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trans-axolotl · 10 months ago

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also in regards to that last article about varied ways of thinking about psychosis/altered states that don't just align with medical model or carceral psychiatry---I always love sharing about Bethel House and their practices of peer support for schizophrenia that are founded on something called tojisha kenkyu, but I don't see it mentioned as often as things like HVN and Soteria House.

ID: [A colorful digital drawing of a group of people having a meeting inside a house while it snows outside.]

"What really set the stage for tōjisha-kenkyū were two social movements started by those with disabilities. In the 1950s, a new disability movement was burgeoning in Japan, but it wasn’t until the 1970s that those with physical disabilities, such as cerebral palsy, began to advocate for themselves more actively as tōjisha. For those in this movement, their disability is visible. They know where their discomfort comes from, why they are discriminated against, and in what ways they need society to change. Their movement had a clear sense of purpose: make society accommodate the needs of people with disabilities. Around the same time, during the 1970s, a second movement was started by those with mental health issues, such as addiction (particularly alcohol misuse) and schizophrenia. Their disabilities are not always visible. People in this second movement may not have always known they had a disability and, even after they identify their problems, they may remain uncertain about the nature of their disability. Unlike those with physical and visible disabilities, this second group of tōjisha were not always sure how to advocate for themselves as members of society. They didn’t know what they wanted and needed from society. This knowing required new kinds of self-knowledge.

As the story goes, tōjisha-kenkyū emerged in the Japanese fishing town of Urakawa in southern Hokkaido in the early 2000s. It began in the 1980s when locals who had been diagnosed with psychiatric disorders created a peer-support group in a run-down church, which was renamed ‘Bethel House’. The establishment of Bethel House (or just Bethel) was also aided by the maverick psychiatrist Toshiaki Kawamura and an innovative social worker named Ikuyoshi Mukaiyachi. From the start, Bethel embodied the experimental spirit that followed the ‘antipsychiatry’ movement in Japan, which proposed ideas for how psychiatry might be done differently, without relying only on diagnostic manuals and experts. But finding new methods was incredibly difficult and, in the early days of Bethel, both staff and members often struggled with a recurring problem: how is it possible to get beyond traditional psychiatric treatments when someone is still being tormented by their disabling symptoms? Tōjisha-kenkyū was born directly out of a desperate search for answers.

In the early 2000s, one of Bethel’s members with schizophrenia was struggling to understand who he was and why he acted the way he did. This struggle had become urgent after he had set his own home on fire in a fit of anger. In the aftermath, he was overwhelmed and desperate. At his wits’ end about how to help, Mukaiyachi asked him if perhaps he wanted to kenkyū (to ‘study’ or ‘research’) himself so he could understand his problems and find a better way to cope with his illness. Apparently, the term ‘kenkyū’ had an immediate appeal, and others at Bethel began to adopt it, too – especially those with serious mental health problems who were constantly urged to think about (and apologise) for who they were and how they behaved. Instead of being passive ‘patients’ who felt they needed to keep their heads down and be ashamed for acting differently, they could now become active ‘researchers’ of their own ailments. Tōjisha-kenkyū allowed these people to deny labels such as ‘victim’, ‘patient’ or ‘minority’, and to reclaim their agency.

Tōjisha-kenkyū is based on a simple idea. Humans have long shared their troubles so that others can empathise and offer wisdom about how to solve problems. Yet the experience of mental illness is often accompanied by an absence of collective sharing and problem-solving. Mental health issues are treated like shameful secrets that must be hidden, remain unspoken, and dealt with in private. This creates confused and lonely people, who can only be ‘saved’ by the top-down knowledge of expert psychiatrists. Tōjisha-kenkyū simply encourages people to ‘study’ their own problems, and to investigate patterns and solutions in the writing and testimonies of fellow tōjisha.

Self-reflection is at the heart of this practice. Tōjisha-kenkyū incorporates various forms of reflection developed in clinical methods, such as social skills training and cognitive behavioural therapy, but the reflections of a tōjisha don’t begin and end at the individual. Instead, self-reflection is always shared, becoming a form of knowledge that can be communally reflected upon and improved. At Bethel House, members found it liberating that they could define themselves as ‘producers’ of a new form of knowledge, just like the doctors and scientists who diagnosed and studied them in hospital wards. The experiential knowledge of Bethel members now forms the basis of an open and shared public domain of collective knowledge about mental health, one distributed through books, newspaper articles, documentaries and social media.

Tōjisha-kenkyū quickly caught on, making Bethel House a site of pilgrimage for those seeking alternatives to traditional psychiatry. Eventually, a café was opened, public lectures and events were held, and even merchandise (including T-shirts depicting members’ hallucinations) was sold to help support the project. Bethel won further fame when their ‘Hallucination and Delusion Grand Prix’ was aired on national television in Japan. At these events, people in Urakawa are invited to listen and laugh alongside Bethel members who share stories of their hallucinations and delusions. Afterwards, the audience votes to decide who should win first prize for the most hilarious or moving account. One previous winner told a story about a failed journey into the mountains to ride a UFO and ‘save the world’ (it failed because other Bethel members convinced him he needed a licence to ride a UFO, which he didn’t have). Another winner told a story about living in a public restroom at a train station for four days to respect the orders of an auditory hallucination. Tōjisha-kenkyū received further interest, in and outside Japan, when the American anthropologist Karen Nakamura wrote A Disability of the Soul: An Ethnography of Schizophrenia and Mental Illness in Contemporary Japan (2013), a detailed and moving account of life at Bethel House. "

-Japan's Radical Alternative to Psychiatric Diagnosis by Satsuki Ayaya and Junko Kitanaka

#personal #psych abolition #mad liberation #psychosis #altered states #antipsych #antipsychiatry #mad pride #peer support #schizophrenia #i have a pdf of the book somewhere if anyone wants #the book and the documentary also discuss some of the pratical struggles in creating a community like this which i also found helpful as #someone who is very interested in helping open a peer respite.

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humaling · 1 month ago

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Like Real People Do (Honey, Just Put Your Sweet Lips On My Lips).

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: how does the quarter quell affect between two people who love each other but can’t seem to align on how or when to admit it?

warnings: allusions to prostitutions, miscommunication, jealous! finnick, the usual hunger games

word count: 5.2k

“It’s fake.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Finnick,” you mutter, sharp and quiet, turning to face him with a glare that could cut glass. “Trust me. I’ve been there. It’s real.”

The elevator dings before he can answer. The metal doors slide open with a hiss, and you step out first, desperate to put some space between you and his arrogance. The penthouse greets you with its usual blend of Capitol opulence and poorly disguised District Four touches—seashell sconces, netted drapery, coral accents meant to mimic home. Instead, it feels like a trap. A stage dressed like a prison.

You stride through the entryway, ignoring Finnick’s footsteps behind you, and head straight to the kitchen. A pitcher of cold water and an empty glass wait for you, exactly as you requested before training. On the nearby dining table, a spread of Capitol snacks glistens under too-bright lights, untouched and uninviting.

You pour yourself a glass and drink, letting the cold water soothe your raw throat. Training was brutal. Finnick had pulled you into the sparring room the second the schedule cleared, giving you no room to argue. Not because he enjoyed watching you struggle, but because he was scared. Scared that if the Careers came for you—and they would—you wouldn’t be able to hold your own. Not after years of political posturing and Capitol parties, not after falling out of the rhythm of survival.

So he pushed you. Hard. Not to prove anything, but to make sure you'd survive if he couldn’t protect you.

He didn’t hit to hurt, but every blow carried urgency, every move a silent message: You have to be ready. And even when you matched his pace, even when you felt your body remembering the fight, it wasn’t enough to erase the way he barked corrections or watched you with that infuriating storm of concern and calculation in his eyes.

That was the Finnick that mentored you a few years ago. Sharp edges and hidden soft spots. Acting like it was all routine, all strategy, when underneath it was fear—real fear—for you.

But he didn’t just train you physically. Everytime he opened his mouth made you want to shove a trident down his throat. The pestering, the hovering, the way he bristled whenever Peeta or Blight—or any male—got too close, was suffocating. He was always talking. Always picking. Always pushing. It was getting on your nerves.

Like just now—his smug dismissal of Katniss and Peeta’s relationship as a performance for the cameras. Like he’s an expert on love, like he hasn’t spent the last two years pretending to be in love with you for the Capitol’s benefit. Like he doesn’t know what that kind of pretending can do to someone who’s actually feeling everything they’re faking.

Because you’ve seen Katniss. You’ve studied her, even before this whole plan was handed to you. You’ve watched her in interviews, in Victory Tour footage, in parties where she clung to Peeta like he was the last solid thing in a world built on shifting sand. You’ve seen how her hands shake when he’s gone too long, how her eyes soften when she looks at him and thinks no one’s watching.

You can recognize it anytime. ‘Cause you’re living through it. You’ve been there, done that.

You’ve been playing as Finnick’s doting lover for the Capitol cameras for the last two years. Smiling on his arm, laughing at his jokes, brushing your fingers over his in interviews like it’s nothing. Like it’s all for show. But it never was. Not for you.

Every touch, every glance, every moment has been real.

And the worst part? He’ll never know. Because as far as he’s concerned, it’s all just another strategy. Just another game. Another way to survive the Capitol’s grip.

But you know better. And that’s why you know Katniss isn’t faking it. Even if she, herself, doesn’t know that yet.

“How would you know what’s real?”

You roll your eyes. Here we go again, you think as you turn around to face him, Finnick is there—leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked onto you like he’s trying to read something buried just beneath your skin.

The low light casts a golden hue over his sun-warmed skin, softening the sharp lines of his face, but not the tension in it. His sea-glass eyes are hard, unreadable, swirling with frustration. The corners of his mouth are pulled downward, tight with whatever emotion he’s trying—and failing—to bite back.

You don’t blame him. Not really.

The only time you and Finnick actually interact is when the cameras are rolling. And even then, it’s all for show. Every touch, every whispered promise, every kiss—it’s part of the script. A performance crafted to sell the Capitol a fantasy they can root for. A love story polished to gleaming perfection.

None of it’s real.

At least, not to him.

The two of you haven’t had a proper conversation since the day you volunteered for Annie. Since your name replaced hers and the entire room seemed to stop breathing. You’ve either been biting each other’s heads off or pretending the other doesn’t exist ever since. Finnick’s furious about your recklessness. And you? You’re tired of being treated like you’ll crack under pressure. Like you’re some fragile porcelain doll that needs bubble wrap and constant babysitting.

It’s exhausting—acting indifferent toward the man you've loved for over two years. But you’ve had to. You needed to prove that you're not the naive girl he mentored nearly a decade ago. You’ve grown up. Hardened. Survived. Just like he did.

You made it out of your Games because you were clever, charming, and disarming. You knew how to make the Capitol fall in love with you—and they did. Enough to send gifts when it mattered. Enough to bet on your survival.

But all favors come with a price.

You still remember the weight of President Snow’s office, the way the air thinned when he leaned in close to whisper your choices: do what he says, or watch everyone you love die. The answer was obvious. And Finnick was there. Always was. Always would be.

Then one night, he showed up at your door with red-rimmed eyes and a scratchy voice, pitching the idea like it would save you both. Two beloved victors. Capitol darlings. A romance spun straight from fantasy. They’d eat it up. And they did.

At first, pretending to date Finnick made the Capitol easier to endure. Easier to stomach. But acting with him? That’s never been easy. Not for you.

It’s hard to play pretend when every smile you give him is real. Every touch. Every stolen glance. Somewhere along the line, the boundaries blurred—and you’ve been bleeding at the edges ever since.

Sometimes you wish you’d never said yes. That you’d just taken the offer and walked away. But sometimes—more than you want to admit—you’re glad. Because as long as you’re pretending to belong to him, at least you don’t have to watch him belong to someone else.

"Because I pay attention," you snap, voice trembling just beneath the surface. You turn to face him fully, shoulders tight with restraint. "Because I’ve seen the way she looks at him when she thinks no one’s watching. And I know what that looks like."

Finnick doesn’t flinch, but something shifts behind his eyes. It’s subtle—a flicker, like a crack in glass right before it shatters. Whatever he's feeling, he hides it too well, and that only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” His voice is careful, measured. He sounds like someone inching toward the edge of a cliff, trying not to slip but knowing he’s already too close to the fall.

You let out a breathless, bitter laugh and place your empty glass on the counter with a sharp clink. “It means I’ve lived it,” you say, voice low and shaking with everything you’ve been holding back. “Two years of pretending. Smiling when all I wanted to do was scream. Playing the Capitol’s perfect little love story while my heart felt like it was splintering apart every time I looked at you and realized you weren’t really looking back.”

Finnick pushes off the wall, his arms dropping to his sides, fists unconsciously clenched. “That’s not fair.”

Your eyes flash, and the words pour out before you can stop them. “No, what’s not fair is you standing there, judging everyone else for playing pretend when you’re the best damn actor of all of us. Not everyone’s faking it, Finnick. Some of us just didn’t know how to say it out loud without it breaking us.”

The air in the room turns thick, suffocating. The Capitol penthouse around you seems to shrink, closing in with gold-plated walls and fake coral accents that only make the whole place feel more artificial. The silence between you is loud, louder than any screaming match, and it rattles something loose between your ribs.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Don’t look at me like you mean it… unless you actually do.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for your pulse to race—and then Finnick laughs. But it’s nothing like the laughs you've shared on camera. It’s hollow, bitter, and filled with something darker.

“You think I’m the one pretending?”

The words hit like a slap, but you refuse to let them show. You keep your chin high even as your heart stumbles in your chest.

“I begged you not to volunteer,” he says, stepping closer, his voice lowering to something sharper, more dangerous. “I begged you not to throw yourself back into that hellhole, and you looked me in the eye and did it anyway. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.”

Your jaw clenches so tightly it aches. “Don’t you dare twist this around on me—”

“Don’t I dare?” he bites back, his voice rising. “You’ve been avoiding me since we got here. Off camera, you’re colder than ice, barely speaking to me unless it’s to criticize or ignore me completely. But with everyone else?” His voice breaks into something laced with jealousy. “You’re warm, laughing, alive. You smile at Peeta like he’s an old friend. You let Haymitch make those idiotic jokes and pretend they’re even half funny. Blight—don’t get me started on Blight. One bad pun and you’re clinging to his arm like he’s your partner, not me.”

“I am not clinging to Blight’s arm for your information!” You defended yourself, clearly in disbelief at what he accused you of.

You throw your hands in the air, your breath catching with frustration. “It’s called surviving, Finnick! It’s called doing what we came here to do. Making sure the people involved in this plan don’t fall apart before it even starts. I’m trying to hold this together. I’m trying to help.”

“And what?” he shoots back. “That doesn’t include me anymore? I’m not part of what you’re trying to save?”

The words slam into you harder than you expect, and your mouth opens—but nothing comes out. Your body stills, like your thoughts can’t catch up fast enough. You see the moment Finnick notices your hesitation. His face falls, not completely, but enough to make your throat tighten.

“Right,” he mutters, taking a step back like the space between you is suddenly unbearable. “Guess I don’t matter. Not to you. Not anymore.”

“That’s not true,” you whisper, because it isn’t. Not even close.

But Finnick just looks at you, eyes glassy with something sharp and silent, something he won’t name. “No,” he says, softer now, and somehow that’s worse. “What’s not true is the way you walk around like none of this is killing you. Like you weren’t the one who used to look at me like I was your whole world. Now you look right through me like I’m just… some Capitol stunt.”

You blink rapidly, as if that might clear the ache building in your chest, but it doesn’t help. Nothing would.

“You want to talk about pretending?” he says, voice nearly breaking now, hushed but no less brutal. “I was pretending to protect you. That’s all I ever wanted. But you… you’ve been pretending not to care.”

The words crash into you like a wave, salt in a wound that’s never quite closed. You stagger beneath the weight of them—not outwardly, no. You stay standing. Still. Silent. But inside? You’re unraveling. You try to form a response, to reach for something, anything that could cut through the wreckage between you, but all you find is air.

Finnick holds your gaze a second longer, like he’s waiting for you to fight for this. For him. For you. But your throat locks around the words that could make it right, and all that comes is breath—shaky, shallow, useless.

So, he walks away.

You stand there, eyes burning, nails digging into your palms like maybe pain will ground you. Like maybe if you hurt a little more on the outside, it’ll match the chaos bleeding through your ribs.

You watch him disappear down the hall, his broad shoulders rigid, his steps quick—like he’s trying not to change his mind. Like walking away is the only way he won’t break. He doesn’t look back. Not once. And that—that—is what does it.

Because he always used to.

He always used to turn, even when he said he wouldn’t. He always gave you that last glance. The one that said I’ll come back. The one that made all of this feel survivable.

But this time, he doesn’t.

And it hits you all at once—how close you came to telling him the truth. How badly you wanted to say his name. To take a step forward. To let your guard down and finally just feel everything you’ve been burying under sharp glances and cold silence.

But you didn’t.

So you stay rooted in place, heart hammering, mouth dry, soul screaming every word you couldn’t manage to say aloud.

I did it for Annie, but I stayed for you.

I smile for the Capitol, but I bleed for you.

I never stopped looking at you like you were everything.

But it’s too late. The hallway is empty now, and the only thing left is the echo of your silence and the ache you’ll carry back to your room, wearing it like armor you never wanted to put on in the first place.

The ride back to the Tribute Center feels like suffocation in motion. The Capitol car hums too quietly beneath you, the soft glow of the ceiling lights reflecting off sleek black windows like a mirrored coffin. You’re boxed in—pressed between Finnick’s sharp-edged silence and the buzz of impending fallout.

It started fine. Mags met you with a tight embrace when you stepped off the elevator from the assessment room, her small arms wrapped around you in that way that made you feel ten years old again. Safe. Forgiven. Finnick didn’t say anything—just offered you a short, clipped nod and turned for the car with a clenched jaw and storm clouds in his eyes.

Now, with the car doors sealed and Mags seated on your other side, the tension thickens like fog. You barely have a moment to breathe before Vevina—the Capitol-appointed escort with wine-red curls and nails to match—erupts beside the driver.

“I cannot believe you!” Her voice cracks the silence like a whip, startling even Mags. “After everything we’ve done for you, after everything we’ve planned—and this is what you do?!”

Your spine stiffens. Finnick shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours with the weight of discomfort. Mags straightens, her brow arching in curiosity. You watch the gears click behind their eyes—realizing neither of them know what happened yet.

Vevina is all too eager to fill the silence.

“She refused to do anything,” she spits, turning halfway in her seat to glare at you with glittering disbelief. “Just stood there. No weapon. No display. Nothing!”

The words feel louder in the confined space. Mags frowns, her weathered hands folding slowly in her lap. Finnick’s jaw tightens as he finally turns his head toward you, eyes narrowing as he listens.

“She just stood there and said,” Vevina’s voice pitches higher as she throws her hands in the air, mocking your tone, “‘I’m already performing every day for your cameras. I’m done pretending I’m here to entertain you.’” She throws her arms wide in exasperation. “As if that won’t get her killed the second the arena begins!”

Silence crashes down again.

You don’t need to look to feel Finnick’s stare burning into the side of your face. You already know the expression he’s wearing. It's the same one he wore three days ago—when you first shattered whatever fragile understanding you two had left. That look of restrained rage and disappointment twisted into one perfect storm.

“Is that true?” His voice cuts through the silence like a blade. Low, dangerous. He’s holding back—barely.

You still don’t look at him. You keep your eyes locked on the passing blur of Capitol lights outside the tinted window. Each one leaves a smear of gold in its wake, like stars that never belonged to you. Your voice is flat when it comes.

“Yeah.”

The word hangs in the air like smoke.

You close your eyes and brace for impact—for him to lash out, to accuse you, to hurt you with that sharp tongue of his that’s only ever merciful when it’s lying to an audience. But nothing comes.

Just a breath.

A slow, heavy exhale from his chest as he leans back in his seat. Resigned. Tired. And somehow, that hurts worse.

Vevina whirls back toward him, incredulous. “You’re not even going to say anything? Not even for Mags’ sake?”

But Finnick stays quiet. And so does Mags. The quiet that follows isn’t passive—it’s electric. Laced with things no one wants to say aloud.

Vevina scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief and disgust. “If getting killed is what you wanted, then congrats,” she snaps. “You just punched your one-way ticket.”

You swear you see Finnick flinch. Just a twitch in the tight line of his jaw. But he doesn’t speak.

You don’t either. Not out loud.

But inside, your heart screams.

You want to tell them you had to do it. That every second of that performance room was agony and you refused to give them what they wanted again. That standing there and saying nothing was the only way you still felt like you—not their puppet, not their doll, not a prop in some grand Capitol tragedy. Just a girl with enough self-worth left to say “no.”

You want to scream that this is the only way you know how to fight anymore.

You want to turn to Finnick and beg him to see you, really see you—not the girl who keeps pushing him away, but the one who's terrified of needing him. The one who stood there in front of a panel of people who decide death like it's theater casting—and chose defiance over safety.

But all of it lodges in your throat like glass.

So you keep staring out the window, letting the city lights blur and smear like tears you're too proud to shed. Your hands curl into fists on your lap, nails biting crescents into your palms. And beside you, Finnick stays just as silent, like he knows that anything he says now might break you both for good.

The penthouse doors click open with a quiet hiss, and you step inside, barely registering the soft clink of your boots against the pristine floors. The walk from the elevator felt endless, but still not long enough for you to gather yourself.

The lights are dimmed—just the glow from the city seeping in through the towering windows, casting pale gold shadows across the marble. You drop your training bag by the door, more out of muscle memory than thought, and wrap your arms around yourself as you exhale.

You expect more silence. Or worse—a fight.

You expect Finnick to follow behind with that same cold expression he’s worn the last three days, full of wounded pride and unspoken words. You expect him to start pacing, to ask you what the hell you were thinking, to say your name like it's both a curse and a prayer.

But none of that comes.

Instead, as you turn around to face him, Finnick is already there. Right there in front of you. Closer than he’s allowed himself to be in days.

You barely have time to blink before his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him like he’s been waiting for permission he never got. His hands press against your back, one cradling the base of your neck, the other curling around your waist. There’s no hesitation. No performance. Just warmth, and the quiet kind of desperation that makes your knees falter.

Your breath stutters in your chest as your cheek rests against the crook of his shoulder. The scent of salt and sea and something uniquely him fills your nose. Your hands hover in the air, unsure, before finally pressing against his back like they belong there.

“I thought you were going to yell at me,” you whisper.

Finnick’s voice comes low, raw, and close to your ear. “I was going to. I had a whole speech rehearsed.”

You let out a shaky breath that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.

“So why didn’t you?” you ask.

His hand presses a little tighter against your spine, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter—like if he says it too loud, it’ll make the truth hurt worse.

“Because when you said those words in the assessment room, I wanted to be furious… but all I could think was how brave it was. How much it probably cost you to stand there and say them.” He swallows. “And how much I hate that I wasn’t in that room to take the fallout for you.”

Your eyes sting, throat burning with everything you’ve refused to let yourself feel these past few days.

“You keep doing this,” you murmur into his chest. “You keep breaking my heart by caring when I try so hard to stop needing you.”

His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, and for a second, it feels like he’s holding on for dear life.

“I don’t think you’ll ever stop needing me,” he says quietly. “And I really hope you don’t. Because I never stopped needing you either.”

You close your eyes. You don’t say anything else. You just stand there, wrapped in him, while the city lights blink silently beyond the glass. And for once, there’s no Capitol watching, no plan to uphold, no stage to perform on.

Just two people who’ve been worn down to bone and still find home in each other.

You think the moment might end there.

Just the quiet comfort of his arms, the soft echo of your breathing synced with his, the hush of a moment too sacred to touch. But Finnick pulls back slightly—not all the way, just enough to look down at you. His hands stay on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish the second he lets go.

And then his eyes—those sea-green eyes, always so guarded, so careful—begin to shimmer.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, voice rough. “Like you don’t know.”

Your brow furrows, confused. “Know what?”

He exhales hard through his nose, the kind of breath that comes before a fall. And then he shakes his head and mutters, almost to himself, “I can’t keep pretending this is just strategy. I can’t keep pretending that this is just survival.”

Your heart starts to hammer against your ribs.

He takes a step back, just enough so he can really see you. His hands are trembling, slightly. His jaw tightens, loosens again. Whatever dam he’s kept up for months—maybe years—is finally breaking.

“I love you,” Finnick says, low and certain, like the words have always existed on the tip of his tongue. “I’ve been in love with you since before the cameras ever caught our first kiss. Before you ever stepped onto that stage and shattered everything I thought I knew about sacrifice.”

You freeze, like your body hasn’t quite caught up to the magnitude of what’s just been said.

Finnick steps closer again. One of his hands lifts to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing the skin just beneath your eye.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought it would hurt you. But every time you laugh at someone else’s joke, or act like I’m just your partner in this twisted Capitol show—I feel like I’m losing you.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

He lets his hand fall from your face, his eyes searching yours with a kind of desperation that makes your chest ache.

“And I know I don’t get to be angry about that. I know I don’t get to hate the way you smile at Peeta or lean too close to any of our friends or let anyone make you laugh. But it kills me. Because none of them know what your laugh sounds like at three in the morning when you can’t sleep. None of them have seen you hold a knife in your shaking hand and still choose mercy. None of them know you like I do. And I hate that I let you forget that.”

Finnick takes a breath, ragged and hollow, like he’s just laid his soul bare and now he’s waiting for you to hand it back shattered.

“I love you,” he says again, quieter now. “Not the way the Capitol wants me to. Not the way the cameras tell us to. I love you like I’m drowning and you’re the only thing that keeps me from sinking.”

He doesn’t reach for you again. He just stands there, heart open, waiting for you to do whatever comes next.

And for the first time, there’s no script.

No cameras. No Capitol audience waiting to dissect your every glance, every staged smile. No lines fed to you in passing, no whispered reminders to play your part. Just the two of you standing in the quiet hum of the penthouse, raw and exhausted, stripped down to the truth neither of you has dared to say aloud until now.

His words echo in your mind—I love you—so impossibly simple, but they splinter something deep in your chest. All the weight you’ve carried, all the silence you’ve swallowed, all the pain you’ve convinced yourself didn’t matter—it rises like a tide. You want to speak, to say something back, to offer him the same pieces of yourself that he just laid bare. But your throat burns and your heart is thundering and all that comes out is a shaky breath.

Your hands move before your thoughts can stop them. One rises to cradle his jaw, fingers trembling as they brush over the curve of his cheek. The other clings to the back of his neck, like if you let go now, he might disappear. Finnick doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. He’s just watching you, eyes wide and glassy, like he doesn’t know if this is real or another cruel illusion crafted by the Capitol.

It’s not perfect. There’s no grace to it, no slow-burn choreography. It’s messy and desperate, a little too hard at first, like you’re trying to pour every unanswered question into that single touch. Your lips are warm and trembling against his, and he tastes like salt and sorrow and the truth. His hands tighten around your waist as he kisses you back with the same aching urgency, pulling you in like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

It’s not like the kisses they’ve made you perform. This one doesn’t smile for the cameras. It doesn’t pause for applause. It’s not soft for comfort or sharp for show. It’s everything you’ve been too scared to admit—the longing, the rage, the love you thought would kill you if you ever let it out. You feel the years between you, the Games, the grief, the fake smiles, the lonely nights. You feel it all in that one, fragile moment.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads press together, your breaths still mingling in the space between. Neither of you speak. There’s no need. Finnick’s eyes are wet, his lashes damp, and his mouth trembles like he’s still afraid this isn’t real. Your chest is tight, your hands still curled into the fabric of his shirt, and you wonder if he can feel your heart hammering against his.

“You have no clue how long I was waiting to do that,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath between the two of you. A soft smile tugs at your lips, fragile but real, like you’re afraid it might fall apart if you let it grow too much.

Finnick lets out a laugh—quiet, rough around the edges, nothing like the polished Capitol chuckles he’s known for. It’s breathless, like the wind’s been knocked out of him, and there’s something boyish about it, something stripped of performance.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, forehead still pressed to yours, his eyes half-lidded but bright with something warm and familiar. “Try being in my shoes. Watching you walk around every day like you’re untouchable. Like you don’t see me losing my mind a little more each time you smile at everyone but me.”

Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt, heart stuttering in your chest as the weight of his words sinks in. You’re not sure what to say to that. You didn’t know he noticed. You didn’t know he cared that much. But he did. He does.

Finnick lifts a hand, fingers brushing gently over your cheek like he’s committing your face to memory. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he adds, quieter this time. “How hard it’s been to pretend it didn’t matter. To act like I didn’t care when you laughed at Haymitch’s jokes, or when you gave Peeta advice like it was the most natural thing in the world. All while I’m sitting there wondering if I ever meant anything at all.”

You want to tell him he’s wrong. That he’s always meant everything. That all the coldness, the distance, the biting remarks—it was never hate. It was heartbreak. It was the only way you knew how to survive loving him when you didn’t think you were allowed to.

So instead of saying anything, you lean in again, your lips brushing his with the kind of tenderness that aches. This kiss is softer, slower—less of a storm, more of a surrender. You let it speak for you. Every word you haven’t said. Every feeling you’ve been too afraid to name.

And when you pull away, just enough to rest your head against his chest and let his heartbeat calm yours, he wraps his arms around you like he’s afraid to let go.

Neither of you says anything for a while.

Because for once, there’s no need to.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #the hunger games x reader #finnick odair #hunger games finnick #the hunger games #finnick x reader

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lambilegs · 2 months ago

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Pls more fluff with sev and sistersbsf reader !!! SOOO cute

best friend's older sister!sevika who you practically feel like a teenager in high school with, constantly sneaking around to catch a moment with.

as soon as you guys announced to your best friend that the two of you are dating, she made it crystal clear that time with her would be spent time with only her. ergo, no escaping to to sevika's bedroom. ergo, sevika can barely approach your friend group without her slapping her sister's muscled arm and sending her off.

you love your best friend, you really do, and you just as badly do not want this newfound romance with sevika to get in the way of your guys' years-long friendship. however, you and sevika have been dating for a mere month, and you both are still in the stage of wanting to spend every waking minute together. well, for her, you can only assume. as irritating as it is, she's an expert at keeping it nonchalant. but, you know her well enough to read her body language well. the way her hand keeps gripping yours until your fingertips are brushing against hers, how she grips your waist tighter when you fidget in her lap and tell her you need to head home. bits and pieces of her affection, more and more unfurling everyday.

not that you get to soak much up of it on the days claimed by your best friend. you try so hard not to be that person, the kind that ditches their friends as soon as they get a partner. but, it's achingly difficult to parallel play while you both scroll on your phones, knowing your girlfriend is right down the hall.

which is why as soon as your best friend unties her hair, winking at you as she leaves the room to shower, you're straining your ears to listen for the water to switch on. and when it does, the muffled noises of the sprinkles coming from the other side of the wall, you leap off her bean bag, scurrying down the hall and rasping on sevika's door.

your stomach buzzes at the sight of the grin that splits on her face when she swings the door open. "you know, doll, you don't have to kno--"

you smash your lips over hers, stumbling against her as her prosthetic arm catches you. from behind, you can hear her bedroom door clicking shut, and a split second later, your back is pressed against it. her mouth is insistent, soft lips coaxing your open as her tongue licks against your bottom lip. your head feels dizzy with the passion of it, her rough hands cupping your face, nose smooshing against yours as she dips her head further.

when she pulls away, her chest rising and falling against yours, a string of saliva linking your mouths together, you immediately break into a goofy smile, your heart alight with finally seeing her.

she reaches her arm up, propping it against the door as she leans into your space. "needed it that bad, huh?"

you snort, shaking your head gently. "nah, I just took pity on you. knew it must've been sheer torture, locked up in this bedroom, knowing I'm right next door."

"oh, the sleepover is tonight?" she asks, raising a mocking eyebrow. "see, she mentioned your name and I just kind of zoned out."

"awe, because you were daydreaming?" you coo, cocking your head to the side. "not that much of a mean, tough butch, huh?"

"I mean, I was daydreaming about how I'd fight off any of my sister's feral friends sneaking into my room to make out."

"that plan didn't seem to come to fruition, though," you drawl, looking at her through your lashes innocently.

"yeah -- you been working out or something?" she mutters, drawing you forward with a large hand on your hip. "a lot of force in that shove."

"oh, sorry, are you too delicate for it?"

she snickers, pausing as her eyes languidly rove over your face. as her expression settles into one of determination, you feel yourself squirm in her grip, beginning to grow shy.

before you can linger in the feeling for too long, she's gently shoving you onto her bed, not even giving you a moment to sit up before she's caging you under her body and pressing kisses down your neck.

minutes of making out later, the shower switches off, and immediately, you're ushering her off you, tripping over her sheets as you shuffles off her bed.

she remains seated, looking down as you scramble to get up from the ground. "what's the rush?"

"I promised her I'd devote all my time and attention to her today."

she snorts. "are you mine or hers?"

you brush down the wrinkles in your shirt, breaths heavy from the rapid exertion as you say, "both, it just depends on the hour."

"well, thanks for sparing a quarter of one," she says, patting your ass as you turn the knob of her door. "but, it wasn't nearly enough time."

you poke your head through the gap between her door and the frame, ensuring your best friend isn't out of the bathroom yet. "bold words from someone who got simply jumped by her sister's friend."

she shoots you a deadpan stare. "hilarious."

"yeah, yeah, don't get too intimidated," you whisper, patting her chest down with a sickeningly sweet smile.

right before you head into hallway, her long fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you to her with one singular, hearty pull. just as you hiss for her to let you go, she presses an amorous goodbye kiss to your lips, not even giving you a moment to reel yourself in before pushing you unceremoniously into the hall and saluting you, the image of seriousness.

you don't even get to glare at her, for your feet work all the faster, racing to get you back to your best friend's bedroom.

your best friend whose eyes immediately land on the evident bite back on your neck when she returns wrapped up in a towel.

grimacing at your neck, which is hot with humiliation as you pitifully tug the neckline of your t-shirt up, she mutters, "so gross."

#THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST BAEEEE MWAH #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane x reader #s.writing

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spencersmopbucket · 3 months ago

Text

Ocean Breeze | Finnick Odair x Reader

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Summary: You, this year's victor from District Four, return home after your victory. Finnick takes an interest in your deep, seemingly impenetrable personality. You didn't plan on letting him in, but.. Finnick is Finnick after all.

Expert brutality. In every news headline, in every advertisement of the Games, those were the words in big, bold letters. And who was on display, fingers tinted with blood and scars on their face?

You.

You were this year's Victor. You'd fought through the games -- tooth, nail, and fish hook. You always scoffed bitterly at every photo and comment you saw of yourself, your e/c eyes narrowing with disdain and something almost close to pain. Despite being good at hiding it, it was still there. It ebbed and flowed, reminding you every day of who you now were and what you'd be recognized for.

You were Name Last-Name, the brutal Victor of District 4. Beautiful, graceful, but deadly. You were known for being undetectable in the daylight, but creeping through the shadows of the arena at night, striking whoever you stalked with expert precision and gruesome method. You'd even taken out three people at once, simply because they couldn't see you in the dark and weren't as swift as you were, so they couldn't grab you.

In interviews, you were stoic. Uncrackable. That itself became your personality to viewers. Unbothered, they thought. Unbreakable. Wrong, you often snickered to yourself. You just wouldn't show the sheep anything they could get off on.

You hated the Capitol. You hated Snow. You hated everyone that supported the Games.

You'd just gotten home to District 4 today, the fanciful life in the Capitol finally coming to an end for you. The sigh of relief that exited you when you finally touched feet onto the beach could've been heard around the world. You inhaled again, deeply, holding the salty air of home into your lungs. Your eyes gazed across the horizon, watching the waves crash.

It was a windy day. Your hair blew slightly into your face. Grabbing it, you tied it up into a messy bun and continued walking, your bare feet on the cold beach.

Finnick, in all of his time watching your interviews and performance in the arena, couldn't figure out exactly what he thought of you.

On Reaping Day, he didn’t recognize your name when it was called. Finnick thought he knew everyone in District 4 -- faces, families, fishermen. But when you stepped onto that stage, something about you struck him. Not fear, not drama. You didn’t cry or shake. You just walked, eyes ahead, spine straight, mouth set in a firm line. That calm silence unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected.

You reminded him of himself, standing there years ago. Only younger. Quieter. And somehow, already hardened.

He started paying attention during the Capitol broadcasts. You didn’t perform for the cameras. You didn’t flirt with the other tributes or flash a Capitol smile. You just trained, and watched, and listened. Finnick noticed how your eyes moved -- never resting too long on anyone, but never missing a single detail. He recognized the calculation behind your stillness.

You weren’t detached. You were preparing.

Capitol audiences didn’t get it. They called you “stoic,” “unapproachable,” “cold.” But Finnick saw through it. He had worn the same mask. And the fact that you never let it slip -- not even once -- made him sit up straighter every time your face flickered on screen.

You didn’t charm the crowd on interview day. You didn’t cry. You barely smiled. And Finnick couldn’t look away.

While Caesar tried to pull something -- anything -- out of you, you sat with that unreadable expression, voice low and clipped, like you didn’t care if the audience liked you or not. You didn’t need them to. You weren’t looking for sponsors. You were preparing for war.

The Capitol called it a lack of personality. Finnick knew better. That’s not emptiness, he thought. That’s control. And maybe -- just maybe -- it scared them.

He’d planned to watch your Games the way he watched every set --disconnected. He couldn’t afford to feel anything. But when you moved through the arena like you’d been born for it -- slipping between shadows, striking with brutal efficiency -- he leaned closer. You didn’t fight for sport. You didn’t gloat. You just survived, again and again, with that same quiet fire.

And when you killed? You didn’t blink. But he saw it; the tiniest shift in your eyes after each one. Not pride. Not satisfaction. Just pain buried too deep to show.

The night you took out three tributes at once -- swift, silent, unseen -- he actually exhaled in disbelief.

Watching you win reminded Finnick of what victory really was: survival dressed up as glory. He saw it in your eyes -- that numbness, that quiet rage. He knew it well.

You didn't hear him at first. The wind swallowed the soft crunch of his footsteps in the sand, the rustle of driftwood beneath his weight. But then you caught the scent of salt and something softer -- like sugarcane and sea spray -- and your gaze sharpened slightly, turning over your shoulder.

Finnick Odair stood a few paces behind you, hands in his pockets, eyes on you instead of the ocean.

He didn’t speak right away. He just watched, quietly, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bolt or bite.

“You always walk like that,” he finally said, his voice smooth and low, tinged with something like amusement. “Like the ocean owes you something.”

You stared at him. Not cold, but unreadable. It was how you always looked at people now.

“And do you always sneak up on people?” you replied, tone even. No bite, no softness -- just a fact.

Finnick shrugged, offering a small, crooked smile. “Only when I’m curious.”

You turned back toward the water, letting the conversation settle into silence. But he didn’t leave.

He stepped closer -- not close enough to crowd, but just enough that you could feel the heat of him beside you, grounding in a way that surprised you.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured after a moment. “Not to me.”

You didn’t respond.

He glanced sideways at you. “But… I watched. Every second. You didn’t crack once. Not in the arena. Not on camera.”

Your jaw clenched. “And?”

“And I just wanted to say,” he paused, voice quieter now, “I saw what they didn’t.”

That made your eyes flick toward him, guarded but curious.

“I know what it’s like,” he said. “Coming back with blood on your hands and Capitol lies in your teeth. Everyone either wants to worship you or pretend you’re whole.”

You looked away again. The accuracy of what he said startled you. Like he could see you.

"Look, Odair," you sighed, the thick walls built up around you evident. "You can pretend you know anything about me, but--"

“--but I don’t, yeah, yeah,” Finnick cut in, his lips tugging into a crooked smirk. “Believe it or not, I’ve heard that one before.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You watched me on a screen. You don’t know a damn thing.”

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets, wind tousling his hair. “I watched you survive. Watched you outsmart half the Capitol’s little monsters. Watched you break records and a few rib cages.”

You didn’t answer, but your silence wasn’t dismissal. Not entirely.

Finnick tilted his head, studying you. “Let me guess. You hate the attention. Hate the interviews. Hate the fact that they all call you a ‘Victor’ when you feel more like a grave.”

You stiffened. He was getting too close to the truth.

“I didn’t come out here for therapy,” you said flatly.

“Oh, trust me,” he chuckled, “if I were offering therapy, I’d at least have brought alcohol.”

That pulled a small twitch at the corner of your mouth. Damn him.

“Why are you really here, Finnick?” you asked, arms crossed, voice low. “You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I don’t,” he agreed easily. “But I remember what it felt like. Coming back home and realizing the ocean didn’t wash off the blood. That the sand didn’t make you clean.”

You blinked. That was too poetic. Too real. And too annoyingly accurate.

“Besides,” he added with a wink, “I figured if anyone could match my pretty face and fucked up soul combo, it’d be you.”

“Wow,” you muttered, dry as the heat you fought in the arena. “Your ego’s bigger than the arena.”

“It’s well-fed,” he said smugly. “But you -- you’re starving for real conversation. Don’t deny it.”

You rolled your eyes, though your chest felt strangely lighter. He wasn’t giving you pity. He wasn’t afraid of you, either. He was poking the bear on purpose. Teasing the teeth.

“Careful,” you warned, but your tone had lost its sharpness. “I bite.”

Finnick’s grin widened. “So do I. Just ask the Capitol.”

He stepped beside you again, shoulder just close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him in the sea breeze.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said after a beat. “Hell, I’m barely holding my own cracks together. But I’m here. If you want that.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Just stared out at the horizon where the sun was starting to dip, orange spilling into blue.

“I’ll think about it,” you muttered.

Finnick smirked. “That’s basically a yes.”

You bumped his arm lightly with your shoulder.

“Don’t push your luck, pretty boy.”

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You like me, you just don't know it yet.”

The conversations on the beach became a small tradition as you softened up. Every few weeks, Finnick would seek you out, knowing exactly where you'd be. You were usually in the same spot, sitting on a blanket with a book. Sometimes the book was absent -- you just stared out at the waves instead.

He was proud of himself. He'd gotten you to tell him feelings, even secrets of your own. He'd gained your trust. He was your outlet, just as he'd wanted.

And the best part, to him at least, was that he'd managed to fall for you.

Finnick was a romantically charged person. He loved love. He loved old love. Slow paced tenderness where the process of falling in love with someone was barely noticeable until it was all consuming. And now, Finnick could barely ignore how much he wanted to tell you.

He knew it would scare you.

He opted not to use words. He used gentle touches, teasing, small flirts and comments. He used being a shoulder to cry on, collecting sea shells for you because you loved them, embarrassing people who made unsavory comments about your status as a Victor.

Finnick fell for you in the most beautiful, soft, slow way. As he got to know you, he found that you weren't some stoic gruesome person, just as he suspected. You were gentle, intelligent, funny. You were gorgeous, inside and out. You loved kids. You loved animals and the ocean. You had two little brothers, who looked up to you. You only had one parent -- your father, whom you adored.

He adored every single thing he knew about you, bad or not.

Today, he found you on the beach, per usual. But something was different. You weren't just sitting, spaced out or reading.

You were down by the water, laughing softly -- laughing -- as a stray dog jumped around your ankles, kicking up wet sand and barking at your playful swats.

You weren’t wearing your usual armor, either. Your hair was down, sunlit and wild in the breeze, and your face was open, warm, like someone who’d finally stepped out from a long, cold shadow.

You didn’t hear him approach, but somehow, you always knew when he was near.

“Should I be jealous?” Finnick asked, voice playful but quieter than usual, more careful.

You didn’t look at him right away. Just let your hand rest on the dog’s head and murmured, “Of a dog?”

“Well, he’s got your full attention and, apparently, your affection,” he said, lowering himself onto the blanket beside you. “That’s a lot more than I can say for myself.”

You smirked slightly but didn’t meet his eyes.

“You bring food,” you murmured. “He likes that.”

“Do you like that?” he asked, voice dipping just enough to make you still for a second.

You shrugged one shoulder, watching as the dog trotted off to chase a seagull.

Finnick didn’t speak again right away. The silence between you had become a language of its own. Familiar. Almost safe.

Then he spoke again, more gently.

“You’re different.”

You raised a brow at that, finally glancing at him. “Different how?”

“Softer,” he said, eyes scanning your face. “Not weak. Just… not hiding everything with your fists.”

You wanted to snap something back. Reflex. Habit. But the words didn’t come.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

You didn’t answer, just looked back at the ocean. The waves were coming in slower now. Calmer.

The silence fell, but not the kind that used to hang between you like a barricade. This one was gentle. Shared. He stood next to you, hands by his sides, looking out at the water the same way you were.

Then -- he felt it.

Your hand, brushing against his. A feather-light touch. Testing. Curious.

He turned his hand slightly, enough so that his pinky grazed yours. You didn’t pull away. In fact, your hand moved a little closer. You still weren’t looking at him, but that made it feel even more real.

“You’re quiet today,” he said softly.

“I don’t need to talk to you,” you replied, then added quickly, “Not in a bad way.”

He smiled. “I know what you meant.”

A gust of wind swept by, blowing strands of hair into your face. Without thinking, Finnick reached out, tucking them behind your ear.

You stiffened slightly -- not in fear, not in rejection. Just surprise. A moment of nerves.

His fingers lingered by your jaw just a moment too long. His eyes searched yours.

You stared back, caught.

“I think about you all the time,” he admitted, his voice barely louder than the waves. “And not just the version people know. You.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away.

He moved in -- slow, slow, slow -- giving you every second to back away.

You didn’t.

His lips met yours in the softest kiss you’d ever felt.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t hungry. It was a confession. A question.

When you kissed him back, it was quiet but certain. Your hand pressed lightly against his chest, as if to keep him close but not too close, not yet.

When the kiss ended, Finnick rested his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling, hearts thudding in soft unison.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, honest in a way you hadn’t been before.

“So am I,” he whispered back. “But I’m here. Okay?”

You nodded, still not letting go.

Neither did he.

And that was enough -- for now.

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mewhenimanangel · 5 months ago

Text

need that, hamzahthefantastic

prev pt. 2*

—synopsis. you run into hamzah again at the bar

notes 🫧: can they please come off hiatus 😢

— 🐞

after appearing in mandy's video, you seemed to have attracted a lot of her and the slushy noobz's fandoms to your accounts. it seemed like every minute your phone was buzzing with new followers and fans, but you were grateful for the traction you received.

it’d been almost two months now and you haven’t seen the group since, just an occasional coffee with mandy - you had your own life and your own friends so you were often too busy.

you turned 21 last week but between jobs and school, tonight was the night to celebrate with your friends.

you were going bar and club hopping with some of your friends, who were running a little late by now but the night was still young.

you got dressed, deciding that your hair and makeup were to your liking when someone knocked your door.

“hellooooo sexy!!!!” your friend, ruby exclaimed checking you out as you did a twirl showing off your outfit before popping your hip. “oh the sexies are gonna be on you tonight, bad!” she squealed before hugging you.

“i’m so glad we’re finally doing this, miss twenty one” she shook you with her tongue out. “i’m ready to get drunkkk, legally at least”

“sorry we’re latee” maia and stella came up from down the hall behind ruby. “you know our people always late” maia joked. “oh my god you look good as fuck. you should take a picture and send it to that ham za guy” she bit her nail suggestively.

“oh my god please, give it a rest” you sighed with a smile. “oh come on. according to the tiktok comment experts, he wants you” maia said. “it also doesn’t take an expert to see how giggly and flirty you guys were in that video” ruby added.

“plus he’s sexy, those tiktok edits really do him justice” stella smirked. “you’re not lying” you giggled.

you grabbed your fur coat, throwing it on before grabbing your purse. “let’s get fucked up tonight girlssss” you and your friends cheered.

you left your cars at your house on account of none of you wanting to drive home drunk and after a few minutes of walking, you made it to the first stop of the night.

it was a little dive bar with live music and you almost immediately headed to the bar for drinks.

maia ordered a round of shots for the group. you rotated between synchronized shots on a countdown - licking, sipping, sucking.

“first *legal* shot!” maia yelled and you cheered.

after about an hour you left the bar, walking down the streets to find your next target.

“yo how are you guys already drunk?” maia asked, slurring her own words as she giggled. “oh you’re one to talk, miss lightweight” stella held her waist.

the target in question was a karaoke bar ten minutes away. ruby opened the door and you all followed her in.

the bar was a nice cozy spot, karaoke stage tucked in the back corner, big bar on the side, and booths lining the walls and there was currently a group of guys on stage, singing good riddance by green day slightly off key.

ruby spoke to the hostess and got you guys a table in the back by the stage. you all ordered a plethora of finger foods - wings, loaded fries, sandwiches, etc. and a steady flow of drinks that the bar creatively named.

you were sipping on a love on the beach and after a bit of convincing, maia signed your table up to sing.

after the last duo was finished and everyone clapped, your group made your way to the stage and the alcohol flowing through your body seemed to take away any social anxiety that sober you would be feeling right now.

you picked bulletproof by la roux and after struggling through the song with giggles, hiccups, and off key notes, you were given a round of applause with cheers that almost seemed like they were just glad you guys were off the stage.

you sat back down in a fit of laughter, turning your attention back to the stage. you were taken aback when hamzah, martin, and freddie go up, you didn’t even realize they were here. you were also shocked to see hamzah with bleached hair, you had to admit it was doing something to you.

they turned on pop!, you couldn’t help but giggle and pull your phone out to record. you made eye contact with hamzah, waving from your seat.

he pulled a shy smile, a little embarrassed. he saw you go up before him and it almost made him not go up, but he was a little buzzed so he wasn’t too nervous.

he didn’t know you’d be here tonight, out with friends he hasn’t seen except for on your instagram. you looked really pretty, your top was sparkling under the cheap spotlight on the ceiling and you were all smily and giggly on stage.

he missed his cue before locking back in to finish the song. he looked at you again as you laughed and clapped with the audience.

“you should go talk to him” ruby nudged you. “but i’m here with you guys, we haven’t hung out in forever.” you said. “i promise you, we’ll be fine. plus he’s looking over here, it looks like his twinky white friend is leaving.” maia pointed out. “martin?” you giggled and she nodded her head. “so what?”

“sooo… he’s gonna be lonely. you don’t want some other girl in here to keep him company before you get a chance too” she continued.

“plus it’s not like it has to be a big deal, just go chat” ruby encouraged. “orrr you could get a lil birthday present” stella winked. you scoffed and took the last sips of your drink before grabbing your phone and going over to him.

“hey” you smiled “oh hey” he put his phone away, smiling back at you. “where’d they go?” “oh martin left to go watch a late movie with mandy or something. and freddie went to the bathroom”

you took that as an invitation to sit down with him. “where’d your friends go?” he asked you. “oh they’re just over there” you pointed behind you to find the three girls already staring back at you and quickly turning their heads away.

“i liked your song” you giggled. “i liked yours too…i didn’t know you’d be here tonight”

“yeah we just got here like an hour ago. we’re just out celebrating my birthday” you told him. “right, happy birthday” he said. “i know, you already texted me last week” “well i just wanted to say it again in person” he smiled.

“wait so no offense but if you just got here, you seem a little drunk already” he teased. “alllright.” you laughed “we were bar hopping, we were at tony’s before this” you told him and he nod his head.

“i’m liking the blond” you pointed to his hair. “yeah?” his voice cracked a little. “i did it myself last week i wasn’t sure how i liked it. but since you like it i love it” he smirked.

you talked for a while, twenty minutes passing by undetected.

your friends came up to the table saying they payed the tab and were gonna head out on account of miah being hammered.

“um i can take you home” hamzah offered, not wanting you to leave just yet. “are you sure?” you asked him. “yep, haven’t had anything to drink. i swear” he put his hand on his heart.

“take good care of her, okay?” ruby told him. “pinky swear” he put his hands together.

“um do you want anything else to drink or eat or something?”

“um just a water lowkey. i don’t need to be any more freaking drunk right now” you told him.

after talking a bit more and finishing your water, you were ready to go. “wait what about it freddie?” you asked. “oh he’s been busy” hamzah pointed behind you to freddie chatting with some woman at the bar.

you put on your coat and followed hamzah out to his car, walking up to the passenger side. “nah i got it” he opened the door for you and let you sit down, inhaling the air around you before closing it and going to his side.

“you smell really good” he said, starting the car. “i mean you look really good…tonight, and always” he awkwardly blurted.

“thank you” you giggled and he smiled. “wait where do you live?” “you’ve been to my house before boi” “i know but i don’t remember the address” you told him your address and he put it in the gps.

he drove the fifteen minutes to your house, occasionally looking at you in the side of his eye. finally, he pulled up in front of your gate.

“i’m kinda glad freddie dragged us out tonight” he said. “oh yeah me too, im glad i saw you”

his eyes flickered down to your lips, the gloss screaming for his attention.

he leaned in and you let him, his lips catching yours in a peck before you kissed back.

you both leaned over the console and he put his hand up to the side of your cheek, slightly entangling his fingers through your hair, simultaneously deepening the kiss.

you put your hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer as your lips moved in sync. the music was only playing at a low volume and all you heard were your mouths moving together and deep breaths.

hamzah dipped his hand under your jacket, resting it on your bare waist that peeked through your shirt. he kissed you like he truly needed it, like it was life or death.

without breaking the kiss you eased your leg over the console as hamzah guided you by your hips to sit on his lap. his hands played with the top of your skirt and he moved to kiss your neck before your foot hit the horn, startling you both.

you looked at each other before laughing and you sighed. “i guess that’s my cue to go.” you joked.

“yeah, you’re probably right. i probably shouldn’t have done that” he said as you climbed back over to your seat. “what do you mean? i kissed you back”

“yeah but i don’t wanna do anything crazy if you’re drunk and not in some car” he said. “hm okay yeah i understand. good night hamzah” you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

he watched you leave and enter your house before pulling off, sighing with both content and discontent.

this was my motivation to finish this chapter

#hamzah x y/n #hamzah fluff #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #martin and hamzah #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzah fic #hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #slushy virus

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ggomos-maribat · 1 year ago

Text

Double Lives

Damian was certain that his wife was keeping a secret from him.

He trusted her with his life, of course—Marinette had kept a number of things from him in the earlier stages of their relationship, like her experience and trauma in Paris. He knew not to pry, and eventually she opened up. He was glad that some burden was taken off her shoulders.

But this was different. She was deliberately trying not to get caught; she took care to hide her phone from his view, and there were days she'd come home very late. When asked, she'd get irritable but also nervous around him. Damian didn't want to assume things right off the bat, but he did hope she would finally grow comfortable to talk it out with him. And so he resisted using his ‘resources’ to peek into her life—what kind of distrusting partner would he be if he did that?

He knew, too, that he was being awfully hypocritical. He was still yet to sit her down and reveal his vigilante alter ego to her as well as his family's. Damian would swear he planned to rip the bandaid off when they got engaged. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, out of the fear that she'd leave him. As far as he knew, Marinette wanted a normal quiet life after living through the Evil Butterfly Man's reign of terror. Telling her his identity would just put a target on her back, if there wasn't any already after she became a Wayne.

He couldn't imagine his sweet innocent wife exposed to the horrors of vigilantism.

Still, even though he had his own secrets, it felt quite frustrating not to know hers. That was what Damian was thinking one dark night when the door finally opened, signalling her arrival from work.

“Damian?” Her eyes widened. “Why are you still up? You shouldn't have waited for me.”

“It's alright. I couldn't sleep anyways.” And I will be sneaking out for patrol later. He stood up to kiss her cheek—

But froze upon seeing a red mark right at the base of her neck.

Marinette hummed tiredly. “Next time, don't wait for me if you're tired, okay?”

“. . . What's that on your neck?” He dared to ask.

Her hand immediately flew to the spot on her skin. For a split second, her expression changed into a hint of annoyance. “It's—it's . . .” she stammered, “I accidentally hit myself.”

“You hit yourself?”

She nodded meekly.

Damian stared at her for a moment. There was one thing he knew about his wife: she was a bad liar. But she was expert at omitting things, partly because she probably knew he wouldn't interrogate her further. He knew that she was aware it was the vaguest of explanations but she never tried to elaborate.

He mustered out a smile. “Be careful next time.”

She let out a nervous laugh and squeaked out a ‘yes’.

“By the way.” He took a deep breath, “I visited your office this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and your secretary told me you hadn't punched in for the day yet.”

The silence between them was thick.

“Ah . . .” Damian could practically see the gears turning in her head. “That was . . . erm, I had to run an errand before work! Yeah . . .”

“I see. I was hoping to have lunch with you earlier but it seems that you're busy nowadays.”

She cursed in French under her breath.

“I'm really sorry, Damian.” She fidgeted with her fingers. “I'll make time this week. I promise.”

She hurried off to their bedroom, leaving Damian with his thoughts.

He really really didn't want to assume the worst. But his heart was racing and when he looked at the signs, they were clear as day. His mind started to spiral a little, wondering where he could've gone wrong, wondering if he didn't spend enough time on her or if she felt that he wasn't giving enough effort.

But he pushed all those thoughts away and followed her to bed.

***

One Saturday afternoon saw Robin and Superboy in the Watchtower's breakroom, talking about Damian's predicament. He hoped his friend could at least contribute an objective outsider's perspective in his dilemma and encourage him to broach the topic with Marinette.

“She's cheating,” Superboy deadpanned.

“She's—she's not,” he argued back, “Perhaps I am just reading too much into it . . .”

“Um but the hickey? The late night escapades?” Superboy frowned. “I don't know about you, but I don't think there's any other explanation for it.”

Robin bit his tongue. No, it's not possible. He loved Marinette terribly, and he knew—he could feel the same love from her if not more.

His friend sighed, “Look, I know it's hard to believe. Even I don't think M can be . . . unfaithful but you should confront her about it.”

“I can't. I can't face her like that when I am still keeping a secret of my own.”

“Then tell her you're Robin. A secret for a secret, hm?”

Robin didn't even want to think about how messy that conversation would be.

“It's all just about communication,” Superboy continued. “If you're worried she won't accept you, take my mom and dad as an example—”

He stopped talking, indicating that he sensed another presence nearby. Just on cue, a fuming Ladybug stomped into the breakroom, heading straight to one of the refrigerators.

The two men watched as she muttered angrily while looking around for food—Robin could see the clear exhaustion on her tensed figure. The Parisian heroine had joined the Justice League after the Hawkmoth fiasco became public; the heroes were quick to recruit her but not before she voiced out her complaints about the League neglecting her city. Though she hadn't revealed her identity to anyone, she had formed bonds with the other heroes her age, not excluding Robin and Superboy.

Superboy winced when she kicked the fridge door.

Ladybug did a hundred eighty, showing both the fires of hell and sleepless nights in her blue eyes. “You don't happen to have an extra stock of Kryptonite, do you?”

Superboy looked at her warily. “What happened this time?”

“Your dad assigned me to another magic-involved mission!” She tugged at her hair, sitting beside them. “I thought I made it clear I didn't want to be involved in too many missions especially if it's non-miraculous related ones!”

“You could . . . tell him that?”

She shot a sharp glare at them. “You don't think I did? They're insisting it's miraculous related when Constantine hasn't even confirmed anything! Just because Paris was terrorized, it doesn't mean miraculi are going to pop out from everywhere! These missions are affecting my normal life!”

It was a common complaint for heroes who had alternate civilian lives, but Robin was a bit surprised that she was that open about her feelings.

“And—and Batman too!” She pointed a finger at Robin. “I know Monsieur Furry's guilty about the Paris thing and all and me not having a mentor but he keeps checking on my progress after missions liked a damned helicopter parent! “

Before either of them could reply, she continued ranting, “I was going to meet an important client yesterday but they just had to call me in to help with the mission! And then it goes on until freaking midnight! What about my precious sleep?! Then Zatanna accidentally used a spell on me—it hit my neck and now it looks like a hickey!”

Her head dropped onto the table. “How the fuck do I fucking explain that to my husband?!”

Robin and Superboy looked at each other, wide-eyed.

“You—you haven't told your husband that you're a hero?” Superboy asked carefully.

Not lifting up her head, she replied with a muffled voice, “Of course not! I can't do that to him! He's already exposed to enough danger because of his last name! I just can't tell him ‘ hey mon amour so I'm actually that heroine from Paris on top of my emotional PTSD!’”

Robin swallowed. That was Marinette's name for him.

It ticked too many boxes.

He started to subconsciously connect the dots: catching his wife absent at work at the time the magic-wielding team of the JL was away on a mission; Ladybug sharing that she finally linked up messages from her yoyo to her personal phone; his wife coming home late, tired and fatigued from head to toe when all she was supposed to be doing was designing.

“I'm sure he'll come to understand your circumstances,” Superboy consoled.

“He won't.” The heroine sat up, revealing that her eyes were now welling up with tears. “He probably hates me right now because I'm sending the wrong signals. What if he thinks I'm just taking advantage of him for his money? His family already hates me! What if he's filing for a divorce right now?”

Robin felt the nudge from his friend, as if to tell him to do damage control. Superboy abruptly stood up, spouted out an excuse about being called by someone, and left the room to the two of them.

Ladybug sniffed, “Sorry, you probably didn't want to hear all of that.”

“It helps to get your problems off your chest.” Robin awkwardly patted her head. In truth, she was really Marinette, he wanted to pull her into a hug already.

He coughed. “Why—why do you think your husband's family hates you?”

“Oh . . . I don't know, but his father’s always distant. Whenever I'm at a family dinner, they're just very quiet,” she replied sadly. “I know they're good people but I felt like I didn't belong somehow. My husband keeps saying they adore me though.”

Robin wanted to sigh out loud. His father still had his guard up because he believed she was a civilian, hence there was a side of her family they could never show her. It was always quiet due to Alfred's stern lecture about behaving in front of Marinette lest they accidentally spill something they shouldn't.

“It sounds like your husband cares a lot about you,” he told her, “Don't you think he would trust you if you told him the truth?”

“But I can't! I don't know where to begin!” She pursed her lips. “He's always been good to me and he never steps the line even if I'm obviously lying. I just . . . I thought I could tell him before we got married but I was too scared and I didn't want to ruin what we had.”

“But he won't think any differently of you, would he?”

“No . . .”

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” He smiled a little. “It may come off as a shock at first but he will accept it in time. You will be stressing yourself out even more if you keep thinking about the worst scenarios.”

She stared at him. “When did you get so wise?”

“Ever since I started thinking about what my wife was doing.”

She tilted her head. “Huh?”

It was unmistakable. Those gleaming blue eyes were Marinette's.

He was such an idiot.

“She keeps coming home late, hides her phone every time I'm near,” he listed, gauging her reaction. “Last night, I found out she hadn't come to her office even when she said she was working, and I caught her with a strange mark on her neck.”

Her eyes slowly widened as she seemed to come to the same realization. The heroine's gloved hands flew up to cover her mouth. “Damian?” she whispered.

He checked if the coast was clear and slowly peeled off his domino mask to show his full face. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you habib –”

He was cut off by her warm lips, her arms winding around his neck. Damian immediately melted into her touch, relieved that they finally divulged their secrets. He wouldn't have to be worried about introducing her to the hero world after all.

He was extremely relieved, in fact, that he hadn't noticed his father and eldest brother stroll into the room.

“ROBIN! Are you cheating on your wife?!”

Robin pulled away from Ladybug, withholding a sigh of exasperation. He put his mask back on and turned around to see Batman looking constipated and Nightwing utterly shocked.

"How could you do that to—to . . ." Nightwing cried out.

"Leave us." He glared.

"Robin—" His father's voice was tinged with disapproval.

"Leave. Us."

Fortunately, the two scurried off. Damian faced his wife, who seemed as flabbergasted. He was worried since it was her identity that was at risk, unless he embraced the unexpected cheating allegations.

"Oh my kwamis," Ladybug said softly, "I called my father-in-law a furry ."

"It's deserved." He rubbed up and down her shoulders. "What do you want to do?"

"Oh um . . ." She ducked her head. "Maybe go home and I'll—I'll explain everything from the beginning."

***

Damian had to recount his life story after his wife shared hers whilst they cuddled in bed. After they talked, he was surprised to learn so many new things about her—he thought he had her memorized already, even before they exchanged vows. At the same time, he was mentally kicking himself for thinking that Marinette was never closely involved in the war against Hawkmoth.

Of course she was Ladybug.

Of course she was a hero.

So while she was spiraling at the number of times she'd unknowingly mocked her in-laws in the suit, he was regretting not telling her the truth sooner. If they'd opened up years ago, he would've stayed by her side during missions, helping her deal with the troubles of having a masked alter egos, and sharing his own experiences with her. A stronger bond would've formed between them, because they both understood the hero's life after all this time.

Not long after, she finally decided she was ready to tell the Waynes who she was. ‘It would do more harm than good if I kept hiding it anyway,’ she reasoned. He did agree, since she was part of the family, both as Ladybug and Marinette. The others would surely be overjoyed (and less overprotective) if they found out that she was a hero. What Damian found strange, however, was Marinette seemed to worry that Bruce's opinion on her would change and he'd become ‘distant’ as Batman as well.

“Remember, Batman is afraid of you,” he had reminded her over and over again.

(And Batman would be ecstatic to discover that Ladybug was his daughter-in-law, but Damian would never tell her that. The caped vigilante had grown fussy over the Parisian heroes as his way of ‘making up’ for the Paris incidents . . . But at the same time, he cowered ever so slightly when Ladybug raised her voice on him. Damian's siblings blamed Ladybug's black hair and blue eyes for triggering the adopt-itis.)

And so Damian and Marinette decided to arrange a family lunch to break the news to everyone. It was then Damian remembered that there was one issue he hadn't resolved yet.

“If you don't tell Marinette today, I'm telling her.” Dick glared at him from across the table.

Damian glanced at his watch. His wife wasn't present yet, and had sent him a message about picking up pastries from Paris first.

“Tt. That would mean revealing our identities, Richard.” He crossed his arms.

“Just because you have the mask on it doesn't mean you can do that to her!” Dick argued. “Does Ladybug even know you're married?! ”

“What did he do to Pixie-pop?” asked Jason.

“He---he—” Dick was once again trembling in anger and disbelief.

“We saw him kissing Ladybug.” It was Bruce who replied. “Damian, I never expected this from you. You will have to talk and apologize to Marinette.”

“You did what?!” Jason stood up so abruptly that the utensils clattered.

“What the fuck?” Tim exclaimed.

Stephanie gasped. “What the hell Damian?”

“Holy shit,” Duke whispered.

Damian could only stare at the entryway of the dining hall, hoping that Marinette would arrive soon. If he was left with his family any longer, they'd be beating him up and disowning him.

“I have . . . a reason,” he said through gritted teeth. He couldn't exactly tell them right off the bat, since Marinette wasn't there yet.

“Open . . . open relationship?” Cass frowned.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared at the ceiling—a portal— and from it, a figure dropped down, much to everyone's shock. Ladybug, unified with the Horse miraculous, grinned at them with an armful of boxes filled with croissants and macarons.

“Ladybug?” Bruce gaped.

“Your daughter-in-law actually.” She lowered the sunglasses, showing her narrowed eyes. “And your worst fucking nightmare.”

“W---What?”

Damian could barely control his laughter, seeing his father frozen.

She detransformed completely and scowled at Bruce. “This is technically your fault, furry old man! If you didn't keep agreeing to send me on those magical missions, I wouldn't be so tired and caused a misunderstanding in the first place.”

Damian didn't have time to shield himself from the eruption of noise on the table. With his wife's theatrical reveal, everyone was in different states of shock. Tim stood up quietly to face a wall with a blank stare, entertaining another existential crisis. Duke choked on the water he was drinking. Jason was crouched on the floor miserably with his hands over his face, perhaps because of the times he complained to Marinette about Ladybug's uptight methods. Dick's jaw was completely unhinged, and he was slapping himself every minute or so. Stephanie passed a hundred dollar bill to Cass.

And Bruce. Poor Bruce was paler than their porcelain plates, speechless and unmoving.

Damian exchanged a wide smile with his wife. He loved her so much.

#maribat fic #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #daminette #maribat marinette dupain cheng #ggomoz #maribat damian wayne

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uchinagai · 7 months ago

Text

The rhythm of winter - karina

𝜗𝜚 idol!Karina x figure skater!reader

𝜗𝜚 synopsis : y/n, one of the biggest names in figure skating and Karina, also a big name in the K-pop industry. None expected these two worlds to collide, even if y/n secretly enjoyed their music, but all it took was 2024 winter Olympics that was hosted in south Korea to make the idol fall in love with the girl.

𝜗𝜚 contains : idol! Karina, figure skater!reader, fem!reader, wlw, mentions of ED, starving, overworking, cursing, bad mental health, strangers to lovers, the reader is 20, angsty but not really, mostly written in 3rd person view, kind of rushed in the end??

𝜗𝜚 w/k : 4.6k+

𝜗𝜚 a/n : english is not my first OR second language so please, ignore anything incorrect. this story is heavily inspired by Alexandra Trusova's 2022 Beijing but then just changed up. first time writing something this big so if spotted any mistakes please ignore them.. some Olympic events are changed for the plot and stuff. . Check out moodboards for a better idea of the vibes they bring to the function hehe… enjoyyyyy :3

Y/n moodboard || Karina moodboard

y/n, a top tier figure in skating known for her dark yet captivating aura. Some may even call her Yuzuru Hanyu's girl version in skating, she was that good. But the girl was mysterious, she had a lot of friends in the industry, Yuzu himself, Anna Scherbakova, Mao Shimada and so many others, but she was reserved from the public eye. Nobody knew her but also everyone did because she still made headlines. It was either about her dark fashion sense, skills, interviews, she was everywhere and was known as “South Korea's pride” that was till the 2022 Beijing incident.

She was promised, she was encouraged, she starved herself for this. She needed that gold medal like breathing, but no. everyone lied to her, including her coach, whom she trusted with everything. She got second, which in her world was losing: “winning is first place, everything else is losing.” She was mad at everyone and everything, they PROMISED her. She needed to land that god sake five quads that no woman has ever landed in history and she did it. She had to stop eating, lose weight, train unrealistically to achieve it yet it was not enough. When she finished her routine she was happy, she landed something no woman has ever done at age of 18 but her own friend, Anna, beat her to it. She was crushed, devastated, to say the least. She cried her heart out, cursing everyone who tried to get near her, her makeup was ruined but she could care less. She was so mad that getting near her was the same as stepping into a minefield—dangerous and potentially explosive. She pushed her own friend away. Was it slightly silly to end your friendship of 8 years over skating? Maybe. Did she care at all? No. This sport is her life and if someone ruins her perfect life, she gets rid of them. She blamed Anna, her coach, judges, everyone. In the changing room she lost it officially to her coach, she kept throwing skates at her cursing her out while the coach just dodged the, tried talking her out but y/n was never gonna have it. When she got back on stage for the awarding she had a mask on, yet it was obvious how shattered the girl was. In the interview said the lines that would change her career:

“I'm never stepping on ice again, I hate it.”

Who was she lying to? Of course she would make a big comeback for the 2024 olympics. She laughed at anyone who thought she was actually going and could freely compete without being threatened by her skills. She took private training in those two years while also working on her mental health away from the public eye, something she was expert in. In two years she also got into her home country's pop music. K-pop was all over so she gave it a chance and discovered a few groups she enjoyed music of. She loved girl groups. Some of the groups didn’t match her usual aura but yet she enjoyed Girls generation, Red Velvet, (G)I-DLE, Newjeans, Kiss of life, Aespa., she loved the girls. But she had a goal to achieve in her home country: get the gold that was once stolen from her.

Karina, leader and main dancer of girl group Aespa, one of the biggest names in K-pop industry. Everyone was losing their mind over the girl. She looked unreal since her debut and earned the title of “human ai” along. She was pretty, talented and sweet and loved making friends in and out of the industry. She loved her job and the spotlight even more, so when her group got invited to the 2024 Winter Olympics as special guests, she was absolutely ecstatic, buzzing with excitement at the thought of being in the center of attention with cameras and she would also get to enjoy such shows as olympics live. Aespa opened the ceremony with their title track Armageddon and it was time for countries to come out. First was traditionally Greece to open and when it finally came to their country, South Korea, Karina fixed her posture to watch her home country athletes enter. They seemed so cool, Karina thought but a black haired girl seemed to draw her in. she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her. Maybe it was the look she gave to everyone, how reserved she seemed, but the girl was for sure interesting. She was wearing a basic white jacket as other athletes walked down while waving their country flag, the girl walked behind, looking around confidently with a small smirk that was till she looked to the side…. Russia. Her once best friend, Anna, had to be there. Not like she wasn’t expecting her but seeing her was… a painful reminder of everything she had lost and everything she was determined to reclaim. Anna already knew the girl was there, she felt sad watching her from afar knowing nothing was changing between them. On the other hand, Aespa girls sat at a special spot, watching them. Karina couldn’t feel the tension between athletes but her focus never left the girl.

As they walked down and finished everything, she turned to her manager.

“Who was that girl, in the back, looking all scary?”

“You mean y/n l/n? She's figure skater”

“I'm shocked that she actually made the comeback…” said Ningning, shocked in a low whisper..

“Why is that?” Karina questioned.

“You don’t watch the Olympics at all, do you?” winter said, causing girls to laugh while the leader just sulked.

“Long story short, at Beijing 2022 she went crazy… absolutely lost her mind over winning second place.”

“Why? Second place is very good” Karina said.

“That's y/n for you. Her famous quote is “Winning is the first place, everything else is losing.” plus she did something no woman athlete has ever achieved at the age of 18.” Ningning explained as Karina realized just how serious the younger girl was.

The actual tournament was planned a few days later since there were other sports but instead of training, y/n was stuck with government officials of Korea and a bunch of chaebol kids ripping her ear off while talking. She had no interest in being here, she needed to train but couldn’t decline the offer since other athletes were going too and it was hosted by officials. So here she was, standing in front of the table with red wine in her hand. From afar it looked like a vampire had sneaked in, y/n is pale, tall, slender with deep black hair and bloody red lips. Her outfit wasn't anything big either, a black dress tight around her figure, a big puffer chrome hearts jacket, and big boots adding a few inches to her height even if she was tall without them. Her makeup wasn’t anything special either, not like her usual dark concept, it was light but she balanced it with “Kro 02” from Gentle Monster (sorry I really had to specify). Party was… boring to say the least. It was more like money talks between the rich, while athletes and singers were present for formal purposes.

Right, talking about singers.

y/n saw a few familiar faces that she saw on TV which made her slightly excited but had about zero courage to walk up to them. She was too tired of humans in general even if she hasn't seen the public eye for 2 whole years. y/n was shocked seeing how almost flawless these idols were: perfect posture, always collected face and easily socialized with everyone. They had no problem with walking up to any chaebol old or young and starting a flowing conversation. What were they even talking about? God knows.

That was till y/n spotted her so called ‘bias’ from Aespa standing away from party, observing and seemed like she was just as bored with everything happening in front of her.

They locked eyes.

y/n just locked eyes with the Karina of Aespa.

She felt slightly intimidated by her gaze, that was still the girl's face softened and sent her a small smile which made y/ns heart flutter… just a little.

None of them dared to step forward first even though Karina felt drawn to the younger one and without her knowledge the feeling was very much the same.

y/n considered Aespa, especially Karina, one of the best groups in their generation. SM for sure knew how to pick visuals AND talent at once because the girl across the table was everything. She was the prettiest girl y/n has ever seen on camera and in real life, the camera does no justice to her beautiful face. Sharp jawline, a smooth nose, and a perfectly shaped nose with amazing facial harmony, the girl was breathtaking. And talent? She had everything an idol needed, she was the main dancer for a reason, her movements were clean and sharp, her vocals were unmatched and the girl could even rap if she wanted to. She was sweet and playful with her fans too.

She was perfect.

y/n wanted to be as perfect in her job as the older one. Even if they had different professions, y/n looked up to her idol due to her determination and hard work. She knew being an idol was no easy job at all and they trained just as hard. They had a huge hate train too and one scandal could ruin their whole career,

which was new to y/n even if she caused the scene of 2022 in Beijing. She had a huge fanbase who supported her and understood her pain of losing. She was more than grateful but she knew it wasn’t the same for them; they were criticized for everything so it was normal for them to get criticized for even looking at the opposite gender, which was so silly to y/n. So what if she looked at another guy? Doesn’t that mean they’re in love with each other; she was friends with so many opposite-gender figure skaters due to projects or introductions from friends. She could never see them more than a friend and colleague.

While y/n got so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice one of her childhood friends, who was one of the only chaebol kids she could stand, approach her with the black-haired girl next to him.

“Yo, y/nnie.’

Pause

“y/n, I call your ass back to this universe!” he says, as he nudges her side to snap her out of her clouds.

“What?”

As she freezes. Karina was next to him, standing there looking right at her. The gaze was alluring, like it was serenading y/n into her; or she was just reading into it deeply before speaking up.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, y/nnie,” she says as she reaches out her hand for y/n to shake.

“Nice to meet you too, Karina, was it?” she says as she shakes her hand slightly awkwardly due to y/n being starstruck by the girl's beauty up close.

While y/n was star-struck, Karina was no better; it was like the girl wrecked her whole orbit to bits and was having a hard time staying nonchalant about this small interaction.

“You two finally met. I think y’all know each other from TV a least so I thought u guys would get along. I present Jimin to you, y/n” Jaewon says and whispers into Karina's ear “She’s not very social” which Y/n hears right away giving an offended look.

“That’s not true”

“It is”

“Is not !!”

“Anyways!! I leave you two to it” he says as he grabs a champagne and leaves the girls alone, standing awkwardly. That was till Karina just burst out laughing which caused y/n to tilt her head in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

“No- no it's just that it was so silent and awkward I couldn’t help but laugh.”

“Oh right,” y/n says and chuckles awkwardly.

“Well im Karina, of Aespa, I don’t know if you know much about us, but yeah”

“I’ve heard a few thing or two. I'm bae y/n, the figure skater”

“I did my research about you before I came over here, you’re quite interesting”

Oh, that means she probably knows about Beijing…

“Oh really? What did you learn?”

“Well that first, you’re the ‘quad’ queen, seriously those 5 quads were amazing, how long did it take you??”

She knows.

“Quite a lot it was one hell of a deal too,” y/n says as she giggles and and takes a sip from her wine.

If Karina ever had a chance to re-hear the girl's giggles she would give anything, literally. It was so smooth and angelic that it made her want to become more of a funny person so she could get to hear the girl's laughter more.

“How’s the idol life? I don't really know much” a lie. y/n knew everything that was related to Aespa, she followed the fansites of each member and kept up with them WHILE training.

“Nothing exciting, we just had a comeback, if you watched the performance, scandals there, brand deals here, and it a little messy but we managed it!!” says Karina excited “We are a group of four, I'm the leader, ningning, Giselle, and winter”

“Winter? As in season??” y/n jokes as she chuckles.

‘Yes!! But she’s not cold or anything, she’s the sweetest, it's her stage name. Her actual name is Minjeong, I'm Jimin, ningning is Ning Yizhuo, and Giselle is Aeri.”

“Oh so that’s why Jaewon called you Jimin,’ y/n says as she starts laughing “-also, ningnings name is so pretty, is she Chinese?”

“Yeah she's from Harbin”

“Oh, the cold queen? We would get along, all the ice made me immune to cold”

“What are your plans for this Olympics?”

“Gold.”

“She knows what she wants.” Karina thought.

“By what I’ve seen so far, I think you’ll for sure get that.”

Even if y/n knew that she was good, these words coming from her idol, for sure encouraged her and made her feel more proud.

“Thank you, Karina-ssi.”

—

The time passed, and the party came to an end without her being sick and tired of people talking non-stop, because Karina was next to her, making her laugh and enjoy the might little more. Of course, they exchanged numbers and for the last bid their goodbyes.

Has y/n always been this nervous before the match? No, but she was the last one to come out for her stage, and right before hers, Anna was on the ice and she was magnificent. Y/n knew Anna loved ice just as much as she did and truly enjoyed it. She was talented, determined, and very gentle and smooth with her movements, she was artistic, which y/n lacked a bit. Y/n always focused on tricks and spins while Anna was mesmerizing even if she didn’t have many tricks up her sleeve, she still had an impact on judges; that’s why her current score was looking at 243.12, which was good, but lower than 2022, which made y/n a bite happy, she could beat that, right?

y/ns choreography was complicated but didn’t lack the artistic side of it while also being full of tricks. The program concept was “the fallen angel”. y/n was wearing a dark black costume with hints of silver. The design was a well-fitted costume with metallic and feathered accents resembling broken wings with a combination, but the sleeves were flowy enough to make her movement seem more balanced while having dark smokey eyes.

The coach was talking in her ear, some encouragement but she muffled it out and calmed her breath as she did small jumps at the spot to warm up.

“AND FOR THE FINAL… Y/N L/N, REPRESENTING REPUBLIC OF KOREA!!”

Was announced by speakers as people started cheering for her. At least she didn’t get a black ocean or silence.

The door opened and after stepping on that ice with her black, leather skates everything went black; y/n made her way to the center and the beginning pose was simple: bend down on one knee, head bowed, with one arm extended as if reaching for something unattainable. Slowly “Dies Irae” by Verdi fades in and the choreo begins for a dramatic and intense opening

She Begins with a clean 4S to maintain the technical momentum

then lands 4F, challenging jump with precision to earn high base points and GOE.

After 4F we get 4Lz with amplitude and control.

Is she gonna try the same thing? But her body can’t take another 5 quads. As her coach thought, the music fades to “O Fortuna” by Carl Orff, building towards a powerful climax.

4T+3T serves as a technical highlight in the middle of the program.

4Lo Incorporate this difficult quad to maximize the technical score.

There it was; another five quads. The crowd goes loud, she did it once again, these would for sure earn higher than Anna, right? … but she was not done yet while the music goes to the last part, “Symphony No.7, in a major, Op. 92 - II. Allgeretoo” by Beethoven for a solemn and reflective ending.

3A+2T A reliable combination that adds to the overall technical difficulty.

3Lz Execute later in the program, maintaining a clean technique despite fatigue.

3A+1Lo+3S This combination sequence increases the difficulty, especially in the latter part of the program.

She also did a few spins to earn more points such as Flying Camel Spin (FCSp4) Layback Spin (LSp4) and Combination Spin with Change of Foot (CCoSp4).

Finally.

The ending pose was with a deep knee bend, one arm reaching upward as if making a final plea, and the other hand placed over the heart.

She got up, and looked at the judges from her lashes, almost glaring with a smirk, she didn’t celebrate like last time for 2022 instead left the stage and made her way to the changing room.

Little did she know, the black-haired girl that she was texting each night was watching over her, with a satisfied look, she didn’t know anything about the tricks y/n landed but they for sure looked amazing and memorable. She watched her 2022 performance and she could feel the change in her. The aura was unmatched, she was magnetic, and everything about her was Karina's style even if the girl texted like an elder due to being slow with the keyboard and not being into texting. As she watched in awe winter nudged her

“Fallen angel got your heart?”

“WHAT?? NO??”

“Oh, she definitely has~” ningning teased causing Karina to glare at her.

“We just became friends and I think she’s very… cool,” Karina admitted as members started making random sounds to make the leader blush.

Younger was sitting in the waiting room, the camera on her, focused on the screen waiting for her overall score.

Technical Element score: 136.23.

Of course, she gets a pretty high score, that’s her best trait.

Program Component Score: 112.14

This was unexpected; pretty high for skating skills, transitions, performance, composition, and interpretation.

Deductions: 3.15

Wait.

Oh my god.

Overall score: 245,22

She just won, not only over Ana but she also won gold for her country with 2 whole points of difference. She was stunned, frozen.

Not like she wasn’t secretly waiting for it but still, it felt unreal.

She made it.

She was leaving the room for the medal presentation when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna clapping and cheering for her.

She smiled back at her.

Everything wasn’t over, after all.

As the gold was placed around her neck she bit down on it, for the tradition as she looked up to the crowd waving happily with Ana on her right, with silver.

There she saw the girl.

Clapping and jumping for her, screaming and she couldn’t help but laugh at Karina's silliness. She waved at older as she waved back.

Karina didn’t care about the spotlight or cameras that would capture this moment, she was cheering for her friend and her idol image was her least of worries. She saw how Anna and Y/n looked at each other. She couldn’t put this feeling in words but it for sure made her uneasy. If she could be on that ice, she would snatch Y/n right away and never let them interact but she’s meters away from the stadium and it would for sure cause a scene, so she's standing back, clapping for the winners. She could see how Anna was admiring her Y/n from the lower platform as Y/n was too oblivious due to her excitement. Older was glad Y/n was not paying attention because if she did acknowledge Anna she would drop all of her morals and cause the scene she’s being held back from. But Karina was also very conflicted, why was she feeling like this? Why is she all of a sudden so possessive over the girl? They’re not even that close, yet she yearns for her attention all of the time, calls her, spams her, and says random things JUST to get her attention, so what would older do?

Leave her position as soon as the crowd goes thin and walks to the lounge where athletes are gathered, complimenting each other's performance and just chatting. She spots her desired figure, the whole reason for her to consider being in a relationship late at night, the whole reason why she felt her knees go weak over a smile.

She was standing in front of a girl, y/n's honey-like laughter dripping out of her voice as she spoke with the person.

She was holding a panda plushy, an animal that Karina discovered to be Y/n’s favorite in the interview Younger mentioned. The person in front of her, whose face was shadowed by y/n was still an easy one to recognize.

Anna.

They seem to rekindle their relationship. So it appears.

Karina is probably the only person in this world to hate this sight, so here she is, standing there like a sore thumb watching the two interact with ease.

While she just stood there, the rest of the members decided to follow their leader to wherever she was heading off to and stood behind her.

“Rina?” the youngest called out to her frozen figure making her jump a little and look over her shoulder seeing her members with worry plastered on their faces.

“Yeah?”

Without a response, Giselle nudged her towards y/n and Karina took it as a sign and approached the younger, tapping on her shoulder as she turned around, a small smile flashing on her face.

“Hey,”

“Hey..”

Silence fell for a moment broken by Winter's small slip of a giggle making Karina glare at her over her shoulder while y/n looked at the short-haired girl, crackling a chuckle herself.

“The performance was excellent… I knew you could do it…” Said Karina mentally cringing at her awkwardness while the girl in front of her burst into laughter. Was she laughing at her?

“I never imagined you this awkward, especially over messages and that night at the party,” said y/n causing Karina to relax and now pout.

“I didn’t know how to approach you since you were already talking to somebody else…” she said, causing Anna to peek over her shoulder, a small smile on her face, assuming that idol meant her.

The girl was Slavic and looked like a perfect doll. She had a classical, graceful look with soft, light brown hair that flowed in loose waves. Her facial features were harmonious and refined, with a gentle and approachable expression. Even if on ice, she looked icey, in real life, she made up for all the warmth. Her sweet aura and presence made Karina feel uneasy.

It ate her up inside seeing them so casually together, chatting.

“Hello,” the girl greeted with a small accent slipping, which sounded adorable.

Idol smiled at her and bowed turning her gaze back to the younger.

“Remember, you promised me ice cream” Karina reminds y/n which causes the skate to sigh.

“I thought you would drop that..”

“Not after you told me you have never tasted mint chocolate,”

While the two kept going back and forth, the skater trying to reason with the idol, Anna stood there, watching the two bicker. It warmed Annas’ heart watching a person she associated with her childhood be so lively after everything she had to put herself through. Even if Anna wasn’t there, watching y/n prepare for the 2024 Olympics, she knew she wouldn’t be so easy on herself with food.

She noticed the lack of fat just as they stepped on ice, not like the girl wasn’t already in great shape.

“It was great, catching up, y/n” Anna interrupts the duo as y/n turns around.

“That’s sounding like a goodbye to me,” y/n joked as Anna nodded.

“It’s best I head back now,”

“Oh, sure then, text me… if you ever feel like it,” Y/n says as they hug each other for the last time and bid their goodbyes.

“You never tell me that,” Singer breaks the silence that was once achieved, causing y/n to turn around.

“Huh?”

“Do you like Anna?”

“You’re overwhelming me what is going on??” y/n was lost for words, idol always managed to mess her up, and not be able to form a straight thought.

“Do you, or do you not love Russian ice skater, Anna Shcherbakova, y/n l/n?” Karina asks determined to find out the question fearing for the answer.

“No, No I don’t, Yu Jimin,” y/n answers back in the same tone but in a slightly mocking way.

‘No’ as an answer was all it took for Karina to lose all her threads holding her back to slide her hand from y/ns jaw to her neck and pull her into a kiss.

Figure skater was frozen, confused, and conflicted but couldn’t help but return the kiss as she grabbed older by her waist, pulling her closer as they savored the moment till both of them had to pull away, panting for air but saliva still connecting the two.

“W-wha?-” y/n looked at the older girl, wide-eyed, her voice barely above a whisper, “What… was that?”

“I think it’s the right time to tell you that I like you,”

“And you thought that was a proper way to say it instead of communicating like adults?”

y/n saying that to Karina felt like she just got rejected, right in front of others she tried to pull away but the second she tried, she felt y/ns grip on her tighten

“I didn’t say I hated it either.”

“You’re so complicated…”

“You still owe me that mint chocolate ice cream date and then I won't be so complicated”

“oh-ohhh, so you’re inviting yourself on a date now?”

“Yes or no jimin?”

“Million times a yes.”

"we are still fucking here," Ningning chimed in.

of course. they followed their leader.

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