as she enters the TV room.

She wasn’t expecting Alexia to be here, looking at the black screen. The blonde turns her head to look at her but smiles, gesturing for Ona to come to sit next to her. 

“The train is for everyone” she shrugs. “Do you want to watch TV?”

“I never managed to turn it on…” Ona blushes. 

Alexia smiles but doesn’t say anything, grabbing the remotes to turn it on. Ona frowns when she sees a seaside landscape in front of her eyes. 

“It’s District 4” Alexia comments.

Ona nods softly, looking at Alexia from the corner of her eyes. She likes her, in a friendly way. She loves her brother with all her heart, but if she had to choose a big sister, she would have picked one like Alexia. 

“You are from District 10, right?” Ona asks softly, scared to cross a line. 

But Alexia just nods, switching the channel to find a beautiful forest. Once again, very differently of her district where you have to fight to be able to see something green.

“What does it looks like?”

“Like this”

Alexia switches the channel again. It now shows a landscape with a lot of mountains and canyons, beige and red rocks. And in the distance, you can see the sea. The kind of thing Ona only saw in books when she was younger. 

“It looks beautiful” Ona finally says.

“It is. It’s very warm though, I miss the sun when I’m in the Capitol. I live near the sea, with my Mom and my sister.”

“What about your father?” Ona asks.

“He’s dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry”

She’s a little surprised by Alexia’s blunt answer. She looks carefully at her mentor, but she doesn’t seem mad. She’s not smiling of course, but her gaze is still inviting discussion. 

“Don’t be. It was several years ago. He was sick. It was awful of course, but I try to do things for him now. I just hope he’s proud of me.”

“I’m sure he is.”

It’s maybe top direct, but Ona can’t imagine a parent who will not be proud of Alexia. Her answer makes Alexia smile though.

“Thanks.”

“So you are living with your mother and sister?”

“No, I’m living with my girlfriend actually.”

Her answer makes Ona almost jump. Homosexuality isn’t a thing that is appreciated in Panem. People usually hide it or get married to save appearances. Alexia’s smile gets wider this time, unable to hide her amusement. 

“What? Don’t tell me you’re homophobic?”

There’s a mix of teasing and sincerity in Alexia’s voice. Ona blushes, but probably not for the reasons Alexia thinks. 

“No, I… Quite the contrary actually.”

“Oh, so you have a girlfriend too?”

Ona bites her lip and shakes her head. No, she doesn’t have a girlfriend, but she doesn’t know how to explain things to Alexia. She doesn’t know if she wants to, to be honest. But she feels like she can trust Alexia, which is strange. Because except for her family and Aitana, she doesn’t trust anyone.

“I had one” Ona whispers. 

“What happened?”

Alexia’s tone is the same as Ona’s, like she understands that it’s a sensitive subject for the younger girl. Ona takes a big breath before starting to talk again. 

“Do you remember Jana Fernández? She was a tribute two years ago for my District. She was 15 at the time.”

“I do” Alexia only says.

“It was her. My girlfriend.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Ona shrugs but doesn’t add anything. She doesn’t talk about Jana to anyone, even if her family knew at the time the nature of the relationship between her and Jana. Her parents and her brother have always been supportive about her sexuality and her choice. Her father said that he will love her no matter what and will crush anyone who will try to put a finger on her. She always felt safe with her family. 

“I knew she only had a small chance, but it’s still hurt” Ona mumbles after a silence. 

She’s not looking at Alexia, so she doesn’t see the sad smile on the blonde’s face. She’s surprised when she feels the other girl place an arm around her shoulders to hug her but she relaxes quickly, after the surprise has passed. 

“It’s hard to live after the loss of someone you loved” Alexia says, waiting for Ona to hums before talking again. “I really think you never heal from it. You just learn to live with that part of you.”

“That’s right. I know she would have wanted for me to continue and maybe move on, but I can’t.”

“Maybe you haven’t found the right girl for now”

Ona shrugs once again, she doesn’t really know. And even if Alexia is right, it’s too late for her now. Her life is almost over.

They don’t say anything else, just looking silently at the different landscapes on TV. Alexia needs to answer a call at some point, so Ona goes back to her room to take a big, long, hot bath. Something she hasn't had a lot in her life. After that, she went to eat something with Tony and the team but left early to go to bed. The talk she had with Alexia exhausted her. 

********

“Ona, come look at it!”

Ona groans when Tony calls her. She was all comfy, reading on the couch but stands anyway, joining him at the window. Ona realizes here that they are arriving at the Capitol and the view is like nothing she has ever seen in person before. Of course, she’s seen it on TV during previous Games, but it has nothing to do with being here in real life.  

“It’s massive” she finally says. 

Alexia hums, bored, from the couch where she was still sitting, leafing through a magazine. But Ona doesn’t look at her, captivated by the city in front of her eyes. Everything is shiny and bright. 

They finally arrive at the train station and Ona wasn’t expecting people to come to see them but the crowd is massive and she lets Tony guides her with an hand on her back. They follow the Peacekeepers taking them to a white vehicle with no drivers. The tinted windows offer them the possibility to look without being gawked at. 

“What’s now?” Ona asks Alexia.

“We will go to our rooms, then I’ll show you the other contestants. The training starts tomorrow.”

Ona nods, swallowing with difficulty. She still can’t believe that everything is really happening, that she’s slowly but surely preparing for her death. Breathing suddenly becomes shallow, so she tries to distract herself by looking by the windows. There is now way that she is having a panic attack right now. 

Alexia’s comforting hand on her arm makes her jump, but she soon relaxes herself into her. Ona looks at the blonde from the corner of her eyes, but Alexia isn’t looking at her. She’s looking outside, but it’s better for Ona like this. 

When they arrive at the place where they will stay, Ona’s mind almost explodes once again. Everything is so big and stupidly fancy. It makes her angry when she remembers that people almost die from hunger outside the Capitol. But she says nothing, she doesn’t know if the other members of the team are thinking like Alexia. 

Ona’s room is big, with a double big bed. She has a TV, a drawer full of clothes and a proper bathroom that’s even bigger than the ones she had on the train. There are a lot of bottles of shampoo, shower gel and all different kinds of products for her skin and her hair.

“At least I’ll die pretty” Ona grumbles.  

“The point is to stay alive, actually”

Ona jumps, hitting her knee on the furniture next to her. She wasn’t expecting someone to be here with her. She turns around to face another girl, brunette with a cocky smile.

“Hi. I’m Leila. I’m your fashion designer.”

“Oh. Hi.”

Leila doesn’t seem surprised by Ona’s lack of dynamic, she might be used. Fashion is never a thing usually in the District and for Ona too. Even if her parents works on that area, they work for the Capitol, not the Districts. They only are authorized to wear what the Capitol lets them.

“Alexia needs you in the living room. You will see your contestants and after that I’ll show you what I designed for you to wear for the different events before the Games.”

They were going to the living room while talking and Ona frowns when she hears that.

“What different moments?”

“Well the interviews on TV and the parade especially.”

Ona answers with a soft groan, not really fond of that kind of thing. She hates being in front of everyone. Leila seems to find this reaction funny based on her smile, but Ona doesn’t comment on it and lets herself fall onto the couch next to Tony. Alexia was standing next to the TV with a remote in her hand.

“Right, so as you already know, we have twelve Districts fighting during the Games. The districts 1, 2 and 4 are the career districts and of course they are the most talented and prepared for the Games. They will be tough opponents.”

“So it's probably best to have an alliance with one of them, right?” Tony asks. 

Ona rolls her eyes and Alexia sees her gesture, making her smile softly. Tony doesn’t though and he keeps looking at Alexia with intensity.

“Maybe” Alexia finally answers. “But they don’t need you, unless you have a special something. They usually make an alliance between them.” 

Tony nods and Alexia puts her attention back on the screen. She presses the buttons to present each tribute from each Districts. First the boy, then the girl. Ona looks at Alexia presenting the twins of 1, the psychopaths of 2 and the Nerds of 3. 

“Now from District 4. Declan Smith. He seems pretty fast, and his father is one of the best fishermen from the District. He probably knows how to craft some interesting things, and of course fishing.”

Ona looks at him, he might be 18 or maybe 17, but clearly not younger. He could easily pass for someone older than 18 though. Alexia clicks on the remote again and a picture of a girl appears on the screen. 

“Lucy Bronze. She’s Jorge Bronze’s little sister, the winner of the Games two years ago. If she’s like him, she’s a great fighter. Very strategic, isn’t afraid of a phsyical fight but clever enough to know when to hide.”

There is a moment of silence while they all look at her picture. 

“She seems… impressive” Tony finally says.

It caught Ona by surprise, because she almost adds “beautiful” to Tony’s sentence. Her face card has probably never declined. She has beautiful green eyes; brown hair and her face is pretty even if she’s not smiling in this picture. Her muscles seem pretty impressive too. 

Ona is so surprised at attraction to the girl in the picture that she isn’t really following what Alexia says after that. She just pouts a little bit at her picture, thinking they could have chosen another one. This one isn’t really pretty.

When she goes to bed several hours after that, she is still thinking about Lucy and it was really annoying her. She doesn’t even know the girl, why is she having such an impact on her? She’s almost eager for the training from tomorrow, where she will probably meet her and see how unbearable she is to help her to get over it.

Chapter After

[shinsmarlboro]

Shinichiro, whose lips you stole in a kiss on his birthday; since then he's thought of you and your strawberry lips, while he works, in his sleep, as he's cooking for his siblings. He can't get it out of his head. He doesn't know if it is because it was his first time kissing a woman, or maybe it went deeper - more intimate than that.

Shinichiro, who is usually composed when talking to you, now a stuttering mess when he greets you. You smirk and tease him for it, calling him adorable and he absolutely melts. He goes about the rest of his day with a dopey grin spread across his face.

Shinichiro, who cums in your fist after you give him his first non-solo handjob, his hand splayed over his flushed face to hide his embarrassment as he shivers. His moans are needy and breathless, in between them he says your name like a broken record.

“Shh… I'm here for you, Shin. Think you have more of it in you? You're so cute I just can't help it.” You lean in to kiss his cheek and then his lips, swollen from your excessive kisses.

Shinichiro, who you lie with beneath the covers where only you and he exist, naked along with limbs wrapped around each other. He savours the euphoria you give to him, relishing the feeling of being inside of you; you make him feel alive.

Shinichiro, who fumbles his words when you question him about the bouquet of roses in his grasp.

“These are for you…” He mutters, not looking you in the eye.

Your heart melts as you take the bouquet in your arms and lead him further into your apartment to properly thank him for his kindness.

Shinichiro, who takes you out on late-night motorcycle rides. Your arms wrap around him tightly as he revs off into the night like a mad man. He loves it when you hold onto him, your soft curves pressed up against his back and the light scolds that leave your mouth.

Shinichiro, whose heart sinks at the sight of you in the arms of another man, taking his place under the sheets just as he is about to tell you how he feels about you.

“I don't see why you're so upset,” You quip, shutting the door leading to your bedroom as you trail after him.

“I'm not good for you, Shin.” You peer at him through lashes, meeting his red-rimmed gaze. “I'm sorry.”

With that, you turn around and head back to your bedroom, crushing his heart in the process, stepping on it and tossing it back in his palms.

“Oh.” is all he mutters. “You..you can't tell me we were just friends that's…” The cracks in his voice ache your heart but you steel yourself.

He turns to look at you. A flash of disbelief and hurt spreads across his face, alongside frustration. “Did you even consider how I feel? When you…kissed me in front of everyone, did that mean anything?”

You tense when he puts you on the spot. The response you have for him remains trapped in the junction of your throat and you can only lower your head, remaining quiet.

A quiet scoff can be heard from him, followed by sniffles.

"I'm not good for you, Shin.” You peer at him through lashes, meeting his red-rimmed gaze. “I'm sorry.”

Shinichiro, whose fragile heart you crush beneath the weight of your painful departure, stands before your closed bedroom door unable to hold back his tears as he takes every ounce of his remaining strength to traipse out of your apartment building.

Likes & reblogs are highly appreciated ily

[prettyoatmeal]

Thinking about Ghost part 10 million!!

Thinking about him just being SO CLINGY when he comes home late at night. He’ll follow you around home like a puppy, like a shadow waiting and waiting for you to finish your nightly routine because he just gets so clingy after a year or two of being with you. He just can’t wait to lie down with you and hold you and kiss you in the comfort of your bed!!

You’re the only person he sees in his future, so he wants to make every second of his life count.

He won’t even make any noise, he won’t complain if you’re taking too long, just waiting in the doorway of your kitchen or bathroom or wherever you’re preoccupied. He’s so patient with you, letting you do whatever you need to before he takes up all your attention :(

Then when you finally make it into bed, his bulky body is already on top of you. His head is laying on your chest and listening to your heartbeat, counting each time it pumps. He likes knowing you’re alive and with him.

Or maybe his face is buried into your tummy, breathing in your pyjamas because they smell so much like you :((

You’re just so comfy, so soft and sweet, he can’t help it.

This man is so heavy too, it’s great. He’s like your own personal weighted blanket.

“Si, you’re going to crush me.”

“Nuh uh.”

Love this man so much.

Masterlist here!

*************** DISCLAIMER Under no circumstances do I give permission to copy, repost, or manipulate my work in any way. I am not comfortable with this. If you wish to translate my work, message me privately. My inbox is always open.

[andreas-river]

Hii, this is my first request I've ever done, so please excuse me if this is wrong or anything.

I'd like to request prompt 48. with Nikto. I love how you write him and there isn't enough content about him.:))

Prompt: 48. "look how good you take it." with Nikto.

A/N: hi anon! I absolutely agree with you, there isn't enough about him! So I'm here to fix this ;) hope you enjoy this!

TW: some angst, fluff, smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie.

Want to make a request with other prompts?

NSFW under the cut, please MDNI!

Spending time with him was always like riding a roller coaster, often the emotions felt so heavy in the air you breathed with him, especially since the first time you both had sex—you have no visual memories of that night, you had let him close the window and turn off all the lights, the room went pitch black with him right on top of you—and ever since then, something would fall into place.

He was a living puzzle, pieces of himself scattered on the floor, and you could put them in the right place, one by one, and get an answer. Most of the time you didn't even have to ask, he just knew.

From the stoic and cold-blooded lover you had met a long time ago, you discovered a part of him hiding in the shadows, capable of love, emotion, even smiling—even if no one would believe it.

But talking was difficult, so Nikto always let actions speak for themselves.

The way the moonlight brightened a side of his face where a scar ran down to his muscular neck, while sweat made his skin glow, the way his shaft bumped against your sweet spot over and over again while his arms held you tight from behind—that was his way of communicating.

Only recently he had pulled out the last layers of his mask, and you could finally see every inch of his face, and even the mirror in front of you couldn't do him justice—he felt so vibrant, so alive, overwhelmed by his wave that made you fall right into his arms.

You could feel his lips, wet from how much he kissed you, every point he could reach he kissed, his breath heavy, but not as much as yours, your eyes closing as you got closer to cumming.

"Open them."

It took a moment for his words to comprehend, and you obeyed as you met his blue eyes—not seeing his raging storm, only calmness—and he hummed with pleasure at the sight of you.

"Watch yourself," he made you turn to the mirror again, his eyes staring at you. "and look how good you take it."

His accent makes you shiver as he picks up the pace, his hips hitting your ass repeatedly, you feel the air being pushed out of your lungs by his strength, his hands caressing all over your body as he finally brings you to orgasm, your legs shaking as you lose your balance and collapse on the bed, feeling him on your back, keeping himself upright with his arms so he wouldn't crush you with his weight.

He pulls out of you, feeling his cum slide out as he lies beside you, his broad body acting as a shield from the moonlight that was too bright for your tired eyes.

His calloused hand travels down your spine, goosebumps following the movement of his fingers as he reaches your scalp, massaging it through your hair—you learned it was his way of thanking you, which was strange—but you enjoyed it anyway, even as you moved closer to him, tucking your head under his neck, he continued to caress you, the only moment he allowed himself to feel so vulnerable—but not weak, with skin against skin, his breath matching yours as his demons would no longer be able to haunt him.

[bullet-prooflove]

Christmas Bingo Card 2024: A Little Naughty, A Little Nice - Nick Torres x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @whateversomethingbruh @district447 @lovebookheart @stelacole

Companion piece to:

Casanova - You recieve an unwanted gift.

Promises - Nick makes you a promise.

Dry Land - Nick returns home.

Casanova falls in love with you at a bereavement group. It’s held in a church basement, somewhere non-descript, which is why he picked it. It’s the first one he’s attended since his brother killed himself over a year ago, his counsellor thinks he’ll benefit from hearing other people’s stories, that he’ll learn how to heal better that way.

He recognises you immediately from the introductions back at NCIS. You work in the Cold Case division, best in the country he was told by Director Vance as he shook your hand. He almost walks out but you’re already addressing the group so he takes a seat at the back and he listens to your story.

You had a sister, he discovers. She disappeared for a long time. When they found her it was in a mass grave with three other female sailors. The grieving process kicks in hard after that because you’d been holding out this hope, this stupid, fragile, hope that she may still be alive. He knows the feeling. His brother Harrison had been missing for almost three days before Casanova had found him hanging in the home they’d grown up in. When he couldn’t get in touch he’d thought it was just another bender…

But it wasn’t.

He approaches you afterwards at the refreshment table. You have a coffee in your hand that you’re attempting to add sweetener to when you look up and see him standing there. He can tell you're surprised. He gets it, he didn’t expect to see you in this context either.

“My brother…” He says by way of explanation and the understanding dawns on your pretty features.

“I’d say I’m sorry but those words always seem a little redundant to me.” You respond and it’s like a breath of fresh air because he can not express how much he hates false platitudes. The two of you go for drink afterwards, you explain more about the group, why you come here and how it works for you.

It becomes a regular thing after that. Attending meetings, getting coffee or a drink. With your encouragement he finds himself standing up and telling his own story, the devastation he felt when he found his brother swinging from the beam in the living room. The guilt of how long he’d been there, waiting for Casanova to find him.

“I missed so many of his calls because I thought he needed to hit rock bottom.” He tells the group, his hands gripping the podium. “I guess I didn’t realise his version of rock bottom was different form mine.”

 In some respects it feels like a weight is being lifted off his chest because there is no one in his life that he can talk about Harrison to, not without raising questions about his own capabilities. The job he does it’s intensive, he can’t have any rumours about mental instability. He explains that to you in the diner afterwards, how he’s forced to cultivate a persona, how he can’t just be himself because it’s viewed as a weakness.

“You don’t have to do that with me.” You tell him, warming your hands on the coffee mug. “You can just be yourself.”

And for the first time in a long time he is…

He thinks that’s why he starts to fall in love with you, even though he knows you’re with another man, one under his chain of command.

When you talk about not coming to group anymore, he feels a panic rising in his chest. You don’t need it right now, you tell him and he interprets that as you don’t need him. The problem is he still needs you, he always needs you.

He knows it’s because of Nick Torres. The two of you have moved in together recently, things seem to be heading in a certain direction, one he’s not fond of so he pulls some strings, gets Nick assigned to a deep undercover op, one with minimal contact.

It’s a crushing blow for you, he sees it at the next meeting. You’re quiet, reserved, withdrawn. You hit a bar afterwards, one bottle of wine turns into two and he ends up walking you home, tucked up against his side for stability.

It’s him that unlocks your apartment door because you keep fumbling your keys. Him that helps you over the threshold before you pass out on the couch. Him that kisses your mouth as you lie there with your cheek pressed to the cushion.

He takes his time unbuttoning your shirt, just enough so he can see the blush of pink lace across the swell of your chest. His fingertips trace over the edge of the fabric, delving into your cleavage and he imagines his cock there, thrusting between your breasts. He could do it, he thinks as his other hand pushes up the hem of your skirt. He could fuck you with his fingers and you’d probably never know and that’s the problem, he wants you to know.

When he fucks you, he wants your eyes on him, your nails scratching up his back.

He spends a couple of hours in your apartment, rifling through your things, cataloguing your tastes. Everything from the perfume you wear to the NSFW items he locates in the bottom drawer of your nightstand. He gets a thrill out of seeing those toys, touching them, knowing where they’ve touched you.

He thinks about taking one but instead he slips a pair of black cotton panties from your laundry hamper into his trouser pocket. He takes them home that night, pressing them to his face, inhaling your scent as he fucks his hand.

When you run into each other at work the next day you’re embarrassed. You apologise for drinking too much. It was your sister’s birthday and your support system was God knows where. He understands, he reassures you, you’re both in this together right?

The gifts start as a way to brighten your day.

You’d told him once how you wished you’d travelled more in your twenties. Your sister’s disappearance had pushed you into undercover work, the time other people spent finding themselves you’d spent becoming someone else.

He’s away in Switzerland when he sees the handcrafted chocolates. He knows you’re partial to caramel because you always have a shot in your coffee so he has a box sent to you. He signs the card Casanova because he wants you to know that he’s serious about romancing you.

He follows up with champagne from Paris to celebrate a high profile cold case you’ve just closed. Then diamond earrings delivered from Belgium to let you know he’s thinking of you when Nick returns from undercover work, a little worse for wear.

He’s in Tokyo when he finds the lingerie store, he’s on the phone half paying attention to his surroundings when his gaze comes to rest on the sexiest thing damn thing in the shop window.

It’s a black push up bra set, with little pink bows adorning the black lace panties. A little bit of naughty, a little bit of nice. He knows your sizes from his recon of your apartment so he buys it, taking it back to his hotel room. During his meetings it’s all he can think about, you in that black lace, splayed out across his sheets, his mouth ghosting just underneath that pink bow as he fucks you with his tongue.

When he gets back to that hotel room, he just can’t help himself. He wraps that lingerie around his cock and thrusts into his hand imagining how tight you’d feel around him. When he comes it’s with your name on his lips, his release spilling all over the fabric.

You’re the only woman that’s every done this to him, the only one that has ever driven him this crazy. He wants you to know that so he neatly arranges the underwear back inside the box before summoning a courier to deliver it.

When he gets back to the US, it’s just in time for the bereavement group. He finds you sitting in your usual seat on the backrow waiting for the meeting to start.  

 “Hey.” He says as he slips into the chair beside you.

“Deputy Director LaRoche.” You greet him and that smile, it just lights up his entire world.

“Gabe.” He says softly. “I told you when we’re not in the office, you’re supposed to call me Gabe.”

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[princeclaudia]

I Love You (Merthur)

(I just posted my first fanfic to AO3, so I wanted to share it on here as well. I hope you enjoy this flowery little piece about Merlin and Arthur, from BBC Merlin, being in love)

“I love you.” 

Merlin never thought those words from that mouth could be a fact of his life. 

But, as something plops from the sky and into his chest, out of hope and into certainty, he realises that it is. 

Their relationship has always been up in the air. 

Its one of the only constants in either of their lives, through family, duty and betrayal, they always came back to this; banter over dinner and blankets being ripped away from a sleepy king in the morning. 

Merlin’s magic was proof of that. How it almost had a mind of its own, to reach out to Arthur, just to know where he is, to keep him safe. 

The ten seconds between, “I have magic” and, “I know”, where something Merlin wouldn’t wish on his worse enemy. 

This confession was different though. His magic was a secret, one that became a habit. It was muscle memory to drop the floating broom as Arthur’s familiar footsteps ricocheted off the hallways walls. Though the law change is just around the corner, and the habitants of the castle barely blink at the gold in his eyes, that instinct doesn’t go away overnight. 

But loving Arthur was like a second heartbeat. Non stop, motivating, and without thought. 

Well, now it doesn’t cause him panic. 

Merlin can’t pinpoint the moment Arthur’s closeness stopped making his hands clammy and his thoughts stutter. 

Maybe it washed away as Merlin became further crushed by his own significance, who he is and what he does, and the thousands, millions of people they affect. 

That lovesick fear didn’t need that much brain space anymore. Why waste the time he has with Arthur here and alive by fretting over the cute boy liking him back? 

He was content with what he got. 

Once or twice the thought about what exactly they were flickered insecurity at the back of his brain. Enough to make him spill wine on some visiting noble. Arthur was worried he was ill, conflicting and nurturing Merlin’s heart at once. 

How odd it was to just let what Arthur said wash over him, sinking into his skin, flowing through his blood. 

Because it’s not something that Arthur just gives out, he knows this. 

Too many times he’s had to translate Arthur’s emotions to Arthur, so there’s something intense, and slightly ego boosting, about the certainty that Arthur had as he confessed. 

It was a truly boring scenario for this to take place. 

No big events or victories or tragedies to justify a big declaration. But just them bickering, playful jabs that held underlying compliments. 

Then Arthur pausing, staring for a moment at Merlin. Just as with his own feelings, Merlin doesn’t remember when Arthur stopped looking away when Merlin caught him staring. 

Perhaps around when he was crowned King, and the world crashed down, challenging him to crumple. Luckily Merlin was there, and knew how to pick him back up. 

As Emrys, and soon to be Court Sorceror, draining responsibility was a new thing for the pair to bond over. 

Now when Arthur is caught in the act, it’s soft smiles, and maybe some teasing from Merlin, “See something you like sire?” 

In this moment however, Merlin wordlessly let’s him look, knowing that Arthur doesn’t find the folding of laundry that interesting. 

“It amazes me that you’re here” 

Arthur’s voice ripples through their comfortable quiet, not disruptive, but enough to catch Merlin’s attention, a confused chuckle escaping him. 

“How so? You’re the one who keeps me around.” 

“Well, the fact that you’re alive at all.” That made Merlin blush, an unexpected weight to their conversation. Arthur walks away from the table, forcing a casual slant to his frame.  “That you’re this powerful being. That you haven’t died from whatever stupid mission you barrel into.” 

Merlin snorts, turning his attention to the tunic in his hands. 

“That you keep coming back.” 

Arthur has that face. The face that makes Merlin turn away from the washing basket. Because this isn’t a spur of the moment thought. This has been on Arthur’s mind for a while. 

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” He didn’t want to lead Arthur anywhere, just let him say what he needs to say, afraid of assuming something. 

Arthur sighs, searching for something in Merlin’s expression. “I had fired you.”

This piqued Merlin’s confusion. “I’m sorry what?” 

“Not long after you became my servant. I fired you, told you to leave. But you came back.” Merlin almost rolled his eyes as he smiled. 

“You would have died if I didn’t. Besides that, you believed me. Enough to embarrass yourself in front of your council at least. After that, I figured you were worth my time.” 

Merlin expected some snide remark, at least a huff of laughter, but Arthur’s smile dropped. Merlin’s brows furrowed in response. 

“Every hunting trip, you came back with me, after countless horrible things my father did… or I did to you, you always came back.” 

Merlin was stunned to see Arthur’s eyes become glassy, distracting Merlin from any witty or insightful remarks. 

Arthur’s silent question hung in the air. Merlin thought about recounting his regular speech, ever since he revealed his magic, Merlin has told him multiple times about their destiny, and the once and future king, and so on. But Merlin could feel that this was a different question, and that wouldn’t be the right answer. 

Merlin stepped forward, lifting a hand, placing his fingers on Arthur’s cheek, under his eye. 

“I always will.” 

Arthur’s eyes were glued to Merlin’s as he titled his head towards the careful fingers. Arthur traced a line up Merlin’s raised arm, gently wrapping his fingers around the thin wrist. 

Physical contact wasn’t unusual for them, especially since his magic became an open conversation, but moments like this were still sparse. 

Despite years of Merlin declaring his devotion and admiration of the blonde, Arthur still wasn’t used to it. An awful cocktail of paper thin self esteem and aggressive emotional detachment made accepting his praise far too difficult.

But the phrase, “I always will” is the click of a key in Arthur’s mind. 

Then all at once, everything gushed in, flooding up to his throat, drowning him in memories, and promises and sudden understanding. Maybe for a moment, he can see himself reflected in Merlin’s eyes. 

It’s overwhelming and gorgeous, and bubbling up through his chest is the need to return the favour. 

Though, no matter how many times Arthur has mulled over how to properly repay Merlin for the work he’s done, how much money or gifts he’s given him, it’s never felt like enough. It’s been driving Arthur up the wall, because he just couldn’t figure out why none of that seemed right. 

But right now, he knows what it is, because Merlin is really good at it.

With just a smile, or kind word, Merlin has this, quite frankly, irritating talent to make someone feel so good, so happy and appreciated. 

He’s been the one Arthur turns to on his worse days to process what he’s going through, on his good days to exchange jokes. Merlin has been the one sharing Arthur’s pain, if only to make it more bearable. 

Arthur tries to be that for Merlin, but it’s way more difficult than it seems. 

He’s seen Merlin’s cheery and cheeky demeanour fade over the years. Even before he knew about any magic, he could tell when Merlin’s shoulders were sagging, when his eyes were duller than he remembered, when his breathing seemed more pained. 

It took an embarrassingly long time to confront how useless Arthur was when it came to Merlin’s emotions. Eventually, he used how Merlin treated him as a guide, though that took a lot of trial and error. 

But this moment made him realise that this is it. If he can make Merlin feel as cared for as Merlin makes him feel in this moment, then that would be the greatest gift. 

The words tumble from his tongue without a second thought. When Arthur sets his mind to something, there’s no stopping him, and in this moment of blinding clarity, he has never been so sure of anything before. 

“I love you.” 

He doesn’t fear rejection, quickly being validated by Merlin’s fond smile and lax in his shoulders. No battle or decision in court could be as empowering as seeing Merlin’s eyes crinkle with affection was. 

It’s a drop in the bucket compared to everything Merlin has given him, but Arthur so badly wants to chase it. 

So he wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, bringing a hand up to cup the back of his head, in some show of protectiveness. A clear, no misunderstandings to be had, act of appreciation and love. 

A surprised laugh escapes Merlin as he encases Arthur’s shoulders, burrowing into his neck. 

They stand in the middle of Arthur’s chambers, rocking slightly, with no intentions of letting go anytime soon. 

Slow tears drip onto each other, the overwhelm of Arthur’s feelings needing a release, and Merlin’s happiness boiling over. 

Merlin’s voice cracks slightly as he adjusts his chin. 

“I love you, if that wasn’t obvious.” 

They chuckle into each other, Merlin immediately shutting up as Arthur pressed his lips under Merlin’s jaw. 

Arthur was finding himself becoming addicted to making Merlin happy, feeling his pulse quicken, his muscles ease. 

He wants to take it all away, take Merlin’s burden and pain, but holding him, sharing the weight, was enough for now. 

(I hope you enjoyed! Be good to yourself and others.

Prince Claudia)