#but then HE had the same idea and we ended up stuck on the same side of the road. long story short we got back to my friends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ash5monster01 · 3 days ago

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Hi lovely! Could I please get some chicken wings extra hot to dine in, with a house salad and water?

Order #11

Now Serving!

Main Course: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Ingredients: 18+, MDNI, smut, angst, language, oral - fem receiving, dirty talk, no use of protection, fighting, p in v, some fluff, semi toxic relationship, reader has a nickname.

Meal: Steve Harrington angst/smut, second chance romance, and one bed.

Total: $25.05 = 2.5k words

Menu - Masterlist

The worst thing about being Steve Harrington's ex was still sharing the same friend group. Normally people break up and avoid the other, but in your case it wasn’t that easy. Every hangout, party, and future plan included the other. That even meant the group vacation you were on now. Robin’s bright idea of bringing the whole gang to a beach. So all of you crammed into the car and made the long drive to Michigan beach where you guys would share the summer rental.

It’s dark when you pull in, the late arrival leaving you only the moon and stars to guide you to the house you were all going to share for the long weekend. Johnathon ended up with all of his and Nancy’s bags slung over his limbs, struggling through the door that Nancy opens empty handed. Robin and Steve get on each end of a cooler and you eye his abandoned bag, choosing to leave it behind, and grab Eddie's bag instead. You weren’t even sure why Eddie packed considering he told the group he was determined to sleep on the beach every night. By the time Vickie had her and Robin's bag in her arms, you were all clambering through the door of the run down rental.

“It’s not that bad,” Robin says as she flicks on the light switch. There’s a narrow staircase leading to a loft and a single loveseat beside an even smaller kitchen. Different doors cover the walls and on a simple count you can easily see there aren’t enough rooms to accommodate all of you.

“Nancy and Johnathon take the loft, we’ll all be fine down here,” Vickie urges and Nancy looks to Johnathon who clearly doesn’t care, he just wants to set down all the bags.

“That leaves me to beach guys, gonna find me a nice dune,” Eddie grins, stealing his bag from your arm and slinging it over his shoulders. He slides open the porch door and sucks in the lake air. You’re certain he is crazy.

“Me and Vickie are good with either of the two rooms,” Robin says, peering into the similarly sized and decorated bedrooms. You watch as realization dawns on Steve’s face, a heavy red covering his skin. From embarrassment or anger, you’re not sure.

“Wait, where does that leave me and Honey?” he asks, using a nickname he once claimed on his own. Yet the simple term had stuck, the entire friend group resorted to using it and trapped you in the memory of him.

“Either you share the room or you take the couch buddy,” Nancy tells him before relieving Johnathon of some of the bags and following him up the narrow staircase. Steve guffaws like neither was an option and then the cherry on top is when he realizes his bag was the only one not brought in.

“You got to be kidding me, I get the bedroom,” he starts for the door of the room but you are quick to move yourself in front of him, tossing your bags onto the bed.

“Sorry Harrington, already put my stuff in it,” you tell him, turning with crossed arms and uninterested in any of his bullshit. You were aware you both argued like toddlers but you couldn’t be bothered.

“That’s not fair, we both know you left my bag in the car on purpose, so that doesn’t count,” he counters back, arms crossing to match your own. By now your friends had given up on the antics between you two, moving onto their own unpacking.

“I left it in the car cause I stopped cleaning up after you a long time ago,” you sneer before entering the bedroom, refusing to back down and let him hold one over you in any way. You didn’t care where he slept at this rate, just as long as he would admit defeat.

“See you’re still perfectly good at acting like a bitch,” he says, eyes pointed and you gasped. Yet before you could get in another word, he was stomping outside to retrieve his bag.

Finally alone you begin to unpack a few necessities, changing into your pajamas, and ready to sleep the car ride and fight off. You let your guard down, which proves to be a mistake when Steve stomps back in, dumping his bag at the foot of the bed, stripping to his boxers, before crawling into it. You glare from the dresser where all your toiletries were now neatly organized on top. The both of you are clearly too stubborn to back down from this.

“I’m not leaving,” you tell him, partially over the fight and ready to just ignore him. He shrugs his shoulders like no matter what you did it didn't affect him.

“I don’t care what you do, but I’m sleeping in a bed whether you like it or not,” he tells you and you shake your head, annoyed with him but too tired to fight. If he wanted to share then so be it.

Flicking off the lights you crawl into the bed, careful to stay to your side and get under the covers. In the now pitch black room you realize how silent the rest of the house was. The majority of the group probably annoyed while they tried to settle down for the night and the two of you were fighting as usual. Something in your heart softened, guilt pooling in your stomach because you hated being the burden due to your relationship with Steve.

“I don’t understand where we went wrong,” Steve whispers into the dark and you can just barely make out the curve of his nose as he says this. You want to pretend to be asleep but he knows you're awake, he still knows everything about you.

“Me either, I figured we annoyed each other more than we loved each other,” you tell him and you can feel the bed dip as he rolls over to face you. It’s still dark enough you can barely see his expression and you’re thankful for the shield it creates between you both.

“Yeah but we had our good moments, just one day the fights and the romance stopped balancing each other out,” he says and you nod even though he probably can’t see it. The truth was, you always had bickered like this but it was always followed up by something hot and romantic. His outbursts ended in wet kisses and your nitpicking always ended with you pressed under him. One day the fights continued but the rest never followed.

“If it’s any consolation, I really wanted it to be you,” you tell him, surprised with even yourself for admitting this. What’s even more shocking is when Steve’s hand reaches forward to caress your face, almost like he was trying to remember what it felt like.

“I’m sorry I called you a bitch,” he offers and you laugh despite yourself. The gesture is kind and for a moment you can remember the thrill of what it was like to love him.

“I’m sorry I left your bag in the car,” you return and now you both laugh, a peace offering for now. Maybe by the time you both woke up tomorrow that would go away, but for just this moment it was nice.

“Is it bad that I still enjoy fighting with you?” he asks, finger tips burning into your skin and suddenly it doesn’t seem funny anymore. Instead flashes of his lips against your skin and delicate touches fog your brain. Sharing a bed with him had not been such a good idea after all.

“Depends, is it still bad that every time we fight I want to kiss you after?” your words surprise even yourself, but Steve doesn’t flinch. Instead he’s suddenly so close, knee nudging between your own as his head tilts down.

“No, because I do too,” and just like that his lips are pressed against your own, a need drawing you two together until there isn’t any shared space between you both. On instinct his whole leg wedges between yours and you grind down onto it like the hundreds of times you have before. He tastes exactly the same and it makes you wonder how long it’s been since the last time you kissed.

“Fuck, this can’t be real” he utters, rolling over top of you, hands roaming your body like it was trying to remember exactly how you felt. It was all too familiar but you couldn’t stop, not even when his kisses began to trail along your neck and chest. One time you assured yourself, one and done.

“Yeah well, we’ve been in worse positions,” you mutter, trying to mask the heavy pants that leave your mouth due to the feel of his lips and hands. He had wedged himself between your legs and you could already feel his growing length through his boxers, nudging against your heat in just the right way.

He let you have the last word, getting lost in the feel of your skin and the taste of your mouth. You were still warm, welcoming, and addictive. He wanted to admit to himself this would be the last time but he was certain there would never be a last taste of you. Even if you began to go at each other in the morning, somehow he would always find himself right back here. Doing the motions like he had a hundred times before, meeting the roll of your hips, and tugging the hem of your shirt. Up and up until you break apart long enough for him to toss it somewhere in the room.

“Wow, did they get bigger?” he asks, voice cocky and heavy as he palms your breasts the same way he always has. You roll your eyes and smack his shoulder lightly which only makes him laugh. It feels familiar and way too comfortable. Yet everything with him always was, even the fighting.

“Funny because I was just about to ask if you got smaller,” and he glares but in the playful way that he knows what you said isn’t true, but he would still prove you wrong anyway.

“Yeah, I’ll show you small,” he grumbles before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You can’t help the moan that bursts past your lips and you can feel his grin on your sternum as he travels to do the same to the other breast.

It should be embarrassing how wet the action makes you but you were past embarrassment when it came to him. Instead you accepted your fate and fisted the sheets as his mouth traveled down your stomach and to the tops of your hips. His familiar and long fingers dip into the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging at them in one big fistful until you lift your hips long enough for him to tug them off. He stares dreamily at your glistening core and you almost hate how vulnerable it makes you. It’s hard to read the look on his face, a mix of desire and maybe something hopeful.

“I missed this,” he says in a tone that’s kinder than he’s been in a long time. You want to respond, share with him you still care, no matter how much you yell at him. Yet the feel of his lips gently kissing your swollen clit strangles any sound that wants to leave your throat. You have missed him, your body has missed him.

“Please,” is all you can utter before he delves into your folds, eating you like a man starved. Your body shakes from the intense sensation all at once, the long bridge of his nose nudging your clit and his tongue swirling and tasting every part of you he can. You feel unstable and your hands leave the bedsheets and tangle into his hair. The action earns you a throaty moan vibrating all the way up to your chest with how good it feels. It had been so long since you had cum from someone else’s touch.

“Steve, I-I’m close,” you half cry, legs shaking from their new place on his shoulders and to your dismay, his actions slow down, stealing the building orgasm and torturing you in the end. How unfair and cruel he could be.

“Sorry Honey, but I need you to finish on my cock before I die,” he says, lips covered in your slick that his tongue pops out to taste. You whine as he lifts himself from between you and strips the boxers off. He’s still just as long and hard, almost heavy as the angry red tip of his length grazes along the bottom of his abdomen. It looked painful which is why it’s no surprise he’s quick to drag the tip of himself through your folds for some relief.

“Fuck me Steve, please,” you beg and he needs no other words to comply, sinking into you in one quick thrust. A small scream leaves your mouth and his hand is quick to clamp over it, trying to stay as still as he can to keep from finishing too soon.

“Gotta be quiet baby, we’re supposed to hate each other, remember?” he says and it shouldn’t be as hot as it was, it shouldn’t have made you squeeze down on him and make him tremble above you. It does all those things anyway.

“Fuck, dirty girl,” he mutters before kissing you deeply and rocking his hips up into your own. He hits that spot only he has ever been able to reach and that building orgasm returns. You can taste yourself on his lips and he only pulls away to pound into you quicker and harder. It becomes difficult to hold in your whines and cries, his hand returning to your mouth while the other rubs quick circles onto your clit.

In a sudden flash your orgasm strikes you, your body jolting as you cum harder than you ever have. Steve hips stutter, curses leaving his lips as he undoubtedly finishes behind you because of how hot it was. You’re both a sweaty and dirty mess, neither even ashamed you had gone from almost murdering each other to this. His body lays heavy atop of your own, quick pants from both your mouths becoming the only sound in the room.

“God nothing is better than makeup sex,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and you snort. He would always be the same old Steve.

“Yeah, is that your excuse for constantly driving me nuts?” you ask and you don’t even have to look to see the roll of his eyes.

“No, I just do that since you’re always getting on my nerves,” and something about his words assures you this is how it’ll always be with the boy still buried inside of you.

Yet the most shocking part is that it doesn’t bother you, not even a bit, and instead makes you love him a little bit more.

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kiththecat · 10 hours ago

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spoilers for chapter 21 of a jester walks into an amusement park in case someone hasn't gotten round to it yet

sooooo i dont wanna be the writer who shows up and explains parts of my fic that might be confusing buuuuut i also dont have a beta or anything to tell me if things make sense from a fresh perspective and i exist in everyone's heads. so something that'll be totally clear to me might be subtext at best in the story.

also, i like sharing my thought processes and intentions so here goes.

i’ve had a few comments that sounded confused about why minute left branzy so im just gonna cover that real quick because i don't think it’ll ever be too clear in the main fic. we are in branzy’s head and branzy is unreliable as shit and the narration reflects that. ‘what the fuck is even going on’ is his constant state so it’s yours too.

ill just skip over minute and co’s plan because there’s still a chance i’ll cover that in fic, so im just gonna yap a bit about minute’s perspective yay everyone say yay

so let’s just step out of branzy’s head for a second and reacquaint ourselves with how your average person perceives him. he's the eccentric, outgoing, face of an amusement park. which means he might appear in advertisements, or be seen around a popular destination pretty commonly. he’s not famous, but he’s recognisable and he’s left an impression as someone charming and competent.

with that in mind, lets get into minute’s head. he has the same ideas about branzy, combined with his observations from their first meeting; branzy is good with words, sweet, but clearly stuck under clown’s thumb. but to minute, branzy’s not the focus of any of their interactions. clown is. and minute hates clown. because clown and minute have a complicated history where i imagine that clown probably was a bit of a jackass — i’m saying this loosely because i haven’t thought that much about their fallout in this universe but i like the thought of minute being right to hate him. another thing i want to mention about branzy is that seeing someone losing touch with reality to the degree branzy does has got to be alarming. i imagine it’d feel kind of gross to kidnap someone like that from the hospital — even if minute is fine endangering a ton of faceless patients by turning off the power.

he knows branzy. he’s trying to use branzy.

and maybe minute would be fine with those two things if he wasn’t also empathizing with him. he knows what its like to be hurt by clown, so he sees those patterns. i think a part of him really wants to help branzy — although that part is much smaller than the one that wants revenge on clown.

anyway so let's go back to the scene in the hospital.

minute is fighting rek, thinking of it as nothing more than a small hurdle. then branzy starts talking to himself. then branzy starts shooting the ground. then branzy shoots rek. and minute continues the plan and takes branzy underground where it'll be easy to disappear as soon as the tracker is gone.

but then branzy calls him clown. and even if it’s clear that branzy is so so out of it, that still hits home. but the mission, he might think, on one hand. on the other, he might think, but the mission didn’t account for this psychological mess. whatever, he removes the tracker that branzy clearly didn’t know about because clown is an asshole. he makes a snide comment about how much branzy should hate clown. branzy says he wants to hate clown. and that changes things. it means that branzy understands the harm clown has caused him, even if he’ll defend it. but to minute, that understanding might just mean that branzy can still be swayed without force. the branzy in front of him is sick and hurting —probably having some kind of episode — and the window of time is closing.

and i don't know. its up to interpretation for sure. but i think minute figures that clown has doomed himself here. so he opens the door for an ally-ship, and from his perspective, ending the kidnapping attempt probably feels like throwing branzy to the wolves. but the more hurt branzy is by clown, the more likely he might be to switch sides. or something.

TLDR, minute, under time pressure, freaked out by branzy being Like That, figures that branzy might be more of an asset if he stays with clown, for a bit.

#i cannot tell if i come across of obnoxious or passionate #bit of both maybe #this fic is my baby can you blame me #ajwiaap #branzy #clownpierce

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pjsk--shitposts · 3 days ago

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What PJSK characters would have as code names if they were in the Persona 5 universe

Because Sega is giving us a cover and some lousy outfits for the collab instead of the cool crossover we deserve

Leo/need

Ichika: Polaris - She's the unit leader, so I feel like the north star is pretty fitting. Honestly, I think the name would fit Saki as well, but I chose it for Ichika because I had a better Saki one. I do think Ichika would initially want her code name to be Miku, though, and her friends would all do a big collective sigh over it.

Saki: Stella - Commissioned song reference, also it fits with the whole Leo/need astral theme. Nice tie-in to fit the code names of the other 3 members. I did consider giving her a tennis-related name like Ace or something, but I opted to continue the star theme instead.

Honami: Regulus - Much like Saki, a reference to the song of the same name. Primarily done because the only other idea I had was, like, drums and apple pie, neither of which are neat code names.

Shiho: undecided - Shiho and a few others were just really difficult for me to grasp a code name for. I considered a zodiac sign to fit in somewhat with the star theme but Capricorn (her star sign) doesn't really suit her as a name. So, as of now, I don't have any ideas.

More More Jump!

Minori: Clover - Fits her whole unlucky character trait and her role as the one whose passion helped reunite the members of MMJ with their idol careers in the main story. Also, Tenshi no Clover reference.

Haruka: Adélie - Type of penguin, and one of the only penguin types that sounded natural enough to be a code name. Also, something about the word is just fitting to me.

Airi: Lynx - She is a huge cat enjoyer, so I felt like a cat name would only make sense. I didn't want her to have a cat name similar to Panther, but I don't know many big cats and went with lynx because I find them adorable.

Shizuku: Azure - What can I say? I like the color blue and I think the word is pretty. Also, it has a somewhat refined sound to it, similar to how her fans expected Shizuku to be all elegant and refined in real life like she is on-stage.

Vivid Bad Squad

Kohane: Cobra - I feel lie she'd gravitate towards the name partially due to her love for snakes (and Count Pearl) and also because the name radiates coolness. That and the fact that Hamster isn't as fierce of a name.

An: Vivid - Main story reference to her and Kohane's duo name. Honestly, I struggled a lot with all of VBS's names, and they're probably my least favorite in terms of outcome.

Akito: Mera - I was desperately trying to think of fire-related words and ended up looking through VBS's discography for help. Long story short, I ended up with Fire Dance stuck in my head.

Toya: undecided - If anyone has any ideas for him or Shiho, please let me know. I cannot think of anything that would fit him since I'm not a huge VBS fan and haven't read a lot of the stories.

Wonderlands x Showtime

Tsukasa: Pegasus - He'd definitely request this himself and go into a long-winded explanation about how his name means pegasus. Everyone else nods accordingly until he stops talking.

Emu: Phoenix - Phoenix Wonderland reference, and I'm also pretty sure it's part of her name's meaning as well. Also, it really fits with her unwavering optimism and ability to persevere no matter what difficulties she may face.

Nene: Siren - She is usually associated with mermaids, but Mermaid isn't as cool of a thief name. Also, she's meant to be canonically fantastic at singing, even tutoring Ichika. Just, uh, ignore that extra "singing sailors to their death" part.

Rui: Alchemist(?) - Not exactly proud of this one, kind of a throwaway since I couldn't think of a better name. He's literally one of my favs how can I not think of a name for him

Nightcord at 25:00

I'll be honest, I feel like Niigo would be terrible phantom thieves. I mean, they're all struggling enough that they probably wouldn't awaken to their personas as quick as the other characters (especially Mafuyu). If they were to eventually start a little phantom thief crew, though, I imagine they'd just use their Nightcord usernames to keep things simple.

Closing thoughts

I was going to make a design for everyone's masks but then realized that would be way too much work with little payout. I also didn't know what to do about the vocaloids (would they just be, like, Morgana? 6 little cats?) but I will say that if WxS Luka was a phantom thief, her mask would 100% be a sleep mask. That's all

#proseka #project sekai #hatsune miku colorful stage #pjsk #prsk #shitpost #vocaloid #persona 5 #p5 #p5r #headcanons

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qulizalfos · 7 months ago

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i <3 waking at 4am after having the weirdest fucking dream ever

#it's also weird bc having dreams usually doesn;t wake me this early but also WHAT WAS THAT #i met up with a friendgroup i fell out of touch with and havent spoken to in years and we went to. a Cave.#and there was this kid playing ball there?????? and then the cave turned into the road near my house and he lost the ball on the other side #irl this road is not busy at all i live in the middle of nowhere #but in the dream there were cars rushing past regularly and i had the fucking bright idea to go get the ball for him #but then HE had the same idea and we ended up stuck on the same side of the road. long story short we got back to my friends #at which point we were back in the cave #and then these 3 random guys id never seen before who i think knew this kid showed us the way out #and i made plans with one of my friends to see each other again soon #and then the point of view switched to the guys just in time for them to change #they all like. lost their sense of self in their own ways but also lost their sense of friendship #and became really hateful and resentful of one another #. AND THWN THEY ALL DIED???????#this was all entirely unprompted. idfk. that’s the most surreal dream i’ve had in a while. i wish i could make that up.#i’m going back to sleep

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imhalfplastic · 12 days ago

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team building (and other questionable choices)

⊹ overview - pairing: mingyu x f!reader genre: frenemies to lovers · office romance · slice of life · fluff themes: trying to play cupid (and failing), witty banter, accidental intimacy, one bed trope, mutual pining, clichés. a lot. cw: mild sexual content (MDNI), workplace setting, suggestive humor.

summary: when two overworked assistants team up to secretly play matchmaker for their clueless bosses, the plan is simple: coordinate schedules, fake a little chemistry, and absolutely not fall for each other.

minors do not interact!

from kai: i can't stop writing about mingyu. i need help. this one's loosely based on set it up (2018), but a little more chaotic? enjoy.

now playing: my type - saint motel

you’ve met kim mingyu four times.

the first: when your bosses scheduled two meetings at the exact same time in the same conference room and you both had to play rock-paper-scissors in front of the ceo to decide who got it. (he won. with scissors. a rookie mistake. you never forgave yourself.)

the second: in the elevator. he spilled half a latte on your shoes and said “at least they’re not suede...” like that was helpful.

the third: when you accidentally replied-all to an internal memo about performance evaluations, calling your boss “a capitalist goblin with a caffeine addiction.” he just replied "bold of you to speak truth in this economy. solidarity."

the fourth: now. every day. too often. always.

the thing is: you don’t work together. not really. you work adjacent. which is worse.

he’s the assistant to ms. seo, who runs strategy like she’s planning war. sharp heels, sharper tone, and a calendar color-coded within an inch of its life. mingyu walks two steps behind her like a loyal retriever, clipboard in one hand, existential dread in the other. he smiles too much for someone who gets cc’d on every meltdown in the building.

you, on the other hand, work for mr. yoon. a man with a god complex, a phobia of silence, and a diet that consists almost exclusively of espresso and the souls of junior staff. he once called your lunch “visually distracting” because it had “too much sauce”. you haven’t forgiven him either.

and because the two of them (ms. seo and mr. yoon) are in constant, competitive collaboration, it means you and mingyu are stuck in a never-ending tug-of-war of email threads, late-night reschedules, and passive-aggressive calendar invites.

the dynamic?

you’re the ghostwriter of your boss’s bad ideas. he’s the translator of his boss’s mood swings.

you text each other more than you text your actual friends. and you’re not sure if you hate him or if he just reminds you of your own job too much.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] your boss just moved lunch to 1 mine is fasting for "clarity of mind" so i'll be dying quietly in the corner

you clarity of mind is wild for someone who screamed at a stapler last tuesday

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] she said it was "threatening her aura"

you i'm scared it might've been right

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] justice for the stapler

by week three of back-to-back “urgent” requests, you’ve memorized the way he sighs through his nose when ms. seo cancels a meeting thirty seconds before it starts. you’ve also learned that he eats lunch in exactly four minutes and always forgets a fork. you’ve stopped offering him one. mostly out of principle.

“you’re not a real person.” you tell him one thursday. “you’re like a mirage. a corporate hallucination.”

he blinks. “thanks?”

“not a compliment.”

but he’s already scrolling through his phone, completely unfazed.

“you realize we’ve been yelled at by our bosses for the exact same meeting reschedule like, four times now.” he says. “at some point they’re gonna think we’re doing this on purpose.”

you sigh. “i wish we were. at least then it’d be satisfying.”

he throws his head back dramatically, groaning. “i’m too pretty to get fired.”

"you’re too clumsy,” you correct. “and you owe me a new pair of shoes.”

the idea comes after the fifth minor disaster of the week: a double-booked call, a vegan lunch delivery sent to a man who once called kale “a scam”, and a particularly pointed all-caps message from ms. seo.

you’re both slumped in the break room. the vending machine, as usual, has betrayed him. again.

he’s chewing your emergency chocolate like it’s keeping him alive.

“i’m just saying...” he starts, mouth half full. “if they were hooking up, maybe they’d stop using us as pawns in their weird power game.”

you blink at him.

“you’re not saying that.” you say. “you’re not actually suggesting this.”

“yoon and seo.” he says, nodding. “they have tension. it’s weird. disgusting. undeniable.”

“no.”

“hear me out.”

“no!” you repeat, louder this time. “are you insane? what part of this place makes you think romance is the solution?”

he blinks, caught off guard.

“do you even understand where we work?“ you go on. “we work for emotionally repressed narcissists with god complexes and matching calendars. this isn’t a rom-com, mingyu. this is hell.”

he opens his mouth, but you cut him off again.

“and you...” you say, jabbing a finger in his direction, “you think you're clever because you smile through the misery, but you’re just as trapped as me. stop pretending this is some cute little team-up.”

he’s quiet for a moment. you expect him to bite back, but he just tilts his head a little, watching you with something unreadable in his face.

“okay.” he says softly. “message received.”

you leave before you say something worse.

twelve minutes later, your phone rings. your boss's name lights up your screen.

“my office. now.”

you barely have time to close your tabs before you're in his doorway, arms crossed.

he doesn't look up from his monitor.

"you sent this?” he asks, pointing to a printed email. yes. printed.

“yes, sir.”

he reads a sentence aloud like it personally offended him. “‘apologies for the mix-up — i’ve reattached the correct file for your convenience.’”

“yes,” you say again. “because the original pdf had a broken...”

“this.” he interrupts, stabbing the paper with his finger. “is passive-aggressive.”

you blink. “it’s standard wording.”

“your tone” he says, “undermines my authority. and by extension, yours. if you ever want to be taken seriously in this industry, you need to learn how to communicate without sounding like you’re rolling your eyes.”

he leans back in his chair.

“do you think you’re indispensable?”

you don’t answer.

“because you’re not. you’re efficient, but so is every other assistant here. i could replace you by monday.”

he lets that sit for a beat.

then gestures to the door. “that’s all.”

you walk out of the office with a tight jaw and something sharp curling in your chest.

you sit back at your desk. your screen is full of open tabs, blinking messages, a reminder to pick up dry cleaning you can’t afford and a google search for “can stress cause actual brain damage.”

your phone buzzes.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] so the plan's back on, yeah? just checking.

you don’t look up. not right away. you type slowly.

you if i say yes it's not because i believe in it it's because i want peace

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] peace is valid so is revenge

you i still think it's a terrible idea

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] perfect now it feels balanced again

the plan doesn’t take shape immediately. it starts as a joke.

you’re both in the supply closet, pretending to look for toner while avoiding being assigned yet another last-minute revision to the joint quarterly review deck.

he leans against the shelf like it’s a bar counter.

“okay, hypothetically...” he starts, “if we were to interfere with the romantic fates of our bosses, how would we do it?”

you snort. “we wouldn’t.”

“but if.”

you sigh, and, against your better judgment, answer.

“it’d have to feel natural. like a coincidence. accidental. you know. a narrative beat.”

he raises an eyebrow. “you’re disturbingly good at this.”

you ignore him. “it can’t be too obvious. no weird setups. no ‘i booked the same table for two’ bullshit.”

“agreed.” he says. “they’d see through that.”

there’s a pause.

then, you both say it at the same time:

“coffee.”

you blink.

“no way.”

“you said coffee too.” he says, pointing.

you groan. “i hate this...”

he’s already typing into his phone. “they both get coffee, right?”

“dude, we can’t make them run into each other...” you say. “it has to be a cliché.”

he grins like that’s the best thing he’s heard all week. “a cliché.”

you nod. “every great romance starts with one.”

“so what?” he says. “we drop a folder? one of them bends down to pick it up? brushes hands? instant chemistry?”

“too forced.”

“they reach for the same croissant?”

“getting warmer.”

“they both complain about us at the same time in the same line and bond over how ungrateful we are?”

you raise your eyebrows. “you think they’d do that?”

“they already do…” he mutters.

you roll your eyes. “okay. listen. we know their orders. their schedules. their routes. if we can time it just right…”

he finishes your sentence: “...they’ll think it’s fate.”

later that day, you’re back at your desk, scrolling through mr. yoon’s calendar like a bored private investigator.

he’s consistent. pathologically so.

coffee at 10:15. always the same place. same corner seat. same cappuccino. sometimes with extra foam. depending on his mood.

you open the app and look up ms. seo’s location history. mingyu already gave you access. you're not sure how. you don’t ask.

“they’ve been in the same place five times in the last two weeks” he whispers from behind your chair.

you jump. “jesus. do you materialize now?”

“only for dramatic effect.”

you look back at the screen. “five times.”

“and they didn’t notice each other once.”

“so what we’re saying is... we know them better than they know themselves.”

“yup.”

“that’s bleak.”

“deeply.”

he leans over your shoulder. “so. next tuesday. 10:15. table near the window.”

“you handle ms. seo.”

“you handle yoon.”

“if this backfires...”

“we were never here.”

you shake your head and open a new tab.

you’re not proud of it.

but you google “best pastries for accidental eye contact.”

tuesday arrives like a slow-moving disaster. you wake up late, spill coffee on your shirt, and have to switch to your “i’m pretending to be calm” blouse. the one that’s too stiff at the collar and makes you look like a very tired lawyer.

but none of that matters, because today is operation cliché.

phase one: coffee collision.

the location? a minimalistic café on the first floor of the neighboring building, where all the tables are identical and everything smells like lavender and oat milk. it’s the kind of place that sells banana bread for twelve dollars and calls it “seasonal.”

you arrive at the café twelve minutes early. mingyu's already there, sitting in the corner like he’s a spy. you slide into the seat across from him. “what's the plan again?”

he doesn’t look up right away. just nods once like he’s been waiting for this briefing all his life.

“simple.” he says. “they both come here every tuesday. always between ten and ten fifteen. always order the same thing. they never notice each other because they’re too busy speed-reading emails and being vaguely terrifying.”

you raise an eyebrow. “go on.”

“so,” he continues, “i called ahead. asked the barista to delay both orders until exactly ten seventeen. give or take thirty seconds.”

“and then?”

“and then,” he says, leaning in slightly, “they both get called up at the same time. same tray. same awkward pause. eye contact. emotional disarmament. destiny.”

you blink. “you’ve really thought this through.”

“of course i have” he says. “i’m deeply invested in my own survival.”

“and you think this will work?”

he shrugs. “every great romance starts with an inconvenient beverage.”

you snort into your cup. you hate how much sense that makes.

ms. seo arrives exactly on time. she doesn’t wait in line, she orders like she owns the place and claims her table with one glance. mr. yoon enters two minutes later, slightly out of breath and already annoyed by the background music. he hates piano jazz. you know this.

you both sink lower in your seats.

“this is so dumb...” you whisper. “they’re not even-”

“wait for it.” he mutters.

there’s a pause.

a blink.

the barista calls both names at once.

they reach for the same tray.

your breath catches.

and then:

“oh...” mr. yoon says, taking a step back. “didn’t see you there.”

ms. seo raises an eyebrow. “you never do.”

and for one moment the tiniest moment they smile.

smile.

mingyu looks at you like he just saw god.

“we’re geniuses” he whispers.

“don’t jinx it.”

you watch them sit. not together, but closer than usual. angled slightly toward each other. enough to talk, if they want to. enough to notice.

“they’re talking...” mingyu says.

“this is happening.” you nod, stunned.

you don't say it out loud, but it does feel like a movie. you don't believe in fate. but maybe you believe in timing. and coffee. and croissants that carry plot.

they leave separately.

she goes first. phone in hand, shoulders back, the way she always walks when she’s thinking. he waits thirty seconds, then follows, not too close. but closer than usual.

you and mingyu don’t move.

you just sit there, two overcaffeinated employees hiding behind an aggressive fern, watching your bosses walk away like characters from the end of act one.

“okay." you say. “that was... weirdly successful.”

“i’m scared” he says.

“same.”

you finally stand. his drink is empty. your croissant is gone. neither of you remember eating it.

outside, the air smells like too much perfume and half a dozen corporate regrets. you stop at the corner.

“so what now?” you ask.

he grins. “phase two.”

you roll your eyes. “of course there’s a phase two.”

“come on” he says, already walking backward toward the building. “we made them smile. that’s practically engagement.”

“don’t say engagement.”

“too late.”

you don’t see him again until after lunch.

mr. yoon pulls you into three back-to-back meetings, one of which is just him ranting about fonts. you think he’s in a good mood. or at least a neutral one. it’s hard to tell.

by the time you get back to your desk, your phone buzzes.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] you owe me a thank you croissant that was art they both reached for the tray like it was scripted

you you ate my croissant i'm the one who deserves a thank you

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] fine i'll meet you halfway supply closet in 15 bring no expectations, only snacks and your most chaotic ideas

you you're unbelievable

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] and yet deeply necessary

you stare at the screen for a beat too long. and then, before you can stop yourself, you type:

you make it 10 minutes i have a very dumb idea

the supply closet is barely a closet.

more of a broom-sized purgatory. it smells like dry erase markers. someone left a sad motivational sticker on the inside of the door that says you’ve got this! and it feels like a threat.

you’re already there when he arrives.

he knocks twice, unnecessarily, before slipping in and closing the door behind him with too much ceremony.

“you’re late” you say.

“you said ten minutes. i gave you eleven. that’s generosity.”

“that’s procrastination.”

he holds up a granola bar like it’s a peace treaty. “i come bearing carbs.”

you take it, mostly because you’re hungry, but also because the wrapper says crunchy with a hint of sea salt and you feel vaguely called out.

“so...” he says, leaning against a shelf of printer paper like he’s hosting a TED talk. “what’s your dumb idea?”

“you go first” you say.

“you told me to come because you had the idea.”

“and now i don’t trust it.”

“why not?”

“because you’re looking at me like you already love it.”

“i do love it. i just don’t know what it is yet.”

you sigh and break the granola bar in half, handing him a piece.

“okay.” you start, mouth full. “we can’t do another run-in. it’ll look too convenient.”

“agreed.” he says, through granola. “we need escalation.”

“we need... a shared cause.”

he blinks. “like... activism?”

“like fake activism” you clarify. “a team-building initiative. professional development. something they can co-lead.”

he nods slowly. “a task that forces prolonged contact. good. close proximity. subtle emotional vulnerability.”

“something high-pressure, low-stakes.”

“something where they think they’re in control.”

you both pause.

and then, at the exact same time:

“leadership retreat.”

you stare at each other in horror.

“that’s...”

“terrible.” he finishes. “dangerous. complicated.”

“they’ll kill us.”

“...we have to do it.”

you groan and slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the floor between two boxes of branded mugs.

he lowers himself beside you.

“okay.” he says. “if we pitch it right... this can work.”

“how do we pitch it?”

he pulls out his phone, opens a notes app already titled operation chicle, and starts typing.

you lean in without realizing.

your shoulders brush. neither of you move.

mingyu taps at his phone, brow furrowed in mock concentration.

“okay, proposal: joint leadership off-site to boost collaboration. location… somewhere with bad wifi and strong coffee. schedule: two-hour brainstorm, four-hour tension.”

you tilt your head. “you mean four hours of suppressed resentment disguised as productivity.”

“exactly!” he says, not looking up. “it’s authentic.”

you lean in slightly, peeking at his screen. “add ‘quiet team bonding’ and ‘organic interpersonal growth’. make it sound like we read a book about it.”

he types obediently, nodding. “love that. very linkedin-core.”

then he pauses. “should we make a deck?”

you snap your head toward him.

“if you make a deck” you say, deadly calm, “i’ll kill you.”

he grins, not even pretending to be sorry. “you say the sweetest things.”

you try not to smile. you fail. just a little.

you don’t leave the closet together.

but as you step back into the hallway, you realize your hand still smells like granola and printer ink. and that he didn’t mock your idea. and that, somehow, sitting on a dusty floor with him felt more peaceful than your own desk.

thursday morning.

you’re in the small conference room, the one with flickering lights and a very aggressive print of a lighthouse on the wall, watching mingyu adjust the brightness on his laptop for the sixth time.

“stop it.” you mutter. “it’s fine.”

“it’s washed out.” he says. “the slides have to pop. we’re selling transformation.”

“we’re selling emotional manipulation in a power suit.” you correct. “no one’s buying.”

“not with that attitude.”

he clicks through the deck one last time. every slide is a masterpiece of corporate nonsense: gradient backgrounds, buzzwords in bold, and fake statistics like “teams who bond off-site are 63% less likely to initiate passive-aggressive email chains.”

you sigh. “we’re going to hell for this.”

“it’s fine” he grins. “we’ll carpool.”

the pitch goes disturbingly well.

ms. seo barely blinks. she nods halfway through slide two and says, “this could be efficient.” which, from her, is basically a standing ovation.

mr. yoon interrupts twice to talk about thought leadership and uses the phrase “executive synergy” like it’s a personality trait.

when you finish, there’s a pause.

then:

“you two will run it.” ms. seo says.

“what?” you blink.

“i’ll be in singapore next week,” she says, already opening her phone. “you’ll facilitate on our behalf.”

you turn to mr. yoon, desperate. “sir?”

he waves a hand. “sounds like a perfect opportunity for growth. report back with a summary. keep the receipts.”

you open your mouth.

close it.

then open it again, for good measure.

mingyu says nothing. absolutely nothing.

you both leave the room in silence. outside the conference room, you stop walking.

he stops too.

you stare at him.

“you ruined my life.” you say calmly.

“technically, they approved the plan.”

“technically, you were the one who said leadership retreat like it was a good thing.”

“you said it at the same time!”

“and i regret it.”

he lifts both hands, grinning. “look, it’s fine. we’ll run a few workshops, do some trust falls, eat a buffet dinner, and be back in three days.”

“do not say trust falls like it’s a fun concept.”

“do you want me to start a shared document?”

“i want you to get hit by a metaphorical bus.”

“great” he says. “i’ll add that to the parking lot.”

you walk away before you start laughing.

later that afternoon, your phone buzzes.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] new plan: we fake food poisoning or burn down the lodge or both

you i knew this was a bad idea i KNEW mingyu you've doomed us you've condemned us to team-building hell there will be icebreakers there will be name tags we will be forced to share feelings

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] can’t wait to see you cry during trust circle

you if i disappear tell people i died doing what i hated: corporate bonding

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] should i pack snacks?

you pack dignity you’ll need it

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] never had it to begin with

you close the chat with a groan.

three days to the retreat. no bosses. no escape. just you. him. and four hours of scheduled “guided reflection.”

god help you both.

the corporate retreat center looks exactly like you imagined it would.

a beige lodge in the middle of nowhere, flanked by pine trees and suspiciously cheerful signage. there's a wooden welcome board near the entrance that says “unlock your inner leader!” in three fonts too many.

“i already hate it.” you mutter, dragging your suitcase over a gravel path that definitely wasn’t meant for heels.

“look on the bright side,” mingyu says, way too cheerful for someone carrying a duffel bag that looks like it holds gym trauma. “bad wi-fi. no bosses. and apparently a breakfast buffet.”

“if you make this sound fun one more time i’m leaving you in the woods.”

he grins. “you say that now, but wait till you see the lanyards.”

you check in at the front desk.

the woman behind the counter gives you your room key and a chirpy, “we went ahead and upgraded you two to the executive suite! hope that’s alright!”

you blink. “we’re not...”

“thanks!” mingyu cuts in, snatching the key. “very alright. super alright.”

you narrow your eyes. “what did you do?”

“nothing.” he says. “probably.”

the room is… cozy.

too cozy.

small fireplace. two mugs on a tray. mood lighting that tries too hard. and one large bed in the center of the room.

you stop in the doorway.

mingyu walks in, drops his bag, looks around once, then turns to you.

“what?” he says innocently. “you said it yourself.”

you stare at him.

“every great romance...” he quotes, smug. “starts with a cliché.”

you blink. once. twice.

“i hope you die.”

“listen, it’s fine. we’ll pillow-wall it.”

“we’re not pillow-walling anything.”

he flops onto the bed with too much confidence. “you can have the blanket majority. i’ll sleep on the floor like a gentleman.”

“you’ll sleep on the floor because you brought this on yourself.”

you find a yoga mat in the closet and throw it at his head. he catches it midair like a reflex, then sighs dramatically.

“pray for me.” he says. “i have fragile joints.”

later that night, you sit side by side on the bed, legs barely touching, a bag of overpriced mini bar chips open between you. the room smells like lavender pillow spray and artificial air freshener, and the fireplace crackles in the most suspiciously cozy way imaginable.

mingyu has the printed retreat schedule unfolded across his lap like it’s a classified document.

he clears his throat.

“7 a.m. sunrise meditation,” he reads aloud. “8 a.m. partner walk. 9 a.m. circle of trust. 10 a.m...” he pauses for dramatic effect. “feelings breakout.”

you make a noise of pure disbelief. “are they trying to kill us? circle of trust sounds like a cult.”

“circle of trust is a cult.” he says. “i’ve seen documentaries.”

you take a chip. crunch thoughtfully.

“do you think if we hold hands and run, we can make it to the road before they catch us?” he says, head tipping toward you just slightly.

“only if you leave the yoga mat behind.” you add. “it’ll slow you down.”

he sighs, deeply. “cruel. but fair.”

the chips rustle between you. somewhere outside, a tree creaks. inside, it’s quiet enough that you can hear the soft shift of his sleeve when he leans back against the headboard.

you don’t say anything for a while. neither does he.

but you don’t move apart, either.

and that, somehow, says enough.

the next day feels like a slow-motion trial.

you wake up to the faint sound of birds and the less-faint sound of mingyu already moving around, getting ready like he’s preparing for some kind of emotional boot camp.

breakfast is painfully organized. you share a table, not by design but because every other seat is taken. he slides you the salt shaker without looking, and you catch his fingers brushing yours for a split second.

the morning starts with the sunrise meditation. you try to focus on your breath, but mingyu is the only one who manages to stay still. mostly because he fell asleep sitting up, chin resting on his chest, looking like an angel who didn’t get the memo.

later, during the partner walk, you find yourselves naturally walking side by side, matching pace without planning it. the trail winds through pines and sun-dappled clearings, the air fresh and cool.

he makes a dumb joke about how this is “nature’s way of making us confess our feelings,” and you pretend not to laugh. but you do.

the circle of trust comes next, exactly as terrifying as it sounds. when it’s your turn, he looks at you like you’re both in on the joke, and you mumble something about “trust falls being a trap.”

he catches your eye and shrugs. “at least we don’t have to actually fall.”

the afternoon is a blur of workshops, icebreakers, and group exercises where everyone is trying (and failing) not to make it awkward.

when the sun starts to set and the temperature drops, mingyu notices you shivering and without a word, pulls his hoodie off and drapes it over your shoulders.

you don’t say anything. you just let it hang there, the fabric warm between you, the silence saying everything.

it’s ridiculous. it’s perfect. and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

the evening settles in with the kind of hush that only happens after a day of mandatory bonding and dried-out protein bars. everyone else has disappeared to their rooms, leaving behind half-finished mugs of herbal tea and the lingering scent of essential oils.

you and mingyu are still awake.

he’s on the floor, stretching like someone who read about mindfulness once and committed to the bit. you’re on the edge of the bed, aimlessly scrolling through your phone, pretending not to watch him try (and fail) to touch his toes.

“you’re gonna pull something.” you say.

“i’m increasing my hip mobility” he replies, completely serious. “for leadership.”

“of course.”

he glances up at you, grinning. “jealous?”

“of your hamstrings? wildly.”

he pushes himself upright with a groan and collapses onto the bed beside you, dramatically boneless.

“okay...” he sighs, “real talk. are we actually gonna sleep at a normal time or…”

you glance at the clock. 10:12 p.m.

“...or what?” you ask.

he shrugs. “i don’t know. talk about our feelings. play two truths and a lie. make a series of increasingly bad decisions.”

“tempting” you say. “but i think i’m out of feelings.”

“you sure?” he asks, turning toward you, head propped on his hand. “because earlier, during the circle of trust, i definitely saw emotion in your eyes.”

“that was rage.”

“i find rage very sexy.”

you roll your eyes. “you find everything sexy.”

he pauses. “not true. powerpoint presentations. deeply unsexy.”

you laugh. a real one, loud and sudden and he looks pleased with himself.

“what?” you say, noticing.

“nothing,” he says. “just thinking.”

“about?”

“how weird it is that we ended up here.”

you raise a brow. “in a romantic cult lodge?”

“in the same room. same bed. same… whatever this is.”

he’s closer now. not enough to crowd you, but enough that you feel the warmth radiating off his skin. your knees bump. neither of you pulls away.

“well, you set this up.”

“yeah, i know. but still...”

you tilt your head. “do you regret it?”

“not even a little.”

he looks at you for a long second, like he’s trying to decide something. then his eyes drop.

“you’re in my hoodie.” he says.

“wow. thank you for the update, captain obvious.”

“no, i mean…” he pauses. “you’re still in my hoodie.”

you glance down at the sleeves, bunched around your hands. “is this a problem?”

he shakes his head. “no. just… you should probably know it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

your mouth opens, ready to hit back with some flirty insult but the words don’t come. instead, you look at him a beat too long.

“you always talk this much when you’re nervous?” you say finally, voice quieter now.

“only when i think i’m about to do something stupid.”

“like?”

he doesn’t answer. just keeps looking at you like the answer’s obvious.

your fingers tighten around the hem of the hoodie. his knee presses into yours again, this time deliberate.

“like kiss you.” he says.

you go still. “are you going to?”

his smile flickers, slower this time. “i’d like to.”

“then maybe stop talking and do it.”

so he does.

it’s not rushed. not urgent. just intentional. like he’s been thinking about this since the first time you told him off in a staff meeting, and now that it’s happening, he wants to get it exactly right.

he kisses like he speaks. confident, a little playful, always testing the edges. his hand finds your waist. yours fists in the front of his sweatshirt. there’s no hesitation in the way your mouths move, just heat and muscle memory that shouldn’t exist, but does.

after a moment, you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes glinting with something playful.

“you know,” you say, voice low and teasing, “i’ve always wanted to do this.”

he grins, a slow, knowing smile. “really? all this time, i thought that cold shoulder, the eye rolls, the ‘i’m-so-over-you’ attitude was just you being tough.”

“oh please...” you scoff, but you’re smiling. “that was all hate.”

“hate?” he raises an eyebrow, mock offended. “i always suspected it was just repressed attraction.”

“yeah, sure.” you say, nudging him with your knee. “keep telling yourself that.”

he leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “honestly? i think you’ve been into me since day one. all that ‘hate’ was just a cover-up for the fact that you thought i was too cool for you.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “too cool for me? i was the one who threw the first punch.”

“exactly” he says, “which is code for ‘i’m interested, but i’m also awkward.’”

you bite your lip, thinking how ridiculous yet kind of cute this all feels.

then your fingers find the hem of his hoodie, tugging gently.

“off” you say, barely a whisper.

he looks down at your hand, then back up at you, a mischievous sparkle lighting his eyes. “was that an order?”

“definitely.”

he smirks, sitting up a bit. “well, then… say please.”

you roll your eyes, but the smile never leaves your face. “please.”

he laughs quietly, pulling the hoodie off over his head like a trophy.

you sit up just enough to look at him in the low firelight. his hair’s a little messy, his chest rising and falling, eyes bright.

you touch his chest. lightly, tracing a line from his collarbone to just below his ribs. he twitches under your hand.

“ticklish?” you tease.

“no” he lies. “i’m just emotionally overwhelmed.”

you laugh again, but it catches in your throat when he leans down and kisses your neck. not soft, not featherlight, but with purpose. like he wants to leave a thought behind.

his hands are everywhere. exploring. mapping. learning. he touches you like a puzzle he’s been waiting to solve, like every button undone is a secret, every sigh a new language.

when your shirt’s gone and his jeans are halfway off and you’re both out of breath, you look up at him. flushed, disheveled, ridiculous. and say, “this is a terrible idea.”

“yeah” he breathes, eyes dark. “do you want to stop?”

you pull him down by the front of his waistband.

“that’s what i thought.”

what happens next is messy and slow and fun. it’s not cinematic. it’s not even that graceful. he accidentally knees you in the thigh. you tug his sock off too hard and it hits the wall. at one point he tries to say something sexy and chokes on his own breath.

but it’s good. so good.

he kisses like he’s memorizing you. like he wants to make you laugh and make you beg. your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly, and he shudders. not from pain, but from surprise.

he touches your thigh, then higher, watching your face the whole time. you arch into him, your name falling from his mouth like a promise.

and when it finally happens, when all the ridiculous tension finally snaps, it’s not explosive.

it’s intimate.

his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard, still smiling even as you fall apart together.

after, you lie tangled in the sheets, his hoodie now lost somewhere under the bed, your leg over his hip and his fingers drawing circles on your stomach like he doesn’t want the moment to end.

you stare at the ceiling.

“we are absolutely not talking about this at work” you say.

“agreed.”

“no weird glances across the copy machine.”

“never.”

a pause.

“but” he adds, “we can maybe do it again sometime?”

you glance at him.

he’s grinning.

“i’ll think about it.” you say.

but you’re already smiling too.

day three begins with the kind of awkward optimism only a mandatory leadership retreat can inspire.

you wake up tangled in mingyu’s hoodie, which now smells like campfire and him. it’s too warm, slightly bunched around your hips, but you don’t take it off.

you find him in the kitchenette, making coffee like it’s a lab experiment. precise measurements, silent concentration, a grim kind of determination.

“morning” you say, sliding in beside him, pretending this is normal.

he hands you a mug without looking. “you look like you slept on a bed of spreadsheets.”

“i feel like i did” you mutter, taking a sip. “you?”

“dreamt i was being chased by performance reviews” he says. “woke up in a cold sweat.”

“how corporate trauma of you.”

he snorts into his mug. “don’t diagnose me before coffee.”

you both sip in silence for a few seconds. his arm brushes yours when he lowers the mug, and he doesn’t move away.

you nudge his hip with yours. “so, uh… about last night.”

he raises a brow. “which part? the part where you insulted my hamstrings? or the part where you kissed me first?”

“okay, bold of you to rewrite history like that.”

“what can i say...” he grins. “i’m a storyteller.”

you shake your head, laughing into your coffee.

later, on the partner walk, you fall into step without thinking. the trail winds through pine trees and patches of sunlight, and every now and then he reaches out to steady you. like when you nearly trip on a root, or when a bee flies too close and you squeal louder than you'd like to admit.

“you know” he says, “for someone who claims to be outdoorsy on their dating profile, you’re doing a lot of swatting and stumbling.”

“for someone who can’t touch his toes, you’re awfully smug.”

he grins. “that’s because you find it charming.”

you open your mouth to argue but... fine. maybe you do.

he points at a squirrel making off with someone’s granola bar and mutters, “even the wildlife here is stressed.”

“at least it’s honest,” you say.

he glances over at you, and this time when your shoulders bump, he leans just a little closer. not obviously. just enough that it feels like a secret.

you keep walking.

the workshops in the afternoon feel less painful than usual. maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. maybe it’s mingyu passing you a sticky note with a terrible drawing of your retreat leader mid-lecture. maybe it’s the way you keep catching each other’s eyes and trying not to laugh.

he offers to be your “accountability buddy” during the trust-building activity and then immediately betrays you in a group exercise. you pretend to be outraged. he apologizes with gummy bears and a dramatic bow.

when your hands brush reaching for the same marker, he says, “careful. i bite.”

you roll your eyes and say “noted” but don’t move away.

by the time evening rolls around, it’s cold enough that sharing a blanket on the couch feels justifiable. he drapes it over your laps casually and doesn’t say a word when you lean against his side.

the fire flickers, casting golden shadows over his profile.

“did you know that i can’t actually sing ‘kumbaya’?”

you grin. “i was hoping you couldn’t.”

a pause.

your eyes lock. again.

he kisses you. again.

slower this time. a little longer. like he’s learning the shape of you, one brush of lips at a time.

you smile into it. and when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“still team-building” he murmurs.

“i’ll allow it.”

on the last day of the retreat, there’s a closing circle.

the room smells like whiteboard markers and lemon disinfectant. someone’s playing a spotify playlist called reflect & renew. the volume is too low to be inspiring, but just loud enough to be annoying.

everyone’s handed a blank feedback form and a final question:

what did you learn about yourself this week?

you write: i can survive on granola bars and passive aggression and turn it in without a second thought.

mingyu doesn’t.

he stays behind, pen tapping against his clipboard, brows furrowed in concentration like the question matters more than it should.

you don’t ask, not right away.

but later, on the shuttle ride home, when the trees blur past and the windows fog with soft breath and leftover heat, he says it.

softly. like he’s not sure he means to say it out loud.

“i wrote your name.”

you turn to him.

he’s looking straight ahead, at the back of the seat in front of him.

“on the form. under what i learned.”

you blink.

your chest does something weird and slow.

you want to say something clever. or funny. or soft. maybe all three. but your throat’s too full of whatever this is.

so instead, you just let your shoulder fall against his. let his hand drift close enough that your pinkies touch.

and leave it there.

returning to the office is like stepping into a parallel universe.

the emails are worse. the coffee is worse. the printer is somehow worse.

but everything’s different.

you see it in the way he lingers by your desk instead of breezing past.

in the way your conversations drift. less complaints, more curiosity.

and when he texts at 12:31 p.m. asking “lunch?”, you don’t even pretend to hesitate.

at first, it’s casual.

shared takeout at the back of the break room. eating out of the same box without acknowledging it. him stealing your last dumpling like it’s tradition. you letting him.

then it becomes routine.

tuesday: curry. thursday: overpriced poke. friday: him remembering you don’t like cilantro. you pretending not to notice that he remembered.

the others don’t question it.

you’re assistants. you’re allowed to coordinate.

no one asks why he walks you out some nights.

or why your lipstick keeps fading around 4 p.m.

the supply closet becomes your shared religion.

there’s something hilariously undignified about kissing someone between boxes of toner and spare lanyards. but that’s where it happens most. tucked into the corner, his clipboard jammed under his arm, your breath catching before you even close the door.

it’s never dramatic.

it’s always sudden.

like gravity just... tips.

his hand finds your jaw. yours fists in his shirt. you both laugh too much after. you both leave with your heart doing that thing it’s not supposed to do during work hours.

sometimes he texts you while you’re ten feet away.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] your boss just called his 47-slide deck "visionary" thoughts?

you immediate prison

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] same cell or separate?

you supply closet. ten minutes. no witnesses.

your boss seems pleased lately.

“your tone’s changed” he tells you one morning. “you’re more solution-oriented. less... sharp.”

he thinks it’s the retreat. thinks you came back wiser. calmer. aligned.

maybe he’s not wrong.

but he doesn’t know that the thing that changed isn’t you.

it’s that now, when the workday gets unbearable, when the chaos piles up and the caffeine runs out, there’s someone waiting by the copier with a smirk and a post-it that says:

“lunch?” “you look like you need a minute.” “i’m stealing you. don’t argue.”

and maybe that’s all it takes.

maybe the retreat didn’t fix your job. maybe it didn’t fix your boss.

but it gave you something else.

something stupid and ridiculous and kind of beautiful.

and you’re not giving it back.

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bodhiscurls · 17 days ago

Text

where do we go now? ( clark kent )

cause now i'm half of myself here without you. you're the best in my life and i lost you. it was one-sided hate how i hurt you. (by gracie abrams!) you don't know where he disappears to- there's always excuses: he's caught up at work, stuck in traffic, some stupid alien attack cut him up on his commute. but now more than ever when you need him to show up at a family dinner where you planned to introduce him to your parents, he still comes in pieces and enough is enough.

pairing: clark kent x fem reader (no use of yn)

themes: angst, break up, no happy ending

masterlist.

he's not coming.

you smile sheepishly at your mother who sends you a small smile and she begins to start serving the mains. you've made it past appertisers, skipped out on the drinks and small talk, catching them up on work and laughing over memories- now you're entering dangerous uncertain territory and all you could do is sit and stare at the clock as the minutes passed by.

fourty three minutes have passed by.

your father tried not to shoot you a disapproving glance- it had taken so much work to warm him up to clark. don't trust those journalists, he said with that gruff tone in the same way he had told you to keep playing a sport even after graduating university or when he had changed the tires on your car- you don't blame him for worrying. you've never brought a guy home before so the bar was low.

lower than fourty three minutes late.

"i'm sure, he just got caught up late with work," you try though the words feel stale and your mother reaches out to place a hand on yours in comfort. its eight pm, you think. should the offices be closed by now? you have no idea.

"you are more than welcome to take some back for him," and your heart soars at the kind offer. though a thank you might cement the fact that he's stood you up on your own family dinner.

"he's coming, i'm sure. in fact, i'll just ring and see where he is," you stand shakily, embarrassment creeping up on your neck as you make your way to the stairs. and just as you suspect, he does not answer like he hadn't the past four times. a sigh escapes you and you know that after tonight, you won't have to keep feeling this way.

you and clark have been dating for six months- he occupies the apartment opposite yours and that's how you met. through laundry days and dinner dates, the two of you had started something slow and sweet at the beginning. it was like having sleepovers every single night and when you'd fall asleep in his big strong arms, nothing in the world seemed to matter anymore. you probably spend more time in his than you do your own.

then the lies started to creep in; it started as an offhanded excuse for traffic, then he started "forgetting" date nights- being caught up at work. you knew nothing about the journalism world so gave him the grace he needed and it was so easy to fall back into routine, the small comfortable world you built when you weren't pushing an arguement. and the thing with clark was- he never played nasty, never said things he didn't mean in the heat of the moment. he was thoughtful, patient, let you get it all out then apologises- promising you're the centre of his attention, a sad cycle you've trapped yourself in.

the phone is warm in your hand, like a subtle burn to let you know its still there and you close your eyes. this dinner was important to you- its not often you visit your parents and tell them about the supposed love of your life to which they actually return interest. tonight they were supposed to be getting to know him, to love him the same way you had. if only he could show up.

the door knocks with heavy taps you'd know in any lifetime and you open it wearily.

"hey," comes his breathless greeting, a grin laced on his features, stretching his cheeks as he takes a step forward. he lands a kiss on your cheek sloppily and you don't find yourself leaning into it anymore. it comes and it goes as quickly as it did.

"hey," he loops a finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his. "i am so sorry, this alien attack thing redirected my route like four times- i tried to get here as soon as possible," the words come out in a hurried breath and you furrow your brows, wondering if he's rehearsed this on the way here.

"doesn't matter, thank you for coming," you speak though theres no bite or tone in your voice, just weariness and fatigue of someone who's been let down too many times.

"wait, honey," and you don't grace him an actual reply, just a faint "not here," before tugging his hand in yours as you make your way to the dining room. you've hardly interlocked his fingers in yours, emptily holding his palm and letting go of it as soo as you meet your parents again.

your parents are mid laughter when they stop and spot clark, instantly rising to their feets to greet him. clark's bigger than most humans, instantly filling up the room with his body and his heart and he charms the pants off your parents.

he talks politics with your father, plays into your mothers gossip, tells jokes like all the times he's ran away it's to play stand up comedian and you hate how it just feels so perfect. "wow" your mother mouths across the room, sending you and exaggerated swoony smile and it does make you laugh softly. as if on reaction, clark's ears perk up at the sound, sending you a gentle smile and wrapping his hand under the table around yours.

you lean into his shoulder after the meal, needing to balance the weight before deciding to help your mother clear the table. the dishes you carry are swiped clear, clark clearly a fan of your mother's food and when you land them in the sink with a gentle thud, you feel your mother's hands at your shoulders from behind you.

"darling," she murmurs and its ever so gentle that you can feel the tears gloss over your eyes. "i don't mean to judge but he seems incredible and all but," and you knew the but was coming, "what good can come from a man who loves you in pieces," her whisper cracks open your heart and lays it bare bloodied and bruised.

"mom," you whimper softly in her hold and she's instantly shushing you gently, rocking you back and forth in hug that holds you together firmly. it's not something you didn't know, it's just the first time someone has said it aloud to you and it hurts all the same

"i love him," you breathe, "and i know he loves me," you try.

"and sometimes it's not enough," she strokes your back in comfort and you look up to the ceiling, trying to force those tears back down.

"i know," you clear your throat and she lets you stay like that a little longer. when you return to the living room to find clark's heavy eyes on your figure and dinner wrapped up, you don't meet his gaze.

you kiss your mother and father on the cheek as clark shakes their hand firmly, wrapping your mother in a hug. they wave goodbye to you from the doorstep and watch you get into his car as clark shuts the door behind you.

the engine starts with a soft purr before he pulls out and starts the drive home. the quiet of the night entering your car as you both work your way around the elephant in the room.

he tells you about work to which you reply with nods and one liners and clark senses the shift like it's in the air suffocating him. he parks up on the side and you look around in confusion- this isn't the way home. you look over at him and for once in your life you don't actually know what to think about him.

"do you wanna tell me whats on your mind?" he speaks softly. too softly that it blurs the edges of the cuts he's left on you before and you almost faulter.

"nothing," you get out, because you don't actually know where to start.

"its not nothing if it's got you upset like this, baby," and when he sees you flinch at the pet name you used to adore his heart stills, missing a beat thundering in moment.

"it's you," and the beats stop entirely as he's stuck to the seat. you watch his expression, eyes begging him to just anything but he's stunned into a careful silence.

"it's me?" he asks slowly and you nod, the lump in your throat tightening your voice.

"i can't do this anymore, clark," and the first teardrop glistens in the dark as it falls. "there's only so much i can do, i've tried to hard to be patient- i, i, ah," you groan feel the rush of emotions overwhelm you, "i stretch myself to new limite to make room for all your lies and secrets and i'm breaking clark."

you look up from your lap, years wetting your lashes to face him honestly- he needs to know the damage he's done, "you don't even know what you do to me and it's unfair clark, it hurts," you try and wipe away the tears that fall but a new fresh batch that form and drop and before you know it, the mascara streaks a messy river down your face and you can't stop this.

he doesn't say anything for a moment, focusing on the heavy rise and fall of his chest. he should've known that he was breaking you apart, that he hadn't given you the trust that this relationship needs to work but he's harbouring a secret that could put you in so much more danger if you knew.

but still he tries, "honey, we can fix this," comes an honest admission of stern determination and you pull back, recoiling in anger.

"there is no we, clark," you jab a finger at his chest, "we haven't been on the same team for a while, you've left me on a one vs one each time you disappear with some lame excuse and i have to convince myself that you're not lying or hiding that it's all okay- we," you repeat back to him in a scoff, "i've tried to fix this so don't demean me and dog me down with a 'we'." there's no room for clark to carry on before you're ranting again.

"you were late to family dinner," your voice lowers an octave in defeat- letting him know that tonight was the final straw. "you know how important this was to me, you're the first guy i've brought home and you made me look stupid- then you play happy home pretend like it's nothing and you make me feel stupid too- what kind of asshole does that?" you ask him. he gave you a glimpse of what the future could've looked like if he just let you all the way in and you hate him immensely for it.

"i'll cut back on work, we can spend more time together- i can fix this," he pleads but you shake your head softly.

"i'm done, clark. i think it's time we call it," you nod to yourself more than anything.

his reply comes as quick as it is stubborn, laced with firmness and the fear of letting the best thing happen to him go, "i dont want to."

"i need to." comes your desperate whine.

"but i love you-" and you wince because on any other night it's what would've made smile, laugh and melt into his embrace. now it stands outside the cage you're trapped in, molted into the key that's so close within your grip.

"and its not enough," you counteract, "not when its also determined through actions- when it doesnt come whole- when i get bits of you when you decide to show up like youre superman saving the day," you list off your fingers and clark momentarily stumbles at your comparison. you use it ironically and it being the cause of his relationship failing pricks at his heart, he can feel the migraine coming in already- the you sized hole he's unable to fill.

"relationships arent perfect they dont-" he stumbles and its clearly the wrong thing to say when you cackle loudly in irony.

"oh god i know! ours is far from perfect!" your voice grows a little quieter and settles an air of finality, "love isnt always easy clark, but it shouldnt have to be so fucking hard."

"im calling it now, before we lose more time to this and we wake up so miserable one day suddenly i don't know ten years down the line tethering ourselves to a feeling we thought was enough and i hate both you and me for staying. i'm not happy clark and i cant live like that- i refuse to live like that," you beg and he sighs in defeat.

"im sorry," he murmurs, unsure of what he could say. nothing can change your mind. he's fucked this up and there's no way out of this for him.

"thats nice to hear," you accept, unwilling to forgive him just right now when the feelings are still raw, fresh and tug at the seams of your mind. your fingers find your temples to massage the growing aches and you face the window- looking anywhere other than your doomed lover, "please take me home."

no words are spoken for the remainder of the journey back to your apartment complex. the faint murmurs of billy joel's "piano man" hum alongside the engine and for once it feels like the universe is on your side- there's no traffic for miles, green lights ahead and you get home within minutes. clark however, still gets out the car at lightning speed before you, almost knocking you over to open your door and walks a few steps behind your pace to make sure you get up to the level of your apartments okay.

the final nail in his coffin is when you turn the key to your own apartment door instead of his like you would usually do almost every night and shut it without so much as a look behind. he stands there, pressing his forehead to the cool wooden panel of your door and breathes in heavily.

"fuck," he sighs, the feelings of tonight weighing his body down that he stays there for a couple of minutes before heaving himself up and heading into his own. he however does take one look back behind him only to find nothing changed- the door still shut on him and the sounds of light switches clicking off.

he doesn't blame you one ounce for ending things- you're stronger than he is by miles but that doesn't mean he isn't going to miss you any less.

riya saying hi: REDEEMING MYSELF AFTER THE LAST ONE GUYS ‼️ this one goes out to @velovicy here's a real break up / unhappy ending - no grovelling however because i do fear this one may be unfixable but i love me a bad ending sometimes and hope you liked it too - let me know what you all think! 💘 i love hearing what you guys have to say x

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foolinafable · 1 year ago

Text

your wildest dream, his nightmare

Five Hargreeves x Reader Synopsis: Walking into Max’s diner as a respite after you and Five are seemingly stuck you don’t think you could’ve imagined a better outcome surrounded by various versions of your lover. At the same time, for him it’s nothing more than a bad dream he hopes will end soon. Word count: 760 Tags: Fluff, Jealous Five, Crackfic Note: This small fic because it's funny to imagine jealous Five being jealous of himself

“Come on”

Five grabbed your hand as he led you out of the tube to, probably, another timeline. It must have been a few hours the two of you had been stuck in this place going station to station still with no idea how to get back.

You turned left but instead of being greeted with the usual blankness for Five to scribble about in his notebook you instead were somewhat blinded by the light of a sign.

‘Max’s delicatessen.’ You made eye contact with Five to the side of you before tilting your head with a nod towards the building. He simply followed your lead before quickly grabbing the door to let you in first.

You turned back to smile in thanks when you noticed his shocked expression, head quickly turned back towards the diner at a call of your name to see the whole diner was made up of your lover. Looking back to Five, your Five, in bewilderment a shocked smile on your face.

The look on your face seemed to take him out of his stupor clearing his throat before leading you into the diner- trying to find an empty table for you to sit at. He was quickly stopped by another Five, one sat on his own, and gestured for the two of you to sit opposite him. Five begrudgingly agreed as he realised the restaurant was at max capacity. No spare table in sight.

You quickly shuffled onto the brown bench when the other Five spoke

“It’s rare to see one of you around here” he smiled happy to see you

“Maybe this is not my typical scene” you rebutted a cheeky smile on your face that the Five opposite you seemed to enjoy, dimple now showing from smiling so wide

“Maybe” he breathed out in a laugh

Before you could continue to speak with this version of Five another one appeared in front of you, this one not wearing a suit or vest. He quickly placed down a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich in front of your Five. He then turned to you placing a very familiar drink in front of you

“Your favourite” he declared when you looked confused

“How did you know?” You smiled at him eyebrows furrowing as his cheeks went red

“We all know your favourites” he shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world

“Um- Thanks” you nodded your head in gratitude

“Anything for the missus” he mumbled before leaving to go back to the kitchen

You took a sip of your drink when your Five spoke irritated “What was that about?” a hand possessively stroking at your thigh

“A lot of us having seen our version of her in a long time” the other Five spoke wistfully

“How sad” you stated before turning around in your seat you waved and greeted the Fives around you who all became quite delighted at your attention all greeting you with a similar bravado.

“Okay.” Five declared “I think we are done here” he quickly at up pulling you up with him by grabbing hold of your hand once more

“But we just got here, can’t we stay a little longer and rest?” you asked not wanting to leave. I mean why would you, surrounded by multiple versions of the man who loved you, say no to having his attention on you?

“No, we need to get back to my family in our timeline, come on. We are wasting time.” he rebutted practically pulling you away from the diner seemingly getting even more annoyed as the other Fives shouted goodbyes towards you.

“I didn’t realise I was so annoying, that was a nightmare” Five claimed as you sat on a train hopefully taking you back home

“Sure you weren’t jealous?” you quipped staring at him mischievously

“No” he grumbled arms crossing against his chest

“Then you won’t mind if I-” you spoke moving towards the doors to go back to the diner, quickly shutting up when Five grabbed your hands pulling you back onto the seat beside him. You simply smiled at his look of false ire towards you as the train started to move. Resting your head on his shoulder as he let a smile grace his features giving a kiss to the top of your head.

You hope that at some point you will get to return to the diner- a place you have just coined akin to heaven on earth.

#five imagine #five x reader #five #five hargreeves #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #number five #tua x you #tua imagine #tua x reader #tua s4

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sp0o0kylights · 6 months ago

Text

Sometimes I think of a Steve Harrington that is absolutely exhausted by all the horror and bullshit and trying to keep the kids alive through said horror and bullshit, who watches Eddie rock up to him at the beginning of S4 with a dead eyed, flat stare.

"Steeeeve Harrington." Eddie taunts and peacocks and twirls around him, and all Steve wanted was for a couple months to process the trauma, maybe feel safe enough to start thinking about the future instead of stuck in a never ending anxiety loop of what might happen to Dumbass Near-Deatherson, should Steve go to college or move out of Hawkins (bc all the bad nicknames in the world won't erase the fact that Dustin's family, now. They're all family. And when they need help, they go to Steve.) and now he's suffering the unjust ordeal of being haunted by the high school drug dealer.

"His highness has come down from his castle!" Munson will crow, making a show out of Steve picking up the kids like this is a great battle of wits, a scoreboard between them and not like Steve is half dead on his feet, head aching, dreams full of too many teeth. "Quickly hide behind me, he'll try to cut off your heads!"

"Wouldn't he just cut yours off too?" Lucas asked, though the tone was slightly timid, Sinclair unsure if his joke would be well recieved.

(Steve doesn't care if the kid outright insults him. He still recalls the junkyard, the fight with Billy, the blood staining the kid's headband. Lucas lived, therefore, he can be a shit if wants.)

"Mine? Oh, the King wouldn't dare." Munson tosses his head, full of cartoon energy, too big for his body and grin both. "Many have tried you see, but no one had ever succeeded!"

Steve, equally, does not give a single shit that Eddie Munson has decided to play these games with him--until he realizes he's maybe been a little too exhausted and depressed and morose around the kids.

Watches them getting worried over him, whispering urgently and making dramatic gestures and talking to Robin and suddenly, playing a little tug of war over them the way Munson seems to want feels like a good idea. A way to hide all the rough edges, a way to be fine so they can be fine.

"How about you guys skip the dork brigade tonight," Steve taunts back the next time they're all together, standing like the man he used to be, wearing a dead personality. "And we go do something actually fun instead?"

Eddie laughs, lights up, is all too happy to match him tit for tat, and it's so easy to fake this kind of interaction, rolling his eyes and snapping his gum. Steve could match this energy in his sleep, and never once does Munson catch on that Steve's not doing this for him.

That he's not even looking at him half the time, eyes askew, locked on the kids. Seeing them relax as he banters, seeing Dustin glow as he returns to his favorite position, being the center of attention.

So long as they think he's okay, Steve will be okay. If that means putting up with Munson, then so be it.

Its not like he'll catch on.

Eddie doesnt.

(Or rather, he does--but Its months and several deaths later, when they're in the RV, chasing what feels like literal demons, does it dawn on Eddie what Steve is doing.

Has been doing, the whole time.

Steve, sassy, ridiculous, jock- brained Steve makes the mistake of doing it again, using the same trick he had on the kids to convince them he was fine on Eddie. To further convince Eddie that they were fine as a group.

That they'll survive, they'll figure it out, they'll make it.

Loudly bantering with dead eyes, smiling with a mouth robotically locked in. Jokes on jokes on jokes and all of them making the kids take their minds off VecnaHenryOne to screech ineffectively at their babysitter. Winks tossed to the girls, who both roll their eyed at him. A sly look given to Eddie, to include him.

Its then, that Eddie decides to cement his life with Steve's. Because this loyal bastard of a paladin is too good hearted to die, too protective to not try it anyway. The idiot is cutting himself to ribbons to tie them all together and Eddie can't undo the damage but he can grab all the pieces he can, loop them together.

He can make those dead eyes light up again.

And he does.

This time when things are over Steve finds himself unable to pull those little tricks of his. Every time he slides the mask over his face Eddie rips it right back off again.

They fight, a lot, until they start kissing instead and for a while that also, somehow, feels like fighting but Eddie's real good at this. The emotional part, not so much the kissing, but he knows how to draw Steve out. How to break down walls, and annoying his real personality out.

The kissing was just an odd little side benefit.

A thing they don't talk about.

There's a benefit to it, one he doesn't look very hard into, until strangely, one day, Eddie wakes with Steve's head pillowed on his shoulder and comes to the abrupt conclusion that he's screwed.

Or so he thinks--until bright, loving eyes blink awake, and turn on him, and Eddie realizes just how long it's been since they looked dead.

He wonders, vaguely, how long it'll take for Steve to catch on, that this just got serious.

Will laugh at himself when he learns that Steve already knew.

Guess that's what he gets for finally paying attention.)

#steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #idk what this is #im having emotions

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bonus-links · 1 month ago

Note

*waiting eagerly and patiently for directors commentary* :)

IT'S DONE RAHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter but I am REALLY excited to move on to what's next!!!!! i have been waiting literal years to get here,,,,

starting off with a few things: these frames are the same design from pt. 9, just damaged now. it's also uh. literally the same drawings KJSNFKJG listen sometimes I just have to make things easier on myself. also convenient crack through the hero of time's right eye >:-)

okay so the hero of time lore gives me a bit of a headache. let it be known that I understand in wolf's timeline, the events of OOT technically never happened. He knows the "hero of time" moniker bc he's met him, and i could've SWORN that name is mentioned if not somewhere in TP then in the TP manga. suspend ur disbelief for me lol

Anyway the idea is basically that post-game Wolf has done some digging to track down the person the Hero's Shade was when he was alive. I like to imagine he had some kind of bargain with Zelda where if he agreed to come to certain events she'd let him dig around in what survived of the archives after lol. I actually got stuck on this panel for a while trying to think of some other imagery that got this idea across without being so,,,idk on the nose? but i couldn't think of anything so i went with this HAHA. Even if Mask wasn't technically the "hero" in this timeline, I think he still ended up being a prominent figure, and some documentation of him would exist. An unfinished portrait, a text about the history of the royal guard, military records, correspondence between him and the castle, etc.

ALSO ALSO. how do they know they're talking about the same hero of time? well, they don't. they're making an educated guess lol. obviously whoever made this statue of the Hero of Time couldn't make it look exactly like him, but I feel like Wolf has noticed enough similarities between depictions to be like. hey wait a second

wake is trying to give a pep talk here like "come on guys, going on adventures is what we do!!" meanwhile Wolf and Loft are both like. yeah i guess leaving our loved ones behind with little notice to go on dangerous missions we may never return from IS what we do.....

speaking of which Loft is maybe technically being a little bit of a hypocrite here but I really think he's just trying to make sure Wake doesn't make the same mistake he did lol. he's feeling guilty

one of many things I really regret abt this chapter is not having Tetra and Loft have a conversation similar to the one he and BOTW Zelda have. I feel like Tetra's experience of getting to grow up outside of the pressure of the royal family or her role and then basically having it forced on her during the events of WW would be very valuable for him to hear. I had so many things I was trying to juggle this chapter and somehow that just slipped through the cracks 😭 im sorry tetra.

AT LAST!!! ANNA FROM FROZEN!!! when all that was going down a few weeks ago i was like GUYS GUYS WAIT. HE'S ALMOST HERE. does this mean I have to get a new icon now

in case its not clear (and it probably isn't) he's in the ALTTP lost woods!

okay so some of you may have noticed this, but up until now we've basically been following the thread of mainline games, starting where the timeline merged and working our way back to where it split in OOT. ALTTP is technically part of that, as the timeline where the Hero of Time dies. I have them all connected through the Lost Woods. The pitch for this was basically "wouldn't it be so fucking funny if Mage could've joined the story way earlier but didn't bc he was the only one with enough sense and also enough gall to just throw something through it." and then I couldn't NOT do that

so on that note, this is the BOTW lost woods. If you look closely, you can see Wolf in the distance.

I wanted to do something to establish him as a magic user! he could have just pulled these out of his bag but where's the fun in that. you might also notice that he's not wet because the rain isn't actually hitting him

ALTTP ZELDA MY BELOVED!!!! that's all

that's all i've got for now!!! bonus links turned 3 years old 3 days ago which is. wild. thank you all for sticking with this story for so long!!!

#directors commentary #bonus content

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ask-the-rag-dolly · 1 month ago

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ragatha is NOT abstracting* and i will bury myself six foot under that hill

* well , i don't think she'll FULLY abstract . _____

i know this may be shocking coming from Me , the ragatha angst enjoyer , who made an entire au where she's having a bad day 24/7 . i truly , do not believe that ragatha's going to get killed off . just . hear me out . sit down on this chair .

it's not even that she's my favorite character and i don't want her to die . the opposite , actually , i eat ragatha abstraction fanfics up . my problems are more ... well , it lies more on the writing .

first of all , let's remember what tadc is for a second ; it's a tonally hopeful show with messages about community and not being truly alone . even in episode 5 , where ragatha Goes Through It , it has a glimmer of hope through jax — where he finds a friend in pomni .

it's why i truly believe she'll have some form of positive development , because if Jax , the character that gooseworx said who's Most deserved to be stuck in the circus , can be happy ... then why couldn't ragatha ?

also . i Love assholes with repressed trauma as much as the next guy , but it'll be weird to make the guy who's been antagonistic to most of the cast thus far find more happiness than ..... the clearly-traumatized woman ...........

when you write a story with mentally ill characters and a hopeful message ... what does it say when you kill off one of them ? what does it say to the audience that relates to that character ? here's a hint — stuff that i would find IFFY to put in your show .

obviously , you can do literally anything as a writer , but picture this ; imagine setting up a character like ragatha . someone who has gone through abuse and a lot of trauma . desperate for a community to the point she grasps for any scraps of validation she gets . you put her in a show where every character find some form of hope in the situation they're in . she has shown herself to harbor some form of self-loathing .

by that point , you should see my problem with killing her off . once more : if she dies , what does it say to the audience who relates to that character ?

and now for my next question — what would it add to the show ? what message does it send and how does it add to the theme ? because ... any of the answers to those questions i can think of are NOT good answers considering the last paragraphs .

" it'll show that people truly cares even when you're gone " we'll have episode 2 again , but this time at the cost of a character we've gotten to know for the last five episodes . it'll make ragatha's time in the show a Total Waste . like cool , all she's been set up for the last five episodes is to Die ...

i sure do hope we don't have another dead character who tells the same message of people caring about you when you're gone and also had an entire funeral scene which will make all of this build-up so redundant — oh wait his name is kaufmo .

at that point you could just remove her and put kaufmo in her place , because it's just the Same Message being told . it'll be impactful to see a main character dying ... if that character isn't going to essentially make all of their scenes redundant in hindsight .

" it'll give the cast character development " but not ragatha ?? i will be real with you i will be so Mad if ragatha gets killed off as a catalyst for jax to have an epiphany or character development . like genuinely that would make me instantly drop the show , do Not get me started .

even then , the thing that's going on with ragatha thus far is her thinking nobody cares for her despite that it's the Opposite . by giving the other characters development instead of her in Her Own Arc is Terrible Writing and i'm not going to budge on that .

" it'll mark a tonal shift " an answer i'm slightly okay with , but let's take the above paragraphs again — it'll be iffy nonetheless . do i Love the idea of an unsatisfying character arc where it suddenly ends , therefore breaking the formula that's been set since the beginning ? yes ! would i love it in this specific case considering the context of the show and its themes ? very much Not !

i know these arguments are more of an opinionated , ' think of how that'll work into the story ' rather than actual proof , but when it comes to making predictions , the tadc fandom doesn't really stop and think about how it adds to a character or story beyond It'll Be Shocking . for this theory specifically , i can't see a Good narrative reason to kill off ragatha without stepping on at least one land mine . as someone familiar with writing stories with mentally ill characters — it'll get Weird quick !

do i accept that there could be a Tiny possibility that ragatha Does abstract ? absolutely . i do trust gooseworx's ability as a writer enough to Maybe make this sting less when it actually does happen , but i'll very much criticize it .

so ! i don't think she Wouldn't abstract 100% though . because by this point it's inevitable that she'll sink into the darkness in some way . keep in mind that Barely Anything goes right for this girl . i don't think she'll die , but a very public mental breakdown is inevitable . at most , i see a fake-out abstraction . you know . one where she gets pulled out of it at the last second . just to scare the fans .

personally , do you know what would be more impactful than a death ? a character that fully believes she'll die alone and unloved being proven Wrong . episode 5 has shown how the other characters Care for her . imagine her spiraling and thinking that nobody cares if she abstracts , only to realize that there are people by her side . shit that would actually make me cry , i'm not gonna lie .

she will get a BIG group hug and she'll cry and i would also cry and we crew and we crode and i don't know maybe i'll be wrong Shrugs let's see this post age like milk LOL

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc ragatha #[ ooc ]#[ ESSAY WARNING ]#tadc spoilers

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thegreatgoatby · 1 month ago

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Here's how I think each of the digital circus members got stuck in the game, based on what we learnt in episode 5

Going in order of who I think arrived first, I think Kinger got there because he worked on the game. He mentioned 7 years of computer science for this and also seemed to know a lot about the game. And if it's true he got there first, that would mean he's been in the game for multiple years for the building to be abandoned now. This would also explain why he is so crazy, being stuck there for years is bound to make anyone lose their mind.

Ragatha in ep 5 said that she worked in real estate, so I think she could have been trying to sell the building or was looking it over and got stuck in the game from there. Goose also said she arrived after Kinger.

Jax I have no idea. There's not a single clue I have to how he got there. I like to think that he was just a pathetic loser and was being bullied into going into an abandoned building like in those movies. I don't think this is true at all but it'd just be funny as hell since I have no other theory.

Gangle I think had the darkest reason for ending up in the digital circus. I honestly think she was going into the abandoned building to kill herself. Based on a lot of things she said, I think she had given up on life and was planning to end it before she got trapped.

Zooble might have been exploring the abandoned C & A building just for fun, just based on their one line in ep 5.

Pomni I think had the same reason as zooble, exploring an abandoned building just for fun and ended up trapped in it. But, since Pomni said she posted videos about it, I wonder if that's how they could end up being saved. If someone saw Pomni's video. I don't know how she would post it if she got stuck, but maybe someone finds her camera or something and sees the footage. Just throwing ideas out there.

Also have multiple reasons for believing the C & A building is abandoned, based on the imagery of the computer being old. Also the fact that I think the AI in the game is starting to glitch out now because of how old the game is. But that's just a theory, a game theory.

Yeah that's all. just some random ideas thrown out there cause I really enjoyed episode 5 👍

#the amazing digital circus #tadc theory #tadc gangle #tadc ragatha #tadc jax #tadc pomni #tadc zooble #tadc kinger #tadc #digital circus #tadc episode 5 #tadc ep 5

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thebestandworstdayofjune · 9 days ago

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no one's ever had me, not like you

summary: Clark is late for bookclub, and his coworkers beat him there. Meddling ensues wc: 3.5k+ a/n: previous part here!. I don't think that it is strictly necessary to read the first part before diving in, but it might help to see their vibe prior to diving into this one! Please feel free to send any requests my way! warnings: general fluff, reader owns a bookstore, reader has no idea about clark’s powers/secret identity, meddling friends

“Are you sure we shouldn’t give him a quick call dear?” “We wouldn’t want him to be caught in the middle of all this-”

“And he would do the same for us!”

The chatter only increased, with voices overlapping and getting louder by the second. You were leaning against the front door of the shop, watching what seemed to be a giant in deep sea diver gear being lured away from your street by Superman. You hadn’t met the man, but you were grateful that he always managed to minimize as much of the damage to Metropolis as he could. You had a hefty insurance policy for the First Fable, passed down at your grandmother’s insistence after several renovations prior to her passing away. It seemed that in her lifetime, the monster of the week had a habit of thinking the shop was a welcome mat. Somehow, you had gotten lucky since taking over the shop. Superman had managed to lead all of his foes a safe distance away and the phone book with all of the store’s typical repair people was gathering dust in the back office.

“I’m sure he’s alright, ladies. Clark has a talent for keeping out of trouble.” you did your best to sound confident, but you had a bad habit of worrying after him. Despite his spotless track record in terms of gigantic monsters and threats, Clark was a bit clumsy and bumbly in general. You couldn’t blame them for worrying after him. Regardless, Superman was a small speck in the sky at this point, so you made your way back to the circle of mismatched chairs in front of the new releases display. Hopefully, Clark was on his way and far from the threat of being smushed.

The members of the Tender Hearts Book Club had almost adopted him in a way. He adored all of the ladies and did his best to never miss a meeting.You’d started the club hoping to connect with the longtime regulars of the store when you’d taken it over. You were so worried you would end up sitting in the shop alone, Clark had insisted on attending ‘so there’s at least one inaugural member’. You were blessed with several attendees, but now Clark was stuck- not that he’d use that exact verbage. Every month, he came with notes on the chosen book and some kind of midwestern hot dish without fail. You constantly insisted that the food was unnecessary, you had plenty of snacks stocked, but he only ever replied that his mother would be disappointed if he showed up empty handed.

Rhonda, the kind woman who owned the florist’s shop just down the street, had threatened to stop the weekly flower delivery if you so much as hinted the food was unnecessary one more time. Tammy, who always ended up with the leftovers for her twins, had seconded the motion, and your protests died there. It didn’t hurt that Clark always brought a separate container of extras for you, knowing that you’d never take them from the kids- and that you had a nasty habit of forgetting to pack lunch for yourself. The day following book club rivaled the actual event for your favorite time of the month, and you weren’t too proud to admit that Clark’s cooking was the main reason.

Despite his habit to be tardy for work, it was strange for him to be running so late for this. After he’d seen you struggling to pull a particularly heavy armchair into the circle, he was always twenty minutes early and ready to move all of the chairs himself, despite your protests.

Jeanie, a kind woman who distinctly reminded you of your grandmother in a way that made your heart warm, patted the back of your usual seat, a gentle smile on her face. Jeanie had been a staple at First Fable before you were even born. You gave her your best attempt at a smile and sank into the plush blue arm chair.

It was a popular conspiracy theory amongst the rest of the club that Clark was ‘sweet on you’, if anyone else was heading the charge. Rhonda, on the other hand, usually preferred more colorful vocabulary. She looked sweet in her pollen smudged apron, but she was always responsible for choosing the books that had Clark blushing for the full hour the club met. And her quest to make his face turn endearingly red didn’t stop with her literature selections.

“He did help you hang that new shelf, didn’t he, dear?” Dora asked, placing a mug of steaming tea in your hands. Dora and Jeanie both had a habit of caretaking anyone in their sight. You had to imagine that was why they were still desperately in love after forty years.

“Oh excellent, we are getting around to this early!” Tammy laughed, crossing her legs and steepling her fingers together jokingly.

You fought back a groan, nodding into your mug. “We took care of it over the weekend.” You tried to brush it off, but there was more to the story. You’d mentioned offhandedly that you were thinking about creating a new display of local authors, and before you knew it, Clark was volunteering. And if you’d discovered he looks very cute with a crease between his brows and a pencil tucked behind his ear, you were going to keep that to yourself.

“You mean he took care of it.” Rhonda said with a smirk. “We all know that he wouldn’t let you within five feet of a ladder.”

“He’s very protective.” Jeanie added, eyes shining.

“As if she isn’t!” Tammy cackled. You ducked your head low, hoping to avoid further scrutiny while knowing that this would only make it worse. “You stopped stocking that one, author-”

“James Arnold,” Jeanie supplied.

“Right, him! He made one critical observation about Clark’s article, and you haven’t restocked his book since.”

“In all fairness, it hasn’t exactly sold out either.” you muttered into your mug. You all knew it was improperly shelved in the back corner of the store, but they spared you from that reminder.

Their peals of laughter felt warm and kind, thankfully. You were the youngest member of the group by far, everyone else having a good fifteen years on you, but they were among your truest friends, and you knew they meant no harm with their teasing.

You’d started the Tender Hearts Club soon after taking over the shop. You were missing your grandmother dearly, and this felt like a way to keep a part of her in your life. You hadn’t been wrong, they all had countless stories about her. But even more so, you’d found more comfort amongst these women than you could have ever predicted. The jingling of the bell over the door- also installed by Clark- broke you from your thoughts.

“Are we sure this is the right place?” Jimmy Olsen’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze assessing the rows of shelves. Your gaze snapped to the front door, where a group of people you had only seen in passing, mostly in photographs scattered around Clark’s apartment, were clustered in the entry way of your bookstore.

“You are the girl from the picture on his desk? Clark’s desk, I mean.” You were almost certain that was Cat Grant, whose gossip column was a guilty pleasure of yours. You offered her a sheepish wave, shoulders hunched slightly.

“You’re all being absolute freaks. You promised me you wouldn’t be freaks if I let you come with me.” Lois grumbled. She glared at them, before her face quickly lit up with a smile as she made her way towards you. “It’s so nice to meet you! Sorry we’re late, there was a bit of a giant gorilla monster situation at 34th and Main.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you said with a smile, standing and making your way over to the small group. “...I think” you added, mostly to yourself as you noticed Steve and Jimmy horsing around. They were very close to toppling your new releases display.

“Boys!” Lois snapped. They both instantly straightened, and had the decency to look a little ashamed. Cat rolled her eyes, adjusting her hair and shuffling her large tote to the other shoulder.

“Can I, um” you paused, unsure of how to proceed. “Can I help you all with something?”

“We’re here for the club, man!” Steve called, arms raised above his head like his team had just scored a winning goal.

You blinked, doing your best to wrap your head around the situation. “The book club?” you asked, confusion obvious in your voice.

You could hear the ladies behind you laughing softly. Lois’ brow quirked, clearly amused. “Is there another club here on Thursdays?” All you could do was shake your head. “Then yes, the book club.”

You nodded slowly, sure that you were looking positively befuddled. And then, the finer details started to click. Lois had the book of the month tucked under her arm, small post it notes sticking out on all sides. Steve’s mass market paperback looked somehow thoroughly worn, despite the book coming out less than a month ago. Cat dug around in her tote for a moment, before pulling out two copies of the book. The one she handed to Jimmy looked like it’d barely been touched, but Cat’s was dog-eared in a couple of places. You did your best not to cringe over that.

“Right, okay!” you nodded once, and then a few more times as you tried to clear your head. “Great! We love new faces.”

“Or we would if there ever were any,” Rhonda muttered, earning a light round of laughter from the rest of the regulars.

“I’ll just go ahead and grab some more chairs from the basement! There’s coffee and tea on the counter, make yourselves comfortable!” you called, already headed for the door to the stairs.

Jeanie and Dora were already out of their chairs, fixing a few mugs of tea. Cat and Rhonda were surveying the romance shelves with a militant energy about them. Lois was smiling with Jimmy while Tammy showed off pictures of her toddlers, an entry level requirement for admittance to the club. You smiled to yourself, surprised but delighted by how easily the two groups seemed to be meshing already. You nodded once before spinning on your heel and heading downstairs to grab the folding chairs you typically only needed during author events.

The stairs to the basement were rickety and old- and would stay that way if you had anything to say about it. It wasn’t that Clark ever seemed like he was burning out or over exerting himself- how he had endless energy without a crippling caffeine addiction you’ll never know. It was more so that you didn’t want him to think you were only keeping him around to help you with things.

You made sure to avoid the second step from the bottom that tended to wobble and ducked underneath the lightbulb that was dangling from the ceiling in a way that you were sure would be concerning if you knew anything about electrical engineering. You picked your way across the cluttered space, promising yourself for the thousandth time that you would go through things down here next week, and grabbed a few chairs under your arms.

You were about to turn around when a soft “ow” broke your concentration. You turned to see Clark, brows scrunched together and rubbing at a spot in between his eyebrows. Okay, the lightbulb situation was getting moved up the to do list. You were about to ask if he was okay, when the air was knocked from your lungs.

Clark was beaming at you, tension melting from his shoulders as he opened his arms for you. The chairs were quickly forgotten as you slotted yourself against him, standing on your tip toes to be able to place your arms around his neck.

Clark’s arms were tight around your waist, pulling you up against him to the point that your feet were dangling in the air beneath you. “Hey, Wormy.”

From anyone else, the nickname would have grated on your nerves like no other. Clark had come into the store during storytime, back when you barely knew each other. You were still figuring out how you fit into running First Fable, and Saturday Storytime was among the few moments throughout the week that you felt at ease. You’d been reading a book about a family of book worms, complete with voices and a homemade puppet to boot. A few of the younger kids had taken to calling you Miss Worm, and it made everyone giggle.

You’d regretted foregoing a correction when Clark had used the name later at the register. But he had the biggest smile on his face, and he seemed so earnest about it, you’d let it slide. The name had gone through several evolutions, until he landed on just ‘Wormy’. For some reason, it fit.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Seems like you have a pretty good excuse, what with the giant scary monster of it all.” you began to laugh, but it died in your throat when you felt him tense beneath him.

“Could’ve done with a warning about the pack of wolves waiting upstairs.” he said, voice slightly muffled by your hair, distracting you from his weird reaction to the monster mention.

You squeezed him tighter for a moment, before he gently placed you back on the floor. “I thought they were your friends, Clark.”

“They are my friends, but when Lois finds something she deems worth investigating, it’s hard to get her to drop it.” he said sheepishly, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he winced.

“Tender Hearts is worth investigating?” you asked, confused.

“I think they’re more interested in you.” The chuckle he let out mid explanation did little to stop your heart starting to pound. You shook your head, as if that would get the thoughts to line up and start making sense. Clark’s hands rested your arms, and his breathing became slightly exaggerated. You did your best to copy him. “It’s not like that, I promise.” You nodded, but it did little to calm you. Clark’s breaths got bigger and slower as he brought one of your hands to rest on his chest.

He didn’t say anything, just nodding encouragingly when your breaths started to slow. You could feel your heart rate evening out along with the slight ringing in your ears that you hadn’t noticed until it faded.

“I dodged their invitations for after work drinks too many times, and Lois got curious. I didn’t think they were going to show up.”

Your head tilted forward to lean against his chest. “If it makes you feel any better, it seems like most of them read the book.”

Clark threw his head back and laughed. “Golly! What a month to start!” Your brow creased for a moment, as you attempted to make sense of what he was implying. And then it hit you, Rhonda had chosen the book this month.

And suddenly, the tears were running down your cheeks and you couldn’t catch your breath for an entirely different reason. “Oh god! They had to read the part-”

“With the cake in the stable?” Clark supplied when the words were swallowed by peals of laughter. You nodded, arm finding his shoulder to support yourself as your legs started to wobble.

You took a few steadying breaths, and Clark followed suit, wiping tears from his eyes. “Talk about trial by fire.” The both of you took steadying breaths, before seemingly remembering that there were, in fact, many people upstairs waiting on you both. Clark ducked around you, scooping up all four chairs and gesturing for you to head upstairs. “I can carry a couple, you know?”

“When have I ever let you carry anything?” Clark asked, not looking back.

You stopped short, hit with the realization that Clark rarely let you carry anything. Whether it was chairs or groceries or frustration with the poorly managed tax recorders your grandmother had left behind. For as long as you could count Clark Kent as a friend, he refused to let you carry things alone. It felt so natural, you hadn’t even noticed until now.

“You comin’ Wormy?” Clark had turned on the stairs, backlit by the light from the first floor. It wasn’t that you were oblivious to Clark’s good looks, but something about that sight knocked the wind right out of you. You could only nod.

Somehow, the meeting had gone shockingly well. Lois had a fully annotated copy of her book and prepared several talking points about the realism of the small town politics that were mentioned maybe twice in the entirety of the four hundred page cowboy romance novel that had Clark blushing every time he squished himself into the reading nook in the back of the store.

Cat enjoyed making quips with Rhonda that had Clark’s face beet red after ten minutes, and even though it was incredibly clear that Jimmy hadn’t read the book, you were delighted to have him there. It was clear that he and Clark were close, and it was so nice to see someone else appreciate Clark the way you did.

Your regulars were delighted to have the team from The Planet. Jeanie and Dora had made them all promise to come back next month five times over. Rhonda had given Steve half a pack of tissues when he was somehow moved to tears by the convoluted third act break up that made little sense to everyone else, but seemed to be a sore spot for him. You made a mental note to try and steer away future picks from romantic strife, at least for the next few months.

Tammy had insisted that Lois choose the book for next month, as a welcome to the family gesture. Lois had tried to refute the offer, but the rest of the ladies had insisted. If you trusted Lois Lane any less, you’d be dreading the 500 page Cronkite biography. You were looking forward to it, but that might have more to do with Clark’s promise to read it to you during your weekly refresh of the shop. He knew that nonfiction had a habit of putting you to sleep, and that you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you showed up to next month’s meeting unprepared. He had a habit of solving problems before they could really bother you.

“I’ll be right back.” Clark’s head snapped up from where he was throwing paper plates into the large garbage bag he was lugging around the shop. His eyebrows were about to disappear into his forehead, and the confused look on his face stopped you dead in your tracks. You set the two chairs you had under each arm down, hand finding its way to your hip. “What?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Clark, don't be silly! It’s fine!” you went to pick up the chairs again, but the sound of your full name from across the room had your heart thundering. You couldn’t remember the last time that he had called you anything besides some variant of Wormy.

He was beside you now, gently easing the chairs from your grip. “The second stair from the bottom is still loose- don’t think I forgot.” You tried to interject, but the look in his eyes made the words die in your throat. “I don’t like you carrying this alone.”

“It’s a few folding chairs,” you shrugged, eyes fixed on your shoes. You were willfully missing the point.

“Hey,” Clark had ducked down, neck craning to make eye contact with you. He was smiling, fully aware of how ridiculous he was being. And you couldn’t help it, you were grinning too. “There she is.” he said, more so to himself than to you. His dimples were on full display, and just like always they made your heart pound in a way that you weren’t ready to fully explore. “You’ll let me take these downstairs?” you nodded, knowing that your face was heating up and there was little you could do to stop it. “Walk you home after?” you nodded again. He leaned up, placing a kiss on your forehead before straightening out and grabbing the chairs.

He smiled to himself, scooping up all the chairs and making quick work of taking them downstairs. Clark decided to take it easy on you for the rest of your night as he listened to your heart pounding away in your chest from the basement. There was time for him to push you on it later, notice the way his smile made it rush, the way him tucking the stubborn front pieces of hair behind your ear made it thud in your chest. There was no need to rush you along, not when something as simple as helping you clean up after bookclub- something he would do for anyone. He decided then and there that tomorrow he would be fixing the second stair from the bottom no matter how much you insisted you could call a handy man for it. And then, he was going to make it clear how devastatingly in love with you he is.

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