#you can’t just say that and think you won

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 103,478 others

tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

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she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

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fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

[kirammanswifey]

how arcane characters would deal with mental disorders x fem reader

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

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

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

Viktor Depression

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was enough to make you feel less miserable.

Jinx Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi Anxiety Disorder

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caitlyn Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jayce Narcissistic Personality Disorder

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ekko Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in that instant, you believe him.

Silco Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for a moment, everything seems enough.

Mel Chronic Stress Disorder

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sevika Bipolar Disorder

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mochacoda]

too nice | hjs

Pairing: Hong Joshua x GN!Reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 10K

────୨ৎ──── Monday ────୨ৎ────

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

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

But the answer is, no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then you hear a familiar voice.

“Good morning!” 

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

“Hi, Joshua.” 

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

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

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

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

“You sure?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” you reply lamely. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

────୨ৎ──── Tuesday ────୨ৎ────

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

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

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

“I’m a hundred percent sure now. I swear it’s real, he likes her,” Seungkwan says, waving his hands in the air like a madman. 

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

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

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

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

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Lucky guess.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how’d you know that?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going?” Seungkwan asks.

“Away from you,” you joke.

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

You raise your hands in mock surrender. 

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

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

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

“Guilty,” Jihoon grins.

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

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

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

“Apples, oranges,” Jihoon insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, come on,” you mutter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whoa, whoa.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face gets, if possible, even hotter. 

Honestly, what can you even say to that? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He remembers?

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

“Woozi?”

“Oh, I mean Jihoon.”

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

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

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

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

You swallow and nod. 

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

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

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

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

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! 

That actually works? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, surely not. Surely, he’s not—

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

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

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

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

────୨ৎ──── Wednesday ────୨ৎ────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

────୨ৎ────

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but I was supposed to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that hope is dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joshua, I—”

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

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

It reads: “Kwannie Kwannie Kwannie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

────୨ৎ────

...Seungkwan drops a chair leg. 

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

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

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

You can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“He was about to confess,” he repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lights up. “Excellent idea.”

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

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

“My bad,” Jihoon says with a chuckle. 

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

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

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

Joshua. 

For there he was. 

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

You give Jihoon a panicked look. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Seungkwan has his attention focused on that blasted chair leg, and of course, he immediately opens with: “Guess who has the biggest news of all time! The biggest action since Orange Plaza, 2020—”

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

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

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

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

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

“No worries,” comes Joshua’s voice. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What needs moving?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet. 

Not to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

────୨ৎ──── Thursday ────୨ৎ────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.” Everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you look up, your heart stops.

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

“Shua?” you say breathlessly, immediately straightening.

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

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

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

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

This was it. 

This was the moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alone. 

No distractions. 

No running away.

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

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

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

────୨ৎ──── Friday ────୨ৎ────

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

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

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

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

So you nod, “Mm-hm.” 

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

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

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

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

You never saw him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shift, intrigued by his words.

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

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

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

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

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

“Only a week!” you protest. 

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

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

a little note: hi i hope you enjoy reading this! but before that, i’d like to say a little something. i originally thought of shiu as just a boxer. then, after stumbling upon some ufc edits, i decided i wanted him to dive into mma as well. if you've read toji's headcanons, i wrote him as a boxer there, but since i changed my mind later, i changed it to famous former boxer. anyway, i just wanted to share this! oh, btw up next is f1’s untouchable king sukuna so be ready!!

.ᐟ more about shiu's sexy best friend nfl's dirty player!toji headcanons

.ᐟ check Champions League's Masterlist to meet the other champions

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who, no matter how famous a boxer he was, transitioned to MMA over time due to his growing interest in mixed martial arts.

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who transforms into a completely different person the moment he steps into the ring. Even those who know him can’t recognize who he becomes.

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who earned the nickname “bloody monster” during one of his breakout matches. In this fight, a devastating liver shot followed by head kicks left the ring covered in blood.

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who faced immense backlash from the media after the fight that earned him his nickname. Many believe some parts of the live broadcast were cut, and in those censored moments, he allegedly stomped on his opponent’s head, causing near-fatal injuries.

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who loves the nickname because he enjoys looking deadly and believes no one can defeat him.

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who has never lost a single fight.

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu whose best friend has always been NFL player Toji Fushiguro, but he also shares a decent friendship with F1 driver Sukuna. They first met as teenagers at an illegal boxing match. While Shiu won, Sukuna insists he would’ve taken the victory if he hadn’t been high before the fight.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who, for the first time, gets seriously injured after a fight (even though he wins) and has to take a break from competing. 

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who refuses treatment because he hates UFC’s physiatrist.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who, at his trainer’s insistence, decides to see a physiatrist, thinking it won’t work anyway.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who meets you for the first time and greets you with, “I think you’re in the wrong place, doll face. You’d look better on a runway,” only to get slapped in the face. He’ll never admit it, but it stung.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who is impressed by your determination to heal him and your honesty, eventually agreeing to the treatment. His only condition is that you attend his physical therapy sessions in person.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who flashes a smug grin of victory when you agree to accompany him. Later, when he googles you at home, he discovers you’re the younger sister of his greatest rival. He wonders if life is playing a cruel joke on him. 

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who loves spending time with Toji and his family. Megumi is like his own son. While he feels proud seeing Toji happy with his wife and son, deep down, he knows he’ll never have anything like that for himself.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who manages to irritate you during every second of his first physical therapy session. When you mutter, “Why did I even agree to this?” he smirks and says, “So I can kick your brother’s ass again.” The result? You kick his ass instead.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who ends up with a bruised ass for a week thanks to your kick. 

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who insists on treating you to meals after every session. Even though you reject him every time, he knows you’ll say yes one day. 

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who finds himself hanging out in your office outside of sessions, always bringing your favorite drink while waiting for you.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who, after getting your number, constantly sends you sexy poses and gifs from his fights. Though you threaten to block him, the fact that he isn’t blocked makes him think you secretly enjoy them.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who realizes he’s right when he catches you looking at his photos before a session. “Like what you see, doll face?” he teases, earning yet another ass kick.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who finds himself watching you during physiotherapy sessions because you are the only thing motivating him to heal. Yet, he knows all too well that once he recovers, he might never see you again.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who calls Toji one night to ask when he realized he was in love with his coach’s daughter, only to get a loud laugh in response.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who can’t wait to see you every day. He doesn’t care that you’re the sister of his rival; he just wants to talk to you and make sure you’re okay.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who, after countless rejections, is shocked when you finally smile and say, “Sure, I’d love to,” to his meal offer.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who takes you to your favorite restaurant after work that day and, for once, doesn’t end up getting hit.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who instantly checks his phone one night when he gets a sudden message notification from you. He sees you’ve sent a gif of his rival (your brother) along with the caption, “You’ll never beat him :)”. He simply replies, “There’s nothing I can’t beat.”

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who knows the only thing he can’t beat is you. 

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who invites you to Megumi’s birthday party, convinced you’ll say no, but when you reply, “I’ll be there!” he feels happiness like never before.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who is stunned at how quickly Megumi warms up to you. For the first time, he’s annoyed with the boy for stealing time with his woman. Of course, Toji and his wife notice and tease him about it.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who, after dropping you off at home after the birthday party, thanks you for the wonderful day. When he sees the way you look at him, as if you don’t want the day to end, he can’t hold back any longer and finds himself kissing you.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who wakes up the next morning with you in his arms, realizing this is how he wants to wake up every day.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who can’t sleep without you anymore, always insisting you stay over or vice versa. Eventually, it’s like you’ve moved into his place.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who knows your sessions and appointments are coming to an end but has no intention of ending things with you.

ufc’s injured bloody monster!shiu who, when he sees you crying, feels like his entire world comes to a halt. When you tell him that photos of you two kissing have leaked to the press, your brother has found out, and that everything needs to end, he realizes for the first time what it truly feels like to lose. He agrees to everything because he doesn’t want to ruin your relationship with your brother.

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who recovers and returns to the ring only to find his next opponent is your brother. At first, he refuses to fight but has no other choice. His only hope is that you won’t watch, though he knows you will.

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who, for the first time, feels nervous on fight day. When your brother steps into the ring and says, “I’m going to kill you, just so you know,” he responds, “The only one who can kill me is your sister.”

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who gets distracted by seeing you ringside with his team during the first round, earning a hard punch from your brother that sends him to the ground. Even as he’s beaten, he smiles and says to you, “Hi, doll face. You look fucking hot and don’t worry, your brother doesn’t punch as hard as you do.”

ufc’s bloody monster!shiu who, for the first time in his life, loses a fight just for you. However, when you run to him afterward, your eyes red from crying, and throw yourself into his arms, kissing him without caring about the blood on his face, he realizes he’s already won the only match that ever mattered to him.

ufc’s not-so-bloody monster!boyfriend!shiu who still visits your office every day like he always did.

ufc’s not-so-bloody monster!boyfriend!shiu who, when he goes to ask your only family—your brother—for permission to marry you, receives nothing more than a pat on the back and the warning, “If you hurt her, consider yourself dead.” He already knows that if he ever hurt you, he’d be as good as dead to himself.

ufc’s not-so-bloody monster!husband!shiu who kisses you at the altar without waiting for permission and whispers, “Hi, Mrs. Kong.”

ufc’s not-so-bloody monster!husband!shiu who watches you get ready on your honeymoon and realizes yet again that agreeing to therapy was the best decision he ever made.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

shiu kong art by @moonlessoul

divider by @diviniyae

[kisakunt]

THE RICH MAN’S GUIDE TO CORRUPTION

GIVE IT UP FOR LOVE

warnings… i mean some absolute swine talk, gojo and geto are evil men, you’re a sweet and pure virgin. swearing, mentions of fucking, really just vile pig shit.

synopsis… suguru and satoru have a lovely chat over a warm summers breeze. oh! and sweet, un-expecting, vulnerable you is the topic of discussion.

a word from the creator… idk if i mentioned this but this fic is based loosely off the movie cruel intentions! banger film, check it out. i wrote a lot of this chapter awhile ago so if the writing style switches up next chapter don’t sue me. i’m excited!!!! here’s to the next eleven chapters of hell

series masterlist

Gojo hates the heat. He thinks he's tolerated it before on his father’s yacht or when he did an unnecessary shirtless carwash for extra money he didn't need; but right now with the breeze through the window— that Suguru demanded be open— overbearing the air conditioner, he's absolutely positive that summer is the worst.

“Start of the year’s comin’, yknow.” He typically broke the silence— as if he could ever shut up to begin with— and he was almost always met with a:

“No shit.” strident response. Those seemed to be Suguru’s speciality, and provoking them seemed to be Satoru’s.

It’s too hot. His white hair presses into the drywall, feeling much cooler than the air outside. “I’m not stupid, Suguru. Neither are you, you know what I mean.” It’s an overdramatic sigh— a call for attention— as he turns his head over to look at him.

“They’re gonna ask us about it soon.” And, in some way Suguru can’t really comprehend, Gojo sounds excited.

His manner isn’t necessarily wrong, not so much as it is unexpected. The ‘new year, new fuck’ competition of Azabu was practically famous among the young men certain to attend— the sons of the sons who started it, and all their nephews or cousins or any synonym for a pig of a relative that they could come up with. And, luckily enough, they had the privilege to be top candidates.

The competition was started by the current dean’s uncle, a horny fuck-all type who would take any and all excuse to boost his ego while tearing down a girls— or maybe he really did just want a good lay. But, it grew and grew and grew, and now it was almost ritualistic, a second identity of worthiness in the form of fucking a virgin before anyone else did.

Sure, they were nothing but thrilled for it as high school reached an end, or even the first or second year of university. But now it just seemed dull.

But, traditions are custom, and customs are a necessity. It’s almost become lore throughout their little clique of affluence; whispered stories from childhood turned into real competition after a long wait, especially from a group of people who so rarely have to wait for anything. It’s inspiring, they think, means to associate themselves with a lower class; normalize themselves just a little more.

Alumni share stories at functions, putting the frat in fraternizing, nonchalance on the tips of their tongues. Sometimes the tone almost feels dark, and Suguru thinks if he were a better person he’d feel some type of sympathy for the girls. Any fragment of empathy he had wiped away when he won for the first time, though, wide smirk as his year mates glared at him; memories of the tight, albeit idiotic, girl engrained behind the lids of his eyes.

Even so, it gets old quick. And it’s not like they don’t fuck dumb, stupid, silly girls with nothing to say for the rest of the year anyway. So, he can’t quite figure out what Gojo is all too excited about.

“Well try to make sure your dick doesn’t get hard from the thought, you fucking freak.” There’s a giggle from the other man, a scoff too, and he pushes his hand out at him.

This is crucial. This is who they are together. A pair— whether it’s a pair of awful men or not.

There’s also a sense of trepidation that comes with it, of course. It’s exclusive, more so than they already are, and if you do one thing wrong- speak a little too loud, come off too brash, give a lackluster lie after actually getting caught— you’re out. And whose pride would want that?

“It’s stupid we always gotta wait for them to sit us down, it’s not like we don’t know what’s coming up.” He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Plus, what a fucking weird thing to say to your kid.”

“I mean the whole thing’s odd if you think about it.” Gojo shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets, forearms bare against the linen of his trousers.

He’s right, of course. Even if neither of them feel guilt for their actions, they can’t ignore the sinking feeling in their stomach when their own fathers sit them down and incite such a twisted view on them.

Be that as it may, it’s not too bad when that’s all they know, and it’s not like either of them are going to complain at a quick orgasm, a nice pair of tits, and that goddamn feeling of triumph.

“Do you think they’ll cry again?” Satoru mocks, brimming with glee as he leans in the direction of his friend. “It’s always funny, dontcha think?”

“As if you’d know,” There’s a smirk despite the aggression in his tone. “Dunno why it matters so much to you, you already got bitches babbling about you all the time.”

Gojo sighs, expression bored and childish and fucking greedy. “Yeah, I know but…” His voice peters out, lost in the room. Elation bubbles back into his features, warming his cheeks and animating his eyes as he looks at Suguru.

“Yknow, I heard the dean has a daughter starting, actually. Real sweet gal, even wrote a whole fucking magazine article about the importance of ‘saving your innocence’” his voice wobbles, eyes rolling as he sneers. “for someone you really love.”

“Sounds like she’s ugly.”

“Thought so, too, but..” He trails off, hand fishing in his back pocket for his phone, pupils dilating at the light on his screen. It doesn’t take him long to find the photo; clearly he’s been sitting on his discovery for awhile, anticipating when he could tell him. “Look.”

Suguru doesn’t like to be wrong, much less will he ever admit it. “Holy shit.” You aren’t necessarily the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, probably not even the prettiest he’s seen in the last month, but you were definitely something.

Maybe it was the curve of your jaw or the tint in your lips, but the photo set something off in him. On the surface he thinks it’s the just barely explicit face you’re making in your mirror, phone in hand as you look into your lens, but really, honestly, if he’s searching deep down— it’s the fact he knows you’re the one girl who wouldn’t just throw herself on him if he so kindly asked.

“Sugu, are you ever bored of this? It feels too easy, right?” Suddenly Gojo’s previous excitement feels misplaced, voice itching for more. “Hardest part about it is finding out who’s actually a virgin or not, and that’s pretty simple with how awkward they get.”

“What are you saying?” Maybe he already knows, maybe he’s hoping for the obvious, but he asks like he doesn’t care. The former moves fast, hand steady on the desk as he leans far too close for comfort. In any other situation, he’d probably be met with a harsh jab to the face, but this feels different— secret.

“Let’s do something, on our own, just you and me.” He almost seems too impatient, pressure digging into the ground from the toes of his shoes and gaze begging. It was the kind of thing that made you want to agree, if nothing else to just feel a fraction of the way he seemed to be. Before Suguru could even consider the idea, test the waters and make Gojo beg a little bit, said boy opened his mouth again.

“I mean, unless you’re not up for it. You don’t really seem like the type to make a girl give it up for love.” He snickers, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as he feigns swooning.

“Geto, I— I love you.” His voice is high, wheezy in his imitation and a little rude. “I think.. I think I’m ready- I want it to be you.” He cuts himself off with his own laugh, hand circling over his mouth to try to stifle himself. “Could you imagine?”

“The fuck does that mean?!”

“Cmon, Suguru, you’re not really the endearing type.” He’s edging him now, tone manipulative and pressing and snarky and Suguru knows— of course he knows, but it can’t help but irk him.

“What are you thinking?” And now Gojo’s beaming again, feet guiding him back across the room to his bag, books stacked neatly inside, lying even against each other. He pulls out a magazine and tosses it to him haphazardly before he reaches back for a notebook and a pen.

“Page 36, read it.” The article is cheesy. It’s too long and feels like something right off a self care Facebook page. Suguru is sure he physically recoiled a couple times reading it; especially when you wrote ‘Virginity is a miracle— the ability to show someone how much you love them in such an intimate way should be saved for someone special.’.

It’s shocking that you’re the daughter of the man who oversees their little sex game.

Suguru thinks you’re vile— embarrassing and pathetic and a huge fucking waste of what seems like a really good pair of blowjob eyes. It makes his skin crawl and he verbally scoffs when he reads your finishing sentence about cherishing your virtues, so focused on the arrogance in your punctuation that he doesn’t even hear Gojo’s laugh.

“Pretentious as shit, right?” He snorts, eyes flickered as he recites the passage in his head. “It’s gonna feel so good to fuck the words right out of her mouth.” Suguru didn’t know what he expected from his friend, but it wasn’t that. It’s clear through, through and through, that he’s dedicated to the idea.

“I mean sure, I guess you’ll have your turn. Maybe she’ll fuck just about anyone after I win.”

“Wait, so you’re in?”

“Whatever.”

“Fuck yeah!” He’s joyful, fist pumping into his chest in a quick celebration before he’s holding up his notebook, standing directly across the floor from the desk.

The wood is dark, deep and marbled, glazed over the top and lined with little symbols of power in the form of trophies. It’s clearly something too nice to serve as a welcome mat, but nonetheless Suguru rests his heels on the surface, ankles crossed over each other as he leans back in his chair. His eyes point to the ceiling to look at anything other than the annoyance in front of him.

“Well clearly we need to set up some rules.” He sneers in his seat when he remembers not looking at him won’t make him shut up.

“Okay well we have the obvious: whoever fucks first wins. And I mean fucks, none of that sloppy anal shit. Doesn’t count.” It’s almost funny, but neither of them acknowledge it. If they do, that’ll come hand in hand with the fact they’re acting just like their fathers.

“She has to be sober.” He didn’t really expect himself to say that, but he did expect Satoru to whine.

Gojo lets it sit in the air for a second before he nods curtly and jots something done.

“Would it be too cocky to say she has to cum?” The journal’s away from his face now and someone could, and probably would, argue that the walls are lucky to see the boyish grin he’s got. His smirk pulls up at the corners of his lips, but Suguru just finds it vexing. Gojo is far too full of himself, he thinks, and he hates to admit there’s good reason.

Nonetheless, he has to give him a little shit. “Do they normally not with you?”

“Hey! That’s not what I meant, asshole.” There’s something sweet to Satoru, under all the sickening that is his personality. It makes people understand just why girls fall for him, and definitely helps him keep a good image to the public.

And there’s something smart to him that makes you feel like he could really pull whatever he wanted off. It makes the idea of competing with just him much more appealing.

“Are we gonna have like a— fuck I don’t know— like a time limit?”

“Fuck is this? A video game?”

“I mean no, but competition wise if it takes us like half a year isn’t that kind of stupid? Because who’s to say she won’t ‘really love you’ by then, and then you’re not making her go against anything, yknow?” And there's also something meticulous about him that makes him aggravating as all hell.

“Fine. A month.”

“Just a month?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Plus, anything longer than that and we’d just be a couple of fucking losers chasing after a bitch.” Suguru knows Gojo is giving him a look without even seeing it, the slightly judgmental and almost kind one he does. “What? You’re the one who said it to begin with.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. A month.” It’s silent for a second, comfortable with all their years of each other, before he clears his throat.

“That it then?” Maybe they’re the same kind of evil. Maybe they deserve each other.

“One more, actually.” There’s that feeling from him again, the tone that makes Suguru want to agree aimlessly for no fucking reason other than the possible rush. And before he can fester; before his skin can start to crawl and his hands can get clammy just from that sheer desire in his voice, Gojo grins.

“You need proof. And I don’t mean her saying it, because you can bribe anyone into saying anything. Gotta show it, photo or video or something, balls deep or whatever the fuck.” That almost makes Suguru laugh.

“I don’t think she’s gonna go for that one, no matter how good the dick is.”

“She doesn’t have to know.” Now he’s really thrilled. He doesn’t know what it is, but that lights something in him, stirs in his stomach and causes a little quiver in his brow.

“Fuck yeah, man,” he’s really laughing now, pointing at the journal harshly. “write that shit down.”

There’s something unspoken over them now, a deeper bond than they thought they could have. Neither of them would ever admit it, but it feels like they’re those two high schoolers again, counting down til they can become something fucking great. This is the feeling they’re supposed to get from their fathers’ stupid fucking contest. This is actual competition, a chance to actually win.

A new air falls on them, mixed back in with that warm, rich breeze.

“Okay, that settles that then.” Gojo offers, fingers tapping the binding of his book. “She has to be attending the start of the year banquet so that’ll be an excuse to meet her. Everything from then on is up to us.” Suguru always dreaded that shitty event, but now he finds himself doing mental math to count how far away it is.

Even if the whole thing is trivial, and even if you seem like the most uptight thing ever, Suguru is a man of pride. And prideful he’ll be.

“We still gotta do the ‘new year’ thing, you know. They’ll burst a fucking artery if we say we’re not interested.” His voice is gravelly and calm and so not anything he’s feeling, but he thinks Gojo buys it when he chuckles.

“Can you be excommunicated from being a womanizer? Because I think we would be.” They’re almost joking like everything is normal. It’s different, so much different, but they’re acting the same.

“I’m gonna go grab some water and maybe call one of your maids to make lunch, you want anything?” Suguru shakes his head, shifting in his seat as he tries his hardest not to look at the journal Satoru set on the side table.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be back.”

“Whatever,” He waits after Gojo walks out. Waits a good forty five seconds before he stands up, and he crosses the room in about three.

He glances over at the thrown aside notebook, eyes quick as he scans it. The handwriting is adjacent to messy, scattered and the page is littered with semi vulgar doodles and side bars. It’s coherent, though, and even though they both know Gojo had no intention of giving it to him, it’s got his signature at the bottom.

1. Full fucking!! Penis in vagina

2. No signs of being inebriated. Absolutely stone cold sober

3. If it takes longer than a month after everyone is introduced we’re both “a couple of fucking losers” (< Sugu’s words)

4. Orgasms are important ! Or at least near orgasms (she is a virgin)

5. Photo / video proof. If you can’t get it, you aren’t in it (haha! get it?)

He snickers at four, the uneasy tone in the second sentence almost self deprecating. Despite that, he can’t help but feel a smidge of respect that he ended up adding it to begin with.

He grabs the pen from the table, pressing into the paper too hard as he leaves his chicken scratch of a John Hancock. Okay, maybe this will be fun.

taglist… @moonlight-pearls @sharkerino @echerie

[maenoakasuna]

{ All For Us }

The title will maybe change cause at first it was supposed to be a one shot, But it will be a multi part things.

Im really obsess with Thanos ( T.O.P ✨) And I litteraly watched Squid game for him.I necer watched it before. But anyway, back to buisness, I let you a summary of the whole thing it gonna be. Also be award : English is not my first language so im sorry for the mistakes ☠️

Thanos x Pregnant reader, but it’s new.

Y/N accepted to be part of the gamr to get money for her futur family and lat every debts she had since she met Thanos two years ago. He cheated on her and learn just after they broke up that she was pregnant. Meeting him again in the game wasnt part of the plan. Will you be able to stay alone, survive and keep your little secret ? Or will you admit you need Thanos by your side.

Smut will come, but not for this part. I will tell you when ✨

TW: Mention of drug, Violance.

You was Awake by a music who gave you creepy chills. It wasn’t a literal creepy song, more like something you could hear in an attraction park or something, but you it gave you a bad feeling. The light in the room was to bright, it took you time to adapt.

Looking around you, you noticed a lot of bed, many people and all dress the same. They all had numbers on their back or on their chest. 

You take a look at your hoodie to know your own number ; 017.

Staying in your bed you try to remember what happened. A guy gave you a visit card after you played a game with him. But he also gave you money when you won. Lucky for you, you always were good at Djaki, so You won at your first try. 

Slowly your memory came back. You accepted to play games to earn a lot of money after finding out you were pregnant.

Biting your bottom lips, you put your hand on your stomach. It was still small inside you, but you will need money to raise the child, especially after all the debts your ex boyfriend let you. You was a saint in that story. After all,a part of your debts are caused by you addiction to drug and alcool. It all started two years ago when you met him. He changed you, probably for the worst, but you loved him so much. You lost everything cause of him, cause of your addiction. Your parents dont want to ear about you anymore and your friends didn’t want to hang out with you. You lost everything for a stupid dumb and addict wanna be rapper. 

Thinking about all of this brings tears to your eyes, but you quickly whipped it. You refuse to cry again cause of this stupid dude.

The big door opened and guards wearing a pink one piece entered the room, armed with guns. All the attention was on them at the minute they arrived. They explain the situation you was all in. Some of them had questions and it was all legit. No one had their phone on them or any other personal objects. In your case, you didn’t really care. No phone mean no social media, no text from your ex or anyone who could harass you to got their money. Your only concern is when you gonna be home, maybe you will find a dirty appartement cause some of them will have bursted in.

Your eyes got on the Tv when the guard start to show some people here, call their name and say how much in debts they are in. You wasn’t really interested until your ear his name ; Choi Su-Bong. 

Your eyes started to scan the room, looking for him. Anxiety rushed in your veins, heart pudding until you saw him. He was in the crowd with his usual purple hair. 

Your hands started to shake, your breath was quicker, heavier. Normally when you felt that way, you took a pill to calm you down, but you can’t anymore.

Nervously you started to bite your fingernails. You closed your eyes and took a deep breathe, trying to control the anxiety. You silently cursed any gods out here or whatever other dinities to had put your ex in the same game as you. What was the fucking chances ? 

But at the same time, you weren't really surprised. He has double or triple the money you have to repay.

After everyone had a little more trust in the guards, they asked everyone to come to sign a paper about the four rules of the game. Nervously you get in line with the others, far away from Thanos. When it was your turn, you read the rules carefully and sign it.

The next step was the picture before the first game. You placed yourself in front of the camera and gave a small smile when the lady said to smile. It was more an anxious smile than a real one. After the picture you was on your way to follow the other but turn your head when you eared thanos voices. He was with a big group of girl and some guys for a group photo. Of course, even here he was popular. Even here he had to play it cool. If only they all knew who he really was. The only nice thing you could said about him was how easy he can connect with people. Something you would like to have. You never was the shy type or the kind of girl who was afraid to say what’s on her mind, but you’ve been called rude more time than you can remember ; Until Thanos

Two Years ago

You come out of the University after another endless class. You just go your last exam result and it was not what you hopped for. You could already ear your mom yell at you and saying how much you disappoint her, after all the money herself and your dad put in your scholarship, how you should study more. You never really was good at school cause you never liked that. You parents expect you to become a lawyer but you don’t give a shit about that job or the laws. Your passion was somewhere else. You love music, drawing, painting. You are more of an artist person than the big brain kid. If you keep going to school it’s only because you know art doesn't pay enough. 

That Night, one of your friends wanted to go out to celebrate her birthday and you agreed to be there for at least some hours, cause you needed to go back home to study harder before the next exam. It’s in this crowded bar you met Thanos. He was there, on stage, performing, rapping, having the time of his life. You were at the Bar, waiting for your order and the one your friend did when you had eye contact. The lyrics of his song felt like he was talking about you. Your cheeks became hot from embarrassment. When the drinks were ready, you took it and go back at your place, giving a last look to the rapper.

You don’t remember much of that evening. Your friend invited you but she also invited other people you didn’t know and you never was good to interact with strangers, so you stayed quiet most of the time until the barmaid came to your table with a shot and a little note. You looked at her confused.

«-I’m sorry, I didn’t order this, you said. -It’s from Thanos, she reply with a smile before leaving.»

The little group looked at your, surprised.

«-You know Thanos ? -No ! Who’s this guy ? -The hot guy who was on stage most of the night ?! What’s the note about ?»

Your friend took the note, red it and smile at you.

«-Girl, believe me, take that shot and go see him. -What ? Are you insane ?! I’m not taking something a stranger offered me, what if he put drugs in it ? »

You take back the note and read it. It was an invitation to come see him in his V.I.P room. You rolled your eyes, take the shot in your hand before leading your way to this famous Thanos room. You quickly saw him sat at a table with pretty girl and some dude, playing cards. Without any hesitation you put the shot on the table and look at him, not giving a damn shit about all the other around who looked at you.

«-Hear me out Mister infinity stones, that was nice of you for the shot, but i’m not the type of girl you can buy with that. Especially since I don’t know what you could have put in it.»

A smile appear on his lips before he made a move with his hand to invite everyone to leave the table. When you was alone, he got more comfortable in his chair.

«-I just saw a Beautifull flower in the crowd and wanted to know more about you. I didn’t expect you to react like this, but It’s way more entertaining than the usual.-The usual ? You do this often ? Find a cute girl, invite her over with a drink. -Not often and not in this exact way.»

I got up and get closer to me.

«-Now you’re here I can do a proper introduction.

He slowly took my hand and kiss the top of it

«-Hi Seniorita, i’m thanos, nice to meet you.»

Back to the Present

When you arrived outside, or something who looked outside, the doors behind you closed and in the other part of the room, you noticed a weird, giant, doll and two guards. The voice of a lady started to explain the first game you gonna play ; Red light, Green Light. At least, this first game sound easy, making you smile, but it quickly fade away when a guy screams and find his way out of the crowd of player, saying the doll gonna kill us if she cought us moving during the red light moments. Many of them didn’t took him seriously, but even if it’s sounded crazy as fuck, you started to shake. Maybe the fact you didn’t took any sort of drugs since a long moment didn’t help, but it wasn’t just that.

The game started and the man in front of the other gave us direction. You gave a look at thanos who was with a pretty girl. You growl from annoyance. This guy didn’t lose his time. 

One lost but he found ten other ones.

So far the game goes well until the pretty girl close to your ex start to scream and moving. She seemed to want to chase away something. When she stop moving by herself, a fireshot was eard, making me froze for real. Three seconds later a lot of people start running in panic as the guy in front of you screamed to not moving or panic. It was more easy to say than do. You whole body asking you to run away, but at the same time you was to horrified by the corps who felt close to you, it wasn’t possible at all. When everyone who tried to ran away was on the flood, the game continued. You moved and froze at the red light, hiding Yourself behind taller people as suggested. You turned your head to see if thanos was still alive and it was sort of a relief when you noticed he was. You also noticed he pushed people on the ground. This guy was definitely fucked up. 

Luckily, you made your way to the end, safe. You sat on the floor, tired cause of the anxiety this deadly game caused you and that’s at this moment you eared his voice.

«-Y/N ?! Flower is that you ? Are you for real ?! »

Thanos quickly sat in front of you, smiling at you.

«-Get Lost Thanos. -Yeah, i’m happy to see you too, beautiful.»

You didn’t answered. What could you say ? To many things actually, but absolutely nothing at the same time.

«-Oh come One, are you still ignoring me ? -Did you not eared me ? Get.Lost.Motherfucker.»

You was still mad a him and sad and all the hormones was high in your body. The situation didn’t help. You felt you was about tu cry and got up to go somewhere else but Thanos stopped you by gripping gently your wrist.

«-Wait, Y/N. Please, let me explain myself … -I don’t need any explanation. I saw You. You Cheated on me. There’s nothing more to explain.»

You didn’t faced him. If you will, you will cry and you don’t want him to see you like this.

You was saved by the voices of the women who told everyone to return in the main Room. You took back your wrist and quickly follow the others to go back in the room with all the beds. It was definitely too much emotion for this first day and you started to regret your decision.

[hiiikiko]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 [deadpool x spidey!ellie]

caught in your web m.list | tlou m.list

“You gotta trust me, Sheriff, I don’t know her at all!” Spidey yelled from behind the bars of the jail cell, her hands tightening around the bars.

A dramatic gasp echoed from behind her, “How dare you say that?! Throwing away all those late night rendezvous and nights full of passion and sloppy sex?!”

Ellie groaned and trapped the masked vigilantes collar, “Shut it, you’re only making this worse.”

“Ooh, I like it when you’re rough with me,” she giggled and wrapped her hands around Ellie’s arm.

Ellie knew there was no winning when it came to her… ‘Deadpool,’ ugh, what a stupid name. This chick was the absolute worse, the way she was obsessed with Ellie gave her the chills… not to mention how this chick knew EVERYTHING about her?? Even her name?? On top of all that, she was annoying as hell and a total poser! Like, come on! She obviously ripped off Ellie’s costume, right?!

“Sheriff, please, she’s the bad guy, not me,” Ellie groaned and slumped against the wall.

“Sorry, Spidey, but I don’t see a reason why a ‘hero’ should hide behind a mask like some damn criminal,” he chortled and took a sip of his coffee, exiting the room.

“This is all your fault,” Ellie mumbled and leaned her head against the wall.

“How did it all come down to this is what you’re thinking right, dear reader?” Deadpool turned to the wall.

“What the fuck,” Ellie quirked her brow and turned to see who the hell this freakazoid was talking to…. she was talking to no one.

“Well, it all started five hours ago when I met, Spidey, the love of my life, the apple of my eye, the keeper of my heart, my snuggle bunny, my baby kitten, my.. well, you get the gist. I was lucky enough to run into her at the police shootout, she was tackling some lizard man and I was passing by when I saw the glimmer of red… I quickly helped her and may have accidentally shot a few officers… but, who cares about that right? Anyway, we made our daring escape and to this alley where I found out she’s a girl?? Like, whaaaaaaat?? I found out because I felt boobs when I tackled her, although… they’re kinda small..”

“Hey!”

“Anyway, so I dragged her along to this amusement park where she proposed on top of the ferris wheel—.”

“I was trying to tie my shoe.”

“We shared a romantic dinner at the pier—.”

“You stole a slice of pizza from a old lady.”

“She won me a teddy bear—.”

“I was trying to escape through a booth and the bear wouldn’t come off my hand because of these stupid webs.”

“It was the most romantic night of my entire life,” she sighed dreamily, “but then just as I was about to kiss her, this dumbass runs towards a police officer and gets us both arrested, me for breaking a few laws here and there and her for being the best person ever?? Stupid, right?”

“Uh, no, you’re an actual murderer.”

“I’m a changed person now, honey,” Deadpool quickly turned to Ellie and nodded, making a heart symbol with her hands.

“You’re just lucky they didn’t take our masks,” Ellie groaned and flipped her off.

“Ooh what would’ve happened? Would you have put me in my place? Handcuffed me? Maybe spanked me?”

Ellie’s cheeks turned as red as her mask, “Shut up! J-Just find me a way outta here,” she grumbled and paced around the cell, looking for anything to get them outta there.

“Oh, is that what you’ve been waiting for? Why didn’t you say something, I stole that pig’s keys two hours ago,” she dangled the keys in front of her, Ellie couldn’t see her face but could feel the smirk radiating through the leather of her mask.

“You’re the worst,” she grumbled and unlocked the door.

“You can’t say that in bed,” there she goes again, Ellie rolled her eyes and pushed the door open.

“Here’s the plan, we—.”

BAM!!

“What the fuck!” Ellie yelled as Deadpool kicked the door down and quickly knocked the guard out, reaching behind the counter to grab her guns and katanas, “A warning next time, will you?!”

“Ohh, so there will be a next time then,” she giggled and tied her gun holster around her waist, “Can’t wait.”

Ellie shook her head and made her way for the exit, “I sure can,” she muttered as she exited the building and swiftly put as much distance between her and that deranged woman.

Upon returning back to her apartment, Ellie climbed through the window and flopped onto her bed, rummaging through her backpack for her phone when a piece of paper fell out… it read: ‘Spidey x Deadpool xoxo’ and had a picture that looks like it could’ve been drawn by a toddler of her and Deadpool making out… and not to mention the 136 page handwritten smut filled fan fiction attached to it..

“Gross,” she grimaced and threw it into the paper bin.

That was when Ellie decided to never, ever get involved with Deadpool again..

[a/n:] I FINALLY WROTE IT YAYYYYYYYYY, kinda short but I wanted to write something today :3

[titsthedamnseason]

hi everybody!! deeply sorry for the delay but every time i thought about making this post i just could not face saying goodbye 😭 but now it’s the one month anniversary of the end of the eras tour, taylor has posted the last post and had a celebratory party….it’s finally time for our FINAL celebration post (can you all hear my sobs?)

we have so so many winners with so many different combinations to celebrate so let’s get to it!

for our single song winners we have long live guessed by @stillseeitallinmyhead @solongllondon @finnickodaiir @mirrorball-thisismetrying @the-green-dot and @thisselflovecamebacktome, new year’s day guessed by @vexedtonightmares, and the manuscript by @isitovernow @lesbiandarvey and @redglittercoffin !!! 🥳

the manuscript and long live were guessed by @sparklestheunicorn @thisloveisbad @youreonyourownkid @beticouldstillmelturworld @whileyourebythesea and @putawayurhalo’s mom (love this icon! i will miss her </3)

our winners for long live and nyd are @whenwebothfell @typingwithmyhandstied @myreputation @hamstertross @icandoitwithabrokenheart and @iwanttobelieve11

long live apitw and the manuscript were all guessed by @satellitemp3

long live nyd and the manuscript were all predicted by @tisfearless @sweet-shakespearean-tomatoes and @jobazzle

new romantics (the only person to get this one - you single-handedly ensured we had winners for ALL the songs 😊) and long live and a place in this world and new year’s day (this guess was insane btw. the final boss of winners lowkey) were ALL predicted by @andichoseyou

our winners for the manuscript and nyd were @highlineeheartbeat and @putawayurhalo

congrats to @feelingsinthedark for guessing long live and apitw

the manuscript apitw long live and nyd were allllllllll (which is genuinely psychic behavior i can’t even imagine) guessed by @estesmerlot and @partlysunny15

lastly (💔💔💔💔💔), we have nyd long live and apitw guessed by @likeawolfatthemoon !!!!

i accidentally gave so many people shoutouts for yoyok at first i think im still in shock that she didn’t sing it 💀

to get sappy again quickly thank you so so much to everyone who played for this last show and all throughout tour 🩷 you guys made it extra special for me and i love how much fun we had together every weekend, i miss it already 🥲 love you guys big time!!

congrats to every single person here and even though i know it’s delayed i hope some of you totally forgot about this and will randomly have a happy reminder of the eras tour and our fun games 💗 as ever, if i forgot anyone PLEASE tell me and i will add you!! these gifs are each for all of the players that won but also every player ever! so many of you played pretty much every single time and that brings such a smile on my face and im terribly sad to say goodbye to one of my favorite parts of the eras tour because now that i’ve made this post it feels truly truly over 💔 love yall and see you next era! 😉

it was not intentional because you can’t see who made the gifs when you’re picking them but this post is lowkey sponsored by @breakbleheavens thank you for your amazing gifs i love them!

okay it’s time…..for vancouver night 3 aka the LAST NIGHT OF THE ERAS TOUR. i am getting incredibly teary eyed just typing this up and i almost hate to say it but please join me in playing the surprise song game one last time 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 okay yeah im crying for real now. as always, leave your guesses in the tags or replies and the winners will receive a shoutout from yours truly 🥰

my last guesses (what the actual fuck) are going to be bye bye baby x the last time x it’s time to go and yoyok x the very first night x long story short and maybe im dumb for not guessing long live idk but this is what im going with. sappy message under the cut because it’s just that kind of night

i have loved playing this game with you guys so much and i can’t thank you enough for everyone participating and making it so fun. i love the eras tour more than words can express and im heartbroken to say goodbye but getting this extra way to interact with it and chat with everyone on show nights just made it extra special in a way i will always remember fondly and be grateful for 🩷 i love you all so much! thank you for being the BEST people on this dumb website and i will see you all next tour my dear friends 🫂

[ilguna]

☼ neck in neck (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; he just can’t seem to accept the fact that you’re better than him. so now, to defend himself, he’s calling you a copycat in the capitol because of this stupid tattoo. when really, it has a deeper meaning.

warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption, vague threats to violence.

wc; 4.7k

notes; i talk about snow in a """good""" light bc there is no prostitution, not that you can tell in this imagine but still lol.

--

“Ugh, I just love the cocktails here!” Cashmere shouts over the music with a grin on her face. She’s leaned in close enough for you to smell the alcohol on her breath, but she’s trying to make sure you can hear her. “They’re intoxicating!”

“Do they have anything strong?” You ask back, squinting at the liquor they have behind the counter. 

“It’s the Victory Spot!” She laughs, “Of course they do.” 

Cashmere stands on her tiptoes, even though she’s tall and there’s no need to make herself bigger, but then she leans on the counter. She reaches over, grabs a laminated paper, and then sets it down in front of you.

It’s a menu.

You squint through the darkness, reading the long list of finely printed drinks, until you find one that’s going to get the night started on the right foot. You place your finger beneath the name, and then look up to find the nearest bartender. Only, there’s already one hovering over you and Cashmere, she’s just waiting for you to order.

“I’ll take the carnivore.” You smile. “Will you add an extra shot? I don’t care which liquor.”

The bartender raises her eyebrows. “Are you sure? It’s pretty strong.”

“(Y/n) has a high tolerance.” Cashmere chips in, “You won’t be killing her.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head as she backs off the counter. “If there is a funeral, don’t invite me.”

You let out a laugh, turning to face Cashmere while the drink is made. “So, what’s new in the world of District One?”

“The usual shit.” She rolls her eyes. “The mentors before Gloss and I are complaining about the lack of victors in our district recently. And they’re blaming it on our mentoring style, but none of them want to take over.” She shrugs. “Apparently we have appearances to upkeep.”

“There’s been a streak lately.” You wave your hand. “Since I won it’s been nothing but districts that haven’t seen a victor in a good couple years.”

“And I see nothing wrong with that.” Cashmere shrugs.

“Agreed.” You murmur, watching the pattern of flashing lights.

While the Hunger Games are supposed to be a competition between the districts, you’re not selfish enough to be disappointed that other districts are taking home their children. There’s plenty of anger to go around, of course, but it’s not aimed at the mentors around you. It’s directed at the Capitol.

“Here’s your cup of death.” A voice says behind you. 

You glance over your shoulder first to look at the drink the bartender has just made you, a smile coming over your face when you see the dark red color. You pull out your metal card that’s provided by the Capitol for your monthly allowance. Except, it’s pretty much useless in District Two because everything is handled in cash, but you can’t use cash here because they think it's dirty. 

And it’s outdated.

She takes the card from your fingers, and you watch as a brief wave of impression crosses her face, something you’re not unfamiliar to. The heavier the card, the wealthier you are. It’s not super common for Capitol citizens to have such a luxury.

You lift the glass, watching the cubes of ice dance inside. As soon as the liquor hits your tongue, you know you don't need another drink tonight. This will be enough to get you loose, but not inebriated enough to not get back to the Tribute Center. 

You take a larger sip, the bartender slides the card back to you.

“Taxi services are listed by the door.” She points to where you entered from.

“I like to walk.” You wink at her, and then you look at Cashmere. “Where to?”

“This way.” She cocks her head to the side, walking into the crowd of people. 

You follow behind her, not really paying attention to the bodies, or those who bump into you. There’s even a few hands that caress at your skin, desperate for the attention that you’ll never give. Not without a price, at least.

There’s a few high tops that are open on this side of the room. Cashmere chooses the one pressed against the wall, allowing you to pick your chair first. Out of habit, you slide onto the one that allows you to get a clear look at the door, in case anything were to happen. And since Cashmere has no preference, she happily slides into the seat across from you.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She says, swirling her glittery drink. “What has Finnick been saying about you this year?”

“We haven’t even been in the Capitol for three days and he’s been calling me names to all my regular sponsors.” You press your lips together. “I’ve been building up this clientele for years, I can’t afford to lose them, if I actually want to have a chance this year. He knows this.”

“He’s just upset because he thinks you’re taking his mentoring style, right?” She asks.

You let out a breath of air. “You mean the mentoring style that the Career districts have been doing since the beginning?” You ask back. “The original Career districts?”

She makes a face. “I still don’t understand how they’re a part of the pack.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t see how fish can be that great of a luxury but I’m not the one who lives here.” You raise your hands defensively. “All the times I’ve had it, it tastes as good as it smells.”

Cashmere smiles.

“Anyway, besides him calling me names, he’s also telling them that I don’t keep my promises and I never had. That’s why I haven’t been able to bring a tribute home.” You nod. “Because I’m just one big fraud—a scam artist. A wannabe.”

“A wannabe?” Cashmere repeats.

“That’s what I was told by one of the richer women.” You smile. bitterly “And then she went right back to ignoring me. I can’t talk sense into any of them now. It’s like they wanted to give me an explanation, just so they could stonewall me.”

You take a drink of the carnivore, getting a little enjoyment from the burn in your throat as it goes down.

“I would try, but we both know how that would end.”

“Yeah, there’s no point in getting us both blacklisted in the Capitol.” You agree. “I wish there was something I could do about it.”

“You could confront him.” Cashmere suggests with a shrug, taking a sip of her drink. “Set things straight.”

You snort, “The only way I know how to do that is with my fists, and something tells me that won’t go over well with President Snow.”

“Your fists?”

“Actions speak louder than words.” You smirk.

She shakes her head, staring down at the table for a couple of seconds. “Do you think roughing him up would actually work?”

“Are you kidding? I’d probably get crucified.” You sit back in your chair. “He’ll always be the Capitol favorite, I’m just a close second.” 

“Guess you’ll have to have a heart-to-heart with him.”

You mock a gag, pressing a fist to your mouth. “You think he has a heart? He’s knowingly taking sponsors away from innocent teenagers.”

“Innocent.” She laughs. “Our tributes are hardly that.”

“They are until they get their hands bloody.” You tell her. “They’re still children.”

For the next hour, you talk to Cashmere about your tributes becoming allies, their strengths and weaknesses, and the likeliness that they’ll end up pairing with the Four tributes—whether you like it or not. At the rate they’re currently going, they haven’t shown any interest in Finnick’s tributes, but that doesn’t mean they won’t change their minds later on.

Cashmere then offers to talk to her sponsors about teaming up with you, at least until your situation is sorted. You take her up on it, except you ask her not to go through with anything just yet. If it’s possible, you’d like to continue to use the people you’ve gotten to know these past couple years.

Which means that you need to have a conversation with Finnick at the first given chance.

The night ends early when one of the bartenders approaches your table and tells you that Cashmere’s escort is calling around to see where she’s at. As an apology for interrupting your conversation, he drops off two shots and then goes back to the bar.

Cashmere rolls her eyes, sliding off her seat. “I should get back, he’s been up my ass lately about making sure I’m present for mentoring. As if Gloss doesn’t attend everything.” She motions to the shots on the table. “Take mine for me, will you? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” You wave her off, she gives you a cheeky smile.

You watch her disappear into the sea of bodies, before you turn to the shots. With a shake of your head, you throw back the liquor, one after the other. You arrange the glasses neatly on the table before getting to your feet, straightening out your skirt.

It can’t be any later than midnight, and the place seems like it’s packed from wall to wall. You carefully navigate your way to the bar, figuring it’ll be easy to leave from there. The bartender that served you the carnivore earlier gives you a wave on your way out, and you lift your hand as a courtesy.

As soon as you step on to the colorful Capitol street, the warm July air kisses your skin, cooling you down. You stare down the block for a couple of seconds, enjoying the peace, before you have to go back to the Tribute Center and deal with your own version of crazy. 

You’re so sick of being bossed around by your escort, but you were warned by one of the stylists that if you keep intentionally screwing with her, then you were going to get in trouble. Apparently she’s already started the process of getting in contact with Snow, and she’s just waiting for an excuse to tell him everything.

You’re not really afraid of what will happen if she does tattle on you to the President, you think he would get your side of the story first before making any final decisions. It’s the fact that she’ll be smug after that’s making you hesitate. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction. 

After a minute or so, you turn to continue down the street, heading in the direction of the Tribute Center. It’s not that long of a walk, you’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes. Despite this, you’re sure that Cashmere will still call a taxi to get home, she was wearing a nice pair of heels.

You really don’t know what to do about this situation with Finnick. As nice as it would be to pull him aside and talk your feelings out, you’re not that type of person. When you suggested settling the situation with your hands, you were only partially kidding.

After everything he’s done to you these past couple of years, it would be well deserved. He’s got his head so far up his ass that he thinks you’re following his every move. When in reality, you’re just using the strategies that are being taught to you by the mentors in the past.

Lyme, especially.

If you do decide to throw him around, he has it coming, so you won’t entirely feel bad about it. The only issue is that you come from a family where fighting your problems out is the usual. He won’t be able to defend himself as easily. 

You’ll have to deal with the repercussions, though. Finnick is a Capitol favorite, he gets everything he wants from his team, and sometimes even the President. If you so much as leave a bruise on his golden skin, you’ll bet that they’ll have you replaced in the Capitol forever. You won’t be welcome back, and you’re not sure if you’re willing to give that up just yet.

Either way, you’ll have to figure it out soon. Preferably without the help of that idiot they sent you here with. If they were trying to piss you off, they did a great job of it. He’s notorious for leaving all the work to the female mentors so he can do all the schmoozing, but as soon as he heard of what was happening with the sponsors, he holed himself up in his room. 

Hopefully he stays there.

You take a shortcut through an alley that should lead you right to the front doors of the Tribute Center. The streets of the Capitol are safe, you never have to worry about some creep hanging around, only the workers of the shops. Even then, they’re not really that intrusive, they just want to get through the night so they can go home.

There’s no one here except for you.

About halfway through the alley, it gets incredibly dark because of a light that’s out above one of the doors. This doesn’t bother you, all you do is keep your eyes on the ground to avoid stepping on any trash that might have gotten flung by accident.

A sharp pain seizes your left forearm, so sudden and unexpected that you think someone has just stabbed you. Without a second thought, you throw your entire body into a punch behind you, but it catches nothing. Your momentum works against you, bringing you down to the pavement.

You collapse in a puddle of what you can only imagine is garbage juice. The little care you have for the integrity of your clothes is gone the moment the pain spreads in two different directions, the feeling of pins and needles stabbing at your arm. You clutch your skin in a tight grip, squeezing your eyes closed and rocking, wishing it would stop.

And it does.

You sit for a minute, taking some deep breaths while you carefully look over your arm, needing to know what happened. It doesn’t look like anything has changed, but there is a smudge of dirt that’s being stubborn. You leave it for now, you’ll scrub it off in the shower when you get back to the Two apartment.

As soon as you get back to your feet, your skirt suctions to your skin, as well as your nice shirt, which is most definitely ruined now. You let out an annoyed sigh, as you continue through the alley and back onto the main sidewalk. A street light illuminates where you stand, allowing you to get a clear look at your arm.

You hold it out, expecting to see mud, but you’re met with something much more permanent—a tattoo. What you had thought to be a mess of dirt on your arm, is actually a freshly carved tattoo, just beneath the inside of your elbow. You press your lips together at the sight of your irritated skin.

You have a soulmate, and either they can afford to get a tattoo in the districts, or they’re somewhere here in the Capitol. And judging by the handiwork, you think it’s the latter.

Before you can even give yourself a moment to wonder who might be on the other side of it, your feet begin to move. Right now, you need to get this cleaned if you don’t want it to get infected. You’ll have plenty of time to figure out who you’re meant to be with when you wake up tomorrow.

—

Copycat.

It’s what you’ve been called all day. From the moment you woke up and walked out of your bedroom, to just five minutes ago in the sponsorship room surrounded by Capitol people. It’s driving you up the wall, and it’s because of the mark on your arm.

“Copycat,” Hannes—your fellow District Two mentor—said as soon as his eyes found the tattoo on your arm. “Did you really get that last night?”

“Yes and no.” You told him, dragging your feet to the dining room table, where breakfast had been recently served. “Copycat?”

He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “What do you mean? Did you get it this morning?”

“No, I’ve been sleeping since I came back from the Victory Spot with Cashmere.”

Hannes squinted at you, not at all convinced. “You’re not a very good liar. Where’d you get it?”

“I’m not lying.” You told him. “I got it in an alleyway.”

He sputtered out a laugh, coming up the steps to get a closer look. “You got that in an alleyway? Who’d you have to pay to get that sort of intel?”

“What are you talking about?” You stared at him. “Intel on what?”

Hannes elongated his neck a little bit, trying to decipher if you were fucking with him or not, but you weren’t.

After a long pause, he said: “Finnick, obviously.”

“Hannes, what about Finnick?”

“He got the same exact tattoo last night. I was with him and Gloss at the tattoo shop on the corner. The one down the road from Sugar and Spice.”

In that moment, you felt all the blood run from your face, the expression on your face dropping completely. Finnick. Finnick got the same exact tattoo last night? Finnick is the one that you’re supposed to be with for the rest of your life? Is this some sort of joke?

“Did you not think anyone would notice?”

“Holy shit.” You murmured, sitting back in your chair.

“You’re a fucking copycat.”

“I’m not a copycat, you moron.” You snapped back. “Leave me alone.”

It couldn’t stop there, of course. When you got dressed for the sponsors, you tried to look nice by wearing a summery dress with a cute pair of wedges. Usually, you go for an expensive set, trying to look like you come from wealth, but you were hoping that if you took a page from Cashmere’s dress, then maybe it would be easier to get through to them.

Unfortunately, it did not work. In fact, you think you set yourself up for violence, because you practically got verbally assaulted by the Capitol people that hang around Finnick the most. You have thick skin, so nothing they could say would ever get you riled up, but it kept coming.

And then it began to encourage the people around them. By the time Cashmere and Gloss were finally arriving, you were fuming. Your skin was hot to the touch, and you were grinding your teeth.

“You look like you want to kill someone.” Cashmere told you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Why are you so warm?”

“Is that a tattoo on your arm?” Gloss asked without giving you a chance to answer his sister first. “Wait—”

“I did not get this tattooed last night.” You told him, steely eyes encapsulating him into a stare down, challenging him to call you some form of a copycat.

“Well, how could you? You went right home after the bar, right?” Cashmere asked, reaching to grab your arm to get a better look.

Gloss had a question on his tongue, eyes wide as he looked between the mark on your arm and your face. He knew that if he said the wrong thing, he would immediately get reamed, forcing him to reconsider his words carefully.

And you knew that he already knew who else had just gotten that tattoo on their body.

“Yes, I did. I even took a shortcut through an alley to get to the building quicker.” You told her through tight teeth.

Gloss opened his mouth, taking in a breath of air, and then it hitched. He changed his mind, not quite ready to ask you.

“So… this morning?” Cashmere asked, not paying attention to her brother. “When did you have time?”

“I haven’t.” You finally looked at her. “I did not get this last night or this morning.”

Gloss swallowed. “You know, Finnick was at a tattoo shop with Hannes and I last night.” He started slowly, testing the water.

“Oh, I’m fully aware. Hannes told me this morning, and I’ve been getting an earful from these assholes all afternoon.”

He pressed his lips together. “I don’t know what to say right now, because all I’m coming up with are ways that will get you pissed off more than you already are.”

“I am not a copycat.” You told him, then looked at Cashmere. “I got it in that alleyway last night.”

Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing while she stared at you, trying to figure out what you were trying to subtly tell her. “Okay…?”

“Finnick has the same tattoo, Cash.” Gloss nudged her a little. “I watched him get it.”

Her eyes bounced down to what’s been permanently etched into your skin. “Soulmate mark?” She asked, her tone slightly hopeful.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You told her, “And now I have no choice but to talk it out with him.”

“You’ll be able to catch him tonight.” Gloss told you. “He’s free, he has no plans.”

“Good, because we need to settle this.”

After this, you went back to the apartment to change into something more casual, tired of appearances. You settled on a pair of jeans, sneakers and a long-sleeved shirt that would cover the damn thing. However, when you got to the sponsorship room to be with Cashmere and Gloss, it was infuriating.

It was like you became a zoo animal. Once word got out that you had gotten a tattoo exactly like Finnick’s, less than twenty-four hours from when he got it, everyone had to come and see. And while it did get incredibly busy, and it would’ve been perfect for networking—all people wanted to do was see the tattoo and ask you if you were proud of yourself. Or if you had a hard time being your own individual.

Which is rich coming from a group of people who talk, walk and dress the same. They have one collective mind and it’s controlled by the President, but it’s not like you could say that to them. 

So, you gave up for the evening and you’ve spent the rest of the night stewing in your room, waiting for everyone to go to bed so you can leave. As you step into the elevator, you jab your thumb into the four button on the box. The doors slowly slide shut, and then you’re sent a few floors up.

From what you understand, all the floor layouts for the Tribute Center are the same, so it should be relatively easy to get around. When the elevator stops, the doors open, revealing a differently decorated apartment. It’s incredibly cliche, with the seashells and sand vases with ocean paintings on the wall.

Something moves in the darkness, you step forward to place your hand on the doors to keep them from trying to close. You don’t move further than that, waiting to see who it is that’s in the living space. If it’s Lynnea—or whatever the girl mentor’s name is—you’ll have to come up with some lame excuse and go back down.

A low laugh interrupts the silence, as the person barely comes into sight. It’s Finnick, and he’s got this smug look on his face. You hate smug people.

“Well, look who it is.” He says slowly, you step out of the elevator. The doors close immediately, blocking off the light. But he’s prepared for this, because he reaches to the nearest table to flick on the lamp. “Come to scope me out and see what else you should steal from me? A tattoo wasn’t enough?”

“Are you stupid?” You shoot back, it comes out harsher than you mean for it to. “Genuinely. I thought that you had to be smart, considering your strategies, but you have to lack some common sense.”

“I’m stupid? The least you could try to do is be subtle.” He motions to your arm. “Nowhere else? In the exact same spot as me? I thought Hannes was kidding when he told me.” He shakes his head. “You had to be stalking me in order to get it that quick, and then you went to some alleyway artist to protect their identity? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“You think I care about your life that much?” You laugh a little. “You don’t think it’s strange that I happened to get it the same night you did?”

“I figured it was a form of dedication.” He shrugs. “It wouldn’t be the first time you tried to follow in my footsteps.”

You open your mouth to correct him, but you remind yourself that you can’t get sidetracked. “It appeared on my arm.”

Finnick’s face twists, as if you’re trying to feed him a spoon of shit. “Tattoos don’t just appear on your arm. How fucking stupid do you think I am?”

You don’t take the bait. “They do in some cases.” You tell him, not wanting to outright give him the answer.

Honestly, it’s not like you really hate Finnick and the thought of being connected to him makes you sick. It’s because you want him to feel stupid for how he’s been treating you these past few years—especially this year. 

You don’t really care about him, usually you can stomach and brush off what he has to say, and the shenanigans he’s up to. You’re actually pretty similar in most ways, which is why his behavior doesn’t get to you. You have the same fashion taste, mentoring style, arena strategies, and more. And you only considered this to be a coincidence until recently.

It clicked in your mind this afternoon while you were changing. All the pieces have fallen into place since. You’ve always been drawn to each other, whether you liked it or not. It might’ve been romantic or friendly from the beginning if Finnick hadn’t already hated your guts. Instead, it just turned you into competitors.

“Like what?” Finnick asks, still actively being combative.

“Take a second and think about it.” You tell him, leaning against the wall. “I’ll even give you a hint; we have the rest of our lives to figure it out.”

The creases in his forehead get more defined while he turns your words over in his head. It doesn’t take long for him to realize what you’re telling him. His eyes dart to his forearm, where he rubs the tattoo on his skin, lips pressed together in a thin line. Then his arm drops. 

“We’re soulmates.”

“It explains everything, doesn’t it?” You ask him.

“Yeah, actually.” He looks up from the floor. “How long have you known?”

“I knew it was a soulmate mark when it appeared on my arm after the bar last night, but it was Hannes that actually indirectly told me it was you.”

He lets out a hiss. “This will be a hard one to explain to the Capitol.”

You shrug. “Tell them the truth, or don’t. Either way, I want my sponsors back.” You raise your eyebrows. “It’s unfair to turn them against me like that, especially since they’re not for me, they’re for my tributes.”

“That was Lynnea.” Finnick shakes his head. “She wanted them to come to us, instead. I’ll have a talk with them to make sure we set things straight.”

“You can’t blame it on Lynnea. Everyone has told me that you called me a wannabe.”

Finnick’s face twists. “Do I look like I call people wannabe’s?”

You squint at him. “Fine, I’ll let that go. Just tell Lynnea that if she wants to go home with a black eye, that’s the way to do it.” You press the button on the wall, and the elevator opens right back up. You step on, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hey,” Finnick takes a step forward, you block the doors that have begun to close. “What are we going to do about this?” He asks, showing you the tattoo on his arm. “We live in two different districts.”

You stare at him for a couple of seconds, “I’m in no hurry to find out. It’s not like we don’t see each other every year for a month at a time.”

Finnick nods a little bit. “Goodnight, (Y/n). I’m sorry.”

“You’ll make it up to me.” You give him a cheeky smile, moving your hand away from the elevator door. “Goodnight, Finnick.”

[silkenwinger]

cherry

mdni. part 2 to this; one sided enemies to lovers (?) konig x reader.

You aren't sure this job is good for you, but you would be miserable doing anything else.

That is the unquestionable truth of the matter. Normal society rejects you, then chews on you and spits you out; and you may have taken a bite as well, bitter as it was. There was an attempt, fresh of finishing high school: it was so corroding to you your only other option was joining the army. When that grew unsustainable, too, KorTac. And you are determined to make it work: the unstable people that work with you mostly irritate you, besides some precious exceptions, but you know how they operate. You know how to cope with them.

But God if they don't make it hard!

“As I said before,” you seethe between your teeth, “Novik was spotted by our squad last week in Pashyk. We have reason to believe he might still be there.”

The lieutenant you’re speaking to just listens with dead eyes. He then blinks, and turns to speak to his squad member again.

“We will go ahead as planned…”

Fuck this shit! Not only you’re forced to work alongside another squad, full of people you don’t know, but you’re also going totally unheard. What even is the point of going after an arms dealer if you’re just going to miss him every time because you’re going to the wrong places?

In the ample debrief space, you turn to protest with your side of the room. Roze doesn’t look thrilled either, having her own recon being dismissed so blatantly. It’s harder to tell what the guys are thinking, with that whole mask business, but Horangi has that battle tension in his shoulder, a sign of unreleased disapproval and anger. König… doesn’t look very different. His posture is straight, he’s not hunching to hear the others better. He could be approving the other plan, for all you know. At the end though, you can’t have too much internal conflict, especially when you know the lieutenant knows the commanding general a good deal. Personal preferences and friendships are even more relevant in a PMC than in the normal army, which is saying something.

“It’s like they thrive on doing the wrong thing,” you vent to them later as you make for the mess, fists closed. The other squad had won the battle of deciding your next step, favoured by the higher ups.

“You tell me,” replies Roze, taking her gloves off as she moves to the food stand. “A full night of work dismissed because of their old info.”

“I say we let them do as they please and just sit on the side. We are still getting paid,” says Horangi as he sheds his mask away. Oh, potato salad… 

“I would rather not catch a stray bullet from them, you know how some of their aims are,” you snicker, looking around to make sure none of them are in hearing range. You grab the cutleries.

“It won’t happen,” states a voice you haven’t heard for some minutes now. König’s. He’s standing next to you, as he does often nowadays.

It’s been some weeks since you’ve slept together. You don’t know exactly how your relationship has changed. All you know is that you’ve found it increasingly hard to insult him often and he clings to you like he’s made of velcro (and you are too). And he stuck to you already before. Despite being tempted, so far you’ve managed to not fall into the trap of giving in to your impulses again– both due to your work demands, but also because you have exerted self restraint. Since you know that König has feelings for you, the poor fool, it’s good that you aren’t leading him on. It’s the kindest thing you’ve ever done for him.

Sitting down to eat, you look at König in front of you as he raises his hood to eat. A scowl tugs at your lips, but you distract yourself with food to not think about him. Great, the potato salad is fridge cold as well. And salt less. Could this day even get worse?

“You look stupid,” you say before you can reign it in, pointing at König and his mask. He gulps audibly. Horangi and Roze don’t even mind your insult, as used as they are to them, and keep having their own conversation.

“There’s no way you aren’t getting it dirty, putting it back on every time you take a bite,” you continue, frustrated. There you are again, taking it on König. He should win an award, or fire you.

“You’re right,” he says, tone cheery, “I used to eat in my room so it was cleaner.” The unspoken is so obvious it hits you in the belly, like a well placed punch that takes your breath away. You’re so uncomfortable with the eye contact he’s holding that you look away first.

Why did this have to happen to you. When taken rationally, and without the fumes of lust, what you and König have going on is neither normal nor healthy. He should have a normal companion that elevates and cherishes him, and you should go to something that starts with t and ends with herapy. But no, you’re not going: you went while you were still in the army and it was completely useless and annoying. Plus it’s not even free in KorTac like it was back then.

There’s no other way than to sit down and hope it passes. There’s many women in KorTac; König is a tall and powerful man with a particular kind of charm. Soon hormones will do their part and lead him to other, more well adjusted shores. Far away from you and your unstable moods.

The rest of the afternoon you mope around trying to do something, anything to distract you from your impending mission. You go to the gym and do more series than usual, until your arms burn; you shoot at the range; you beat some poor recruits in hand to hand training; but still it haunts you. It’s both worrying about what you will encounter and anger at being dismissed, unheard. Exacerbating your anxiety is the feeling someone is watching as you walk about the base. You feel eyes on you as you walk through corridors and as you enter rooms. 

The flesh tires before the mind, and so you retreat to your room hoping to sleep at least some hours. Like the internet recommended, you pick up a book to facilitate sleep. See? You can do mental work on your own, no shrink needed. You’re trying to read the same sentence for a minute when someone knocks at your door. You raise your voice as you ask who’s there.

Dogs come back to the place where they’re fed, and much to your chagrin, some men are all dog. And they will scratch at doors.

“It’s me…” a soft voice speaks from the other side. You recognize it immediately and don’t particularly enjoy it being there, but you’ve been trying to get better. So you tell it to enter.

König enters your room like he’s making his way through a mined zone. Not very dissimilar for him when you’re concerned. Still, he lowers his head as he passes through the door and takes some tentative steps. The sound of his boots walking on your carpet is clunky and uncertain. You slide the covers off and sit straight on your bed.

“Is there a problem?” You ask him, neither cold nor warm. You have a hunch he’s not here for any official reason, but you want to hear it from his mouth.

“No, there is no problem,” he rushes to say. You give him no reaction because you already knew that.

Looking at him, so tall and awkward, standing in your room with his hands in front of himself, moves in you something that would have been disgust a month ago. Now it’s something more akin to pity and wanting to strangle him for his way of being. You sigh, already done with his bumbling ways.

“Sit down, will you?” You tell him, and he immediately sits down at the desk chair. It takes a remarkable amount of control to not tell him good boy at that.

“Was it you creeping on me all day?” You ask him directly, like a band aid taken off by surprise. You know the answer to this already as well.

He fiddles a bit with his fingers and then nods, adding a spoken yes on his own. Your eyebrows lower in anger.

“What makes you think that’s a normal thing to do? Seriously, you disgust me at times.” He jiggles his feet, making the chair creak in strain

“I saw you were upset. But I would be making you even more upset, so I thought I would look at you from afar.” His words tumble out of him like the water of a river in flood, like he cannot control his thoughts transforming into spoken phrases.

“I’m not something for you to gawk at.” His attraction to you confuses and upsets you: you cannot understand what you did for him to like you, and maybe that’s what unsettles you. That there’s a whole world out there that sees you and chooses to perceive you in a way you cannot control. Dislike, scorn, indifference: these are reactions you can understand applied to your person, but that König would instead choose to pick like is unbearable. 

“I just wanted to see you were well,” he confesses, his voice soft. For some reason, he keeps digging his grave even deeper. You feel blood rush to your face.

“You’re unbelievable. You hide yourself all the time and I have to be seen and controlled? You’re the most hypocritical person I know.” His head snaps lower now, and you think to yourself this is it. This is the time you get to break his heart completely, that you make yourself unredeemable in his eyes. No longer a fussy creature he can please by doing what she says, but a fully blooded woman that doesn’t deserve his care. Leave her to her devices, his brain should be telling him. This woman is worthless and a constant headache.

Your blood chills in your veins when his hands raise to go to his nape. The fabric of his hood falls in front, a waterfall that stops to reveal the unknown. You find König’s eyes living on a man’s face. 

He’s scarred, that much is true. His nose might have been broken as well. You’re speechless to the fact that he chose to take off his mask, and instead of saying anything dumb, you decide it’s your turn to gawk. His hair is longer than normal in the military, this much you guessed right, and a pleasing auburn that matches his body hair, for as little as you saw them that other time. He looks nervous, and younger than you know he is. Overall, you like his face. It matches his personality: rough in exterior facade, showing that he’s been through a lot, but soft in behavior and gestures. 

“This way,” he manages to let out, “you see me as well.”

This idiot. He’s making you do it again. You’ve really tried, but it’s like he bewitches you.

You jump out of the bed and cross the room in three wide steps. König doesn’t even know what hits him when you’re already sitting on his lap. It’s quite spacious.

“This doesn’t count as an apology for stalking me,” you tell him, inflexible, your legs straddling his. But then you start holding his face in your hands. He looks like you’ve hung the moon for him, and while the sensation is heady, it’s also uncomfortable. You distract yourself from it by kissing him. You start slow, more like nibbling at his lips, uncharted territory. He tries reciprocating, thankfully not using his tongue yet, just pushing his lips against yours, chaste and innocent. You laugh against his mouth and he starts giggling too, a weirdly intimate touch that you weren’t expecting. You’re no longer laughing at him so much as you’re laughing together.

“Follow my lead,” you tell him simply, and he nods, nose brushing against yours. You begin kissing him again, this time for real, your tongue tracing first his lips and then the inside of his mouth. When it slides against his own, you urge him to reciprocate. He does, albeit shyly, but when you start really going at it he gets the hang of it. Truly, an adapting genius. You run your hands in his hair, soft and smooth, while he keeps his hand diligently on your hips, straying neither up nor down. You guess, for his patience again shown when you mistreat him in public, that he deserves a reward of sorts. When your hands move away he makes a strangled sound, but shuts up real quickly when he sees them grab the hem of your t-shirt to take it off. Already braless for bed, your tits go from being completely unknown to him to being in front of his eyes. The expression on his face, unguarded and unrestrained, is almost laughable again, but you’re feeling neglected and you don’t want to turn this into a full bullying session.

“Touch me. Don’t be shy,” you tell him, index finger in front of his lips, and again he nods, resolute. He cups your breast like it’s the holy grail, and that’s exactly what you were afraid of. That you’re an idol instead of a human being to him. Even if it’s a flattering idea.

“I won’t break, you goof,” you berate him but guide him as well, putting your hand over his, showing him how you like to be touched. The other you grab to put on your lower back. Instructed by you, his touches become more real, more vivid; he runs his hand against your side, your hip, then goes back to grope your chest. The sensation makes you move forward, grinding your body against his, and your wet pussy sends a sting of pleasure up your body from the contact against his crotch. König moves to suck your nipple then, now dedicated to covering your chest with care. His suckles are gentle but intense, a motion that is never too rough nor mild; when he is done with one breast he switches to the other without any input, and you smile, ruffling his hair a bit. He looks up at you then, face adorably red and flushed, and moves back to kiss you on the mouth again. Taken by surprise, you emit an embarrassing sound that wakes you up. You break off the kiss, drizzle of spit briefly linking you two, and rush to get off him.

His expressions are so clear now that he’s masked. And right now he’s looking at you like you just burned his house to the ground, sweaty, flushed and miserable. Unable to stand that look on his face, you clear your throat.

“Get on the bed,” you only say, and cringe a bit at the high pitched tone of your voice. König lights up again at your words, like you’ve built his house again and it’s even bigger and more splendid than it was before. He walks with his legs wide, visibly working around his erection, and the sight almost makes you facepalm. Thankfully, you can busy yourself by taking off your pants, doing it so rushedly your thumb’s nail makes a red scratch on your thigh. Watching you from the bed, König starts taking off his clothes. You didn’t tell him to do that but you will grant him this much after turning away from his kiss. He awaits, loyally, sitting on the opposite edge.

“Well? Lay down,” you tell him from the edge of the bed, bracing yourself for the next act. It’s something that you’ve thought about these past days, but to think it will happen now that he’s maskless prickles on your spine. Once you’re done, you turn to see his feet are right next to you, and he’s not quite laying down but more like sitting up with his legs stretched out. These military beds weren’t built for men like König. 

You crawl over to him; you’re not trying to be particularly seductive, but maybe you’re doing it anyway, because his mouth is slightly open, oafish look on his face and all. So irritating– you can’t wait to make it go away. You reach his midsection on all fours, and your hand locks around his cock like you’ve done it a hundred times. He’s leaking all over, the poor thing. His leg twitches: you observe his expression as you pump him a couple of times and, satisfied by it changing to something less stupid, you straddle him again. You’re unsure you can take him without any preparation, but being on top allows you to change your mind quickly. Guiding his cock inside you, you flinch a little at the start and stop midway through, taking a few breaths. You’re plenty wet, and you’ve taken it before, but it’s still a challenge. Thankfully you’re made of stern stuff.

“I’m sorry…” says König, and you could really slap him for saying something this stupid while you’re trying to put his dick in you.

“Don’t be,” you reassure him anyway, huffing. That’s on you for being greedy. Finally, after a while of praying and relaxing and moving a bit after bit, you can take him to base. You sigh as he fills you whole and more, and he moans a contented noise. One of his hands comes to hold your hips, gently, gallantly, as if to say Do what you must and I’ll be there. Readjusting your legs, you start riding him. This has been your plan all along, but the feel of his long, hard cock inside you is more overwhelming than expected, and maybe you’ve missed him just a touch. Moaning, you grasp at his chest, until one of your hands grabs his neck and you dig your nails into the pale strong meat of it. König shouts, a sudden and sharp noise– you grind against his body to give something to your neglected clit. 

“You– you can, hngh, move too you know…” you tell him, out of breath and aching sweetly as you bounce on his cock. You want him to feel involved as well… not like he’s a toy you use to get off. 

“Alright,” he says, smiling at you like he doesn’t have a worry in the world, and you feel an undercurrent of shame again. His heels point on the mattress then, and he starts matching your thrusts from the bottom, the head of his cock reaching a point so far inside you you’re almost certain has never been reached before. Your moans have become needy cries as you match König’s movements, his grunting almost quiet, concentrated on fucking the way you want. Before you know it, two strong arms have bound you by your torso, and your chest makes contact with König’s. He’s holding you, like you’re making love and not taking out frustrations on each other… You could scream, but the change in position and angle has you curling your toes even more, pleasure mounting inside of you. König is panting in your neck, a desperate noise, and you join your arms to hold him, too, his breath hot against your body. Soon enough of his touch, of this spiked beast being tamed by his kindness, you come, letting out a disjointed mewl. Feeling your pussy constrict him even more, König hurries his last strokes, coming inside you with his head in your chest. His rumbling drawl sends rippling tingles all over your body.

You lay there on top of him for a while. Maybe you’re also a bit scared to look him in the eye after kissing and holding him. You reason this is what he’s wanted all along, and maybe you’ve been wanting something along these lines too. Finally, your knees done for, you slide out of him, leaving a mess on your thighs and his, and try to stand but miserably fail, knees buckling. Humiliated, you angrily jump over to lay down next to him. Only you could ruin your post orgasm bliss… all by yourself. Unexpectedly, König speaks.

“Can I hold you?” He asks, tone dangerously sleepy. Your bed is not equipped for two grown adults of your size sleeping on it; and your odds are not good against König in your sleep. The chances of you falling off are very high. But since you can’t go anywhere for a while, you might as well oblige him.

“Yes,” you tell him, but snuggle to him before he can do it to you. His hands are greedy now, too: he brushes your hair and your neck and your ass, reverent, back to his worshipping mood. He takes his time exploring your body, blue eyes dragging over the details, your scars, your birthmarks. Embarrassed by his lavish exploration, you hide your head in his neck. You want him to lay down more comfortably, but maybe he prefers this to having his feet hang off.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you, but I’m on birth control,” you mutter against his muscles. It’s very stupid to tell him this after he already came in you twice, but considering you’ve sprung it on him very suddenly both times, you cannot blame a guy for not asking.

“I know!” He exclaims instead, joyful. “I heard you saying so to Roze three months and five days ago, in the helicopter!” He taps his long fingers against your back, maybe to the beat of a song or a lullaby, and you shudder. Again, his obsession for you is simply inexplicable. The mean streak returns as your lungs fill, like a cat ready to scratch.

“You’re freaking me out,” you grimace and take your face off from his neck, trying to lay down on your back as much as you can in the limited space, back arched. His laugh is light and airy, reverberating through your simple room. It tugs a smile off you too and it makes you feel like everything will be alright, at work… and maybe with König, too.

[giggly-squiggily]

Okay you can disregard the last adk I sent for Gojo and Geto (my bad 😅)

Instead, what about the trio (Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara) getting back at Gojo for always tickling them and they succeeded

Can't wait to see what you do 💖🫶🏾

EEEE This is a bit older but YES! Gladys you always have the best prompts! I love the idea of the trio getting Gojo- my heart is so happy writing this sakjerajkejkrajkerjk I've gotcha covered! :D

“Okay guys- time to retract and regroup!” Yuji stood tall before his group, puffing his chest to exert powerful energy. Did he truly know exactly what he was saying? Not really- but he watched enough business dramas to get the idea. “Our last attempt to get Gojo-sensei was a bust. How are we gonna recover from it?”

“You mean your last attempt. I told you it wouldn’t work.” Megumi rolled his eyes, arms stretched as Nobara painted his fingernails. Their impromptu movie night turned into a salon day for the boys when her new nail polish set came in the mail. “You really should give up.”

“Never!” Yuji struck a pose, eyes ablaze. “Not after that last crushing defeat! I was so close! I could practically taste his laughter!”

“Gross- how do you even taste laughter?” Nobara nodded at her work, pride in her growing smile. “Come here, Itadori. It’s your turn.”

“Ooo, make me pretty!” Yuji slid over and stuck his hands out, laughing as she wrinkled her nose at the state of his cuticles. “Seriously though- I think it’s possible! If we work as a team-”

“Pass.” Megumi and Nobara spoke in sync.

“Come on, you two!” He pleaded, eyes puppy-like. “Think about it! Gooms- how many times has Gojo Sensei tickled you since taking you in all those years ago?”

“All the time. Relentlessly.”

“Right! Isn’t it time for payback?” He turned to Nobara next. “'Bara- don’t you love chaos? Don’t you ever wonder what Gojo-sensei looks like when tickled?”

“Hmm..that is tempting.” She mused, finishing up her work on Yuji’s fingers. “Screw it- I’m in!”

“Seriously?” Megumi asked while Yuji whooped.

“Yeah! I’ve made the impossible happen before.” She grinned, confidence radiating off her like waves. “I can do it again!”

“He’ll kill us.”

“Us?” 

“...Fine, I’m in.” Megumi resigned, earning a round of cheers. He hid his smile in his soda can. “So how exactly are we doing this?”

“I have a plan.” Yuji gestured them over. “But it’s pretty bold.”

~~~

Gojo wasn’t a simple man. He had a knack for catching onto mischief- especially when it came to his three students.

“Hey, Gojo?” Megumi was standing before him, cheeks red and hands shaking as they pressed further into his pockets. “Can I…get a hug?”

That didn’t mean his brain always won over his heart.

Gojo gaped, brows to his hairline and jaw dropped. He took off his glasses, cleaning them on his sleeve and putting them back on to make sure his eyes were working. “Megumi? Did-did you just ask me for a hug?”

The younger boy seemed to shrink on himself, looking an adorable combination of both frustrated and mortified. “Yes..?”

“Oh…Oh how I longed for this day.” Gojo cried crocodile tears as he wiped at his cheeks, sniffing a few times. “The day you see me as your dad! The day you let me love you like the son I’ve always wanted!”

“I never said that. If anything, you’re more of a weird uncle.” Megumi frowned harder, glaring at the obnoxiously delighted man. “Nevermind, I take it back. Keep your hug.”

“Wait, Goomy!” Gojo appeared before him, arms out and eyes twinking. “You can’t just go up to someone offering a hug and not follow through!”

“I didn’t offer-”

“Come here.” He did a little hop forward, brows bouncing as he gestured Megumi into his embrace. “Where my hug at?”

“Don’t say that- now you really sound like a weird uncle.” Megumi crossed the distance, wrapping his arms around Gojo and feeling the other man startle. “There.”

After a moment, Gojo’s arms down to embrace him, his cheek against Megumi’s crown and his squeeze a level of comfort the younger man wasn’t expecting. He felt bad for what was to come. “Sorry, Gojo.”

“I know. I forgive you.” Gojo didn’t sound mad, nor did he release his embrace. He simply held on as Nobara and Yuji charged them. “It was worth the hug though.”

Seconds later, they hit the ground hard.

~~~

“Gehehahhahahah! Yohoohu threehehehe! Cohoohhome on, spahahhare your tehahahhcher!” Gojo cried out, three sets of hands going to work to break him down. To his amusment- it seemed they picked up on his own tickle techniques. “I’ll gihihiihive yohhohohu ehahhehextra crehheehdit!”

“For what? You don’t even assign homework!” Yuji pointed out, pinning both of Gojo’s wrists above his head while his companions went to work. “Wait- don’t actually assign homework now, Gojo-sensei!”

“You blockhead! Now he’s definitely gonna give us homework!” Nobara gave him a look from her spot by his legs, one hand holding down Gojo’s kicking leg while the other skittered along the back of his knee. “Keep tickling him until he takes it back!”

“Yeah!”

“Whahahait, wahahahit-ahahahahhahah!” Gojo arched with a cackle, not bothering with resisting. Even if he wanted to, he doubt he could with Megumi poking along the back of his ribs. He just had to go for the worst spots. “I hahahhahte hohohohmewohohohork! Whohohoh the hehehehell asiiihihihsgn’s hihihihis stuhuhudent’s hhoiohohmework?”

“Way to set an example as a teacher.” Megumi tsked him, stretching his hands further to really get his lower back set. The action alone was enough to have him dying. “So shameful.”

“Dohohohn’t you stahhahart on mehehee-ehehheheheehehehhe, nhoohoho cohohome ohohohon!” Gojo weakly tugged on his arms when Yuji dared to tickle an armpit. “Fihihihihne, fhihihihihne, no hohohohmewhohohoohrk! Nohohohoo hhoohohohmewohohohork!”

“Yay!” Nobara and Yuji cheered, briefly stopping their ticklish antics to highfive overhead. “Wait- why were we talking about homework again?” Yuji suddenly asked, making all three pause.

Unfortunately for them, that was the moment Gojo chose to counter.

“No homework, but here comes your extra lessons!” He moved like lightning, gathering all three of them up in seconds before bringing them to the ground, tickling like crazy. Squeals and shrieks and swears filled the area as he rapidly clawed at ribs and bellies and necks. “This will teach you to tickle your dear ol’ teacher!”

“Aheahhaha! Soohoho yohohohou’re finahahahahlly admihihihiting your ohohohld?” Yuji cried out, shrieking when Gojo doubled his efforts. “I tahhahake it bahahahck, I tahhahke it bnahahahck!”

“Ehehehehhhehehe! Thihihis wahahsn’t eehehehven my ihihiheheheha!” Nobara cried out with a high pitched cackle, scrunching up as her neck was pinched at. “It wahhahhs Yuhuhuhuhuhji’s!”

“Ihihihit was ahhahahall hihihihim! Gehehhet Ihihihihitahahhadori!” Megumi cried, pushing at the hand against his stomach. “Stahhahahap!”

“Call me old and then demand me to stop? You three are rather cheeky!” Gojo chided with mock disappointment, unable to fight off his smile. “Tell me I’m a great teacher and I’ll do it. Come on- sing me your praises.”

“Yohohohu’re grhehahahahaht! Yoohohohu’re ghreahhahahhahhat!” The three of them chorused in various tones of mirth, making Gojo laugh with them. After getting one last good tickle, he finally relented.

“Okay- lesson’s over.” He stood back with hands on his hips, laughing at the sight of his students piling up on one another in giggles. “You three are adorable..say, why are you all wearing nail polish?” He blinked at their sparkly fingers, only just now registering the look. 

Megumi seemed to flush redder as he struggled to hide his hands. Nobara meanwhile sat up and gleefully stuck out her fingers to show off her work. “Do you love them? They’re holo!”

 “Wow, would you look at that? I wish I knew you were doing manicures; I’d have you do mine.”

“I can do yours!” Nobara offered, Yuji joining in gleefully at the idea.

“Yeah! Gojo-sensei, match with us! Nobara even did Goom’s toes!”

“Don’t tell him that- get off me!” Megumi fumed, struggling to shove his friend off who dived for his feet. Gojo cackled, clapping his hands as he took in the sight of his beloved students.

“Sounds good. Let me know when your next nail appointment opens up. I’ll gladly join in.”

~~~

Nanami blinked, brow furrowed. He didn’t know what it was about Gojo, but the longer he looked, the more he felt something was…different.

When the blonde caught his eye, he flashed his fingers, making the rainbow against his fingernails dance. “My students.”

“That’s nice.” Nanami nodded, turning back to look out at the horizon.

A brief pause. “Wanna see my toenails?”

“Keep your shoes on, Gojo.”

Thanks for reading!

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway. 

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you. 

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it. 

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw. 

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously. 

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge. 

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface. 

 He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you. 

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away. 

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away. 

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows 

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little. 

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever. 

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before. 

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are. 

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out. 

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too. 

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone. 

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you. 

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve. 

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk. 

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances. 

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words. 

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry. 

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face. 

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel. 

 “Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,” 

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to. 

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you. 

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else. 

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind. 

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head. 

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse. 

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you. 

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur. 

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything. 

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home. 

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw. 

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be. 

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin. 

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.” 

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

[rederiswrites]

Lace found Arden standing in the main hall, staring up at the most recently revealed mural. Elgar’nan and Mythal, hands upraised in victory as they stood on a cracked hill or orb. Solas looked thin and frail beside them, his own hand raised in accusation.

“Hey, Rook. Whatcha thinkin?”

“Do you think she loved him?” Arden asked.

“Loved who?”

Arden glanced down at her, broken out of his reverie. “Sorry. Elgar’nan. Do you think Mythal loved Elgar’nan? Do you think he was someone you could love, once?”

She joined him in front of the mural. “Does it matter?”

“No. Not really. Whether he was someone you could reason with once or not, she failed, and now he’s just a tool of the Blight. I guess in that sense, the Titans won. Some victory! But still, can’t help wondering. Did she join him just to moderate the Evanuris, like Solas seems to think? Or did she want it too? The power. The worship.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can imagine being them. We keep saying they’re just people, but…they’re not like us. Never were, I guess.”

“How could they be, right?” Arden mused. “All that power. I can’t even imagine being the Archon, much less as powerful as that. I think it would change you. And to be that old? To see that much?”

Lace hummed. “I wouldn’t want it.”

Arden made a noise of agreement, but his mind was still on the original question. 

“It matters because it tells us about her. Mythal, I mean. Elgar’nan, whatever he was, I think he’s as much a ghoul now as anything. But Mythal–was she the kind of person who thought she was acting out of love? Or was it always just politics?”

“Imagine being married to someone for thousands of years that you didn’t love! Brr!” Lace shook herself as if to shake the idea off.

“Imagine loving someone and seeing them become…that,” Arden said.

“Gross,” Lace said, and laughed weakly.

“Yeah. Gross.” Arden blew out his breath explosively. “Either way. Gross.”

“Icky,” Lace supplied, giggling slightly.

“Booger soup.” Arden laughed, and Lace responded with a slightly stronger chuckle. 

“Kinda glad I don’t understand, to be honest,” she said.

“Oh, definitely. Yeah. Definitely.” Arden bounced on the balls of his feet, releasing the energy of his reverie. “Ugh. I’m gonna get in a run before dinner. Join me?”

Lace laughed. “Pass. Too many stairs. Have fun, tree trunk.”

[dandylion240]

Transcript under the cut

“Papa,” Josie’s voice dragged Jayden’s thoughts away from Ethan and the disastrous effects he had on those who loved him. 

“Yes sweetheart,” he gave his little girl a gentle smile even as his heart ached at the sight of her clutching that awful necklace around her neck.

“Can I redecorate my room?” she asked somewhat hesitantly.

Frowning Jayden almost asked if it was Jolene’s idea. Instead he said “is that what you want?”

“Jolene says it’s a little girls room,” she said, her warm brown eyes somewhat troubled. “She says that if I’m getting jewelry from boys I can’t have toys and stuffed animals.”

Jayden resisted the urge to chuckle “what do you think?” he asked.

“Well you won Daddy a stuffie at the fair last week,” she said looking puzzled. “So stuffies can’t be just little kid stuff.”

“There’s no age limit on things that you enjoy and like,” Jayden explained. “Do you like your toys? Your stuffies?”

“Well I like some of them but some not so much,” she said “does that mean I’m not a little girl anymore?”

“It’s not a bad thing to admit you’ve outgrown things or just don’t like them anymore,” he said. “The important thing is making the right changes that best fit you.  Getting rid of things is a personal decision and no one else should tell you when you should get rid of something.”

The relief on her face was like the sun coming out from the clouds. “Oh thank you papa,” she threw her arms around him. “I’m not ready to grow up all at once. I know Bobby gave me this necklace but I don’t think it makes me a big girl yet. And I don’t want to give up my stuffed dragon just because Jolene says I have to.”

Jayden almost bit his tongue to keep from saying that Jolene was a bad influence on her. “Do you still want to redecorate your room?” he asked instead.

Looking up at him grinning “yes please. I wouldn’t mind a change but I don’t want a big girls room yet.”

“I think we can come up with something in between,” he said even though he knew his little girl was indeed growing up and wouldn’t be little much longer.

[jewishbarbies]

there was a tiktok of Ilona Maher absolutely recking players on the field and in the comments someone said it was stupid the right was so focused on men in women’s sports when clearly women in women’s sports can handle themselves, and so many women got fucking pissed because “she’s strong but she’s not MAN strong”, and i just wanna know how fucking strong do these dumb bitches think men are. if you put Ilona against any man in my family ever, she would genuinely crush them. in every possible way. what, do you want her to be strong enough to arm wrestle Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime or something?? what are y’all basing your “man strong” off of? the fact that you have no muscles and your husbands work construction? fuck off, fucking TERFs.

[oscars-thighs]

What in the rpf is going on with charles and max