#I'm allergic to compliments

[jamiebluewind]

Today has been one of those "Sorry! I couldn't hear you over the texture of my socks" days.

[darlingsblackbook]

Zayne x Crushing Nurse!Reader | Part Three

Mc messing with Nurse!Reader for 30 minutes straight - A compilation.

Part One Part Two

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

I | MC started calling you “Nurse Heart-Eyes” under her breath. Zayne overheard and said, “She does that.”. You still don’t know if he meant the nickname or the heart-eyes.

II | You caught MC raising a brow when you were adjusting your hair and scrubs in front of the door to Zayne's office.

She said, “Want me to knock so you can pose first?”

You said, “What? No!”

She banged on the door. Three times.

III | You once laughed too hard at Zayne’s dry remark.

MC just muttered, “Classic.”

You said, “What’s classic?”

She said, “The symptoms.”

Zayne: “Of what?”

MC: “A very obvious crush.”

You : 👁👄👁

IV | You reached for a clipboard at the same time as Zayne and flinched when your hands brushed.

He didn’t notice.

Mc's cackled told you she did.

V | You once tried to subtly ask MC if Zayne was “seeing anyone.”. She looked at you and said, “Yeah. Every day. Usually around 10 a.m.” You nodded for a full five seconds before realizing you were being clowned.

VI | Zayne once complimented your efficiency with a curt, “Good work.” Your smile looked like it was about to tear the muscles in your face apart. MC noticed. Later she whispered, “If he ever says you’re ‘adequate,’ propose immediately.”

VII | You nervously asked MC, “So, you and Dr. Zayne… are you two… close?” She smirked. “We’ve bled on each other. Is that close?” You didn’t respond. MC patted your shoulder. “Didn’t think so.”

VIII | MC once caught you spying into the office through the window. She got up and positioned herself with her back to the window - facing Zayne who was leaning against his desk as he spoke to her- in a way that made it look like they were about to kiss. 3, 2, 1- SLAM!

"Doctor Zayne!" You yelled out of breath. Zayne turned his head towards you, you could almost see the buffering icon right above his head as he's trying to figure out what is wrong with you.

Mc turned towards you and stuck her tongue out, "Are you alright, heart eyes?" You stayed silent. Zayne moved on with their convo as if nothing happened. "As I was saying-"

IX | MC gave you a cooling pack as she was visiting one morning. You asked, “Why?” She said, “For when you watch Zayne do literally anything and get flustered.”

X | Zayne once asked, “Why are you acting strange today?” MC leaned into the doorway and said, “Just today?"

XI | MC caught you fiddling with your necklace after Zayne walked by. She asked, “That a nervous habit or are you imagining he gave it to you?” You dropped the necklace. She laughed.

XII | Zayne felt something was off about you today. He wanted to call you to his office to make sure you were okay. "Y/n, can I speak to you for a moment?" You looked at him with wide eyes. Mc raised her eyebrows, "Is it finally happening?"

XIII | You once saw Mc put her hand on Zayne's arm as they stood right in front of you. You froze, eyes locked onto the hand. Zayne looked up and said, “Are you alright?” MC smiled,“She’s just calculating how many years she’d get if she hacked my hand off”

XIV | You tried to ignore MC’s presence for a day. She leaned in and whispered, “Your strategy is adorable. Ineffective, but adorable.” You hissed, “I’m being neutral.” She said, “You’re vibrating.”

XV | Zayne started answering your questions with one-word responses. You told yourself he was just focused. MC leaned over and said, “You’re not subtle, and he’s allergic to emotions. This is gonna be fun.”

XVI | You overheard Zayne complain about a nurse to Mc and mutter, “People are distracted this week.” You were the one who helped him mainly this week. MC later passed by you and asked, “Need a sign that says ‘I'm just in love, not incompetent’? I can make one.”

XVII | MC once deliberately called Zayne by a ridiculous pet name—“Zaynie Boo” just to see your reaction. You dropped the tray you were holding. Zayne didn’t flinch. “Don’t do that.” MC: “Why? It gets results.”

XVIII | You once said, “You two make a good team.” Mc answered, "Yeah, in many ways."

XIX | Zayne once asked if you were sick because you were so jittery. MC said, “Only with longing."

XX | Zayne asked you to assist him one-on-one. You nearly tripped walking toward him. MC whispered, “good luck, little nurse.”

You heard her. Zayne didn’t.

But when he caught your trembling hands, he paused, looked at the doorway, then quietly said,

“She’s messing with you again, isn’t she?”

All Rights Reserved © Darlingsblackbook

I love the Mc/nurse dynamic, here are some more moments. In the next part there will be more Zayne🤭

Taglist : @sylusgirlie7 @jeonjenny @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @draftbeerbibi @weebinator01 @satorustorm @asilaydead @ninaandtuna @gremlinartstudio

[randofics]

Dante x reader headcannons

18+ MDNI

Sorry ya'll, I'm still working on Pain and Warmth pt.2. I figured yall could use some headcannons in the meantime. Some wholesome and spicy.

Link to Pt.1

-------

Sweet

He can't ever say no to your puppy dog eyes when you ask him to buy you something just as long as he can afford it. But if you aren't wanting for much and you mention something you thought about getting off-hand, he'll definitely get it for you even if he has to save up for it.

---

You definitely have competitions to see who can say the most one-liners before the other can't think of any more. You compliment each other for especially good ones.

---

Dante, ever the romantic, has definitely picked you a bouquet of wildflowers at least once. Maybe you're allergic or maybe not, but either way, you think it's sweet of him.

---

If he wants to do something for you (aside from cooking cause that didn't go well), you had better let him do it! He won't take no for an answer unless you give him good reason not to.

---

If you're ever under the weather, he'll wait on you, hand and foot. He's never really been sick, so just seeing you out of commission with a cold or stomach bug, and he wants to make certain you'll survive it. He's basically immortal, so he doesn't want you going into any afterlife before your time.

---

He loves your food. And even though he still eats a lot of pizza, if you plan on cooking, he won't even think of ordering any pizza. He also makes sure to ask you whether you plan on cooking or not.

---

While most people see Dante as an ignorant playboy or jock you know just how nerdy he can be. He's pretty well read, and while he mostly flips through magazines, you've seen him with a few novels in hand around his place. He's even gone to the library with you on occasion. The first time you saw him with an actual book, he smiled. "People really shouldn't let someone's looks fool them."

---

Spice

Dante definitely has a thing for short girls. He's 6'3". That's a whole inch taller than Ghost from COD. If you're any shorter than his chin, he'll definitely tease you about it. But it also means you get to use him as a ladder to reach stuff. He doesn't really complain, especially when your thighs are squeezing his head as you dust the top of the shelves.

---

He loves making you squirm and writhe for him in bed. To him, it's all about you. He sometimes actually forgets that he can have pleasure as well, but you're good about reminding him.😏

---

He's definitely one to mark you on purpose. Hickeys or bites on your neck, chest, and thighs are his preferred spots, but he has left some on your back and abdomen in the past.

---

He prefers the missionary position because he can see your reactions easier, and he loves it when you wrap yourself around him. Nails digging into his back and teeth in his shoulder as you move your hips with his.

---

One time, you stole his coat while he was taking a nap at his desk and put it on over a brand new pair of lingerie. You found red with black lace that matched his coat and immediately bought it. After letting him sleep a while longer, you woke him wrapping your arms around his neck from behind his chair. He almost immediately looked to the coat rack behind him and realized it wasn't there. "Is my coat in the wash?"

"No..." he spots the red sleeves on your arms as you run your hands over his chest. "Hey! Wha'cha wearing my coat for?" You stand, and he spins the chair to face you. It's wrapped around you, so he can't see what's underneath. Moving between his spread legs, you let it fall open. His jaw practically hit the floor at the sight of you. "Holy...Wow! You look gorgeous in my colors, baby!"

It's safe to say he enjoyed getting you out of that lingerie just as much.😏

[mashtatosworld]

on and off stage

summary: you're seunghyun's dance partner, but not by chance

The first time Seunghyun saw you - really saw you - you were standing at the edge of the rehearsal room, balancing a water bottle against your hip, eyes scanning the chaos as dancers and staff moved in a flurry around you.

You were new, but you didn’t have that nervous energy most fresh hires carried. You were grounded. Focused. And, in Seunghyun’s eyes, effortlessly beautiful.

The crush hit him fast and hard, and it was immediately inconvenient.

He didn’t do crushes.

Not like this.

Not the kind that made his ears heat up when you so much as adjusted your hair, or the kind that made him stutter when you asked him a perfectly normal question about stage placements. He was too old for this. Too cool, supposedly.

And yet, there he was, subtly slouching during partner assignments, hoping to hell they’d match you to his height instead of Daesung.

It worked.

He almost felt guilty about it, until you turned and gave him that polite, slightly shy smile - and all he could think was mine.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

But it was awkward at first.

Not because you were difficult - far from it. You were professional and respectful, especially after the others warned you in hushed whispers that Seunghyun didn’t like to be touched.

“He’s a bit... reserved,” Taeyang had said, choosing his words carefully.

“You’ll be fine,” Daesung had reassured you. “Just don’t, like, hug him.”

So you kept your hands light, your touches fleeting, and Seunghyun was equally distant. His hands hovered rather than held. His fingers brushed instead of rested.

It was formal. Stiff. And it threatened your job.

Because the choreographers noticed.

They wanted passion. Intimacy. Chemistry. And you couldn’t exactly tell them, Sorry, my partner seems allergic to prolonged contact.

So you resolved to talk to him. To clear the air.

But fate - and the boys’ relentless prank war - had other plans.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You’d been heading toward Seunghyun’s dressing room when, the moment you opened the door, you were hit square in the face with a spray of cold water.

For a second, you stood frozen, droplets running down your cheeks, hair sticking to your forehead, and all you could hear was Seunghyun’s horrified gasp.

“Oh fuck.” His voice was low with panic, the water gun slipping from his fingers. “I'm sorry... I- I thought you were Jiyong! I swear!”

You wiped your face with your sleeve, sputtering out a laugh before you could stop yourself. Seunghyun blinked, stunned, watching your shoulders shake with amusement.

“I suppose Jiyong is pretty enough to take that as a compliment,” you teased, eyes bright despite the water still dripping from your chin.

The relief that flooded his expression was immediate - and then, unexpectedly, he laughed too. Deep, warm, real laughter that curled in his chest and filled the room.

"Mm, but I definitely think you have him beat," he admitted, passing you a towel.

The air between you shifted, tension dissolving in the echo of your shared laughter.

After that, everything was easier.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You started teasing him during rehearsals, lighthearted jabs about his “terrible aim” and “intimidating water combat skills.” He gave as good as he got, poking fun at your tendency to count steps under your breath and how you scrunched your nose when you were concentrating too hard.

But beyond the jokes, you also noticed something else - how careful he was with you.

How respectful.

How he never held you longer than necessary, and how his touch always felt like it was asking permission, even in the middle of choreography.

“You know,” you said one afternoon, after the room had cleared, “it’s okay to touch me. During the dance, I mean.”

Seunghyun’s gaze snapped to yours, his ears tinged pink. “I- I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn’t,” you assured him, your smile soft. “I trust you.”

The words hit him harder than they should have, sinking into his chest like something precious.

And from then on, everything changed.

����♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The closeness came more naturally. His hand settled more firmly at your waist, guiding rather than hovering. When you leaned into him during spins, his arm held you just a little longer, his touch steady.

The choreography started to feel less like work and more like a conversation - one spoken in quiet glances, soft smiles, and fingertips against skin.

The choreographer noticed, too. “Finally,” they said with relief after one particularly fluid run-through. “Now you two look like you want each other.”

Seunghyun nearly tripped over his own feet.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You'd performed together enough times that everything should’ve gone smoothly. But somehow, thanks to a typo or crossed wire, you were reassigned - to Daesung.

You were halfway across the stage, heading toward your new partner, when a firm hand caught your wrist.

Seunghyun.

He didn’t say a word. Just held your wrist, his grip strong and sure, and pulled you gently back toward him as the first chorus of Bae Bae begun.

The movement was seamless - almost like part of the act - and the other dancer quickly pivoted, falling into place with Daesung instead.

But the moment wasn’t lost on the crowd.

The fans saw the hesitation, the instinctive way Seunghyun reached for you - and they saw the way his hand settled possessively at your waist, fingers curving into the silk of your costume.

They screamed.

And they kept screaming as Seunghyun, emboldened by adrenaline and something even deeper, danced with you like never before.

When his solo verse arrived, instead of stepping away to the centre of the stage, he stayed close - circling you, rapping with that low, magnetic growl while his fingertips skimmed the bare skin at your hip. It wasn’t choreographed. It wasn’t planned.

But it felt right.

You could barely breathe, heart slamming against your ribs, skin burning beneath his touch. By the time the song ended, you were dizzy - whether from exertion or the way Seunghyun was still looking at you, you couldn’t tell.

And one you were backstage the teasing started immediately.

“Ohhh, so that’s how it is,” Daesung smirked, arms crossed. "I wondered why I was dancing alone for the first part."

“Our hyung was really feeling the song,” Jiyong added with a grin.

“Look at him!” Taeyang pointed dramatically. “He’s blushing more than she is.”

Seunghyun tried to deflect, but his flaming ears gave him away instantly.

You were too stunned to speak - but when Seunghyun finally caught your eye, the small, shy smile tugging at his mouth was the only thing you cared about.

The teasing could wait.

Because if tonight had proved anything, it was that you were his partner.

On and off the stage.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

the woman was too stunned to speak 🧍‍♀️

as requested! sorry it's taken me so long, writing for GD comes more naturally but Top has a special place in my heart <3

i actually already had plans to do this concept with GD but i saw this request and thought it was too good not to at least do for seunghyun as well as GD hehehehe

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure

[dilf-docs]

Foul Promises, Forbidden Games

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: finally, harry and you seem to have found temporary truce. a small step. but what it's not, if a big dangerous leap?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 1,840 words

side note: hi hello thank u for ur support my citizens!!!!!!! new spot just dropped a few days ago UGH i'm so excited for this movie can't wait to meet our smitten billionare istg if he gets dumped for cevans' poor ass but in celine god song we trust,, NOW brat summer is over it's time for dilf summer and pedro pascal is the star!

part: prev | masterlist | next

"Come in"

The door opens, and the familiar click of shoes and wooden musk invades the place. You don't dare pronounce his name.

"This office is for married people only"

He chuckles at your dry tone. Petty even.

"Thought you were allergic to 'em"

"I am, but they bring money to the table"

"Thought it was your daddy's" he's quick to retort.

You try to keep neutral, your view busy on the same file you've had open since he entered the room.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not offended by the trust-fund baby calling" you reply, nonchalant. He takes a sit without you allowing it, that stupid soft smile on his face while crossing his legs. You finally look at him. "What do you want, Harry?"

Because, why was he, the last person you'd like to see, inside your office on a weekday, let alone, almost at closing hours?

"I want a truce"

His words fall into the silence of your office, partly iluminated by the moonlight. It isn't your worst wednesday night but it sure deserves a spot on the list.

You arch an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware we were at war"

"With you, honey" he leans in closer, his shadow hovering over your desk, "there's always a fight"

"Then why take the trouble to come?"

"See what I mean?" he's quick to smile like he knows something you don't. "Anyway, I came because it's urgent. Wouldn't, otherwise"

"Huh. I've heard that before"

Harry stands up, looking at your condecorated wall, seemingly impressed by the papers hanging inside frames, a testament to your intelligence.

"Well?"

"Do you know why people come to you?" he asks, still facing the wall.

"Because I'm the best"

He turns around, smiling in amusement. "So humble, aren't you?"

"I take you didn't come to compliment me. Tell me, Mr. Castillo, why is it you're here?"

Harry faces you. "Drop the formalities, we're not strangers"

"I don't know you"

It's sharp, but he doesn't flinch.

"You could if you wanted to"

Your heart picks up a faster beat. It's starting again, like the two times before, this new off-putting feeling you hate and can't stop.

"You came here for bussiness, I pressume. Not comradeship, Harry"

To talk with you is to wrestle with a seething tongue.

"We can always have tea or a nice dinner other day. I know this pasta place downtown; I'm friend's with the owner" at your narrowed eyes and lack of response, he clears his throat and continues. "Alright, not the talker. I'll go straight to the point"

"Finally"

He contains the urge to roll his eyes.

"Nevermind. You do talk the talk" he sighs. "But I'm here for a favor"

Now it's your turn to sigh. "Could've said that first. Time's money and you've wasted me enough. This is a law firn, not a charity"

His lips quirk into a smirk. "I don't want your alms. Just you"

Two simple words shouldn't affect you this much.

"Besides, haven't you got plenty?" he continues, tone joking, at your lack of response.

"It's never enough"

His eyes shine with an inexplicable anticipation.

"I can always try"

You cross your arms, leaning against your leather chair. Maybe he won't notice the slight tremble to them.

"You said you needed me"

"Precisely" Harry seems content. "Now we're talking"

"Speak"

"So bossy" you roll your eyes. "Do you know Paul Lauder?"

"If you're rich and leave in New York, it's impossible you haven't"

"He's a friend of mine" he offers.

You scoff. "Would be weird if he wasn't"

"I don't have as many friends as you think I do"

"Who you befriend isn't my problem. Or what I think isn't yours" Harry looks about to correct you, but you don't allow him. You place your elbows on your desk, assesing, in that pose he thinks you use to intimidate. You ressemble a hunter, ready to bounce over it's prey. It sends shivers down his spine, despite mantaining his natural facade. "Continue"

"I need your help"

You grin like a cat. "If you need my help, as you say, and they only way I can help you is the only way I know, you could've sent an e-mail"

"But that's the problem" he smiles, albeit a bit sad. "He doesn't want to get a divorce"

His shoulders slump, face frowned and a serious glint over his eyes that makes him look like he carries the world's whole weight within them. You're taken back by how used you're to his usual happy and confident self. For a moment, you think you want to do everything in your power to make him smile again. The treacherous thought is pushed down as quick as it came.

"Then why are you here?" you ask, this time curious above anything else. "I thought you believed in marriage"

He doesn't take your little bait. "No. I believe in love"

You push back a smile. "Right, how could I be so dumb?"

"You're not, which is why I came to you. Do you think I would put up with your charming personality for nothing? There are tons of other divorce lawyers out there"

"Yet here you are" you interrupt, harsh.

"Yet here I am" he repeats, softly.

"Harry..."

"I know this is sudden, and I know it's late. That you don't care for me, or my friend"

"I don't"

His gaze turns hard for a second, maybe as a warning, expecting less judging and more sympathy.

"Don't expect anything from me"

"I don't expect you to understand what you don't know, y/n" he replies, tone patient yet condescending. "But know this: love tends to bring the strongest down"

"Love" you savour the word, rolling off your tongue like a snake who seethes. "You speak a lot about it. Tell me, Harry, have you ever been in love?"

A pin could drop and be heard.

"I think you'll know when I do"

You decide to serve yourself some coffee, and when the cup spills, filled to the brim with shaky movements, he doesn't say anything. You don't offer him a cup either.

"Listen, I pride myself in reading people. Wonder how I ever got so far in this industry? I know what people want, and that's the key. The rest is sweet talk and paper. So, when I tell you it took me less than two seconds to figure her, I'm serious. Paul may have married this girl out of love, but she obviously hasn't. As Lauder is charmed by her heart, she's by the numbers of his bank account"

A true player, you think cynically.

"You expect me to fill sorry for the poor filthy rich?" you tilt your head, the annoyance palpable.

"That's funny coming from you"

The roughness of his tone surprises you. You don't reply anything.

"He's self-made"

"And I'm supposed to assign bonus pity points for that?" you find your voice again.

He rolls his eyes, composed demeanor faltering a bit. You smile, delighted.

"I wouldn't want all his hard work to go to waste for a fairy tale he's deluded himself with"

"Now you're speaking my language"

"Don't confuse yourself. True love is still out there" he counters.

"You're a believer, Harry. I'm still deciding if that's heroic or stupid"

"You may think I'm being selfish, but I know my friend. This isn't Paul. He's gone in her cold smile he perceives as warm, and his pockets keeps emptying as his love into the place her heart is supposed to be, but he's just pouring worship into a hollow pit with a hole in the bottom that leaks with indifference. Apathy. Aversion even" he makes a pause, seemingly pained by just recalling. "I believe love makes you grow, so does devotion. But devotion isn't servitude. Surrendering, in flesh and bone, to another soul isn't the same as losing yourself"

"Poetic" you drop with a bitter tone. Almost humiliating.

He shrugs, not affected. "I'm not a poet, just a friend who wants to help"

"By seeking out a divorce" you reply, entertained.

"No" sharp. "I'm helping my good friend before he makes the biggest mistake of his life"

"You will break his heart" you add, not knowing why.

"A heart only breaks once. The rest are just scratches"

You can't help but wonder about your father and mother. If he loved her; if she's the only woman he ever loved. Maybe that's why he was so fucked up now. You still remember the weeks after her departure, how he'd drunkenly call her name after shots of tears. In the following morning, he wouldn't recall, and you wouldn't tell him either. Out of empathy or pity, you don't know. He never did again after he married his second, neither when she left. Nor with the next one, and so on. His polite smile when arriving to your office to finalize each never faltered, so maybe Harry was right, at least in that. You won't give him that much credit though, let alone tell him.

You sigh. "If he doesn't want a divorce, there's nothing I can do. What I do, is the legal procedures. Not magic"

"I think you're underestimating yourself" like a nurturing father. You don't know how much you need those words, the forbidden warmth in your chest rather embarrassing. "You could change anyone's mind"

"Right. I'm not a witch"

"Pretty sure I heard a few of your employees call you Wicked Witch of the East Coast as I walked by" he smirks.

"Well, Broadway isn't that far. I'm glad you appreciate their wit" but your gaze is cold. "When you keep them close, they're pretty much the same, but I know I've got both admirers and enemies" a breath goes by. "I'm curious, though. Which are you?"

He's as surprised by your boldness as yourself. Maybe it's the late hour or the bitter adrenaline of caffeine in your veins.

"I'm whatever you want me to be" in that infuriating tone you've yet to decipher; you hate the unknown.

"Always the gentleman" you concede, icy. "Now be the one who tells me why the hell I'm supposed to help your fallen friend"

"Because I'm asking you to"

The tension could be cut with kid scissors.

"Are you paying in advance?" you ask, throat dry.

The billionare smiles.

"A true business woman. Your dad was right"

You give him a tight smile. "He mocks me"

"I don't"

He raises from his seat, an indentation in the shape of him where he just sat. More of Harry in your life, in guarded spaces previously only your own.

"Good. Do we have a deal?"

You extend your hand. When he takes it in his, something clicks.

Harry smiles. "We do"

Your hand burns as if you've just made a deal with the devil.

"Goodnight" he exits your office, voice as soft as only Harry Castillo can.

For a moment, your hand still in the air as his back loses in the dark shadows of your closed office, you can't help but think you've made the worst mistake of your life by agreeing.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell @suzysface @joelmillerpascal @ennvsco (comment if u wanna be added!)

[dreamsteddie]

Companion piece to my Stobin childhood friends au post because try as I might to resist it, the Steddie brain rot will take over.

Robin and Steve are thick as thieves from that first day of preschool onwards. Their matching friendship bracelets don't fit anymore but have found homes in their "secret friendship treasure chest" which is a shoe box covered in construction paper decorations that lives under Robin's bed so Steve's parents don't throw away any of his "trash" again. They've started a tradition of making a new one for each other at the start of every year so everyone remembers they're best friends, though.

Halfway through first grade (Robin got to start school a year early like the Buckleys hoped) things are going great for Robin. She gets to bring books home from the library and their teacher complimented her drawing of a robin and she helped Steve pass his spelling test last week, so as far as she's concerned this is the best year ever.

Right up until Eddie Munson transfers to their school.

At first, Robin doesn't know that Eddie will be her arch-nemesis. When he's introduced to the class, all she really thinks about him is that he looks a little funny but seems nice. He's got really big eyes and he's taller than most of the other kids with long, gangly limbs. His hair is shaved down to his head, but there are other boys in class who have the same cut. He gets placed at the table group to the left of them in the chair closest to Steve's.

She very quickly forgets about him as the day continues as normal. Robin thinks math block is boring, she'd much rather read her books or play with Steve at recess but her parents said knowing your shapes is important, so she pays extra special attention. That's why she doesn't catch the little wave Steve, ever the social butterfly, gives to the boy across the way or the way Eddie's eyes go even bigger and a soft blush steals across his cheeks.

What she does notice is when Eddie comes up to them in the last few precious minutes of recess slightly sweaty and out of breath holding a little white daisy.

"Hi! I'm Eddie, I'm new!" he says, shouts really, looking directly at Steve.

"Oh, hi Eddie! I'm Steve, this is my bestest friend, Robin." Steve replies.

"Like the bird?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah! They're orange."

"And I hate orange!" Robin buts in, not willing to be left out of the conversation

"Yeah, it's really sad. They should be blue, that's Robin's favorite color." Steve says, real disappointment creeping into his voice. "Who's that for?" he asks, pointing to the forgotten daisy.

"Oh! It's for you! I was out all recess looking for the best one in the field. They kind of match your shirt!' Eddie says proudly, referencing Steve's polo with the yellow body and white sleeves. It's one of his favorites.

"Really? That's so nice, thank you!" Steve exclaims as he takes the little flower into his hands.

Robin's mom says that sometimes when you want to be someone's friend, it's good to start by giving them something nice. Robin's mom says that she should try and make more friends, maybe some girls instead of just Steve, but when Robin tries to talk to the other girls in class, she gets nervous and clams up. She thinks she might be allergic to them. Plus, why would she need more friends when she has Steve, who is worth at least three normal friends.

Steve gets along with everyone, he lends people erasers and pencils and shares his blocks with the other kids when he's allowed to bring them out of his cubby, but no one is his best friend like Robin is.

No one has ever given Steve flowers before, though. That feels like an extra special kind of gift that someone would give if they wanted to be really good friends, and Robin doesn't want that. Steve is her best friend, he doesn't need another one.

"Steve, we gotta go get in line before all the other kids! We don't want to be last!" she blurts out, grabbing Steve by the hand and dragging him across the asphalt to where the teachers are getting ready to call everyone to get in line before Eddie can catch up.

Once they've got their places, she looks back at Steve behind her to see he's turned around. She peaks her head around him and sees him smiling wide at an equally smiley Eddie who's about 5 kids behind them, each of them waving happily at each other.

Oh yeah, Robin is going to have to keep an eye on him.

[rainyatrium]

MOTH AND LOPER!! YEAH!!! ft. @heavenhearst under the goggles... The mindspike articulates and is motorized... it gave up the goat literally as soon as the cosplay contest ended, lol Did not get to finish the lenticular film glasses in time, but such is life!!!! We got 4th place honorable mention in the group costume contest so i am pretty happy :) further thoughts and WAY more images below!

loper thoughts we know from the game that Loper is in some kind of hazard gear, so i gave them the jumpsuit (in the tradition of ellen ripley, real astronauts, and ghostbusters) as opposed to a labcoat or anything like that. we took in the waist to make it fit better. i think with the mindspike on, it made the resemblance even stronger.... these ghostbusters did not quite get why i was so amused at taking a photo with them, but i think this is a pretty good image nonetheless.

observin' makes me feel good! and speaking of the mindspike: this is my first time working on anything to this level-- I am not a robotics person! hell of a learning experience & i already have plans for version 2. mindsci i am not but i think i did pretty ok... the spike has two controllers: a modified slotcar controller & a separate knob that sits in one of the pockets (controls left/right axis). the other knob is pretty discreet and allows for puppeting the spike without a bright yellow Device in my hands. the RCA jacks on the back hooked up to Moth's laptop, so for photos it looks like they are hooked up to the spike and taking readings.

the claw was made nearly 1:1 to the game model to save on time and weight. con crunch wahoo! some extras: i put together fake 'e-paper' displays for our ids. if you have seen my prior posts, these will look familiar! i had a blast designing a seal for the FBX and a layout for these ids. i wanted to give them a better finish (hide the obvious 3d printing), but.. time crunch.. oops... the Moth id also has a little incandescent bulb in it, though I have no photos of it active. for my gloves, i intended to use gloves for high-voltage electrical work, but i was allergic to the latex, so i grabbed some dishwashing gloves off amazon and glued the label to them, hehe.

shoutout to the tf2 medic who was wearing the same pair of gloves! moth thoughts for moth, we had the benefit of the wonderful official cosplay by Shaman-- which you can see all over corru.store! (thank you shaman for the pointers!!!) Heaven thought it would be fun to take him in a more "I'M IN!" direction, so our Moth has painted nails and fingerless gloves and a great big coat over his button-down and slacks. complimented with some pins from hot topic and i think he assembled a pretty comprehensive vibe! i made the goggles out of some blue LEDs, rice paper, and a pair of costume goggles off Amazon. they are entirely opaque. moth is just such a gamer he knows exactly where everything is anyway.

you can also see the FBX patch that is present on both our Loper and Moth!

everything else wtf you read this far? cool! i don't really have anything else to add... but maybe you will see Loper at Supercon Miami in 2025.... only time will tell.....

[myloveobbsessed]

Ｎｏｔ Ｉｎｔｒｅｓｔｅｄ

••��

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

Characters: Valentine x GN!reader

Notes: none

•••

Desperate Valentine: who first sees you and immediately thinks how breathtaking you are. Proceeds to try and use his magic to try and make you fall for him but is greatly surprised when that doesn't work and you tell him “I'm not interested”

Desperate Valentine: who takes immediate interest in you after this. Always pursuing you and getting rejected every time.

“Cmon sugar I just want to treat you well. How can you say ‘no’ to this face” Valentine smirks charmingly probably another attempt at catching your heart. But all you do is roll your eyes shutting your locker. “Didnt that face use magic to force girls to fall for you?”

the vampire’s grin flatters at your words as he glances around avoiding your strong gaze chuckling sheepishly. “what? No. that was…just a rumor a lie I would never do that” Valentine stutters out lying through his fangs.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Oh really? Then why did it not work on me?”

Valentine rubs the back of his neck, his confidence wavering for just a second before he quickly recovers, flashing you his signature smirk. “Maybe ‘cause you’re special, sugar. One of a kind. A monster like you doesn’t need magic to see how irresistible I am.”

You scoff, shoving past him. “More like I have common sense.”

Instead of being deterred, Valentine follows beside you, hands in his pockets, that ever-present smirk still on his face. “C’mon now, don’t be like that. I could show you a real good time if you’d just give me a chance.”

You glance at him, unimpressed. “And risk waking up under some love spell? No thanks.”

Valentine dramatically places a hand over his chest. “Sugar, you wound me. I’d never do that to you. Honest!”

You let out a dry laugh. “Right. Because you’re just so trustworthy.”

“Exactly!” He grins, as if you had just complimented him instead of mocked him. “So how about dinner tonight? No magic, just you and me.”

You stop walking, turning to face him. “Valentine. No.”

His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers, flashing you a wink. “Alright, alright. I respect a challenge.”

You roll your eyes, walking away, but you know this isn’t the last time he’ll try.

Desperate Valentine: who’s next Idea is to shower you in gifts cause maybe you're more of a materialistic.

“Heres a beautiful rose for the most exquisite monster. everyone loves these” You stare at him your arms crossed “I don't. I'm allergic actually” Valentine pauses taking the rose away before offering you chocolates but you shoot those down as well “I don't like chocolate”

Valentine frowns slightly, clearly thrown off by your lack of enthusiasm for his usual go-to gifts. But his charm doesn’t falter, and he grins, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Alright, alright, no flowers, no chocolate… how about something more… unique?” He pulls out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a gemstone that catches the light in an almost hypnotic way. “A gift as rare as you, sugar. One of a kind.”

You look at the necklace, then back at him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not really into jewelry either.”

Valentine’s smile doesn’t waver, though a slight twitch of his lip suggests a touch of frustration. “I’m starting to think you just don’t like me at all, huh?”

You simply shrug, uncrossing your arms. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t fall for cheap tricks.”

Valentine lets out a chuckle, closing the box and slipping it back into his pocket. “Cheap tricks, huh? Fair enough. Guess I’ll have to think of something even better, something you can’t resist.”

You meet his gaze, a mix of amusement and curiosity in your eyes. “Good luck with that.”

Desperate Valentine: Who instead of just guessing what would would get you to even consider him actually decides to ask your friends though it took some begging and bribing. finally he got some information on you.

Now, instead of draping himself over your desk and crooning sweet nothings into your ear, he actually starts real conversations.

“So,” he leans casually against the lockers one day, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face, “I heard you’re into horror novels. Any favorites?”

You blink, clearly surprised that he’s actually talking about something you like. “Uh… yeah, a few.”

He nods, encouraging. “Tell me. I might need some recommendations. I mean, I am a vampire, I should be brushing up on the classics, right?”

At first, you’re wary. But as the days pass, the conversations become more natural. He brings up topics that genuinely interest you, asking thoughtful questions, actually listening to your answers.

And while the gifts haven’t completely stopped, they’ve become… better.

Instead of roses you’re allergic to, he leaves a small trinket on your desk—a keychain of your favorite character. Instead of chocolates you don’t like, he hands you a specialty snack he knows you enjoy.

Through time and persistence, he starts noticing it—the way your posture relaxes when he’s around, the way your conversations last just a little longer than before.

One afternoon, as you’re leaving class, he falls into step beside you. “So, I gotta ask,” he says, his usual smirk softer this time, “am I still completely hopeless, or am I at least kinda growing on you?”

You don’t answer right away, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile before you roll your eyes.

“…Maybe.”

Valentine grins. Finally.

•••

[respectthepetty]

Dunk and Joong could have offered me anything in 2024, and I would have taken it, gladly, no questions because my ass is a Jaidee fan first and a human second. But to hand me The Heart Killers? Oh! Let me list all the reasons y'all gonna hate me when this comes out.

Joong plays Khao's older brother

Khaotung is older than Joong, but in BL Land that doesn't matter because Khao is playing the hopeless romantic little brother while Joong is playing his stern older brother. Someone already wrote it was 10 Things I Hate About You/The Taming of the Shrew, and Shakespeare would be thrilled to know one of his masterpieces is getting the queer treatment and it's not Twelfth Night.

Dunk is playing the crazy seducer

Boy wants a car and is willing to go to great lengths to do it, including distracting some dude, so his buddy can play house with that dude's little brother. But the whole point is they had to find a guy who was crazy enough to accept the offer in the first place >insert Dunk's character< so the guy isn't just wanting the car. He is doing this for the thrill of getting tied up, stripped down, and threatened.

And I respect that.

Jojo is apparently directing

I wanna have beef with Jojo after Only Friends, then I look at his resume and remember this is the man who gave me puppy play in The Warp Effect, poly in 3 Will Be Free, and a chaotic stripper named Judo in Dirty Laundry PLUS the YinWar trailer for their Partner in Crime concert which has now lead to YinWar doing Jack & Joker, so as a vegetarian, I'm gonna be like Elsa and let that go.

Which means Rath is probably the cinematographer

I don't give men compliments easily, so when I state that Cinematographer Rath has never disappointed me, I mean it. The man knows what he is doing, and if he is in on this series, I know if anything, it will be visually stunning.

First and Khao being the Beyonce of GMMTV

I'm in Jaidee's corner always, but I have eyes and First and Khao could really do whatever they want and I'd eat it up. I have believed them with whomever they have been partnered with in the past, and if they want to play high schoolers in an oppressed school system or a banker willing to see his ex and his ex's new man just to flirt with the boy from the market, I'm buying the tickets, I'm sitting in the front row, and I'm holding up homemade posters. Basically, I'm shutting the fuck up and experiencing whatever they want me to experience.

First and Khao tears

This is its own category because when they cry, they are in a league of their own. They claimed this series was going to be lighter than their previous work, but what is a First or Khao series without tears? I hope they are drinking water right now because someone is crying in this series, and JD's faces are already wet for other reasons.

DUNK'S BODY!

Not to objectify the man's body, but . . . it's a banger, and he has been done dirty by wardrobe for two solid years. His face card never declines. His arms are solid. His waist is snatched. His hair is perfect. Even Tay, New, and Jan were talking about him in the BTS for Peaceful Property because they were saying how New's character was based off of Dunk - pretty, fashionable, and COCKY! But wouldn't we all be that cocky if we were walking around looking like this?! Like shut up fives. A ten is speaking!

It's high time that man got to stunt like Force always does just taking off his shirt for no reason. Good for him. And good for us.

Oh, yeah, and the plot

Sorry, I mean the plot.

SHIT, THE PLOT!

You know what? Nah. I honestly do not give a fuck about the plot. Joong and Khao are hired killers. First is out to get them. Dunk gets involved (although, I think he knows a lot more than he leads on), and . . .

All will end well.

Because if anything, Jojo ain't never been allergic to a happy ending *wink*

So just know this show hit its target audience

ME!

¡Salud!

[xyras-maze]

Hunted

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Cw: PiV, public sex, unprotected sex, prey/hunter

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN Y'ALL!

Thanks to my friend Aiya for helping me with this<3, if I missed any content warnings please lmk.

You pulled up into the parking lot of the Halloween attraction organized in your town; you were supposed to meet your friend, Celeste, here. As you got out of the car and noticed your tall, blonde companion coming your way.

"Girl, you look so hot!" She exclaims. "Thanks", You couldn't help but smile at the compliment,

"So do you." She really did look amazing. Her long, straight hair was flawless as always, and she wore a bloody nurse costume with high heels, which doesn't seem like a good idea to wear here, but it's her choice. You headed to the main attraction—the haunted house. It was a large, two-story building. The walls were wooden, an ivy making its way to the dark roof. Most of the windows were blacked out by pieces of dark fabric; however, some of them weren't; instead, they had spiderwebs and other decorations.

The interior was equally dark and made to resemble an old, unoccupied house. You turned right and entered a large, dimly lit living room. The room looked dusty; however, it seemed to not be real as your allergic friend wasn't reacting to it. There was a dresser on the other side of the room, with another door right next to it. In the middle of the place there was a round coffee table with a gramophone on it, next to which was a rocking chair covered by a white tablecloth.

"That looks so cool!" Celeste exclaims. You agree as you step further into the room. You looked around and proceeded to go further. You approached the door as a masked figure jumped out of the closet. Your screams filled the room, which turned into laughs as your friend was being chased by the creature.

You proceed to go into another room, now alone. You enter a bedroom, presumably a child's since the bed was quite small and the room was full of toys. You heard the door open behind you.

"How did you manage to escape with those heels on?" You jokingly asked your friend as you went further into the room and looked around.

"She hasn't," a familiar, gruff voice answered behind you. You turned around to see your boyfriend, Simon, staring at you.

"Simon..? What are you doing here?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were going here? What if something happened to you? You don't know what kind of psychos come here to hurt people," he snapped.

"Simon.. I really wanted to go," you explained.

"You should've told me," he reasoned.

"I'm sorry," you said as Simon looked you up and down. His whole body blocked the door, which just reminded you of how big he was.

"You can make it up to me, you know."

"Wha—what do you mean?" You asked. No way he meant it like that. You're in a public place.

"Exactly what you're thinking," he answered, and you noticed his bulge pressing into his jeans.

"Run, doll. Don't let me catch you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oh. That shouldn't make you so excited. You couldn't help but run, although knowing he'll catch you anyway. You sprinted out of the room and ran upstairs. You heard heavy footsteps behind you from the moment your silhouette disappeared from his line of sight; after all, he had to give you some time to start running; that's way more fun. You slipped on one of the last stairs but managed not to fall and got back to running. You had no idea where to go, so you turned right. There were 3 doors in front of you, and you quickly, yet quietly, went into the middle one. You entered a small kitchen. No other doors, no place to hide. Not good .You looked around and hid under a table, a tablecloth, which didn't cover your whole figure, but enough to not be visible unless someone lays down and looks for you. The table was tiny, though. You couldn't move without risking hitting your head or moving the cloth. You heard the footsteps getting closer. He opened the door to your right. All you heard was silence apart your breathing, which seemed as loud as a scream. You heard the door close, and then you heard another door opening. The door to the room you were in. His footsteps are now slow and calculated. You tried to calm your breathing down and stayed completely still. He walked around the table and stopped right behind you. "I can smell your perfume," he said.

Fuck. If you knew this was going to happen, you wouldn't have worn it.Maybe he's bluffing, though. So you didn't move and held your breath, afraid but also excited.

You heard complete silence when suddenly you felt a grip on your ankle. You squealed as he carefully dragged you out of your hiding spot.

"Found you," he leaned down and whispered. "Time for my reward."

He lifted you up and put you down at the table. He spread your legs and stood between them as he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss was passionate and demanding, and you were quickly out of breath from holding it earlier. His hands explored your body as he broke the kiss and looked you in the eyes, his gaze dark and full of lust.

"Please Simon," you begged for more. He leaned back in and started kissing and sucking on your neck as his hands traveled to your upper things. He gave them a light squeeze, and you lifted your hips up, allowing him to expose your body. He moved the clothes out of his way and ran his finger through your labia.

"Did that turn you on? Being hunted like that?"

You never told him that this is a fantasy of yours, but it turned you on even more than you thought it would. He inserted one of his fingers inside, but it wasn't enough. You needed him. Now.

"Simon, I need you," you begged.

"Are you ready?" He asked. He wouldn't want to actually hurt you, since he was far from gentle, but you didn't have much time. You nodded, and his hands moved to pull out his member. He was rock hard as he stroked himself a few times and positioned himself. He glided his cock up and down your slit and slowly inserted his tip into you. When he didn't spot any sign of discomfort on your face, he went all the way in, stuffing you full.

As much as he wanted to make this last longer, you had no idea when another group would show up. He groaned at the feeling and started to move in and out, setting a quick pace. He grabbed your hair and kissed you. He was so big, and it felt like heaven on earth. His hands traveled around your body as the pleasure consumed you.

"Don't stop, please, just like that," you moaned as you felt the pleasure build up. One of his hands grabbed your thigh to spread your legs wider as another moved to rub your clitter the way you loved.

"Come for me, baby," he said, and as if per order, you did.

He groaned as you squeezed around him. The hand, which was just rubbing your nub now gone, moved into his mouth so he could taste you.

"Taste so good," he growls as he keeps up the pace.

He picked you up, and you wrapped your legs around his torso as he continued fucking you. The switch in positions made his cock feel ever bigger inside you, hitting all the perfect spots.

"Look at me," he ordered.

The eye contact was intense, as pleasure and lust filled both of your eyes.

"I'm close," he warned, "where do you want it?"

"Inside," you answered confidently, feeling your own orgasm approaching again.

After a few deep thrusts, you tipped over the edge again, and as you clenched, he spilled his release inside you.

A few moments of catching your breath and you're putting your clothes back on.

"Didn't know you were into this kind of thing," he said. "We should do it again soon."

You blushed at the suggestion as you both headed to the exit. Only once you were back in the car did you notice missed calls from your friend, whom you completely forgot. Oops.

[inkandtension]

Infertile & Expecting

for: my fav @minniebbang

I hope you like this!

Paring: Hyunjin x Reader.

JYP wasn’t always what people assumed it to be. To the outside world, it was a sleek, powerhouse advertising agency dotted across Seoul’s business district, with too many interns and not enough espresso. But inside, it was chaos. And inside that chaos, there was AWs — Abroad Works, a sub-division that specialized in foreign campaigns, international collaborations, and very weird visa paperwork.

The CEO of AWs was Minho. Terrifying in his management style — pounce without warning, disappear without explanation.

Jisung was the editor sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and constantly muttering about how coffee should be a basic right, not a privilege.

Hyunjin was the model with chiseled features, dramatic sighs, and allergic to punctuality. Changbin handled business talks but today, he wasn’t around. Something about a family emergency, a cousin’s wedding, and a goat.

Which brought us to the meeting room on a Tuesday afternoon that smelled like rain and ramen.

Minho, slid a folder across the table to Jisung. “You’re going to the US next month. Florida. Big project. Only you and Hyunjin are here today, and you already know…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Everyone knew. If earth split open and Hyunjin fell in, Minho might ask for receipts before helping.

Jisung blinked. “Okay. Thanks?”

Two hours later, Jisung was editing a banner of Hyunjin standing next to a suitcase for an ad titled “Pack Light, Travel Bright.” He smirked and added a mosquito near his perfect jawline. Payback for last week’s snide comment.

Suddenly, the door creaked.

Hyunjin.

Big eyes. Very big eyes. The kind you make when your pride has been crushed, marinated, sauted, and served on a plate with grass.

“Can I have… one hour?”

Jisung blinked once. “What?”

“One hour. Just one. Please.”

“…why?”

“Just… come. I’ll pay.”

They ended up at a tiny dumpling shop near the station. Hyunjin didn't touch the menu. Just leaned forward like he was about to propose.

“I want to go to the US.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“And… if you decline the offer, since Changbin-hyung is out, I’ll be next in line. Minho-hyung won’t have a choice.”

“...Why should I give that up?”

Hyunjin’s lips twitched. There it was. The ego crack.

He leaned back, groaned once, rubbed his face like this physically hurt him.

Then launched forward.

"Okay, listen. All my friends went abroad, okay? All of them. Seoul National, USC, NYU, some went to san francisco—I didn’t even know that was a real place! Every single one of them posts stories in their dumb little fake American accents like “It’s snowingg guyssss!” and “Starbucks hits different here.”

You know what I post? Selfies with cutouts of detergent brands!! I have ONE wish in life, Han Jisung. Just ONE!!"

He paused dramatically. Then said, slowly, “I want to pick up the phone and say in the most forced American accent ever: ‘I'm in Florida. It’s raining like hell. Ohhh ma gawwwd.’”

Jisung’s face remained unimpressed. “No.”

Hyunjin blinked. “No?”

“Why would I give up this opportunity for a.....joke?”

Hyunjin’s face contorted. His hands clenched. His jaw twitched.

And he whisper-screamed, desperate, The rarest word in his vocabulary.

“PLEASE.”

The next month was approaching fast, and with it, Jisung’s all-expenses-paid trip to florida, complete with fancy accommodations, American coffee, and a glorious break from office drama.

Unfortunately, “drama” had legs, a jawline, and an endless supply of turtlenecks.

Hyunjin had entered full pestering mode. Like Jisung’s success was a war crime.

He started small — delivering Jisung’s coffee exactly the way he liked it (which was suspicious in itself), complimenting his editing work “Wow, this is almost art, Jisung-ah” (he cropped the picture), and even offering to carry his tripod bag. Jisung did not own a tripod bag. So Hyunjin bought him one.

By Friday, Jisung had enough. He slammed his sandwich onto the desk and turned, half-bread, half-murder in his eyes.

“You know what? If you wanna go to the US so bad, just buy a damn ticket and leave! Not that hard!”

Hyunjin stared at him like he’d just said “jump off a bridge.”

“I can’t,” he said, voice dropping like tragic violins in the background. “I literally can’t.”

Jisung squinted. “What, do you owe someone money?”

“No.” Sigh.

“My dad,” Hyunjin began, “is deeply religious. Like...‘calls a shaman before ordering takeout’ religious.”

Jisung blinked.

“My mom too. And my grandma — don’t even get me started, she calls me ‘sin magnet.’ Anyway, this one shaman my dad adores — some guy named Master Jido or Judo or something — apparently saw my face in a rice bowl and said I have bad travel omens.”

“A rice bowl?”

“Yeah, and since then, my dad’s convinced I shouldn’t cross the Korean Peninsula. He cancelled my trip to Japan in high school, he deleted my US college applications. Said, and I quote, ‘the wind outside Korea will swallow his luck and spit him back without eyebrows.’”

Jisung stared at him like he’d just aged 15 years. “You have GOT to be joking.”

“I WISH,” Hyunjin cried, hands flailing. “Do you know what it’s like to watch your school friends post beach pictures from Malibu while you’re stuck doing toilet flush product commercials in front of a green screen rain cloud?!”

Jisung squnted his eyes, then exhaled deeply. “Hyunjin, you think I’m that dumb?” Jisung asked.

There was silence. Then—

“Because...Mr. Lee only listens to you,” Hyunjin blurted. “You say the sky’s green, he believes it! Say your grandma died, and boom — you’re free.”

Jisung paused, jaw twitching. “You want me to say...my grandma died?”

Hyunjin grabbed his shoulders and shook him violently. “YES! If I said it, he’d call the hospital to check if I was lying. You say it, he’ll send flowers, plus a free trip to fiji for your mental well-being.”

Jisung yanked himself free, appalled. “Hell no! What’s wrong with you?!”

But Hyunjin wasn’t stopping. He was already on his knees, quite literally begging on the carpet Minho once declared “imported Italian” hands clasped like he was auditioning for a soap opera.

“PLEASE!”

Jisung sighed.

“Enough diversions and lying.” Jisung snapped, getting up.

“I WASN'T LYING!”

“okay, half lying.”

Hyunjin pulled out a small blue notebook.

Opened it.

Then… lifted it up.

And hid his face behind it. Peeking from behind the page… were two guilty brown eyes. Wide. Dramatic. Trapped.

“See, man. Be honest with me. We’ve had unnecessary beef for, like, forever. You mocked my editing, I insulted your hair — that’s history. But now, suddenly, you throw away all your pride just for a wish to go to the US?”

Hyunjin let out a dramatic sigh and took a mighty slurp of the cold drink before him — one of those neon-colored, sugar-overloaded concoctions that looked more dangerous than hydropower. The moment the freezing hit the roof of his mouth, he jerked in his seat.

“Brainfreeze—owowowow—okay, listen,” he whimpered, eyes squeezed shut like he was physically preparing to relive a decade-old heartbreak. “I’ll tell you.”

He placed the drink down, straightened his shoulders, and began:

“There was a girl.”

Jisung blinked.

“A girl?” he echoed, already unimpressed.

“She transferred to our school when I was thirteen. A foreigner, one of the two foreigh transfer students. Always carried this clunky DSLR, like a third arm. Nobody talked to her much. But one day, my bicycle, which was a girls one, was parked next to hers and—”

“Wait.” Jisung frowned. “Why were you riding a girl’s bicycle?”

Hyunjin looked mortified. “…The shaman. He said the top tube on boys cycles was dangerous for my family lineage.”

Jisung snorted so hard his straw jumped. “Bro WHAT.”

“I didn’t question it! I was twelve!”

Jisung was full-on laughing now. “What, it was gonna erase your family tree or something?”

“Yes!” Hyunjin cried in frustration. “They said I’d never have children and the family name would end!”

Wheezing, Jisung wiped his eyes, doubling up. “Oh my God, man.”

Hyunjin glared but pushed on, determined. “Anyway. She didn’t laugh at my bike. That mattered. Most people did. Like you. she didnt laugh even when i told her.”

“She and I became…accidental friends. We never hung out alone or anything. She would laugh at everything I said. And one Christmas, I wrote her this card. It had a picture of Amelia Island on it, super random, no snow or anything — just a beach. But I don’t know, it reminded me of her. I gave it anonymously.”

Jisung tilted his head. “That’s kinda sweet.”

“She read it during recess. No expression. Blank. Next day, she comes to me, asks, ‘Did you write this?’” Hyunjin scoffed. “I panicked. Said no. Then mocked the card I made. Called it lame. Said it looked like a brochure for lost tourists.”

Jisung winced. “Smooth.”

“She didn’t laugh. Just… stared at me and said, ‘That card made me feel something for the first time this winter.’ Then she walked away.”

Jisung, now slightly invested, raised a brow. “Oof.”

“I never told her I wrote it” Hyunjin admitted.

A pause.

Jisung squinted. “And what does this possibly have to do with you going to the US?”

Hyunjin waved his hand. “Let me finish.”

Jisung looked at the half-drunk cold drink, then back at Hyunjin.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I can reject the offer. You’ll get the slot instead. But then... how will you convince your family?”

Hyunjin sipped the last of his drink slowly.

Looked out the window.

And grinned.

Hyunjin leaned back in his chair, that infuriatingly smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes sparkled with something Jisung could only describe as unearned confidence.

“I already took care of it.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes. “Took care of what, Romeo?”

Hyunjin simply crossed his arms and nodded to himself like a villain finishing a chess game he started in his own head.

“Clarity” Jisung said. “Give it. Now.”

In the JYP Building, another sub-branch office buzzed with quiet chaos. HR. Finance. And there she was — the shaman’s daughter. Mid-twenties, blunt-cut bangs, and permanently unimpressed with the universe.

She worked in HR, or maybe Legal — Hyunjin hadn’t actually checked. All he knew was that she existed.

He’d found his window.

Hyunjin stood outside a quiet break room with the phone against his ear, pacing in dramatic arcs like he was rehearsing for a movie.

He called.

Ring. Ring.

Click. “Hello?” came the aged voice on the other end. The very Shaman. His enemy. His nemesis since age seven.

Hyunjin’s voice dropped into sugar-laced sarcasm.

“Hello, Master Jido. This is Hwang Hyunjin. Your favorite client's son.”

“Oh, it’s Hyunjin! What is it, son?”

“I just had a little doubt,” Hyunjin said, sweetly.

“A doubt?” the man chuckled. “Ask away, child.”

Hyunjin’s voice changed. From fake-sweet to quiet-deadly. “If I kidnap your daughter…”

“…Eh?”

“…And elope with her…”

“WHAT?”

“…Then marry her…”

“Are you—”

“…And two months later… dump her, throw her out of the house, emotionally ruin her, and disappear from the family registry…”

The silence on the line grew nuclear.

“…Then, Shaman-nim,” Hyunjin asked, voice as cold as a weather app warning, “Whose horoscope do the bad omens belong to? Mine, your daughters, or yours?”

“What do you want.”

Jisung stared, blinking. “You blackmailed a seventy-year-old spiritual consultant.”

“Gently intimidated,” Hyunjin corrected.

“With the emotional threat of fake marriage and divorce.”

“Wasn’t fake in the moment” Hyunjin said, sipping from the straw like a man who just solved world peace. “I committed to the bit.”

Jisung just stared.

“I didn’t actually do anything! I just... helped him consider some new astrological angles” Hyunjin said.

“Now, apparently the stars have changed or something. A fresh wind of fortune has entered my celestial corridor.”

“I can’t believe you dragged a whole girl into this—”

“She doesn’t even know. It’s fine. Her Insta bio says ‘Engaged to coffee’ anyway.”

“…What does that even mean—”

Hyunjin suddenly stood up and raised his arms like he’d won a national award. “San Francisco! It’s rainin' like hell, OH MAH GAWD!!!”

The cafe went quiet. Everyone turned. A kid started crying. The waiter dropped a glass.

Jisung sank into his chair, hiding his face and muttering, “It's Florida.”

You were thirteen when you landed in Korea, still jetlagged, still unsure how far Seoul was from anything familiar — your school, your grandma, the small room in Florida that always smelled like oranges.

Your dad had one rule: “No Korean boys.”

You blinked. He leaned in like he was whispering ancient wisdom.

“They’re into shady stuff. Like... gambling and prostitution.” You nodded. Not because you believed it — but because the jetlag had won, and your brain had clocked out somewhere over the Pacific.

You started school in March, jetlagged and freezing, with only two phrases in Korean: "Hello" and "I don't understand."

The only other foreign transferee was a boy named Felix, who looked like he’d been born with bubble tea in his hand. Korean-Australian, bleach-blond, and soft-spoken, he spoke Korean in scattered syllables and English with an accent that made teachers squint and classmates swoon.

You and Felix became a team by necessity. You copied each other’s homework, traded cafeteria pickles for extra milk, and sat side by side during any group project, acting as one two-headed confused foreigner.

Then there was Hyunjin.

The Korean boy who looked like he walked off a shampoo ad — with his floppy fringe and moody aura, and that stupid girls’ bicycle he parked next to yours every morning.

He tried to speak to you.

Often.

“Hi. Me am… Hyunjin… boy… I am goose pinples. No.—wait—I mean, I have the goose pinples.”

You and Felix burst into laughter so loud, the homeroom teacher glared.

Hyunjin, unbothered, nodded proudly. "Funny. You laugh. you like me."

“No,” Felix wheezed. “Because you said you are goose pimples.”

“Goose pinples happen when heart is... too loud!” Hyunjin declared, without understanding a thing.

“My English is very… constipation.” “I feel you, I have many… hormone today.” “This snack is… how do you say? Explode in mouth? Like… popsex?”

“Today is Constipation Day in Korea!” and what not.

You and Felix lost it every single time.

You never corrected him. Because he always looked so damn confident. Like the world should revolve around his pronunciation.

Felix would record some of it. You’d play it back in the dorm at night, wheezing into your pillows, whispering:

“Popsex. He really said popsex.”

But there was something endearing about him. Or maybe something tragic. You couldn’t tell.

The sun was setting. You were taking a photo of the schoolyard. He walked up, fiddling with something behind his back.

He didn’t say anything. Just dropped a card on the bench and left.

The cover was of an island. Amelia Island. Inside, written in broken English:

“You make my heart like dance. Happy marry Christmas.”

You didn’t smile.

Because it was sweet. And embarrassing. And probably from him.

The next day, you asked him, straight-faced:

You: “Did you leave this?”

Hyunjin: “What? Me? This??” (Laughs too hard. Slaps his knee.) “This very funny! Haha. Island card! Very joke.”

you told him you liked it very much. that for once you felt like someone gave you something worth keeping. His eyes widened and he was about to say something when you walked away, a bit hurt.

“No dating Korean boys” Your dad said again, while reheating soup and watching Korean dramas like a hypocrite. “Keep that in mind.”

You’d just nodded.

He didn’t know about Hyunjin. Not really. He was your friend. Mostly. Kind of. Not technically anything that violated international treaties or fatherly warnings.

Even when he gave you that Amelia Island card — anonymous but obvious — you said nothing. He denied it. Called it lame.

So you shrugged, hurt a little, and moved on.

Eventually, your parents moved again. Another town. Same country, but a new school, new skyline, new loneliness.

You never saw Hyunjin after that.

Your sister was the golden one.

She smiled brighter. Spoke softer. Her eyes watered during shampoo commercials and she once cried when a stray cat let her hold it for a minute.

So when she came to you — eyes big and trembling — and said

“Can you tell them? Please? I don’t think I can. He’s Korean. You know how Dad’ll be.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want her to be happy. But because the moment she asked, you felt it — that old familiar weight settling on your shoulders again. The one you carried through your teens, through immigration, through every rule your father ever carved into stone.

You sat on the edge of the living room couch, your fingers digging crescents into your thighs, while your father’s silence sharpened the air like a blade.

Your mother’s voice cut in, pleading — but soft, rehearsed, like she already knew the end.

“She’s never asked for anything her whole life. Let her marry him, please. We have Y/N, don’t we? When have you ever said no to her? She’ll marry whomever you ask her to, it's the least she can do.”

You blinked. Felt the ground vanish a little under your feet.

But you didn’t say anything.

You smiled. A small one. A polite one.

You didn’t know then that smile would cost you something.

The wedding was small. Rushed. A white dress borrowed. A groom with tired eyes and a job in tech. Your sister looked happy, though. For a while. With you as the photographer.

Eight months later, you were at the hospital. Premature baby.

“She’s in labor. Come if you can.”

You went. You held her hand when her husband was at work. You remember the way she looked at you — sweaty, scared, but still somehow calm, like you were the only solid thing in the room.

Then the baby didn’t cry.

And everything after that blurred into this cold, sterile memory of machines and silence and a doctor’s voice trying to be gentle.

They named him Noah. He was perfect. For ten minutes. Then he was gone.

The funeral was the kind of heartbreak people don’t talk about because there are no right words for something that brief and permanent.

Her husband blamed her for not taking care of herself while pregnant.

“You said you didn’t want kids. You remember? You told me a year ago. That maybe... you’d regret it.”

And your sister just stood there. Frozen. One hand still resting on the tiny urn in her arms.

They never recovered.

You held her until her breathing evened out. Until her voice cracked open.

And you just kept rubbing her back, trying to hold her together with hands that were already so used to holding other people’s pain.

Later, your mom pulled you aside while helping pack up some things for her.

“At least you… you should listen to your father. You don’t want to end up like your sister.”

You didn’t respond because she's right.

Years later, you’re still in Korea. Still taking jobs from strangers who don’t know your language but trust your eye. You have clients. You have your quiet little life.

But something in you had started to twitch.

A thread pulling tight.

It stirred when you saw your sister's hands shake over her tea.

It stirred loudest when you saw Hyunjin again — in that photo. The boy who once said “goose pinples” with his whole chest. Who looked at you like you were a language he wanted to learn.

It started with a hand graze.

James had bumped into you at a small book café in the quieter part of the city, apologizing so earnestly for a moment you barely noticed. “Sorry—wasn’t watching,” he said, British lilt and coffee-stained fingers holding onto a stack of art books. You glanced up briefly from your own pile of screenwriting guides, nodding once, distracted.

He returned a few minutes later, leaned against your table, and offered you a smile that held no arrogance, no performance. “You like writing, I guess?” he asked. “Or maybe just collecting intimidating books?”

You smirked at that. He sat. He talked. He stayed.

And you didn’t expect that you’d like him so much.

He was sweet. Not in the manufactured way you’d grown used to—he didn’t send flowers, didn’t quote poems he didn’t understand. But he remembered the books you liked, bought a matching notebook when you mentioned needing one, and waited outside the film school for two hours on rainy days with an umbrella and half a chocolate bar.

He met your sister. Made her laugh, even. Played card games with her in the cramped corners of the house when your father wasn’t around.

But when you finally told him—quietly, anxiously—that you wanted him to meet your father, he hesitated.

“Give me a month,” he said, voice low. “Just one month. I want to have a job by then. I want to come to him with something in hand. I know what your dad is like.”

You frowned. Not because he was wrong—but because that month already sounded like an escape route.

Still, you nodded.

You always wanted to believe the best of people.

One month turned into two. Then four.

He kept trying, he said. But you were the only one holding onto his promises anymore.

2 years later.

Your father came into your room. He had a printed photograph in his hand. A boy in a navy blue shirt, smiling politely.

“His name is Joseph,” your father said. “Son of Thomas. Studied in Delhi. MBA. Good job, salary, family, and most importantly, nice and respectful.”

You stared at the picture, you knew Joseph from church. But it wasn’t even Joseph you were reacting to—it was the sudden realization of what this meant.

He thought you were ready for marriage.

“dad” you said slowly. “I… I want to show you something.”

You opened your phone. Scrolled to the gallery. Your thumb hovered for just a second before you turned the screen toward him.

It was an image of a printed brochure for a photography course abroad.

“I want to apply for this,” you said. “I think it’ll help with my work.”

There was a long pause. He didn’t react for a full minute. Just stared.

Then, finally, he placed the photograph of Joseph on the table and sat back.

“You know I’ve never denied you anything,” he said quietly. Not angry.

“Don’t take it for granted.”

“I’m not,” you said. “I promise I’m not. I just… I really think this will help. With the way the industry’s changing, and—”

He raised a hand, stopping your excuses mid-way. You felt like you were shrinking.

He nodded once, a little stiff. Then, after a moment, rested his callused hand on your head the way he always did when you were little. Gentle, warm, still.

“Go” he said. “Make sure you do it properly.”

You smiled.

But your eyes had guilt.

Packing didn’t take long.

Neither did the goodbyes.

You kept your room clean. Hugged your sister a little tighter. Stared too long at your walls and the half-torn posters you’d never get to finish decorating.

Then came the early morning of departure.

The airport lights felt too white. Too quiet. Your sister walked next to you, carrying your hand luggage while you tugged along the suitcase. You were wearing a hoodie.

“Is that him?” your sister asked softly, referring to the guy who sat on the waiting lounge, very far away, the matching hoodie you wore was a hint.

You told her everything last night.

You nod and stop.

Right outside the terminal glass doors, you turned toward her. And your face crumpled.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly, voice cracking, your breath stuttering. “I didn’t mean this, I didn’t—”

You swallowed. Clenched your teeth. Covered your mouth with your hand for a second, trying not to let it shake.

Your sister didn’t say anything. She just looked at you the way she always did—waiting, quiet, gentle.

“Please” you whispered, “don’t tell them.”

And that was all.

You picked up your bag again.

And walked through the doors.

You made it through security in silence, your hoodie pulled low over your eyes, your steps heavy. The air inside the airport felt sterile—metal chairs, quiet voices, the hum of announcements you weren’t really listening to. You held onto your passport like a lifeline.

And then you saw it.

A lone suitcase just a few feet ahead, with a grayish denim jacket draped lazily over it. The chair beside it was empty.

You paused. Tilted your head slightly. Maybe the guy had gone to the washroom. You didn’t care.

You didn’t even want to care.

You sat down with a gap of one chair in between, resting your small handbag on top of your own suitcase. The weight of the flight, the course, your family, James, and everything you didn’t say sat on your chest like bricks.

A headache was already blooming behind your eyes.

You stood again, rubbing your forehead, and made your way to the tiny pharmacy stall just across from the waiting area. Bought a strip of pills, a small water bottle, and pressed your palm to your temple as you walked back.

And then you saw him.

Long legs stretched out.

Foot tapping on his suitcase and kicking it forward like a bored child playing air hockey with himself.

And then pulling it back with his heel, only to do it again.

You stared at him for a solid ten seconds.

He didn’t even notice you—he was too busy whistling a terrible, off-key rendition of some unknown classical tune. Probably something he made up.

Your brows twitched.

You moved to sit down anyway, deciding to just pretend he didn’t exist.

But the moment your hand touched your suitcase handle, he looked up.

And his face lit up like he wasn’t twenty-four years old but actually five.

A slow, mischievous grin crept onto his face. He tilted his head, blinked dramatically, then—because he had no self-preservation instinct—shifted one chair closer, leaned into your face from the side.

He pointed a finger and poked your shoulder. With far too much confidence.

“Ma’am,” he said, in the most suspiciously fake tone you’d ever heard, “have we met before? Or… are you just the reason the stars look dim tonight?”

You blinked.

Squinted.

And then smacked his shoulder with a loud thwap.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” you snapped. “Stop overacting! What the hell?! I’ve been searching the entire airport like a lunatic—!”

“I told you I was inside—!”

“You were not! You left your suitcase here like you live here. Is this a goddamn palace?! Were you taking a heritage walk or what?!”

“It’s my first time in this terminal!” he defended, eyes wide and innocent, “I got excited, okay?! It’s like a mall but worse!”

You glared. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned in closer, voice full of pride. “But also really good-looking.”

You deadpan-stared at him. “I’m this close to checking in my morals and leaving you in the cargo.”

“Noted.” He nodded solemnly, then grinned again. “Oh, by the way—Florida’s gonna be awesome, baby, Imagine all the white sand and palm trees and—ow, ow—okay, sorry, stop hitting me—!”

You had shoved him lightly on the chest, but he reacted like he was dying.

“Oh my God,” you groaned. “Grow a spine.”

“Oh my God,” he mimicked in a high voice, holding his chest. “Grow a spine—You hit me! I might never emotionally recover from this moment.”

You turned away, cheeks puffed in exasperation.

He leaned in again, wrapped an arm around your shoulder without asking, and pulled you in close like a clingy koala. You squirmed, tried to push him off, but he was already launching into another act.

“Milady,” he said in a terrible British accent, “I humbly beg your forgiveness. I was so very bewitched by the splendid architecture of this steel-and-concrete airport that I momentarily forgot I had a beautiful lover waiting for me.”

“‘Beautiful lover’?” you raised a brow.

He straightened, chest out like a knight. “I would doth die a thousand deaths to bask in thy gaze.”

“…Are you high?”

“I took two mints. Close enough.”

You started laughing despite yourself.

You hated that he always knew how to twist your mood—how to flip the script, to go from heavy and aching to ridiculous and warm. Like he could sense exactly when you were on the edge.

And even though you were still mad… you rested your head on his shoulder for a second before standing up.

“Come on,” you muttered, grabbing your boarding pass. “Let’s go. Before you get distracted by another vending machine and try to marry it.”

Hyunjin gasped, following you with exaggerated shock. “That was one time! And it said limited-edition banana milk—!”

You walked ahead, shaking your head.

And behind you, suitcase rolling, Hyunjin trailed after you with that same stupid smile—already reaching out to hold your hand like it was muscle memory.

This is a notice from the heavens: what in the ever-loving hell just happened ?

Flashback.

Hyunjin barely sat down at his desk when the dreaded voice pierced the air.

“Hwang Hyunjin. Office. Now.”

His eyes lifted like a man being summoned to court. Minho never calls. Minho appears like a spirit of mild annoyance and sarcastic judgment. But this? This was serious.

He stood, heart hammering, already mentally cycling through everything he might’ve done wrong—was it the extra-long lunch break last Tuesday? The incident with the bubble tea explosion in the studio? That one time he accidentally hit ‘Reply All’ and sent a crying cat meme to the entire office?

No time to wonder. He walked in.

Minho sat at his desk, arms crossed, face unreadable. Very Minho. Behind him, the screen glowed with a blank spreadsheet—deadly in its own way.

“We’re changing the face of the AWs campaign,” Minho said, without even looking up.

Hyunjin blinked. “...Okay?”

Minho leaned back. “We can’t afford celebrity models. The budget is ass. So. New idea—we pick someone from the team.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “Oh… That’s actually kinda genius. Like… relatable marketing. ‘We are you’ type vibe.” He nodded, warming up. “If we do a shoot with banners and everything, it’ll look organic. Sales will go up.”

“Exactly,” Minho said, drumming his fingers. “So now comes the real question…”

He stared straight into Hyunjin’s soul.

“Who should be the model?”

And in that moment… Hyunjin knew he was absolutely screwed.

Minho never asks for opinions. Which meant—he already had someone in mind. And he was called here, which meant—it was him.

An intrusive image assaulted his brain: A massive banner over a subway station. Hyunjin. Smiling. Thumbs up. Next to a toilet seat.

“AWs: Flushing Problems Away.”

He swallowed thickly.

“Jisung,” he blurted. “Han Jisung’s got that—like, you know—model energy. Face like a K-drama second lead, right? Like the nice one that dies?”

“Hyunjin,” Minho said flatly. “You’ll do it.”

“No—no no no,” Hyunjin stammered, waving his hands. “Minho-hyung, listen—my family’s got… issues. Yes. Terrible issues. There’s a… a spiritual curse, actually. We can’t be on printed material. It invites demons. My mom said—”

Minho didn’t even blink.

He turned to his monitor.

“Do it or resign.”

There it was. Classic Minho. Dropping ultimatums like it was Monday morning Sudoku.

Hyunjin stood frozen. He sighed. Long. Dramatic. Almost award-worthy.

He turned to the door. Put a hand on the handle. Then paused.

“Give me one hour,” he said, turning back.

Minho didn’t glance up. “Take it.”

“Your time, sir,” Hyunjin added with unnecessary formality, voice full of noble defeat.

Minho finally looked at him, eyes squinting with the exhausted patience of a man being begged to let a golden retriever run a government agency.

“What now?”

The lighting is warm, jazzy music hums faintly, and there's a rustic charm to the place. The only thing out of place is the sheer tension radiating from one side of the booth.

Minho sits like a man about to order his final meal before heading into a warzone.

Hyunjin sits like a man who is the warzone.

The waiter approaches with a notepad.

Minho: “Dakgalbi. Extra spicy. Add cheese. Double portion.” Hyunjin: “...A glass of hot water. Please.”

The waiter blinks. Looks at Hyunjin. Then at Minho. Then back at Hyunjin, silently judging his life choices.

“Hot… water?” “Yes. Plain. Hot.” “Lemon?” “No. I’m not here to feel joy.”

The waiter backs away slowly.

Minho sighs. “Are you starting or should I just punch myself in the head and save time?”

Hyunjin takes a dainty sip of his steaming hot water, wincing like it burned his soul. Then places the cup down like he’s just returned from a war front.

“Sir. I asked you here tonight because I needed to explain why I absolutely cannot be the face of this campaign.”

Minho: “Uh huh.”

“There’s a girl. She never judged me. Not when I was in my girls cycle.”

Minho freezes mid-napkin-unfold, he remembers something.

“We were 13—”

Minho cuts in, deadpan:

“Yeah. I know. You gave her a card for Christmas and it had an island on it and blah blah blah.”

Hyunjin freezes. “Wait… how do you know that?”

Minho sips his water now, mocking.

“You also asked for one hour during your job interview and told me the same sob story.”

Hyunjin seals his lips, humbled into silence. For a moment.

Then:

“There’s… more, sir. But I’ll have to go with the flow—”

Minho cuts in again, already halfway through his meal.

“Come to the fucking point. I’ll only be here till this plate’s empty.”

Hyunjin mutters under his breath:

“Didn’t know you were gonna inhale the damn dish…”

Minho: “What?”

Hyunjin (straightening): “Nothing. So—what happened was…”

He breathes in deep. Eyes down.

Minho looks pained.

“one night… I opened Instagram. And there she was. With another guy. Matching hoodies. Holding hands. At the zoo. I saw the giraffes in the background, hyung. Our giraffes.”

“You had giraffes?”

“We once watched a giraffe documentary together in the office pantry. That was OUR moment.”

Minho slows down. Just a little.

“And she was dating a guy who was a small time struggling photographer, looking for another job, and hence, I quit getting photographed out of spite”

Minho paused eating. “What”

“I archived my entire gallery. Stopped taking selfies. I haven’t touched my camera in half a year. The guy at Canon messaged me to check if I died.”

Minho tosses his chopsticks down.

“Hyunjin. During your interview, you also told me you quit riding bikes because your dad bought you a pink one. Are you the son of JYP that we should excuse your behavior like it’s performance art?!”

Hyunjin looks mildly insulted. “It had a bell shaped like a bunny. It traumatized me.”

“Okay. Shut up. You’re coming tomorrow at 7 AM sharp. You’re shooting a campaign for room spray. If you cry, I’ll make you do deodorant and drain cleaner next.”

“Sir—my aura is not compatible with room spray.”

“Neither is your soul compatible with employment, apparently.”

Hyunjin looks like a dying goldfish.

“But hyung—sir—I’m emotionally unavailable. I won’t be able to concentrate!”

“It’s not like you ever achieved anything while fully concentrated anyway.”

He stands. Leaves.

Hyunjin sits there, stunned, insulted, and still clutching his hot water like a widow.

The waiter brings the bill.

Hyunjin also starts to get up, following Minho… when—

“Hyunjin,” Minho calls without turning.

“Pay the bill.”

He disappears around the corner.

Hyunjin opens the bill and his soul leaves his body.

“Of course. I love being financially exploited right after emotional trauma.”

The lights are dim. Not in an artistic, mood-lit way. In a “someone forgot to turn on the switches” way. The studio smells faintly of coffee, industrial cleaning spray, and vague regret.

Hyunjin stands in the middle of it.

Half-dressed in an orange jumpsuit with “AROMA WHISPER™” stitched in cursive over the chest. Someone handed it to him like it was a privilege. Like he wasn’t just betrayed by the concept of personal dignity.

He’s brushing something off his shoulder. A bit of lint. A speck of despair. Maybe both.

The shirt underneath doesn’t sit right. Too stiff. The kind of material that squeaks when you move. Corporate cosplay.

His hair’s been half-slicked back, the way Minho said it would “photograph clean.” His soul, however, remains smeared across the floor.

He adjusts his collar. Winces.

The fabric itchy. The zipper mocking him. Every fiber of the jumpsuit screams,

“You used to be an artist. Now you are a mascot for air particles.”

Hyunjin mutters under his breath, eyes down.

“Room spray… Room slay. Whatever makes it hurt less.”

And then—

“...Hyunjin?”

A voice.

A very specific voice.

He freezes.

Not like, subtle stiffening. No. He freezes like a man whose worst emotional enemy just pulled the fire alarm inside his chest.

His heart flinches so hard, he forgets how to breathe for a moment.

Slowly, like in a drama that’s low on budget but high on intensity, he lifts his head.

And there she is.

HER. The girl. The she of all his tragic Instagram stalking. The one who never judged him during his Girl Cycle™. The one he once sent a pressed hydrangea and poetry-level card to.

She’s standing there—slightly confused, holding a clipboard, wearing the company vest.

She’s dressed like a part-timer in production, but to him, she looks like the goddess of Febreze herself descended from Olympus to ask why he stopped posting mirror selfies.

And then—

CLICK.

Suddenly, someone hits the main camera lights.

They beam on like interrogation spotlights. White. Blinding. Glorious.

Hyunjin flinches as it hits him in the face—full beam. But he doesn’t close his eyes.

Because hers are on him. Just her eyes. On just him.

And even though he’s dressed like a traffic cone—

Even though his ego is currently six feet under a pile of product sponsorship—

Even though his knees feel like a newborn deer’s and he knows he’s about to be told to hold a fake daisy-scented bottle next to a toilet prop—

All he can think is:

“Damn. I’m in love again.”

And this time, worse than before.

A few moments after the blinding lights switched on and his soul left his body temporarily, Hyunjin starts piecing things together.

She’s not just standing around. She’s not observing. She’s holding a camera.

No. No. No, no, no—

“Y/N,” Minho’s voice cuts through the silence like a very smug dagger, “Let’s start the shoot. Just get a couple of green mat shots for the catalogue, we’ll fix the color grading later.”

Green mat.

Green mat.

Green mat.

Hyunjin’s eyes twitch toward the green rectangle of synthetic shame rolled out like a yoga mat meant for humiliation. A little fake potted plant sits next to it. He’s told to hold the "Rain Breeze Blossom" spray bottle and “smile with your eyes.”

He doesn't even know what that means.

She’s behind the camera. Adjusting the lens.

Professional. Focused. The way she bites the inside of her cheek while testing the lighting makes him want to throw himself out of a very medium-height window.

He’s smiling in the photos.

But only his teeth are participating.

The rest of him is trying not to dissolve into a puddle on the floor and flow straight into the studio’s drainage system.

Click. Click. Click.

He poses. She shoots. They don’t say a word.

Until— It’s over.

Minho walks up, grabs the camera from her hands casually, scrolls through the display.

He stops at a photo of Hyunjin holding the room spray like it’s the antidote to his broken heart.

“Good job,” Minho mutters.

Hyunjin exhales.

“Thanks,” he says quickly, too quickly, heart blooming just a little—until Minho looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Not to you,” Minho says, not even hiding his disgust. “To her.”

Hyunjin wilts.

“Thanks,” you say, smiling lightly, taking the camera back.

It’s worse than rejection. It’s non-existence.

You’re not sure how you ended up here.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the only room still lit up in the whole building—like it remembered you both still had things to say.

Or maybe it’s the way he looked after the photoshoot.

Like he was trying not to look at you. Like looking might hurt. Like not looking already was.

You sit across from him, the table between you unnaturally clean, like the both of you are too polite to leave even a teaspoon of mess anymore.

He’s wearing a plain shirt now. Something soft and pale and very him. His curls are messier. Looser. The way you remember them from last year’s winter, when he used to post black-and-white mirror selfies captioned with song lyrics and emotionally concerning emojis.

You wrap your fingers around your tea mug. It’s hot, but the warmth doesn’t quite reach your chest yet.

“You’re really a photographer now,” he says, half-laughing, like it snuck up on him.

You shrug.

“You’re really a model now,” you say back, with a smile that almost counts as teasing.

He groans dramatically, dragging a hand down his face.

“Don’t say that. That’s the worst moment of my professional life. I’ve peaked in a citrus jumpsuit.”

You laugh a little.

Not because it’s particularly funny, but because he’s always been good at saying things just wrong enough to be endearing.

There’s a pause. The kind you used to fill with banter, or stolen fries, or your fingers brushing his across a couch cushion when no one was looking.

Now it just hums.

“So…” he starts, drumming his fingers lightly against the table, “You’ve been good?”

You nod. Slowly.

But he notices. You don’t say yes.

And he doesn’t press.

Because he knows you.

The same way you know his silence is always louder after 10 PM. The way he brushes the back of his neck when he’s anxious. The way he always shifts his gaze to the corner of the room when he’s afraid of hearing something he wants.

He’s doing it now.

Looking away.

Like he’s scared you’ll say something real.

“So… uh. You and that guy from Instagram. You broke up?”

You raise a brow slowly, suspiciously.

“What, are you stalking me now?”

“No—I mean, no! I just—it was on your story. Publicly. With, like, the couple hashtags and everything,” he mumbles, going red. “I just saw it.”

“Stalker,” you whisper behind the rim of your mug, lips twitching.

He groans.

“I’m not—! Ugh. Whatever.”

You tilt your head, eyes sharpening just slightly.

“Yeah. We broke up.”

“Oh,” he says, a little too quickly. “Good—I mean—uh. Not good. I meant… interesting.”

Your lips quirk.

“He cheated on me.”

That wipes the color from his face in less than a second.

He stiffens.

Hands clenched into weak little fists on the table. Eyes darkening like storm clouds, like he was just given permission to go commit arson.

“Hyunjin,” you say lightly, “You look like you’re gonna punch someone.”

“No,” he says, deadly serious, “Just… imagining kicking him into a trash can and sealing the lid shut.”

“Tempting.”

“If you give me his workplace location, I swear I can pull up with a bat and an apology card.”

You laugh again—softly. Only a little.

But his eyes flick up instantly.

And then, suddenly—he goes dramatic.

He straightens, hands gesturing wildly now, dead serious like he’s about to drop the philosophy of the decade.

“So—when you go to a salon, right? And you get a new haircut, it feels… weird at first. Like, who is this?You stare at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you just ruined your entire look. Right?”

You nod slowly, amused.

“But then,” he continues, “the next day, you see yourself again and go, hey. Wait. It’s not that bad.”

His eyes widen for emphasis.

“And then, one week later, you look in the mirror like—damn. I'm kinda cute. Actually, wait. This is the best haircut ever.”

He places both hands on the table like he’s just proven the theory of relativity.

“That. That’s what your breakup is.”

You stare.

He waits.

You narrow your eyes, biting your lip to stop yourself from cracking a smile.

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepishly grinning now.

“I mean… I did go to the salon yesterday, sooo…”

You blink again.

And then— You snort.

And then you actually laugh.

Hyunjin freezes. Mouth parting slightly.

“Wait. Did you just laugh?”

He gasps dramatically, standing halfway up from his seat like he’s discovered light.

“Manager—turn off the lights! We’ve got enough sunshine here! Go green, baby, let’s save the planet!”

You roll your eyes, still laughing.

“Sit down, idiot.”

“Hey, hey, turn that side and smile a little. We could take a photo and put it in the lobby. You just solved the building’s electricity crisis with your solar power.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile too much. But it’s too late.

He sees it.

And for a second, he just stares.

Like that one smile of yours could pull him back into orbit.

The room is packed.

Slides are changing slowly on the projector as Minho paces at the front, pointer in hand, talking about fragrance variants of the new room spray product like it’s a matter of national security.

Hyunjin’s eyes, however, are glued to his phone.

Not the screen on the wall. Not the notes in front of him.

Your text thread. Your name. Sitting there in his messages like a tiny piece of serotonin.

He types under the desk with the subtlety of a kid cheating on a test.

Hyunjin:

where are you you weren’t at the shoot you didn’t reply this morning are you okay is minho making you quit blink twice if you need rescuing

Three dots pop up.

Then:

You:

Going to a friend’s wedding! Wanna come?

His thumb freezes.

Then moves so fast he almost stabs the touchscreen.

Hyunjin:

I’M COMING I’M COMING OMG

Then GASP.

An actual, audible gasp in the dead quiet room.

Minho pauses his monologue mid-sentence. Everyone looks up like they just heard a fire alarm.

Hyunjin is on his feet, clutching his phone like he’s just received life-altering news.

“No… no, no, no—this can’t—this can’t be happening…”

Minho narrows his eyes. “Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin staggers dramatically toward the door, hand to his mouth like he’s going to faint.

“I… I have to go. I—It’s—It’s personal. Very personal. Family. Emergency. Sad things. Crying things.”

He wipes an invisible tear from his cheek and sniffles audibly.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Minho stares at him, completely unmoved.

“You’re not even crying.”

Hyunjin forces a high-pitched sob.

“NOW I AM.”

Minho doesn’t blink. Just folds his arms, sighs, deadpans.

“Go.”

Hyunjin immediately drops the act, grins.

“Thanks, boss!! Love you!”

He darts out the door in a blur of limbs, nearly knocking over the intern carrying sample bottles.

Minho sighs deeply, clicking the pointer with the weariness of a man who has seen too much.

“Okay. Back to lavender mist and cinnamon-sugar sorrow. Slide twelve, please.”

The sun’s dipping low, painting gold on the windshield. The soft hum of the AC fills the silence.

He’s in the passenger seat, hoodie slightly wrinkled, hair a little messy from air playing with it five minutes ago. His bag’s in his lap, untouched.

Your cars parked right outside his house, engine off, not saying a word.

Neither of you are.

Until suddenly you reach across the console and hold his hand.

Hyunjin blinks.

Looks down at your fingers.

Then up at you.

You’re serious.

Your expression doesn’t wobble even slightly as you ask—

“Will you marry me?”

He freezes like someone just told him he won the lottery and the prize is you.

“Wait—wait. Hold on. What.”

You nod. Still serious. Still holding his hand.

“You. Me. Marriage. What do you think?”

He stares. Then swallows.

Then stares some more.

And finally, very softly:

“You tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”

He’s lying in bed. Lights off. Blanket up to his chest like he’s in a horror movie.

Only the horror is… His father.

Hyunjin sighs dramatically into the void.

“Appa’s going to kill me.”

His eyes widen.

“No—worse. He’ll disown me. Then resurrect me just to kill me again.”

He turns to his side. Opens his phone. Stares at your name in the messages. Doesn't dare text. You’re probably thinking about the same thing.

“A foreigner. An artist. A photographer. With opinions. Style. Confidence. Love. And—God forbid—humour.”

“I’m dating everything my father prayed against during family offerings.”

He throws the blanket over his face.

You're lying flat on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling fan.

It’s been spinning for hours. It has no answers. Neither do you.

“How do I explain this? Mom’s going to be confused. Dad’s going to have a nosebleed.”

You pull the blanket over your face. Scream into it.

“I’m marrying a Korean guy. A model. An AD model.”

You sit up.

They’re lying in their beds, phones still in hand, both sighing at the ceiling.

Then simultaneously:

“Maybe we should elope.”

Beat.

“But we can’t. My mom would find me in whatever continent I hide in.”

“So would my dad. With a shaman.”

You’re already there when Hyunjin shows up.

You're pacing.

Hands shaking.

Mind spinning.

He sees you from across the street—crosses quickly, no goofy wave today.

You're chewing your lip. Hard.

"Hey," he says gently. "Let’s sit inside?"

You shake your head. Eyes sharp, voice sharp-er.

“Why did you call me here?”

“plan” he says, raising a finger. “I have a plan.”

You squint.

He opens the door. You walk in with him—reluctantly.

Small booth. Two cups between you—one coffee, one untouched hot water.

You're silent. Hyunjin keeps fidgeting with the sugar packets.

Then:

“Let’s elope.”

You stare at him.

Like stare stare.

As if he just said “let’s skydive into a pit of sharks.”

“Are you actually serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Hyunjin—my parents—”

You slam your palm on the table, rattling the spoons.

“Do you know how many hopes they have for me?! Do you know what kind of deal it was for them to send me here? Do you know what my sister’s going through? Do you think I’m just going to throw everything away and—elope?! With a guy who models room spray?!”

Hyunjin’s mouth opens. Then shuts. He nods slowly.

“Cool, cool, cool. I see where the disrespect is.”

“What?”

“No, no, continue. Ruin my entire bloodline.”

“Oh my god—”

“As if my father’s ever looked at me and thought: wow, my son’s going to make wise, marriageable decisions. No! He once told me I should have been born a turnip. At least turnips don’t take photos in orange jumpsuits.”

You blink.

“Turnip?”

“YES, TURNIP. That’s what I’m dealing with. So don’t come at me like you’re the only one with cultural pressure, alright?”

You stand up suddenly, chair scraping loudly.

“I won’t run away like a coward. I won’t mess up everything my parents worked for!”

You begin walking away—heels clicking, exit in sight.

And then—

Hyunjin stands too.

Loud.

Passionate.

Chaotic.

“THAT’S WHY GANDHI SAID!”

Everyone turns. You freeze mid-step.

Turn back slowly.

“…What did Gandhi say?”

He blinks.

Raises his finger again like he’s summoning wisdom from the heavens.

“He said: ‘If you ask me everything—what the fuck will you do, you shithead!’”

Pin-drop silence.

A waiter spills a fork in the corner. A kid starts crying.

You stare at him.

Hyunjin’s chest is rising. He looks like a revolutionary who forgot the script.

You blink. Once. Twice.

“Gandhi said that?”

“Absolutely,” he lies confidently.

Your lips twitch.

You fight it. But it’s coming.

And then—it breaks. You laugh.

Covering your mouth. But laughing.

“You’re such a dumbass.”

“And you’re the dumbass who proposed to me in your car.”

“…Touche”

You sigh, walking back to him, rubbing your temples.

“So what do we do, Gandhi?”

“Let’s go home for now”

It’s dark, except for the soft amber glow from your bedside lamp. The world feels slower at this hour—still, almost forgiving.

You’re curled up in bed beside him. One leg thrown lazily over his, your cheek resting against his chest, where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart. It’s comforting. So is the weight of his arm around your waist, his fingers tracing thoughtless circles over your back.

But your thoughts won’t stop. They keep chewing at you like cold air under a thin blanket.

You’re stressed. You don’t even have to say it—he can feel it.

“Hey,” he whispers, mouth brushing your forehead. “You’re still thinking about it.”

You don’t answer. Just nestle in closer like maybe silence will erase the pressure sitting on your chest.

He shifts, just enough to tilt your chin up and look at you.

“What’s the rush?” he asks, eyes soft, voice even softer. “We don’t have to get married tomorrow, baby. Chill.”

You blink at him, mouth parting like you might argue—but you can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like you hung the moon.

“We’ll figure it out. Okay?”

Still, you frown. “But what if they hate me? Your dad—my mom—my sister—”

“They probably will,” he replies without missing a beat, grinning. “That’s fine. Let them. They can start hating me and end up loving me. Happens all the time.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but the nerves don’t go away entirely.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Hey,” he murmurs again, voice low and warm like honey. “You and me, we’re good. We’ve got time. No one’s waiting at the altar yet.”

You nod slowly against his chest.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Besides,” he adds with a smug smile you don’t even have to see to know, “your mom’s gonna love me.”

You shove his chest, laughing for real this time.

“You’re so full of it.”

He tightens his grip on you.

“Full of love, actually.”

“Jinnie”

“What? Let me have my poetic moment.”

Your fingers are lazily tangled in Hyunjin’s hair.

The sun’s barely up. Golden light spills through the curtains in sleepy ribbons. Hyunjin’s breathing is deep and even, his face turned into the crook of your neck, lips slightly parted. He’s fast asleep—smiling faintly like his dreams are filled with you and snacks.

You’ve got one arm on him and your phone pressed to your ear with the other.

Your sister’s voice is soft and cheerful on the other end of the line.

“I’m pregnant again.”

You blink.

“Wow”

“Mhm! Found out last week! Everyone’s so happy.”

You glance down at Hyunjin’s messy hair, then back up at the ceiling with a small smile. “Congratulations… that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, well… now that I’m knocked up again, he���s pampering me like crazy. Foot rubs, back rubs, breakfast in bed... as if my value exists only by a fetus.”

You snort softly.

“You have to talk about kids with Joseph before marriage, though, just so you don’t end up like me.”

You freeze.

“…who?”

“Joseph.”

“…who the hell is Joseph?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Wait… Dad didn’t tell you?”

Your heart rate spikes.

“Oh no. Oh my god. He’s probably planning to surprise you. Y/N, don’t tell him I told you, okay?! Promise me—promise! I don’t want to be the reason you get overwhelmed.”

“What the fu—”

“BYE! Love you!”

Click.

The call ends. You stare at your phone in horror.

A full three seconds pass before you whip the blanket off like it personally betrayed you.

You shake Hyunjin by the shoulder—gently at first.

“Hyunjin.”

He groans sleepily.

You slap his arm.

“Hyunjin.”

“Mmmphh—five more minutes, sunshine”

You yank the pillow out from under his head.

He shoots up like he’s been drafted into war.

“WHAT?! WHAT?! Are we being robbed? Did I leave the stove on? DID I ACCIDENTALLY LIKE YOUR MOM’S INSTAGRAM PHOTO FROM 2017?!”

You grab his face.

“My dad is trying to arrange my marriage to some guy named Joseph.”

He stares at you. Blank. Blinks once.

“…who the fuck is Joseph?”

“EXACTLY.”

You’re already stumbling out of bed, throwing on whatever sweatshirt you find.

Hyunjin finally wakes up for real. He throws off the blanket.

“Get me my pants. We ride at dawn.”

THE PLAN.

You’re curled up at the foot of your bed, knees pulled to your chest, your arms wrapped tight around them. Hyunjin’s sitting nearby, hands in his lap, eyes locked on you like the whole world’s balance depends on your next word.

You’ve been silent for almost twenty minutes.

He finally speaks.

“You haven’t said anything since you ran out of the kitchen. Talk to me.”

You look up, your voice tight and soft. “We’re talking about lying to our parents, Hyunjin.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it again.

You bury your face into your knees. “I already feel disgusting for knowing Joseph exists and not confronting my dad yet. And now I’m supposed to say I’m pregnant—just so they’ll let me marry you?”

He stays quiet, waiting.

You lift your head, eyes watery.

“My sister went through hell after her first baby died. My whole family’s grief was shaped around that loss. It’s why they’re treating this new baby like a gift from God. And now I’m supposed to use that pain? To manipulate their hearts?”

A tear escapes without permission.

“I’m the worst person alive.”

He moves to the edge of the bed, his knees nearly brushing yours.

“Then I’m worse. Because I’ll lie be saying I’m infertile just so my family treats you like some self-sacrificing angel.”

You laugh through your tears.

He pulls you gently into his arms.

“I’m scared too,” he whispers into your hair. “But if we tell the truth, they’ll try to tear us apart. I’m not sure I’ll survive watching you walk away again.”

You press your cheek to his chest, heart aching at the way his voice shakes.

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

A pause.

Then, very quietly, he says, “We can lie. Just… for now. Until they know us. Until we’re so much a part of their lives that they forget the lies ever mattered.”

You don’t reply for a long time.

He breathes in like he was waiting for your approval to live again.

“I’m in love with you” he says.

He cups your face gently, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs. “So much it’s ruining my organs.”

Your mouth trembles. “I still hate this plan.”

“I know,” he whispers. “So do I.”

“But we’re doing it anyway?”

He nods, forehead resting against yours.

“Till death—or Joseph—do us part.”

You let out a weak laugh, and for the first time that night, it doesn’t feel like your whole world is collapsing. Just… rearranging.

Messily. Painfully.

But with him.

You decide to go to Florida, because lying from a distance is so much less scarier. And Amelia island was there. You always wanted to get married there, you told him once and hence it was decided that you both exchange rings there, just for formality.

“But how the hell do we go to Florida?”

He grinned.

And hence……

To jisung:

“Can I have… one hour?”

Jisung blinked once. “What?”

“One hour. Just one. Please.”

“…why?”

“Just… come. I’ll pay.”

To your dad:

“dad” you said slowly. “I… I want to show you something.”

You opened your phone. Scrolled to the gallery. Your thumb hovered for just a second before you turned the screen toward him.

It was an image of a printed brochure for a photography course abroad.

“I want to apply for this,” you said. “I think it’ll help with my work.”

Part-2, final!

[lilimaginebean]

five days — 五日

synopsis: In which Kaiser fell in love with his tattoo artist, or in which Kaiser has only five appointments to convince you to go on a date with him.

note: hi :)

prev | masterlist

🥀 Day 5

"Well, at least I'm still alive, right?" you said, trying to comfort Kaiser, who was sitting next to you with the saddest aura ever.

The nurse finally came in, stared at you in confusion, and approached both of you.

"Again? In the emergency room?" she asked, you could do nothing but nod, "What now?"

"Allergic reaction. So crazy, who would have thought I could be allergic to a particular dried fruit that is only grown in one village in Greece? Right?" you said, trying to sound funny, but the sore throat made it sound more painful than anything else.

"OK, come with me, again," the nurse said as she took you to another room, giving Kaiser a dirty look.

How did this happen anyway?

After the last tattoo session, you finished one of your best masterpieces. The tattoo ended up being pretty amazing, and you weren't the only one who thought so, Kaiser couldn't stop complimenting you and your tattoo. Of course, that piece of art wasn't your only happiness, as you and Kaiser finally got to go on a date.

However, before the date began, Kaiser once again asked your uncle for permission to take you out. Maybe this time it was because he was no longer a customer, or because your uncle felt empathy for Kaiser, or maybe because of the expensive watch Kaiser had bought for your uncle; but he accepted. You both fled before your uncle could change his mind.

The two of you could finally be together. No exams, no work, just the two of you. What you didn't expect was that everything would go wrong.

First of all, the really luxurious limousine that Kaiser had hired broke down. That wasn't too bad, as Kaiser had only hired it to get to the place he wanted earlier. Finally, they arrived at the first place of the date, which was a really nice picnic with some of their favourite books. It would have been great if it hadn't started raining. At least you two were able to save the books.

But it didn't stop there. He took you to the next stop, which was ice skating. Unfortunately, when you got there and were teaching Kaiser how to do it, some hyperactive kid went too fast and hit you, causing you to hit your head on the ice. So basically you were knocked out for a few seconds, and that ended with you going to the emergency room to make sure you were okay without any side effects. Luckily, it wasn't anything serious, so they let you go and kept the date.

The cherry on top? For dinner, Kaiser took you to the most expensive restaurant you've ever been to. Everything was going well until you found out that you were somehow allergic to one of the weirdest things the chef used. So you were checked twice in less than 3 hours to see if you were physiologically OK.

When your second check routine was over without a hitch, you returned to the waiting room and approached Kaiser. He was slumped in his chair, but fortunately his cap hid his frustration.

"Shall we go?" you asked him in a gentle tone.

He got up, took your hand and left. The two of you walked in silence to your apartment, you didn't know what to say to make him feel better and he was too mad to even talk. Once outside of your home, you stared at Kaiser, who had a sad expression on his face, and suddenly his stomach growled and demanded food.

"Just kill me," Kaiser admitted, feeling defeated by everything.

You chuckled.

"Come with me, I'll see what you can eat," you opened the door of the building where your apartment was and followed you inside.

Once inside your small but cosy apartment, you made him sit down in the living room and went into the kitchen. A few minutes later you returned with a plate of veggie sandwiches. You sat down next to him.

"Don't be sad, I really had fun with everything you planned," you said, comforting him.

He just picked up the sandwich, took a bite and stared at you.

"It's not that bad." Kaiser admitted, "Your lame veggie sandwich, I mean, the date went horribly. I really expected the date to end differently, not with me eating this."

You approached him.

"Hey the date hasn't ended yet, we can still turn it into something wonderful" you said confidently.

Kaiser stared at you curiously, wondering what you could do to turn this awful moment into at least a decent one. You stroked his hair, leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead, then on the cheek and finally on the lips.

"Better?" you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

He left the sandwich on the plate and gave you all his attention.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," Kaiser confessed in an enthusiastic tone, as if he were a fan who had just met his idol, "But… I bet you can do better, Liebling," he said in a cocky tone.

"Trust me, I can" you answered in the same tone

"Prove it."

[local-new-kid-super]

Little things the Freedom Pals do for a New Kid!Reader during and after a battle.

Part one with Raccoon and Friends: ☆here☆

@everythingwasnormalhere, this part two was inspired by your comment!

Professor Timmy:

☆ Professor Timmy can't often get to you in a timely manner if dangers coming your way, but he makes up for it with his stellar ability to communicate via his mind. It's a lot harder for someone like Tupperware or Wonder-Tweak to yell across the battlefield and be heard amidst the heat of battle. However, seeing as he speaks in your mind, it's infinitely easier for him to warn you of an incoming attack or a more strategic maneuver to take down enemies.

"On your left, New Kid! Brace for impact, I'll provide assistance shortly."

☆ Professor Timmy likes to let you in on his plans first, even letting you be one of the first to see his incredible franchise plan.

"This will be the end to our struggles, if only the Raccoon and Friends agree to your terms..."

Tupperware:

☆ He's got some pretty intense armor, so a lot like Captain Diabetes, he's willing to rake a few hits for you in the battlefield. Just... not too many, he doesn't want to bang up his mother's Tupperware.

"Watch out New Kid, coming through with the Tupperware tornado!"

☆ He doesn't have any food or snacks to share after the battle, given that he's wearing everything you'd usually store food in. Luckily, he's got money, so post-battle if you wanna hang out, he'll gladly head to an arcade or take you to the Dispensary/KFC.

"I'm hungry, you hungry, New Kid? Let's get outta here."

"Ey! I want KFC to you son of a bitch! New Kid, get back here!" Raccoon yells.

Wonder Tweak:

☆ He's usually too focused on... tweaking out during battle to actually worry about healing teammates, but he's on it once the heat of the battle has died down. He'll check on professor Timmy and the others, his anxiety getting the better of him once hes no linger focused on his own survival. He'll patch you up, and try to calm you with the things he remembers Craig telling him (though he'd rather not talk about his Raccoon and Friends counterpart right now.)

"I-its gonna be okay, ah! Hold still, I'm gonna put on this band-aid, a-ah! Get a snack to heal, UNLESS YOU'RE ALLERGIC?!"

☆ He understands the importance of a support system, so whether you're an ex-member of Raccoon and Friends or just joined because of the causes message, he makes sure you have a space in the Freedom Pals base. He's got a corner where he goes to de-stress, and it's his personal space to fix himself up post-battle. He'll drag an extra bean-bag chair over for you, and offer to let you hold Stripe if he's got him for the night.

"Ack, here. He's great for after a big f-fight, he can sense i-inner turmoil!"

Toolshed:

☆ He's got an eye on you, always prepared to help, but... in all honesty, he just likes to watch you. Whether you're fierce and powerful or a little more of an assist type, he's always impressed by your ability to hold your own. He's gets a little more than flustered, but in the heat of battle he's actually less worried about complimenting you, hoping you'll just write it off as team members cheering each other on.

"Yeah! Sock it to them, New Kid! I'm here for you- we're here for you. The-the team is here for you, the Freedom Pals are, not me specifically-"

"Toolshed, keep your hormones under control during the battle, we must stay focused." Professor Timmy says, immediately causing Toolshed to turn green and move across the battlefield as far as possible from you.

☆ Please don't ignore him for any of the other guys, he's knows his powers are more tool-based and a little more generic, but he's not gonna feel very good about himself if you follow around Mysterion or heaven forbid, a member of Raccoon and Friends. He's still upset about Kyle not switching over. In order to prevent this, he makes sure you know what a good choice it was to be a member of this franchise instead. He'll show off there awesome base, and constantly mention how well the team did in battle, all in the hopes of keeping you around.

"I bet you never won a battle that quick when you were a Raccoon friend, huh? Not that you couldn't, I mean cause you had shitty teammates! Like... like Kite..."

Mysterion:

☆ He's technically a member of the Freedom Pals, but more often than not he works alone. He's usually described as mysterious, or creepy, even brutal, but the number one word you can use to describe him is 👏 PROTECTIVE 👏! None of the many bad guys that stalk the streets of south park are gonna get the jump on you, don't worry.

"Hey asshole!" A growly voice comes out from the shadows as a pounding sound hits the alley dumpster. "Get ready to feel the swift, ribbed fist of justice!"

☆ He's quick to depart post battle, not taking time to celebrate. He's got real justice to go serve, but... ever since you joined the team, he's been more hesitant to rush off. Still, doesn't mean he's great at figuring out how to socialize amongst the team. He just kind of... stands in the shade under the staircase that leads into the basement and broods. He kinda hopes you think it's hot.

"Oh, hey. Just thinking about giving those mob assholes what's coming to them..." He bites his lip, brows furrowed under his cowl as he tries to come up with a conversation piece that's not as harsh or violent as he uses with others. "I uh- did I ever tell you I have a sister? I think you'd like her..."

[uchinagai]

19 “it’s me before her” - Karina smau

(half written; word count: 783)

Younger was sick and tired of everything that was happening. The girl she was interested in and showed interest in her hasn’t spoken to her all of the 3 hours she’s been here. Aespa was shooting teasers for their comeback and y/n said to her that she would swing by for her but here she was doing anything BUT paying attention to her. Older was either on her phone typing something violently, which was suspicious to her, or speaking to ningning and Giselle.

Which angered her more.

Older didn’t know Giselle at all but here she was laughing and giggling with the girl. It was mostly Giselle cracking jokes while y/n laughed along.

The girl's laugh was so beautiful but there was no time for that.

She needed to get her attention.

So when she finished shooting, she walked over to the two and put her arm around y/ns shoulder so casually as she looked at her with a smile.

“I'm done with mine.”

y/n was lost for words. Sudden skinship and eye contact made her lose her mind in seconds and felt her legs go weak for whatever reason.

“U-uh that's great! we should wait for ningning to finish up–”

“Aren’t you here for me?” Karina asked with a small pout. y/n was gonna lose it.. There is no way she’s gonna fall for a girl this easily. It's not fair. She looked away with a hint of blush.

“I promised ningning to wait for her”

“Aww shucks, then we will wait together and go to the park,” Karina suggested as y/n agreed.

“Sounds like a plan”

“Great I'll get changed then”

y/n hummed in agreement as Karina walked away while the Japanese in front of her gave her stupid smile.

“What?’

“Are you in love with my leader?”

“no, I'm not.”

“Sure and there’s a flying pig behind you.” “Where?!” older yelled as she turned excited causing staff to be slightly startled by the girl's outburst. Japanese let out a huge laugh as she threw her head back slapping y/ns thigh as the older looked at her annoyed.

“Not funny!” she said as she crossed her arms with a pout while the girl laughed even more.

“It was the top 3 funniest things you have done ever since you arrived!!”

“Wait what is the other 2?”

“Well when you got us drinks and forgot about your friend's allergic reaction to the ingredients and second is losing your shit every time my Karina looked at you and you either choked on your drink or just look away embarrassed”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Even staff in the back noticed!” the girl said as she laughed again, slapping y/ns thighs again as she laughed. It was obvious the girl had a hitting problem while laughing so the older took note of it.

As they laughed Karina finished up getting ready and walked over to two girls. Her eyes hawk onto Giselle's hand that rested on y/ns thigh after laughing so she sits next to y/n looking at Giselle with a look that girl caught onto easily and removed her hand.

y/n looked to her side seeing the black-haired girl sitting next to her. She had put her hair in a loose high bun, and the dress she was wearing had leopard print as a design with a short hemline, falling right above mid-thigh. The dress was well fitted around her small waist, the skirt was flowy, and for legs, she wore black thighs underneath knee-high black boots. It was a simple yet beautiful look that made y/ns breath hitch. The girl next to her smiled at her as she noticed that y/n's eyes lingered on her look for a while.

“y/n”

“Yeah?” the girl snapped out of the trance as she looked at her face. Her makeup was perfect too. Nothing too much, it made her look clean, subtle, and elegant. Light fair skin with a tint of blushes and reddish underlines for her eyes topped with brown light eyeliner. Her lips were perfectly shaped too. Her lips have a soft, pinkish hue that compliments the overall natural look. Her bangs also covered her and the girl was probably the most beautiful she has ever been so far even if it's the first time they met.

“We should get going, ning finished up and is changing now.”

“Alright finally!!” the girl said as she got up and stretched a little causing her sweater to lift. y/n grabbed all of her belongings making sure to double check and turned to Karina.

“Let's get going then.’ she said as she offered her hand to Karina which younger accepted in a second and took it into hers.

prev - masterlist - next

t a g l i s t: @shozeu @yoontoonwhs @1luvkarina @yeetaberry127 @xen248 @lisaswifey @gtfoiydlyj @addorations @pandafuriosa60 @saysirhc @aerithykly @whr4nakin @multiliker @sixflame438 @chenlesfavorite  @spidrgamer @hyessemble @doublebunv @yuyuy90 @aerithykly 

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

I like how you can infer certain character traits and relationship dynamics of the Three Houses cast based on their Budding Talents.

Edelgard, Hubert, and Ferdinand's Budding Talents all correlate. Hubert is skilled in Ferdinand's preferred weapon, the Lance, which is also required for Pegasus Knight certifications. Ferdinand has a chance to master Heavy Armor, which is Edelgard's class type, and he wants to be considerer her equal/her better. Edelgard has skill in Reason, which makes sense given her connections to Thales, but also her spell pool matches her right hand Hubert's being primarily Dark Magic.

Felix is both skilled and sucking at Reason. It makes sense if you make him Mortal Savant, but it also makes sense when you consider Rodrigue is a skilled magic user and learned to make up for the royal family's lack of skill. Given his relationship with Dimitri Rodrigue at the start of the game, he probably refused to learn out of those feelings. Funny enough, the spells he can learn are the exact same as Dimitri.

Constance and Balthus's Budding Talents are the others most prized skill. And considering the DLC classes make use of both on some level, it implies these two have a pretty tight friendship.

Sylvain's also got a Budding Talent in Reason, just like Felix, who he is arguably closest to in the Blue Lions. However, the three spells he learns the exact same spells as Dedue and Mercedes. He and Mercedes share similar Crest related trauma and have a delightful paired ending, and Dedue and Sylvain come to a really good mutual understanding (I'm sad they couldn't have had an A support).

Speaking of Mercedes, her Budding Talent in Bows compliments her Crest's Sacred Weapon, Tathlum Bow.

Byleth has a Budding Talent in Faith, which makes sense given the whole Sothis situation. However, the only other person to have the same Budding Talent is Dorothea, who shares a similar yet different conflict regarding her faith in the Church, and where one of the best ways to increase Faith is Choir Practice, which Dorothea would excel at given her Opera background.

Yuri has a Budding Talent in Bows, which makes sense given his underground roots and at one time being an assassin. What's really interesting is Bernadetta's Budding Talent in Riding. Not only does it make it easier for her to escape (fitting of her character), but Yuri is allergic to most animals. Making her a Bow Knight ensures Yuri can never get the jump on her should he be hired to kill her again, though I doubt he would try, since he hesitated to kill her the first time all those years ago.

There's probably more that can be inferred but this is just some of my favorites.

👀

[mirror-to-the-past]

People weren't kidding, that really was one of the most Xingyun moments ever, lol.

Aside from Xingqiu stammering and blushing at Chongyun's compliments and the absolute anime romcom trope-iness that is Chongyun obliviously asking why Xingqiu's face is red (we win! we win!!), can we also talk about how damning Traveler's teasing was?

"His yang energy seems to be surging, too."

Traveler is clearly very tongue-in-cheek about this, knowing full well Xingqiu doesn't have the same pure-yang disposition as Chongyun, and therefore won't blush because of it. However, given the multiple occasions Hoyo has gone out of their way to utilize Chongyun's condition in the past as a medium for tropey, anime-like responses of embarassment (i.e. Chongyun's pure-yang energy giving him a nosebleed when Xingqiu tried to sing to him in the "If You Were Rex Lapis" stream), it does come across as pointed observation from the Traveler to subtly mess with Xingqiu and Chongyun alike about the ways they willingly and unwillingly fluster each other.

So yeah, very cute. ^_^

Aside from that, can I just say I absolutely love this event and want it to be a cemented feature for the rest of the game's runtime? I'm not seeing enough people talking about it! It's really the perfect solution for the gacha game dilemma of chatacter oversaturation.

I, as much as the next person, wish for all our faves to have the most perfect epic event quest tailor-made for them, with character depth, development and all. However, since:

1. Hoyo is allergic to sustained character development, even in the event of characters getting a really cool, awesome 10/10 event or story quest, and...

2. Characters will likely not get attention unless it is for a promotional thing such as an outfit, banner rerun, or character debut, which exponentially decreases the likelihood of non-new 4 stars getting any attention. (The summer events are pretty much all we can rely on for a random scramble of characters coming into the spotlight after being shelved without it being sales related, haha!)

...I think this is the next best thing!

Giving us little canned, slice-of-life looks into the character's day-to-day, without a grandiose story or threat, is such a wonderful way to see the characters act in low-stake situations that aren't centered around having a hangout that's focused on them acting as a host to the Traveler. Instead, we're checking in on *their* affairs and goals, and even having little snippets into their interactions with other characters outside of just what we may read about their relationships in the Character Story!

I absolutely LOVED the cutscene with Yao Yao and Qiqi where Qiqi mourns the fact that her memory issues will cause her to forget the episodic experience of every lovely memory she has with the people she cherishes, and that she'll be forced to only relive them through her impersonal journal records. When she was talking about forgetting the green of the leaves, the breeze, and the feel of Yao Yao's hand, I felt my heart break a little bit. It's some of the most compelling on-screen discussion of Qiqi's condition since, well, as far back as I can remember!

And they didn't need a big Qiqi-centered SQ or event for it- they pulled it off with nothing more than a handful of small cutscenes that clued us in to the more intimate parts of Qiqi's life.

If we keep this kind of event present in the game, and switch it up between prior regions, I think it'll help so much with keeping the world feel alive, and keeping the players still compelled by their favorites from previous regions without necessarily stealing the spotlight from whatever focal point region is active at the time. I love reminders that our old friends are still up to their own affairs, struggling with new day-to-day problems, and missing us while we're away- but still entrenched in their own goals and relationships (and not like. ceasing to exist when the Traveler is gone, lol).

So anyway, I hope to see the playerbase giving this event some love so it may come back due to popular demand, this time having more Inazuma and Sumeru characters!