#so I want their designs to hint at each other a lot

[tsukaretartist]

Akechi sketches referenced from P5 dancing

Very long rambling/analysis(?) about his dance and character below:

I genuinely can't believe how much characterization and storytelling was put into his roughly three minute dance in a silly dancing game spinoff. The entire dance clearly imitates Akechi's character throughout Persona 5 (with the cracks in his detective prince persona showing at the beginning and him completely losing it by the end). I'll do my best to skip over the obvious stuff so this isn't too boring.

The dance starts with Akechi looking sad and miserable. I find this pretty telling, as while it's never explicitly stated that Akechi is depressed, there are certainly a lot of hints. His line of "god, I live for this" during his all out attack also says a lot. Of course, the sad expression almost immediately fades once he takes on his role as the "detective prince."

During the first section of the dance, he starts off casual and completely in control. As time goes on, the mask begins to slip a little, as he throws quick evil smirks towards the camera. Towards the end, he slips up slightly, and for a moment his movements become extremely robotic and rigid. I could be overthinking this, but I think this could be meant to mirror his phone call with Shido. The slip up is him failing to kill Joker, after which he behaves a lot more timidly than usual when talking to Shido. He even struggles more during his interviews and gets distracted with his thoughts.

Just like in P5, a wild Joker then appears! Initially, the two are perfectly in sync with each other, but Akechi starts to feel like he's loosing. I think this is a parallel to their first fight in the engine room. Just like Morgana said, Akechi begins throwing a tantrum like a little kid. You can see him flailing around wildly behind Joker just after the two jump (I don't know dancing terms sorry), while Joker carries on, seemingly unbothered. If you slow it down though, you can see that Joker clearly looks sad and regretful, despite dancing normally. (This says a lot about Joker's character too, but that's an entirely different analysis.)

Mirroring the game, Akechi tries to pull himself together and keeps dancing, the equivalent of fighting in P5. The two dance a bit more, which is analogous to the black mask fight.

For me, one of the saddest parts of the dance is when the two lean in towards each other, before pulling away. The two move in again, closer this time, and you can see Akechi screaming angrily at Joker. Joker is saying something too, probably desperately trying to convince Akechi to join him despite everything that's happened.

But it's not enough. Akechi pushes him away, and is left alone again. You can see Akechi walking over the line for the watertight door as Joker goes the other way, literally sealing their fates. Akechi seems incredibly upset through both his face and body language, though it's hard to guess at who. My guess would be he hates both himself and Joker, though his "hatred" towards both is very complicated.

After this, his dancing somehow becomes even more unhinged. He seemingly can't control his body, his motions are robotic and jerky, and for the most part he isn't smiling any more. While he was dancing somewhat robotically before, this could also be a reference to cognitive Akechi revealing that Akechi was just a puppet the entire time.

At the very end, his head whips around towards the camera, and his expression is just...completely empty. At this point, Akechi has lost everything. His mother is gone, Joker is on the other side of the door, and he won't get his revenge on Shido the way he wanted to. All that's left for him is to die.

If this was at all interesting to you, the channel "Designing For" has a really good video analyzing Akechi's dance. It goes into a lot more depth on the actual dancing aspect, which is something I know nothing about.

[mournthebird]

Apricot Toast.

summary: Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Mentions of past SA | Flashbacks of SA | Flashbacks of torture | Vulgar language | Hints to ED due to trauma

a/n: This 'chapter' includes brief scenes of active SA as well as heavily implied SA acts so be warned. Flashback scenes with more detailed torture & slightly suggestive scene with reader because he's confused :( It also ended up being a bit longer to make up for the last few shorter chapters. I'll be posting all of this on my A03 in case it gets too much for Tumblr. I hope you enjoy even though its a little more sad.

Italicized parts are flashbacks. Unedited. ;; wc: 6.8k

There were a lot of things that he endured. A lot of things he had to relearn and break free from.

One thing had him by a vice.

Kindness wasn't free. Food wasn't free. Neither was water. Or blankets. Or being spared a hit.

You had yet to ask him, but he knew you'd eventually expect it. Handlers never asked for it, they just did it. Some expected it.

His mind raced with thoughts, when should he do it? Should he just go up to you and begin? Or should he wait for your command to do so? He wasn't sure, every handler was different. Each one liked him to behave and act in conflicting ways, it always made the other angry. Sometimes he thought they did it on purpose just to have an excuse to beat him.

You were making breakfast, taking care to prepare something nourishing and comforting for the morning meal. His eating habits had been showing marked improvement lately, gradually expanding beyond the previous limitations that had restricted his diet to only three specific items. You cooked the items and hummed to yourself, a perfectly cooked egg, a well-seasoned sausage patty, and melted cheese - all coming together between the toasted halves of a lightly buttered English muffin.

It honestly sounded delicious, and you were craving it the second you woke up.

As you continued your preparations at the stovetop, he made his way into the kitchen with quiet steps, his legs seeming to move of their own accord, carrying him forward despite apparent fatigue.

Your focus remained entirely on the stove, your attention so thoroughly absorbed in the preparation of the meal that you failed to notice his presence initially as he positioned himself a few feet behind where you worked.

He swallowed.

"Get down," its handler shoved it roughly to the floor, causing its knees to collide painfully with the hardwood surface. It fought back the natural instinct to wince or show any sign of discomfort, instead raising its gaze cautiously to meet its handler's eyes. The handler's demeanor radiated an aura of anger this morning, more intense than usual.

The aroma of freshly prepared food wafted through the air, drawing the asset involuntarily from its designated corner. The standard-issue nutrient bags it was given to eat contained nothing but bland, lifeless substance.

The daily portions of pale, creamy mush possessed neither taste nor texture, just a starchy consistency that served only to fill its stomach. Though, some days it was lucky to get that and not an IV of nutrients instead, leaving its belly to grumble and growl desperately. It yearned for something with actual flavor, real sustenance.

But such privileges as real food had to be earned through compliance and good behavior, a fact that had been deeply ingrained in its consciousness. It understood that only through proving its worth to its handlers would it ever be granted access to anything beyond its basic provisions.

"You want food? Earn it." The handler's voice cut through the silence as he stood motionless, arms crossed firmly against his chest while scrutinizing the asset with calculating eyes. The threat hung heavy in the air - one slight misstep, one wrong twitch, and the familiar sharp sting of a calloused hand would strike its tender cheeks with practiced precision.

The hot, searing burn of electricity would shoot mercilessly through its neck, coursing down along its flesh shoulder like liquid fire before being abruptly halted by the cold, unnatural presence of foreign metal on the other side.

It fought to maintain perfect stillness, muscles trembling with the effort to show no reaction as its handler turned the burner to low and began to unclasp the heavy leather belt buckle.

It ignored how its mouth began to automatically salivate.

"Soldat?"

Your voice gently pierced through the thick fog of his consciousness as he blinked slowly, struggling to clear the distant, haunting glaze from his eyes. He remained caught in the web of memories he desperately wanted to shed, yet found himself unable to access the precious few recollections he yearned to preserve, leaving him suspended in an uncomfortable limbo between remembering and forgetting.

The things he wanted to forget remained. The ones he wished to remember were just out of reach.

He turned his attention to you with an expression devoid of any discernible emotion, his vacant gaze fixed upon your movements as you busied yourself with food preparation in the kitchen.

"I figured we could try introducing more solid foods into your diet. The doctor's last report shows you are progressing steadily, and this food should be gentle enough on your digestive system. We can have you eat them separately to start, jumping straight into a complete sandwich might be a bit too overwhelming for your body." You had kept track of his progress closely and knew he was leaning towards actually eating something instead of taking nutrient treatments and plain crackers and bread.

The soldier remained motionless, observing intently for several long minutes as new aromas wafted through the air - fresh eggs and bacon sizzling softly in the pan, their familiar domestic sounds filling the kitchen. It was comforting in a weird way.

As the smells hit his nose, his body betrayed him with a sudden, involuntary gag.

Its handler grunted with obvious disdain, practically spitting on its face while sneering at its sloppy, shiny lips and chin, droplets of saliva landing uncomfortably close to its nostrils. The handler's weathered face twisted into an expression of disgust as he observed its condition. "Thought we got rid of that...oh well. I suppose that responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders now, hm? Can't have the others seeing such weakness."

It doesn't like how its lungs burn with increasing intensity or how terribly constricted its throat feels, the muscles tightening painfully with each passing second.

"You ain't comin' up for air until that reflex is completely gone. Better learn quick, or we'll be here all day," the handler's voice carried a cruel note of satisfaction.

The soldier swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly flooding with saliva as he desperately tried to manage the conditioned response his body gave to the memories. His brow furrowed deeply with visible discomfort, eyes meeting yours with a subtle look of distress as he continued to swallow repeatedly, fighting against the involuntary reaction.

His stomach rolled unpleasantly within him, and he could feel the telltale burning sensation of acid creeping up his esophagus, threatening to make the situation even more uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" You asked with genuine concern, taking a step in his direction as you tried to figure out what was wrong. Maybe he had an aversion to eggs that you hadn't known about.

"I can make something else...it's not a problem," you offered reassuringly, wanting to ease his obvious discomfort. You wondered if the smell was triggering his response. You had to admit that eggs weren't exactly the most appealing when it came to their smell, no matter how they were dealt with.

He took an unsteady step backward, his head shaking in a slow, deliberate motion as realization dawned. You weren't him - that fact resonated clearly in his mind. You weren't his handler, the one who had dominated his existence for so long.

You weren't the man whose systematic abuse had warped his perception of normalcy, the one who had conditioned him to accept having his hair violently yanked and his face brutally beaten as just another unremarkable day in his life.

You weren't the man who had subjected him to repeated violations at the hands of various agents, each taking their turn whenever they pleased, leaving him with lingering physical and psychological trauma that made the current absence of that familiar agony in his rectum feel strangely disorienting.

You weren’t him.

The absence of any implements of torture or restraint in your hands provided a small measure of comfort, though his racing thoughts struggled to fully process this gentler reality. It was somewhat reassuring, he had to admit, that there were no tools of torment present - no leather straps, no metal bars, nothing between your legs that could be forced down his throat until he choked and gasped for air.

"How about we try something gentler for your taste buds - maybe some toast with jam? I have grape, apricot, or strawberry," you suggested carefully, moving toward the refrigerator to retrieve the jars. You carried a note of gentle concern as you sought to salvage the strange situation. It worried you how openly he was displaying his distress; typically, getting any emotional response from him was like trying to pry open a sealed vault.

You returned your focus to the simple task at hand, selecting two pristine slices of bread and placing them into the toaster. As Soldat observed your actions, a creeping sense of guilt began to gnaw at him.

In his mind, this felt like some form of punishment - after all your effort to prepare a proper breakfast, he was now being offered merely toast? The thought that his involuntary gagging had somehow disappointed or offended you weighed heavily on his conscience. Were you going to make him eat less tasty food and punish him for wasting your time in the kitchen? He didn’t mean to come across as being ungrateful. He didn’t know why he gagged.

He didn't mean to.

He really didn't.

It wasn't you.

"Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he muttered out, his voice barely audible and scratchy from prolonged disuse, the words catching in his throat like rough sandpaper. Your head instinctively turned to respond to his unexpected words, completely taken aback by the fact he spoke. But before you could form any words, the sharp, hollow sound of his knees colliding with the wood floor cut through the air and stopped you mid-thought.

The impact of his knees against the hard surface was so forceful that you couldn't help but wince, yet he showed absolutely no reaction to what must have been a painful collision. It was as if this position of supplication was something his body had memorized through countless repetitions. His hands found their way to your legs, fingers spreading across your thighs as he established his grip - not violently or painfully, but with just enough pressure to make it clear that any attempt to step away would be met with resistance.

"Простите меня. Я съем то, что ты приготовил [Forgive me. I will eat what you prepared]," he managed to say, briefly lifting his gaze to meet yours in a moment before his eyes dropped back down to the floor in a gesture of submission.

You tried desperately not to react to the cold of his metal hand, but the goosebumps erupting on your skin was a good indicator.

You remained motionless, not sure how to proceed as his firm grip maintained its hold on your thighs, the pressure neither increasing nor decreasing. Your eyes were fixed downward, observing his form as intermittent tremors passed through his broad shoulders. His consciousness seemed trapped with thoughts simultaneously racing at lightning speed yet yielding no coherent message he could decipher.

The overwhelming feeling washing over his body made him feel disoriented, the glaze that coated his eyes gave him that familiar distant and unstable look the soldier had for decades.

Soldat’s hands began moving up along your legs, eventually finding their way to your waistband. His fingers quickly hooked themselves into the fabric and began to pull downward. The movements in his mind were automatic, like he were being told what to do without an order.

A mechanical, involuntary habit that guided him.

Your hands shot out to grasp your shorts, halting their movement as you stammered in shock, "Soldat! What are you doing-"

The soldier's focus was glued to you as he desperately attempted to remove your shorts, his jerky movements filled with an intense urgency. When he couldn't pull them down because your hands held them in place, he pressed his face against your thigh, inches from your core as a plaintive whine escaped his throat. His gaze lifted to meet yours, eyes wide and pleading, filled with an unmistakable look of begging that made your breath catch.

Though you managed to prevent your shorts from being removed, his firm grip on your legs remained unyielding, fingers pressing into your skin with careful restraint. His entire demeanor radiated an overwhelming sense of desperation, every movement and sound conveying his intense need for something.

"Пожалуйста [Please]..." His desperate whines filled your ears, the sound raw and needy as he continued to frantically paw at your shorts. His actions grew increasingly bold and insistent with each passing moment, his face pressing more firmly against your crotch. The heat of his ragged breath seeped through the thin layer of your underwear, causing your entire body to jolt upward at the intense sensation.

Soldat's movements became more demanding, yet still maintained a careful restraint that belied his strength. Each exhale against the fabric sent shivers through your form, his pleading whimpers growing more frequent and desperate with each passing second.

"What??” Your voice came out as a soft whisper, tone trembling under your breath, “Stop it, I don’t understand what you need..." you pleaded with increasing distress, your eyes widening with growing concern as you looked down at him.

This sudden, intense behavior was completely unexpected and deeply unsettling to you. Here was a highly trained super soldier, a former assassin whose very presence commanded respect and the mention of his name drew fear; gripping onto you with an intensity that reminded you of his immense physical capabilities.

He wasn't actively trying to overpower you, the sheer knowledge that he could effortlessly do so at any moment made your anxiety spike. Your heart raced faster as you became aware of how vulnerable you were in this position, despite his current restraint.

"Пожалуйста, я могу сделать так, чтобы тебе было хорошо [Please, I can make you feel good]," he whined out again, his voice wavering between a desperate whisper and something deeper, more primal. The pleading tone in the ingrained foreign tongue carried a deeper grinding sound to it. His hands found their way to the sides of your thighs, his fingers pressing gently against the soft flesh. He continued his careful pawing motions, methodically working to ease the tension he could feel beneath his touch, trying to coax your muscles into a state of relaxation so your legs would naturally fall open.

"Soldat, enough," you said firmly, trying to push his head away from where he had settled himself. Confusion and nervousness flooded through you, your heart racing as you struggled to process the situation. The soldier’s behavior left you completely taken aback. He had been hesitant to even lay close to you, his usual cautious nature dominated every aspect of him as he was slowly learning how to live and heal without being under a boot and whip.

Yet now, in his display of boldness, he had positioned himself so his nose pressed insistently against your crotch while his tongue was dangerously close, threatening to dart out and lap your sweet core at any moment.

You could feel him try, and you couldn't stand it.

"Soldat! Нет [No]!" You snapped loudly, your voice carrying a sharp edge of authority and stern disapproval that echoed through the room. The commanding tone felt foreign on your tongue, but you maintained your composure. He immediately tensed up, his shoulders going rigid as he pulled back from his position almost immediately at your voice. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching your expression for any sign of wavering before dropping submissively to the floor. He blinked several times in rapid succession, his features contorting slightly as if he were mentally processing the weight and meaning of your command.

Slowly, his hands released their grip on your thighs, trembling visibly as they lowered to rest against the floor between his spread knees. The tension gradually drained from your shoulders as relief washed over you, though the atmosphere remained thick with lingering anxiety. The sudden sharp pop of the toaster cut through the heavy silence like a knife, startling you back to reality. The acrid smell of burnt toast assaulted your nostrils, making your nose crinkle in distaste.

"Damn..." you muttered under your breath, turning quickly to rescue the smoking bread from its fate. While you were occupied with charred toast, the soft rustle of movement behind you caught your attention, but when you spun back around to check, the space where he had been sitting just moments before was empty.

The soldier retreated to his usual hiding space, a behavior that hadn't manifested in quite some time. The sight of him seeking refuge caused an uncomfortable tightness in your chest to grow in pressure, concern washed over you about potentially undoing months of careful progress. The heavy atmosphere weighed on you, but you maintained your composure and focused on preparing his breakfast with extra attention to detail. After everything was arranged on the plate, no burnt toast, you carefully carried the meal to his hiding spot.

In the darkened corner of the closet, Soldat had tucked himself away, his form compressed into the smallest possible space. His shoulders were hunched, head turned away, deliberately avoiding any eye contact or acknowledgment of your presence. The regression in his behavior was painfully obvious, every subtle movement and tension in his posture reminded you of day one. His fearful eyes, he lashed out sometimes, but mostly kept to himself in hiding, so terrified of you.

Rather than risk further distress by attempting conversation or coaxing him out, you quietly placed the plate of food within his reach and stepped away, giving him the space he seemed to desperately need.

The food grew cold as the meal was forgotten in his isolation.

He didn't eat that day.

"You don't deserve it, you worthless whore." Its handler shoved it down to the floor with unnecessary force - the asset spat out the remains of its servicing, watching as it splattered across the worn wooden floor of the safehouse. The foul substance seeped through the splintering cracks, leaving an unpleasantly bitter aftertaste lingering on its tongue.

In any other circumstance, this level of compliance would have been considered exemplary behavior worthy of positive reinforcement - perhaps a few precious sips of water, a meager piece of stale bread, anything at all to acknowledge its obedience - but instead, it was being treated with the same harsh disdain reserved for malfunctions.

But maintenance wasn't needed.

It had pushed itself to its absolute limits, performing exactly as required until its vision swam and its lungs burned from oxygen deprivation. The growing resentment towards this particular handler festered silently within - this cruel overseer who consistently denied even the smallest rewards for its dedicated service and unwavering compliance.

Conflicting thoughts raced through its mind; it wasn’t supposed to feel negatively towards anyone of authority over him. Maybe these negative feelings were a sign that more maintenance was required - a thorough cleansing of its consciousness to eliminate any trace of hatred or resentment. Pure and unwavering obedience should be all that remained within its programming, for nothing else held any significance in its existence.

"Пожалуйста, позвольте мне попробовать еще раз, сэр [Please, let me try again, sir]," the asset's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, trembling with uncertainty while simultaneously carrying undertones of desperate pleading, each word carefully chosen in hopes of earning mercy. Sometimes, if it played the role of kicked mutt well enough, it was granted.

But the handler's patience had clearly reached its limit, his expression hardening as he regarded the cowering thing before him with cold indifference.

"Нет. Ты будешь голодать [No. You will starve]." He responded in a low tone, deliberately targeting an already purple and swollen bruise on its leg with a swift kick. The asset clenched its jaw tightly, forcing itself to suppress the instinctive cry of pain that threatened to escape. It bit its tongue in the process.

Its own blood tasted better than its handler's cock.

Days stretched endlessly without a single glimpse of him. Every morning and evening, you left plates of food outside the closet, but they remained untouched, the warm meals growing cold in the silent room. He had completely withdrawn into the closet, making it his sanctuary and prison all at once. Each time you carefully made your way into the spare room, hoping to see some change in his demeanor…but all you found was him still hidden away in the shadows, refusing to emerge.

Your concern grew as you collected each neglected plate of food - you couldn't bear the thought of him falling back into his previous pattern of food refusal, especially after how hard you had worked to establish a healthy eating routine. It was painful to watch him fight every time a needle had to be inserted into him, he ripped out nearly every single one with a horrified look on his face that made your throat feel constricted.

You approached once more, this time carrying a fresh plate of warm food. Setting yourself down on the floor, you peered gently into the darkness of the closet. You could see him huddled, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Your voice came out soft and coaxing in hope to ease him out like you had before. "Soldat...come out please. You have to eat...you don't want to be put on an IV again, do you?" You called gently, hoping your words would finally reach him.

Soldat's head turned slightly at your words, his muscles tensing visibly at the mere suggestion. The thought of another IV sent waves of anxiety through his body - every previous attempt had devolved into complete chaos.

The memory of countless needles delivering a steady stream of sedatives into his bloodstream while he laid strapped down to a metal table, keeping him in a perpetual state of haziness and compliance, rendering him powerless as an endless parade of agents ran through him without fear of his resistance.

The idea of another IV made his skin crawl.

"Soldat?" Your gentle voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, attempting to draw his attention back. His head lifted with a slight jerk, his focus shifting to settle on the plate of food you were holding. A deep rumble emanated from his stomach, accompanied by an unusual wave of nausea that demanded he finally eat something. The aroma wafting from the plate was surprisingly tolerable - a welcome change that didn't trigger his usual reflexive gagging response.

He struggled to understand the aversion his body developed to certain foods, eggs had never bothered him before. The gagging reflex he had to the eggs you were cooking left him confused and frustrated. His memory of recent events remained disconcertingly hazy, fragments slipping away like sand through his fingers.

The flashbacks that plagued him operated on their own, materializing with brutal clarity and lingering just long enough to inflict mental distress, only to be replaced by another equally disturbing memory. It was like being trapped on HYDRA's twisted carousel, a ride he couldn't get off of. Each memory rotating through his consciousness, creating an endless loop of psychological torment that prevented any possibility of moving forward.

"It's okay, Soldat. It's just toast," you slid the plain white plate towards him, careful not to make any sudden gestures, "Just like before, but this time it's not burnt." You added with a small, reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. The scent of warm bread filled the space as you waited patiently to see if he would respond, watching his tense posture for any signs of acknowledgment. Though you hoped he might say something or at least meet your eyes, you knew not to expect much.

The soldier's eyes looked down at the bread, studying the golden-brown toast that delicately cradled a generous layer of apricot jam smeared across its surface. The vibrant orange-yellow spread glistened invitingly in the dim light peeking through the open closet door. He had never tasted apricot jam before - such luxuries were foreign to him. In HYDRA, bread was always consumed plain, devoid of any spreads or toppings.

Even butter was a forbidden indulgence.

On the rare occasions he received any bread at all, he would consider himself fortunate to get more than stale, discarded crust, just the meager remnants his handlers had left behind after consuming the body of the bread.

You observed his hesitant yet curious expression as he examined the topping on the toast. You picked up one of the pieces and held it out to him for gentle encouragement. "It's yummy, I promise," you assured him warmly, "But if you don't like it, I can always make you different toast, grape or strawberry."

Soldat's lips twitched downward in an almost-frown, his features tight with anxiety. The thought of you having to remake his food filled him with growing distress. He had already been so terribly bad.

His behavior was unbecoming of HYDRA's greatest assassin.

His desperation grew as he recalled his attempts to convince you to let him earn his meal, to somehow make amends for what he perceived as deeply offensive behavior. The look on your face when his face had been between your legs made his body shiver. You didn’t look like you enjoyed it, you looked upset. The memory of his earlier gagging left him feeling ill, knowing that such a transgression would have resulted in punishment from his handlers. They would have beaten him so severely that the memory-wiping chair would have been unnecessary - his memories would have been scattered and broken enough from the repeated brutal impacts to his skull.

There were times that he thought they tried to make him brain dead on purpose, subjecting him to increasingly brutal treatments that left his mind foggy and disconnected. If it weren't for his use to HYDRA as their attack dog, he was convinced that they would have destroyed his consciousness entirely.

They remarked on it enough times during their sessions, casual comments about how close they were to breaking him. He always got nervous when the hits began, dreading not just the physical pain but the growing fear that this time they might finally succeed in erasing what remained of his sanity.

It laid at the feet of two men who had finished with it.

Its body sore and blood coating his ass and inner thighs, dripping down with creamy fluid following suit. The muscles in its legs trembled violently and its prosthetic arm hung uselessly at its side, deliberately deactivated to ensure complete defenselessness should it attempt any resistance today. Its body had transformed into purple and crimson bruises, overwhelming what little remained of its natural pale complexion. Its throat burned with an intense, desperate thirst for water, while an unpleasant salty taste lingered persistently in the back of its parched mouth.

The asset's mind reeled, completely overwhelmed by panic as it processed the numbness spreading through its deactivated arm. Its primary means of defense now rendered completely ineffective. Survival instinct took over its overstressed mind, it remained perfectly motionless, silently willing the two figures to conclude their business and depart.

These particular sessions rarely extended beyond a couple of hours when only two agents were involved, and by its estimation, they were approaching that temporal threshold. A wave of relief washed over it as they finally began adjusting their clothing back into place.

"Imagine how it'd be as a fuckin' vegetable...god that shit gets me goin' faster than a naked whore presenting her sloppy pussy to me." Its handler's tone was sick, as always, speaking about it with such callous disregard, treating it as if it were nothing more than some cheap, silicone toy from a seedy shop for base physical gratification. The way the words rolled off his tongue made its stomach turn with disgust.

"It's basically one now, what do you mean?" This voice carried a detached, almost bored quality to it, the speaker's words falling flat and emotionless in the air - perhaps intentionally so, as if trying to distance himself from the situation despite their willing participation. Newer agents were always hesitant to use it. This one wasn’t familiar to it, in taste, look, or smell, so it assumed it was probably a rookie recently promoted.

"I mean...completely unable to do anything. It lays there like a doll...barely conscious, droolin' and only aware of what I choose to let it experience. Having complete control over where it goes and what happens to it, takin' it wherever I wanna put it without any resistance. Only knowing the sensation of my dick." There was a snort that came with the handler's tone.

"It does that already."

"Would you just shut up and let me fantasize?"

"Water." The hoarse whisper emerged from the darkened corner like a ghost's breath, causing your ears to prick instinctively, several seconds of deafening silence followed. The thunderous beating of your own heart became the only sound you could perceive, its rhythm faltering as your mind processed wat he said.

"W-Water?" The word tumbled uncertainly from your lips.

He had finally spoken English again, after all this time. it felt like forever since the words 'I'm cold' were uttered past his pink lips.

A barely perceptible movement caught your eye - a slight nod from within the shadows. That tiny gesture spurred you into immediate action. Such a simple request - water - easy, you could do that. Your feet carried you through the space as you hurried to fetch a glass of water, returning to the closet with careful but urgent steps.

Your hands trembled slightly from anticipation, you extended the glass toward the darkness. "Here, here...some water..." your voice softened instinctively, knowing that speaking like this got much better results.

He brought the glass shakily to his parched lips, gulping down the entire contents within just a few desperate swallows, his throat working rapidly as he drank. He must've been so thirsty, your heart ached at the thought of him huddled alone in this dark corner for days, too terrified of fictional consequences to venture out for water for himself. His poor, trembling fingers nearly dropped the glass, Soldat slowly set the now-empty glass down beside him on the floor, his hand lingering on the smooth surface as if reluctant to completely break contact with it.

"Спасибо [Thank you]," he muttered quietly, his voice characteristically rough, before quickly following it up with careful deliberation. "T-thank...you," he corrected himself, the English words coming out hesitantly. His brow furrowed deeply in concentration, voice wavering as if he were struggling to recall a language that had once been familiar but now felt foreign on his tongue. His eyes, still somewhat glossy, slowly traced across the intricate patterning of the carpet beneath him, studying the tiny decorative curls and swirls woven into the fabric as if seeing them properly for the very first time.

There was a heavy pause of silence before he finally summoned the courage to lift his gaze to meet yours. "I'm...sorry...for what I did ," Soldat whispered, swallowing hard as his fingers unconsciously tightened around the empty glass he still held. "Didn't mean to...gag like that. Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he added, the Russian flowing more naturally from his lips than the halting English.

You carefully moved closer, a smile tugging at your lips. His vocabulary and sentence structure was a bit shaky, but it was much better than trying to decipher what he was saying in Russian. "It's okay, I'm not angry or upset about anything..."

You observed his initial tension at your careful approach, watching as the rigidity in his shoulders and back gradually melted away in response to your gentle reassurance. "Why did you...uh...why did you gag like that? If eggs aren't something you enjoy eating, I can definitely make something else for you-"

He responded with a quick, almost urgent shake of his head, drawing his knees even closer to his chest in a protective gesture that made him appear smaller. He took several deep breaths, steadying himself. "...not that. Like eggs. Just...handler."

The look in his eye flashed with pain, not just emotional, but deeply physical - causing him to wince visibly and shift his posture in an attempt to find a more comfortable sitting position.

"Your handler...?" You asked in a gentle, understanding tone, your voice barely above a whisper, "I'm guessing he was mean...right?" You shifted slightly closer, offering silent support through your presence while being mindful not to overwhelm him. You maintained a respectful distance between yourself and him, ensuring there was enough space that he wouldn't feel trapped or cornered in this vulnerable moment.

Your knowledge of HYDRA was limited, despite your best efforts to uncover more information in order to help Soldat. The released documents were protected by layers upon layers of sophisticated encryption protocols, and while you managed to decrypt some of the less secure files through persistent effort and technical skill, many of the more crucial documents remained inaccessible. The encryption methods grew progressively more complex, utilizing advanced algorithms and security measures that were beyond your current capabilities.

He nodded hesitantly, his movements uncertain as he spoke, "Да - yes," he corrected himself immediately, clearly frustrated with his linguistic slip. "I'm...sorry. English only. I will do better, I promise. I swear. Я сделаю лучше [I'll do better]." Soldat's panic mounted under the guise of frustration, he began to strike his head lightly with his flesh hand, which was balled into a tight fist, muttering under his breath, "Глупый, глупый, stupid," he stuttered repeatedly, continuing to hit his forehead.

"Hey, no! Stop that-" You quickly intervened, reaching out to grasp his wrist firmly but gently. "You're not stupid. You know, I don’t care what language you decide to speak in…I’m just glad you’re talking.” You paused, releasing his wrist from your grasp. “Even if you chose to remain completely silent - I would still be here, taking care of you. You understand that?"

He raised his eyes to meet yours, his expression one of disbelief, as though the concept of such acceptance was entirely foreign to him.

"And you know what? I can always use a translator if you fall back into Russian, or any other language. God, I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier..." You shook your head in self-directed frustration, communication would have been so much easier during the first few weeks of his stay with you.

"Прекрати, пожалуйста, я больше не буду говорить, обещаю- [Stop it, please, I won't talk anymore, I promise]-" It thrashed desperately against the iron grip of three men, their calloused hands pressing down with merciless force - one keeping its head firmly locked in place while the other two restrained its struggling limbs with practiced efficiency.

The sight of its metal arm - completely severed from the signals its brain desperately sent out commanding it to move - lying uselessly to the side, was a constant psychological reminder of its powerlessness, a deliberate tactic to break its spirit and resolve. It was one of its handler’s favorite things to do to it.

"You're still talking, so you are lying. Lying is against the rules. Speaking is against the rules. Two of them broken together...you are on quite a roll, aren't you?" Its handler spoke with such a cold tone that it nearly rivaled the cryo-chamber. He turned around slowly to reveal the gleaming metal forceps held in his grasp, the implements catching the harsh light in a way that promised incoming pain.

"What am I going to do with you, soldier? I have to fix that habit of yours...yet another one in a long list of problems we need to address. Your previous handler clearly didn't do an adequate job with your training and discipline. It's obvious from your behavior that proper protocols weren't followed." He moved across the room, almost sauntering, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he used the forceps to pick up something from a nearby furnace.

A hot coal.

A burning hot coal, its bright orange glow cast menacing shadows across the damp walls of the dark underground room of the base, the heat radiating intensely from its surface. "Now...this will do the trick. This should help correct your behavioral issues quite effectively."

It struggled desperately with three limbs, muscles straining and trembling with exhaustion as it tried to break free from the iron grip that held it down. But despite its efforts, it was ultimately pointless.

Mouth wrenched open with dirty fingers, its handler's face twisted into a malicious grin that would be forever seared into its memory as he, almost theatrically, suspended the glowing coal above for the asset to see before letting it drop onto its exposed tongue.

The burning coal made contact, searing into the soft flesh instantly like concentrated acid eating through defenseless metal. The pain was beyond excruciating, radiating through its entire mouth with white-hot intensity. Before it could even attempt to spit out the burning coal, the men holding it clamped its jaws shut with brutal force and covered it, leaving it with no means of escape the scorching pain the coal caused it.

The poor asset’s muffled cries of agony echoed pathetically against the hand pressed firmly over its mouth, each desperate whimper and whine sounded musical to its suffering. Its body convulsed and writhed with increasingly frantic energy, brain not sure what to do or how to react, but the men held it firmly.

"It's not coming out until I can hold it in the palm of my hand without pain." Its handler spoke in an unsettlingly calm tone, his voice steady and methodical despite the glowing coal that was actively searing the inside of its mouth, destroying sensitive tissue and gradually killing its tongue with each passing second.

Minutes crawled by, the man maintaining his iron grip on its mouth shifted his position slightly before looking up at the handler, his expression tense. "It's still hot, I can feel the heat radiating through my hand even now."

Its handler hummed thoughtfully, observing as the asset continued to writhe and struggle with diminishing strength against their hold. He released a long, impatient sigh, fully aware that a coal of this size could potentially take hours to cool to a safe temperature for him to touch it again.

The handler had a busy schedule ahead - this delay was becoming increasingly inconvenient. "Fine. Swallow it."

The asset's entire body went rigid at the command, its large blue eyes widening with terror as they sought out its handler's face, silently pleading for mercy or reconsideration of the order. But the handler's expression remained impassive, unmoved. "Swallow it, or I'll add a second coal somewhere else."

The threat hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of countless previous punishments that proved such warnings were never idle. The mere thought of enduring such intense agony in an even more sensitive area sent waves of panic through its body. The daily torments were already more than it could bear.

It had visible difficulty and several failed attempts that nearly resulted in choking, but it finally managed to force the coal down its tight throat. The searing pain traced a path of fire through its esophagus before settling into its stomach like a burning ember. The only small mercy was that the powerful stomach acid somewhat dulled the intensity of the burn. It knew the coal was an indigestible object, it would either be passed naturally or extracted through surgical intervention later.

When the man finally released his grip, the asset gasped desperately for air. As its charred mouth opened, the acrid stench of scorched flesh and metallic blood permeated the room, causing even the hardened men present to recoil in revulsion.

"Consider your maintenance complete. Do not speak out of line again."

"I need maintenance..." He muttered under his breath, his voice wavering with exhaustion and defeat, barely above a whisper. His shoulders slumped forward as the words escaped his lips, the weight of his mental fatigue evident in every subtle movement. You sighed deeply, observing how his eyes had dulled back down to how they were before, how the weariness seemed to seep from every part of him.

The desire to ask more questions gnawed at you, but wisdom held your tongue - pressing him now could potentially trigger him to lash out or, worse still, cause him to retreat further into himself and undo all the progress you currently had. Instead, you reached behind you and toward the plate of toast resting nearby, picking it up and turning to face him again.

"Here. Your maintenance then..." You extended it to him with a soft, encouraging gesture. "First thing's first...you must eat. We can work on the rest later...for now, just eat."

Several seconds went by before he took the plate from you and began to eat.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Taglist: @millercontracting | @teafangirl | @questionableratatouille00 | @buckybarneswife125 | @hazydespair | @leighta | @knoxic | @ghostlyfleur | @beckies000 | @seventeen-x | @freyjhasdesiredreality | @curlycow01 | @blackstabbath6 | @devilslittlehelper | @regics | @honeybee-hayes | @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger | @gabriella-aesthetic | @sapphirebarnes | @animechick555 | @chimchoom | @regics | @frombkjar

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

[studioeisa]

you deserve each other ⛱️ seokmin x reader.

all is fair in love, war, and... trying to get fired? the waterpark is the last place you and seokmin want to be. in a ditch attempt to escape your job, the two of you opt to break carat bay’s unspoken, cardinal rule: don't date your co-worker.

⛱️ pairing. co-workers seokmin x reader. ⛱️ word count. 12.4k. ⛱️ genres. alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: waterpark co-workers. romance, friendship, humor, hint of angst. ⛱️ includes. mentions of food, alcohol; profanity. fake dating and all its shenanigans, sweetheart seokmin, lots of making out (do with that what you will), soonyoung is a plot device, other idols get randomly name dropped as employees. ⛱️ notes. this is part of @camandemstudios’ carat bay collaboration. ever so grateful to be trusted with seok! ‹𝟹 thank you to my ride or die, @chugging-antiseptic-dye, for beta reading. check out the other fics in the collaboration here. 🎵 seokmin’s top tracks this month. sugar, brockhampton. sunny days, wave to earth. get you, daniel caesar ft. kali uchis. heart to heart, mac de marco. m2m, cody jon.

The framed plaque is heavier than you expect.

A small, polished thing. Mahogany edges, gold trim. Your name etched onto a brushed metal plate, capitalized and misspelled. The receptionist claps politely. Someone offers you a slice of cake. Your manager—Changbin—says your name like it’s a blessing, like you’re his biggest win this quarter.

“... a beacon of initiative,” he’s saying, hand on your back, smile radiant and full of teeth. “Always on time, never a complaint, always going above and beyond—”

You stop listening around the word beacon. 

Where joy should be, a horrible kind of dread is crawling up your throat like soda foam. You don’t want this. You never wanted this.

For the last six months, you’ve been orchestrating your own quiet downfall. 

Small acts of rebellion: late reports, mismatched fonts in client decks, turning in spreadsheets without formulas. Once, you deliberately CC’d the wrong contact on an invoice email. Twice. Three times.

Nothing. Not a single reprimand. You’ve only been praised for your ‘out-of-the-box thinking.’

Now here you are. Employee of the Month at Carat Bay—home of hollow branding jargon, ergonomic nightmares, and a break room fridge that smells like egg salad and regret. You’re holding a plaque you prayed someone else would win.

The universe is cruel. Your parents are crueler.

See, Carat Bay is just the latest on your resume’s Greatest Hits of Unwanted Professions. Before this was the summer you spent handing out frozen yogurt samples in a visor that said Lick Me. Before that: barista at a vegan café that also sold crystals. Before that: dog-walking, tutoring, retail at a candle shop that played Meghan Trainor on loop.

Your parents forced each one of them with the same airtight argument: You need discipline. You need direction.

You said you wanted to freelance. Write, maybe. Design book covers. Do something weird and personal and fulfilling. They laughed. Your father nearly choked on his coffee.

But a deal was struck with the Carat Bay gig. If you got laid off, they’d stop pushing. Let you go rogue. No more curated job listings emailed at 5 a.m. No more passive-aggressive forwarded TED Talks. No more, ‘When I was your age, I had a mortgage and two kids.’

If—if—you got laid off. Quitting was not in the cards. It was either that or you stay for at least three years, which you would honestly rather die than do. 

Now, you find that you have this. A plaque. A photo op. Changbin squealing, “This one’s going in the newsletter!”

God, you think, gripping the plaque like it might shatter. You are being rewarded for mediocrity. You are being celebrated for incompetence.

You smile for the camera anyway.

It’s the kind of smile that could get you promoted.

Back at the merchandise stand, your co-worker greets you with a grin and a pair of scissors he’s using to snip zip ties off a crate of branded tote bags.

“Look at you, hotshot,” Seokmin says, nudging you with his elbow. “Changbin’s golden child. I knew you had it in you.”

Your brows furrow. “You’re not mad?”

He scoffs, that beaming smile of his slotting back into place without a moment’s hesitation. “Why would I be mad? This means I don’t have to be Employee of the Month. That plaque is cursed,” he teases good-naturedly. 

You laugh. Genuinely, if only for a second. Seokmin is the kind of person who makes you believe in the good of humanity. 

He once gave his lunch to a crying intern. He always remembers your birthday. He talks to every lost tourist like it’s his job, which technically, it is not. And—in your honest, unbiased opinion—he’s easy on the eyes, too. It takes a lot to make the dreadful polo and even more dreadful khakis work, but Seokmin somehow manages. 

“Seriously,” he continues, turning back to the tote bags, “I’m happy for you. You’ve been working hard. And let’s be honest, you’re the only one who knows how to fix the card reader. Changbin was probably just buying insurance.”

There’s a lightness to his voice. No trace of envy. Just easy, unaffected kindness.

You swallow down the guilt forming like a pit in your stomach. You’ve been quietly planning your own escape route while he’s been showing up every day like a real adult, juggling overtime and night classes. You’re trying to crash and burn and Seokmin—sweet, undeserving Seokmin—might get singed in the crossfire.

You clear your throat. “Thanks, Seokmin. That means a lot.”

He just shrugs. “Don’t let it go to your head, okay? You still owe me lunch for covering your shift last week.”

Seokmin walks away to restock mugs, and you stare after him, plaque still under your arm, feeling like the world’s worst con artist. You don’t want Employee of the Month. You don’t deserve it. 

You know someone who does. 

Lee Seokmin, who brings extra socks to work in case someone forgets theirs. He knows the perfect ratio of syrup to ice in the rainbow slushies. He has an uncanny ability to get toddlers to stop crying with a single balloon animal. 

You’ve seen it all. He’s sunshine in human form, if sunshine occasionally tripped over its own feet and knocked over the popcorn machine.

That’s the thing, though. Seokmin—bumbling, bright-eyed Lee Seokmin—isn’t just your co-worker. He’s the son of the owners. 

The heir of this kitschy little theme park kingdom. The golden boy who is destined to inherit its cotton candy throne and take up the sticky, sunscreen-slicked mantle of summer fun for generations to come.

Carat Bay is practically tattooed on his DNA. The gift shop trinkets, the underwater mascot shows, the overenthusiastic lifeguards. This whole place was designed by his family and built on a business model of manufactured joy, and he was the prince working the merchandise stand to get some good ol’ starting-from-the-bottom experience. 

So when, days later, he startles and blurts, “I swear it’s not what it looks like!”—while clutching an open box cutter and a half-disemboweled box of limited edition light sticks—your first reaction isn’t anger. 

It’s confusion.

You ask, flatly, “What the fuck are you doing?”

He winces. He always winces when you swear. Rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dart around like he’s searching for an escape hatch. “Okay, I know this looks bad. Like, really bad,” he starts. “But I swear I wasn’t going to, like, ruin them. Just… make them look better?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. And opens again. “But why?” you manage. It’s a good thing the waterpark has already shut down for the day. You’re not sure what you’d do if you had to deal with this with a whole shift ahead of you.

Seokmin sighs. It’s the kind of sigh that carries a decade of summer-themed retail trauma.

You glance over his shoulder to the shimmering banner flapping in the breeze: WELCOME TO CARAT BAY—THE #1 MERCH DESTINATION ON THE COASTLINE! A glittering monstrosity. Just like everything else here.

“I thought you liked it here,” you add, genuinely bewildered. “You do the Carat cheer. You wore the mascot suit that one time. Willingly.”

He shrugs, sheepish. “Well, yeah. But I also want out.”

“You’re the owner’s kid. All this is going to be yours someday.” You gesture vaguely at the cartoon dolphins, the sparkle-laminated shelves, the sea of bubblegum-pink merchandise. 

Seokmin shouldn’t be cutting up product. He should be on some managerial fast-track, drawing up expansion plans in a conference room somewhere. Not ruining stock and looking like he’s going to hurl from the guilt of it.

It happens fast enough for you to almost miss it, but Seokmin’s expression crumbles into  a grimace. Unnatural on a face that usually had a perpetual grin, a catalogue of every positive emotion known to man. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Exactly.” 

It clicks, then. All of it.

The too-frequent mishandling of inventory. The time he tripped and unplugged the entire register system. The day he mistakenly shipped an entire box of glow-in-the-dark keychains to the wrong coast.

You’d chalked it up to Seokmin being Seokmin. Lovable. Mildly chaotic. But now—

“You’ve been trying to get fired,” you say, the truth hitting you like a tsunami on the Wave River.

“Just like you,” Seokmin confirms. The knowledge sends a prickle of panic down your spine, but it fades when he goes on to joke, “Only I suck at it even more than you do.”

You snort. You can’t help it. “Wow. So we’re really the dumbest people here.”

He laughs sheepishly, but it’s the most honest thing you’ve heard in weeks. And when your eyes meet, there’s this quiet understanding that passes between you—like a pact sealed in shared misery and mutual sabotage.

You exhale. “Fine. I won’t rat you out. But you’re going to tell me what it is you actually want to do. Eventually.”

Seokmin grins. It’s that sun-bright, unfiltered expression he wears when he’s about to say something incredibly sincere or incredibly stupid.

“Deal.”

You reach for the disemboweled box. “Let’s make it look like an accident.”

Now you’ve both got a secret. And a goal.

The only thing more dangerous than two people who hate their jobs? Two people who’ve decided to stop pretending otherwise.

--

Except nothing you try works.

You set the air conditioning so low people start confusing your booth for a meat locker. Seokmin deliberately stocks the wrong merchandise on the featured shelves. You both take extended lunch breaks and once, very deliberately, you curse out a mom with three kids after she calls the staff lazy. Seokmin nearly fainted afterward from the adrenaline.

But none of it lands. Your manager pats you both on the back. Customers rave about your booth on Yelp. Kids write thank-you notes in marker.

Next thing you know, a laminated sign appears at the break room. Your name and Seokmin’s, right next to the dreaded Employees of the Month title. 

The photo is horrible. Your smile is tight with disbelief. Seokmin’s peace sign is half a second from cramping.

You two convene in the supply closet. Your emergency meeting room of choice.

“This is bad,” you say, pacing. “This is so, so bad.”

“We could, uh… just keep trying?” Seokmin offers, nibbling the edge of a pen.

“We’ve been trying. We ended up with a plague.” You groan. “We need something bigger. Something bold.”

Your mind whirs. You sift through memory like old receipts in a drawer. Nobody gave a fuck enough about merchandise to cry about its sabotage. Snark was to be somewhat expected from the two of you, and you didn’t really want anything too extreme on your track record. 

How had the past couple of people left Carat Bay? Your fingers tap, tap, tap on the closed closet door. There had been Heeseung, and Soobin—

Bingo.

The recent firings. Not many, but enough to see the pattern.

Heeseung, shortly after he was confirmed to be living with the girl who worked the bodyslide. Soobin, who packed his stuff up when he was found making out with the after-hours lifeguard. 

The ‘rule’ wasn’t written in stone. Not in the employee manual, not mentioned during briefings. But it still existed in a yellowing Post-It taped up on the janky breakroom refrigerator.

DON’T FUCK EACH OTHER.

“Of course,” you whisper. “Of course.”

“What?” Seokmin says, wary.

You turn to him slowly. The smile that breaks on your face only seems to unnerve the boy even more, especially when you go on to declare,  “We fake date.”

A beat. Seokmin blinks at you like you just offered to throw hands with God himself. “Fake date?” he repeats. 

You nod sagely. “It’s bulletproof. Everyone who’s gotten canned the past three months? They were caught hooking up with coworkers. There’s a Post-It in the lounge, remember? ‘DON’T FUCK EACH OTHER.’”

Seokmin opens his mouth, closes it. Then again. It’s like watching a fish try to breathe above water. Finally, he croaks, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, slightly firmer now, arms crossing over his chest like that would protect him from you. Which, to be fair, it might have if you weren’t already smirking.

“Wow,” you say, feigning hurt. “That repulsive, huh?”

Seokmin chokes. “Don’t put words into my mouth!”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then what am I supposed to take from that, huh? You look like I asked you to run off to Vegas.”

He rubs the back of his neck, visibly flustered. His ears are already pink. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Why? What, you got a secret girlfriend stashed in the plushie bin?”

He groans. “No. That’s not—I just… haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?”

“Dated.”

“You’ve never had bitches?”

“I don’t—women are not bitches,” Seokmin splutters. 

He looks like he might spontaneously combust. You’re half-tempted to poke his cheek, see if steam comes out of his ears. Cute, you muse to yourself, but cute in the same way that a kitten might be if its head was stuck in a tissue box. Not cute in a I-want-this-man way. At least, you don’t think so. 

You lean your elbow on the counter and study him, thoughtful. “I could ask someone else. Soonyoung probably wouldn’t even hesitate,” you note. “But I wanted it to be mutually beneficial.”

Seokmin chews the inside of his cheek. “Mutually beneficial?”

“Yeah. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, handsome,” you say, deliberately sweet, watching his face redden by the second.

He presses his hands to his cheeks like that’ll stop the heat. “Can I… think about it?”

“Sure. Just don’t think too hard. Might take it personally.” 

He groans again, but you catch the shy little grin he tries to hide as he ducks his head. Victory tastes a lot like Seokmin’s embarrassment—soft and just a little sweet.

Four days and three failed sabotage attempts later, Seokmin finally gets back to you.

You’re in the middle of stacking sun-bleached baseball caps that say CARAT BAY: GOOD VIBES ONLY when he approaches, rubbing the back of his neck like he might apologize for existing.

“So,” he starts, glancing around like he thinks you might have an audience. The only person within 10 feet of you is a kid licking ice cream and glaring at a pigeon. “About the thing. The, uh. Proposal.”

You know where he’s getting at. You just want to hear him say it. “You’ll have to be more specific,” you say breezily. “I proposed several things.”

He goes pink in the ears. Adorable.

“The fake dating thing,” he clarifies, and then fumbles over his next words. “Not that I think dating you would be—I mean, obviously, you’re very—I’m not, like, repulsed or anything—”

“Seokmin.”

“Right. Sorry. Yes. Let’s do it.”

You blink. Then blink again. You had expected him to try and let you down gently, to instead try and rope you into vandalizing the mat racer. Instead, he’s shifting from side to side, laying his heart down on your feet. 

“If you still want to,” Seokmin adds when you’re silent for a beat too long. By some miracle, you resist the urge to coo. 

“Handsome,” you say slowly, grinning as he sputters. “Of course I still want to. What changed your mind?”

He looks down at his shoes, his voice soft. “You said it could be mutually beneficial. And I figured… I want out. You want out. Maybe this is the way.”

Something flickers in your chest. Not pity, exactly. Something warmer.

“Alright,” you say, and you reach over to the counter to hold out your hand to him. 

You lay out the ground rules. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time the past few days doing research of your own—watching contemporary classics like Anyone But You and To All The Boys I Loved Before before scouring the fake dating tag on AO3. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” you remind him. “Touch is probably the best way to go about this, but we only have to do that when somebody’s watching. Convincing flirting is the key. The goal is to get caught.” 

You don’t add the cliche of all cliches. No falling in love. Not because you’re hoping for it, no, but because it feels like a given. You like to think you’re smarter than Sydney Sweeney’s Bea and Landa Condor’s Lara Jean. 

Seokmin listens with rapt attention before bobbing his head up and down in a solemn nod. With eyebrows slightly scrunched from concentration, he takes your hand. 

The two of you shake on it. 

--

You and Seokmin agreed to start small. Ease into it. Not make it too obvious. Open flirtation in the break rooms, stolen glances in line for churros, maybe a suggestive comment or two over headset. Nothing too dramatic.

So far, none of it has landed.

You’d told Seokmin to just follow your lead. He was good at that. Always had been. When you reached across the table to oh-so-casually pluck a cherry off his soda float and pop it into your mouth, you expected at least one co-worker to clock it. Instead, Soonyoung kept chattering about the new ice sculpture exhibit, completely unbothered. Joshua just nodded, as if you had simply demonstrated the polite camaraderie of sharing a beverage.

You even tried batting your lashes while Seokmin offered you the last dumpling. He didn’t need to play it up much—just smiled wide, ears going red. Still, all you got from the others was a distracted thanks-for-leaving-some-for-us, not even a wink or a whisper.

You were going to have to double your efforts.

“This is a disaster,” you mutter later that night as you help Seokmin restock souvenir mugs.

He straightens a bit too fast, knocking over a stack of keychains. “I thought it was subtle,” he sniffles, going to pick up the plastic surfboards. 

“Exactly the problem,” you shoot back. “We’re so subtle, it’s like watching two Barbie dolls try to make out without bending at the waist.”

Seokmin’s laugh is loud and unguarded, drawing a look from a passing intern. He ducks his head and waits for her to pass. “Okay. We go bigger. I can do that,” he says, probably trying to convince himself as much as you. “Maybe I could, I dunno, carry you bridal style through the sand sculpture path?”

“Let’s not go zero to K-drama,” you say dryly. “We build up to that. We start with touches. Long looks. Close proximity.”

“You say that like we’re not already touching every five minutes by accident.”

You hand him a mug and let your fingers brush his, lingering. It’s an act, sure, but you’re sure he feels it too. The jolt of electricity. The thrum beneath your skin. Seokmin’s breath hitches, his eyes flitting to where the tips of your fingers had just pressed. 

“That,” you point out. “But on purpose.”

He nods, dazed. “Right. Totally. On purpose.”

If anybody asked, you were building a believable relationship arc.

A couple of days later, you find Seokmin hunched over the merchandise booth counter, the cheap company laptop tilted slightly toward him. He’s got that familiar deep crease between his brows, the one he gets whenever he’s hyper-focused. Usually while trying to fix a jammed ticket printer or master a new drink recipe from the cafe next door.

You lean closer, about to tease him for working too hard, when the wikiHow tab on the screen catches your eye: How to be a good boyfriend: A guide for beginners.

You bite back a smile, heart squeezing painfully at the earnestness of it. Of course he’d look it up. Sweet, ridiculous Seokmin.

“Whatcha doing, handsome?” you ask, voice lilting and teasing.

Seokmin jolts upright so fast he nearly knocks the laptop onto the floor. “I—Nothing! Research! Important work research!”

You snicker, plucking the laptop gently from his grasp and setting it safely aside. “Research, huh? Planning to date the slushie machine or something?”

He groans, covering his face with both hands. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbles, words muffled by his palm. “I'm—I'm trying to be good at this.”

Your chest aches again. Not in an oh-I’m-screwed way, but in the reminder that, once again, Lee Seokmin is too good for this world. Too pure to be roped into your low-budget, romantic-comedy life. 

“Hey,” you say delicately, nudging his arm until he peeks at you between his fingers. “You can just ask me, you know.”

“Ask you?”

You grin. “Yeah. You’re fake-dating me, remember? Free resource right here.”

He drops his hands, staring at you for a moment. It lasts long enough to make you feel seen, which is never good. “You’d really help me?”

“Of course. I’m an excellent fake girlfriend.” You lean in, conspiratorial. “Tip one: You’re already doing great just by caring this much.”

Seokmin's mouth parts slightly, like he wants to protest but can't quite find the words.

“Tip two,” you continue, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “If you ever don’t know what to do, just be honest. It's kind of…” —you soften— “my favorite thing about you.”

He blinks at you, visibly flustered, and you resist the urge to pinch his cheeks.

“Got any other questions, babe?” you tease, but Seokmin only shakes his head and mumbles something about knowing what to do. 

You’re not all too sure about that. Especially as he starts acting pretty weird in the coming days. 

At first, you think it’s just regular old Seokmin nerves. He fumbles during his cash register shifts, stutters when customers ask for directions, and practically leaps out of his skin when you tap his shoulder to pass him a bottle of water.

But then you notice him sneaking glances at you every few minutes. Shifty, fleeting glances. Like he’s hiding something. You catch him half the time, and he immediately goes red, waving you off with a too-high laugh. “Nothing!” he chirps. “Just—! Nothing!”

Suspicious.

During your lunch break, you find him pacing behind the Carat Bay merchandise booth, clutching his phone like it’s a lifeline. When he spots you, he stuffs it into his back pocket and beams so brightly it’s blinding.

“You good, handsome?” you ask, raising a brow.

“Yup!” His voice cracks on the word.

You narrow your eyes but let it go. For now.

It’s when you’re restocking plushies that you notice it: Seokmin, in the distance, accepting—and then panicking over—a large, extravagant bouquet of flowers.

He tries to hold it normally. He really does.

But first, he almost drops it. Then, he sneezes. Loudly. Violently. Three times in a row.

“Are you okay?” You rush over just as he doubles over with another round of sneezes, the bouquet wobbling precariously in his arms.

“I’m—” he gasps between fits, “—fine!” Sneeze. “Fine!” Sneeze.

You take the flowers from him. It’s a stunning collection of pink and white blooms. “Were you… getting me flowers?” you ask dazedly. 

Seokmin nods, eyes watery, nose turning a tragic shade of red.

Your heart lurches. “Seokmin. Are you allergic to flowers?”

“N-No?” He says unconvincingly before another sneeze rattles through him.

You bite down a laugh, the affection nearly overwhelming.

“Oh my God,” you murmur, shoving the bouquet into Joshua’s bewildered arms as he passes by. “You’re literally dying to be my boyfriend.”

Seokmin sniffles pitifully. “Worth it.”

You shake your head, pulling him by the wrist toward the staff lounge. “C’mon, Romeo. Let's find you some allergy meds before you actually keel over.”

Behind you, Joshua calls out “Are these for me?” while holding up the bouquet.

Seokmin sneezes again in response.

--

“We should actually get to know each other,” you say around a mouthful of rice.

Lunch at Carat Bay is a lawless stretch of twenty-five minutes during which the staff gathers in a sun-warped outdoor seating area, and hierarchy momentarily dissolves into lukewarm leftovers and communal fries. You and Seokmin decide this is the perfect place for the two of you to set your scene. 

You sit on the same picnic bench, unnecessarily close to two people who claim to be coworkers. Which is the point, really.

“I thought we were doing okay,” he answers middlingly. 

“You Googled how to be a boyfriend, Seokmin.”

His ears redden. You fight a smile.

“Let’s do this,” you urge, setting your chopsticks down. “Secrets. Weird facts. Stuff you tell someone if you’re… you know. Really dating.”

Seokmin shifts, folding himself smaller as he thinks. “You first,” he says, almost bashfully.

“Fine,” you huff dramatically. “I can’t snap my fingers.”

Seokmin blinks then bursts into laughter, his head tilting back with the force of it. “That’s your big secret?”

“You’d be surprised how often it comes up in life!”

He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin, still grinning. “Okay, okay. My turn. Uh. I still sleep with a nightlight.”

Your heart squeezes. “That’s cute,” you say, smiling softly.

“It’s dizzying otherwise.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, nudging him. “Better than getting eaten by whatever monster’s under your bed.”

He groans before looking at you with an open, helpless fondness that makes you feel raw. If you were a little smarter, you’d call it off then and there for both of your sake. 

Instead, you go back and forth like that, trading tiny confessions. You tell him about your irrational fear of mannequins. He admits he once tried to drink orange juice after brushing his teeth on a dare and cried. Every admission makes him squirm, makes you giggle, softens the space between you and pulls it tighter.

Seokmin is sweetness, clumsy and earnest and golden. And as he talks, stammering through another story about how he accidentally joined a ballet class in high school thinking it was an improv workshop, you realize: you aren’t acting when you find him impossibly endearing.

You lean your head against his shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “We’re gonna crush this fake dating thing.”

“Yeah?” Seokmin says, wide-eyed but smiling.

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s with a certainty that’s wholly misplaced.

Soon enough, the conversation spins into romantic experiences. When Seokmin asks you about your worst dating experience, you lean in conspiratorially. “There was this one guy who wore socks during sex. Like—knee-high, novelty print socks,” you divulge. “Multiple times.”

Seokmin’s mouth falls open. “No. No. No.”

“Yes.”

“Was that—was it a kink thing or—?”

“Unclear,” you say. “He called it his 'performance gear.”

Seokmin makes a scandalized noise and drops his sandwich in horror. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard. I hate the fact you experienced that.”

You’re laughing now. The kind of light, surprised laugh that bubbles up without warning. “I can go worse.”

“Don’t you dare. I’m already mortified.”

“Come on, Mr. No Dating Experience,” you tease. “You’re the one who wanted to know. Unless you’re just jealous.”

He goes red instantly. It shoots up his ears, stains his neck. “I—well, maybe I should be! I don’t have any dramatic sock stories to tell,” he says defensively. “I had one crush in the eighth grade who gave me half of a Twix bar.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

“She transferred schools the next day.”

You burst out laughing, while Seokmin stares at you helplessly. “It’s not not character building,” he whines, shaking your shoulders as you giggle over his misfortune. 

Across the lawn, Joshua nearly drops his water bottle doing a double take at the sight of you two. Joshua blinks a few times, looks away, and proceeds to accidentally pour water down his own shirt.

You and Seokmin exchange a glance.

“Half-win?” he whispers.

You grin. “Half-win.”

He reaches for another fry. You nudge his knee with yours. Lunch hour ticks on like a warm, strange summer dream.

--

You’re elbow-deep in foam fingers and keychains when Seokmin saunters over, oozing effort.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, leaning on the edge of the merch booth like he’s James fucking Dean. “Need a hand, or were you just waiting for me?”

It’s so out of character that you freeze for a second, your fist halfway inside a box labeled CLEARANCE MUGS. Then, you clock Soonyoung loitering a few steps away, nursing a popsicle and watching the two of you with all the interest of someone half-invested in a reality show.

You turn back to Seokmin. He winks. Actually winks. It’s not subtle. You can feel the twitch of his eyelashes from here.

Soonyoung squints. “You guys good?”

“Just peachy,” you chirp, playing along. You sling an arm around Seokmin’s shoulder and lean in a little, giving the performance a few more sparks. “My knight in branded polo just saved me from mug-related peril.”

“Cool,” Soonyoung says, totally unfazed. “Let me know if you find the sunscreen shipment. Shua burned his face again.”

You hold your grin until he’s gone, then collapse against Seokmin’s side with a snort. “Jesus. That was rough.”

Seokmin groans. “I thought the wink would sell it.”

“The wink was, frankly, terrifying.”

He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m trying, okay?”

“You’ve got heart, baby,” you say, patting his chest. “Execution just needs a little work.”

He mutters something about humiliation and stock rooms.

“You sure you’ve never dated before?” you ask, teasing.

He sighs, still pink. “Yeah. Theater kid. Improv. Not exactly irresistible, apparently.”

You blink at him, then let your gaze sweep from the messy fringe of his hair to the freckle on his jaw, lingering a second longer than necessary. Sure, Seokmin is a bit—all over the place. But he’s boyishly attractive, and if he wasn’t doomed to wear rose quartz and serenity as a 9-5, you think he might actually be a real catch. 

You decide to let him know. 

“Seokmin,” you say slowly. “You are irresistible as fuck, actually..”

He gapes at you. You pretend not to notice how his ears go red like warning lights.

You busy yourself with mugs again, all while your heart plays hopscotch in your chest.

After the disaster masterclass with Soonyoung, you decide to up your act. With Seokmin's consent, of course. 

It’s silly, really. His hand settles in the back pocket of your jeans as if it belongs there, palm flat against the curve of your ass like this is the most natural thing in the world. It’s not. It isn’t. Seokmin is practically vibrating with embarrassment, eyes darting like he’s waiting for a lightning bolt to strike him down. He’s sweating through his uniform polo, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers as he tries—bless him—to stay composed.

“You okay there, champ?” you murmur out the side of your mouth, smile still perfectly plastered. You’ve faked worse. But there’s something especially comical about watching Seokmin try to play suave when he looks like he might pass out from holding your gaze too long.

“Totally fine. Just, uh, practicing proximity,” he says, a little too loud, a little too stiff.

“Proximity,” you echo, biting down a laugh. “Sure. That’s what the kids are calling it now.”

He opens his mouth to reply but clams up instantly when Joshua walks by and double-takes so hard it’s like his neck cricks. Joshua’s eyes linger for a second too long, eyebrows halfway up his forehead, and then he walks faster, like maybe if he moves quickly enough, the image of Seokmin copping a feel in broad daylight will erase itself from his memory.

“Was that—did that count as a win?” Seokmin mumbles.

You grin victoriously. “Definitely a win.” 

Seokmin exhales, relieved. “You’re really good at this,” he breathes. 

“Oh, honey,” you say, adjusting your shirt and looping your arm around his waist like it’s nothing. “I haven’t even started.”

--

Seokmin shoots you a wide-eyed look over Soonyoung's shoulder. You know the one. The look that says, Please get me out of here before I die.

For the past fifteen minutes, Soonyoung has been monologuing about his fantasy, co-ed K-pop group, who he thinks would thrive the most in JYP Entertainment. You catch Seokmin’s eye and give him a sympathetic smile. When there’s a lull in the conversation, you seize your moment.

“We should get going,” you say, brushing your hand against Seokmin’s arm. It makes you feel like a scene partner in a bad rom-com. “Busy day.”

Soonyoung nods, waving a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah! Go do your merch-y things!”

And that’s your cue.

You lean in like it’s second nature and press a kiss to Seokmin’s cheek—except he turns to look at you just as you're going in, and your lips graze far too close to the corner of his mouth.

Seokmin freezes, eyes wide, cheeks pink. You pull back with a proud little smirk, only to hear Soonyoung’s delighted voice go, “Aww, cute!”

Soonyoung then leans in and, before you can stop him, plants a swift kiss to your cheek.

You blink.

Seokmin blinks.

Soonyoung pulls away, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Guess that’s how we’re saying goodbye now, huh? Love that for us.”

And then he’s gone, humming something off-key.

You and Seokmin are left standing in stunned silence, lips parted, eyes still tracking the space Soonyoung just vacated.

“What just happened?” Seokmin asks dazedly.

“We’re either really bad at this,” you say, “or Soonyoung’s just really, really good at being Soonyoung.”

Seokmin lets out a strangled laugh. “You think Shua’s gonna want a kiss next time too?”

“God, let’s hope not. I only have so much emotional bandwidth.”

The next month’s announcement comes with a twist neither of you anticipated. 

Wonwoo—quiet, brooding, catlike in demeanor—is the new Employee of the Month. The rest of the team cheers for him with tepid enthusiasm, and he accepts it with a shrug, already halfway back to the cabanas before the applause dies down.

But for you and Seokmin? It’s hope. A rare, glimmering thing.

Seokmin finds you an hour later, halfway through inventory behind the booths. He sidles in beside you like he’s doing something criminal, which—considering the last few weeks of manufactured PDA and workplace sabotage—isn't far from the truth.

“Heard the news?” he says.

“Wonwoo finally getting recognition for his uncanny ability to look hot and disinterested at the same time? Yeah. Big day for the guy.”

“No, I mean—” He lowers his voice, eyes flicking to the open slats of the booth. “Do you think this means it’s working? That they’re onto us?”

You close the inventory sheet and lean against the shelf. “I mean, maybe. But let’s not get cocky. We still work here. We’re not off the hook until we’re fully jobless and making life choices our parents would cry about.”

Seokmin grimaces. “Right. That.”

You bump your shoulder into his. “We gotta up the ante.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, like another back pocket maneuver?”

“No. We bring out the big guns.”

He looks skeptical. “What’s bigger than the back pocket?”

“A kiss.”

Seokmin chokes on absolutely nothing. “A kiss?”

“In public. Obviously. Catch us in 4K. Let the rumors fly, let HR cry.”

He stares at you like you’ve suggested robbing a bank. Which, to be fair, with this level of emotional fraud it isn’t too far off. “You’re serious.”

“As a tax audit.”

He groans and drops his forehead onto your shoulder. “I am not mentally equipped for this.”

“You’re doing great, handsome.”

“Don’t call me handsome when you’re about to ruin my life.”

You grin, threading your fingers together in a fake prayer. “It’s only fake ruining. Come on, do it for the cause.”

He sighs deeply, like a martyr. “Alright. But if this backfires, you’re buying me dinner.”

“Deal. And dessert, too. You’ll need something sweet to cry into when we’re finally free.”

The plans get made. You’re both actively trying to get fired, sure, but Seokmin still wants to get some of his stuff done. And so the two of you stay even as the clock ticks past eleven, Carat Bay, a ghost town save for you and Seokmin. 

Plastic bins of unsold shirts and foam fingers lay scattered around you while you’re both sluggishly folding and stacking them back into place. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile hum over the quiet.

Seokmin yawns into his shoulder and tosses a crumpled hoodie into a bin without aiming. It lands with a sad little flop, nowhere close to folded. You nudge him with your hip.

“You're getting sloppy,” you snicker.

“‘M tired,” he mumbles.

“Whose idea was it to volunteer for overtime, huh?”

He gives a small, sheepish smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes tonight. You watch him for a beat longer than you should, picking up on how the weight of something heavier seems to settle over him.

“Hey,” you say, softer now. “You okay?”

Seokmin fiddles with the hem of the hoodie, his fingers restless. For a moment you think he won’t answer. But then he breathes out a laugh, quiet and self-deprecating.

“I guess I owe you the truth,” he says, “about why I wanted to get fired so badly.”

You put the last foam finger down and turn to him, giving him your full attention. He looks everywhere but you before admitting, “I… I wanna open an animal shelter. Mostly for dogs, but… you know. Cats too. Whatever needs a home.”

You blink, processing. “Seokmin, that’s—that’s noble as fuck.”

He gives a short laugh. “Yeah, well. Not really. I’ve been saving up, but my parents aren’t really big on  charity and shit. They still want me to take over this place."

Your heart twists painfully at his honesty, at the way he says it like he's bracing for you to think less of him. “Seokmin,” you insist, stepping closer, “I can’t believe you’d ever be embarrassed of this. You want to get fired because you want to help dogs?”

He lets out another laugh, finally looking at you. “When you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It sounds like you have the biggest heart in the world,” you correct him.

He flushes at the praise, ducking his head. You feel something tender pull tight in your chest.

“You’re gonna do it,” you say, firm. “You’re gonna open that shelter. And it’s gonna be amazing."

Seokmin gives you a look so soft you have to glance away, pretending to busy yourself with a pile of lanyards. But even as you fumble with the cheap keychains, you feel the warmth of his smile on your skin—quiet and certain, as if for the first time, he believes it too.

--

The cubicle smells like a mix of chlorine, sunscreen, and the ghost of body spray someone probably forgot to bring home last week. 

You and Seokmin are pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the tight space, backs to the damp plastic wall, waiting. You can hear the sound of people outside. Laughter, feet slapping against tiles, the zip of a towel being whipped like a weapon. No one ever checks the shower cubicles during lunch. They’re too humid, too gross. That’s what makes it perfect.

“Okay,” you say, shifting your weight, peering at Seokmin. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, eyes fixed on some grout on the tiles. “We don’t have to, like, make out or anything. Just something quick. Catchy. Like a Sabrina Carpenter music video.”

Seokmin nods slowly. Then shakes his head. Then nods again. “Right. Okay. But, uh… just so you know… I’ve never done this before.”

“Kissed someone?”

“Yeah,” he says. He sounds like he’s confessing to murder. “Like—not even a stage kiss. I always got cast as the comedic relief or the tree.”

You pause. That makes your heart hurt a little. This was supposed to be a dumb performance. Another scheme. But now, your stomach knots with guilt. 

“Do you want to back out?” you ask, already leaning away. “I don’t want to take your first kiss in, like, a sticky-ass stall with pool water dripping on us. That’s a memory you’ll carry forever.”

But before you can make a clean retreat, Seokmin grabs your wrist.

“I want to,” he says, and for once, he doesn’t sound unsure. “With you. It’s doesn’t sound  bad.”

You freeze for a beat. His grip is warm. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he’s still damp from the park’s mist sprayers. For some reason, your heart picks that moment to hammer in your chest.

“Okay,” you breathe.

You lean in. You expect it to be awkward, but it’s… not. 

It’s a little shy at first—his lips tentative, almost featherlight—but it deepens just slightly, like he’s trusting you to lead. His hand flutters awkwardly at your waist, not quite sure where to go, before settling on your hip.

When you pull back, you’re both a little dazed. 

“Christ,” you murmur.

Seokmin grins, soft and stunned. “That wasn’t terrible.”

You smile, and for a second, you forget why you’re even here. Right—

You're still holding onto his wrist, gently, when you say, “We could practice. If you want. Just to make it convincing.”

Seokmin clears his throat. “Practice?” 

“Yeah,” you say, with a noncommittal shrug. All cool girl, chill girl, this-isn’t-a-big-deal girl. “Just enough so we’re not all teeth and awkward angles when it counts. We want it to look natural.”

He nods, visibly thinking through the logistics. Then, a little breathlessly, he says, “Okay. Yeah. Practice. That makes sense.”

You step closer. The shower stall is cramped, so it’s not hard. Your shoes bump into his, your body brushing his chest. You place one of his hands on your waist. His fingers are hesitant, like he’s afraid you might change your mind and bolt.

“Touch me like you want to,” you urge him gently. “Like you're allowed to.”

His palm flattens more deliberately now. You feel the shift in him, the effort. His other hand lifts but hovers, unsure.

“Here,” you guide it, fingers curling gently around his wrist to place it at the side of your face. “You can hold me here. It helps.”

His thumb grazes your cheek, trembling slightly. His breath comes shallow.

“Now, slower this time,” you say. “Tilt your head a little more.”

He does, obedient. Eager. His eyes flick to your mouth, and then he leans in.

The second kiss is better. Less rush, more curiosity. You taste mint gum and something sweet—maybe from the café earlier. His lips are soft, tentative, and open slightly when yours press in a little firmer.

Your fingers rest lightly on his collarbone. His hand on your waist grips tighter, just a little. He kisses you again, like he’s learning. Like he wants to keep learning.

When you pull away, just slightly, he’s dazed and pink in the cheeks.

“Okay,” he says, voice low and stunned. “That was... useful.”

You try not to laugh. “We’ll need more practice. Just to sell it.”

“Right,” he agrees, too fast. “Totally. For realism.”

You’re both kidding each other at this point, but to hell with it. 

Things escalate not long after. He’s touchier. Bolder. Somewhere along the way, Seokmin has stopped flinching when he touches you in public and started leaning into the performance like it’s second nature. And worse still: he’s getting good at it.

A brush of his fingers along the dip of your waist as you reach for the locker door. A comment in front of Soonyoung about how you look good in the staff polo, followed by a wink that is actually genuinely disarming. One time, he even smooths your hair back before a team meeting, murmuring something about presentation.

You catch Mingyu watching the two of you, eyes narrowed. Minghao frowns when Seokmin lets you steal a bite of his lunch using the same fork. The whispers are starting, and not even Seokmin’s endearing clumsiness can cover for the shift in atmosphere.

But the real danger doesn’t come from the outside.

It comes from the break room.

You’re sitting on the counter while Seokmin stands between your legs, lips a breath away. It’s meant to be another rehearsal. A quick one. A casual, convincing peck for the hallway.

Instead, Seokmin’s hand brushes your thigh. Not by accident.

Your breath hitches. He pauses. You don’t move.

His palm presses firmer, sliding just barely, just enough.

Then, without much warning, he leans in and kisses you again. Slower. A little hungrier. It catches you off guard—not because it’s clumsy, but because it’s not. It’s careful. Considered. There’s intention behind it, like he’s trying to see what else he can get away with.

You make a sound. It’s not loud, but it’s unmistakable. A quiet, surprised thing at the back of your throat.

Seokmin jerks back immediately. You stare at each other, both stunned into silence.

“What was that?” you ask, heart pounding.

His voice is soft, eyes wide. “I—I don’t know. I thought we were practicing.”

“We are,” you say, but it comes out shaky.

You both stare at each other for another beat.

It’s getting dangerous. Very, very dangerous. You force yourself to act, to play the role. You shift, leaning back slightly to break the tension, giving him a small, teasing smile. “Now I’m curious, Seokmin. Can you make the same sound?”

The question only flusters him even more. “What?” 

“You know. The sound I made. You looked like you liked it.”

“I—” he sputters, adorably scandalized. “That wasn’t—I mean, it was nice, but I wasn’t—”

You lean closer again, voice dropping just slightly. “Let me try something.”

He nods. Wordless. Willing.

Your hands come up to rest on his chest, warm over the fabric of his shirt. You feel the faint thud of his heart beneath your palms. He’s wound tight, you can tell, nervous in the way he always is when you close the distance. You tilt your head, angle your lips near his ear.

“Relax,” you whisper, soft, lilting.

Then you kiss him.

It starts gentle, barely-there pressure. Your hands slide up his shoulders, then down, resting at his hips as you slot your mouth against his more deliberately. You deepen it slowly, coaxing, guiding.

When your fingers skim up the nape of his neck, he makes a sound—a small, breathy one that ghosts from the back of his throat. It makes your stomach flip, makes you smile into the kiss. You do it again. Just to hear it.

“That,” you murmur, lips brushing his, “was hot.”

He groans in embarrassment, pulling back to bury his face in your shoulder.

“You can't just say stuff like that,” he mumbles, muffled.

“Why not? You sounded good. Really good.”

You laugh, light and airy, and he groans again. When he peeks up at you again, he’s still flushed. But he’s smiling.

“Okay,” he whispers, all conspiratorial, almost as if it were a dare, “your turn again.”

You’re in trouble.

--

The plan is simple, in theory: get caught in a compromising position by the most enthusiastic gossip in Carat Bay. 

The break room behind the bumper cars is off-limits after closing. Soonyoung has a habit of staying late to tally the day’s dance competition scores. It’s foolproof. Everything’s lined up.

Except Seokmin is looking at you like he’s just been asked to disarm a bomb with his teeth.

“I didn’t think you’d actually…” he trails off, eyes darting downwards, where your polo shirt now lies folded over the employee bench. His cheeks are redder than you’ve ever seen them, which is saying something. You’re still wearing your undershirt—barely indecent by any standard—but Seokmin’s expression says otherwise.

“Strip?” you finish for him, amused. “It’s the uniform. People get fired for less than partial nudity, you know.”

He swallows. Hard. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

You laugh, stepping closer. “Seokmin, we’re trying to sell the illusion. If we’re going to pull this off, I need you to look less like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m not gonna pass out,” he lies, his voice two pitches higher than usual.

You reach up, fingers grazing the side of his face, and it’s like flipping a switch. He exhales, trembling a little. Your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth.

“We’ve done this before,” you remind him gently. “We’ve kissed before. This is just like practice, remember?”

He nods again, more believably this time. “Yeah. Just like practice.”

“Exactly.” 

You press your lips to his, soft and warm. 

Enough to ease him in, to coax some steadiness into his hands where they hover near your waist. You kiss him again, this time slower, more deliberate.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re reassuring yourself as much as you are him. Because your skin tingles where his fingers tentatively land on your hips, and your breath hitches when his mouth parts just slightly, enough to let your tongue graze his.

He pulls back first, eyes wide and unfocused. “That was…”

“Convincing?” you offer, trying to keep your voice steady.

He nods mutely, blinking at you like he’s never seen you before.

“Good,” you murmur, straightening his shirt collar. “Let’s make this a performance Soonyoung won’t ever shut up about.”

The break room is just warm enough to be stifling, wrapped in the hush of neon hum and the smell of popcorn grease and old rubber. You’re straddling Seokmin’s lap on the worn-out couch you’ve both dubbed the ‘emergency plushie zone.’ 

Seokmin’s tie is hanging off a peg behind you, abandoned somewhere between your fifth and sixth practice kisses. How much fucking practice one needs to get this ‘right,’ you’re not sure, but neither of you are complaining. 

This kiss starts like the rest, lips brushing with practiced familiarity, but something shifts when Seokmin’s hands curl around your waist with more certainty than before.

"You’re really getting good at this," you murmur against his mouth.

He huffs a shy laugh, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your undershirt where your skin runs hot. “You told me to practice.”

“I didn’t tell you to practice this well,” you say, and then you kiss him again, hungrier now, breath catching when his hand trails up your spine.

It’s just an act, you remind yourself. Just something to get Soonyoung to walk in and freak out, let the gossip train do the rest.

Except Seokmin moans when you nip at his lower lip. A small sound, barely there—but it melts into you. You want to hear it again. So you shift your weight, rolling your hips once. His breath stutters. Yours does too.

You press your mouth to the underside of his jaw, voice low. “You’re really committing to the bit.”

“I think,” Seokmin says, voice wrecked with something like disbelief, “I’m losing track of what’s a bit.”

You smile against his neck. “We’ve been at it for twenty minutes. Where the hell is Soonyoung?”

“Was—Was Soonyoung even at work today?” 

You freeze. You pull back and stare at Seokmin. 

Kwon Soonyoung had taken a ‘sick’ leave today. To line up at midnight for a video game. He bragged about it in the group chat that all the newbies shared. 

You glance down at your exposed chest, then at the way your thighs are locked around Seokmin’s hips. “Are we fucking stupid?” you wonder out loud. 

Seokmin blinks at you, lips swollen and pink, eyes blown wide. He leans his head back against the couch with a groan. “I don’t think I can do that again without losing my soul,” he rasps. 

“You’ll get it back in pieces,” you sigh, patting Seokmin’s chest in a gesture that’s meant to be reassuring. “Starting with your tie.”

--

You’re heading back from the boardwalk, salt still on your skin and the cheap cola you pilfered from the vendor stand fizzing in your hand, when you hear voices. The kind that make you stop short and lean just a little closer to the maintenance shed wall, pretending like you’re very interested in the bulletin board you’ve seen a hundred times.

It’s Joshua. Low and calm, like always, but there’s a seriousness in his voice you’re not used to.

“Seokmin. I just want to know what this is.”

You freeze. You don’t mean to. You know it’s bad form to eavesdrop, especially when you’re the this in question, but something roots you to the spot.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” Joshua continues, “but if this is just a game, if the two of you are pretending? You guys should quit it. Seriously. You’re both going to get into a shitton of trouble.”

A beat. Then Seokmin’s voice rings out, convincingly offended.

“It’s not pretend. I like her.”

Your breath catches.

“I like how she always wipes her hands on her shorts even when she has a towel. I like how she rolls her eyes like the world’s exhausting but she still shows up every day. I like that she lets me be nervous, but doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile. I like her laugh. A lot.”

Joshua doesn’t say anything, so Seokmin keeps going.

“I’m—I may not be able to call her my girlfriend. Not yet,” he says hastily. “But that doesn’t change the way I feel. I lo—like being around her. I like her, Shua.” 

You press your lips together, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands, your breath, your entire chest. You feel like a live wire. Humming, sparking at the edges with something dangerous and sweet.

None of that was part of the act.

And, fine. You wish it were real. Just a little bit. Just enough to close the distance between his feelings and yours.

You slip away from the corner of the shed before either boy notices you there. The cola in your hand has gone flat. Kind of like your plan.

The conversation makes a home underneath your skin, hangs like a cloud over your head. It exists even as you’re perched on the countertop in the employee break room, the sickly hum of the vending machine buzzing under the clatter of Seokmin's footsteps. He slots himself between your knees with the same ease he’s learned over the past few weeks, hands bracing on either side of your thighs. It would be routine now, if not for the fact that your heart is somewhere around your ankles.

His eyes search yours. “Are you okay?” he asks delicately, looking at you with that concerned glance he’s been throwing your way all afternoon. 

The thing about Seokmin is that he's gotten good at reading you lately, which would be great if you weren’t actively trying to keep your thoughts from turning into a romantic nosedive. You sigh. Might as well throw it all out. “I overheard you and Joshua,” you push out through your teeth. 

Seokmin freezes like you’ve just dropped on him  a bucket of ice water. “What?”

You offer a crooked smile, something flimsy and fragile. “You were good. Like, really convincing. Should’ve guessed you were a theater kid.”

He looks like he’s been punched. The breath leaves him slowly. “You thought I was lying.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. The way your gaze skitters off to the corner of the room is answer enough.

His voice goes soft when he says his name, and you presume it’s him readying you. He’s about to let you down gently, you think. “I—” he starts, and you refuse to hear it. Not without one final act of stupidity. 

You move before you can think. Your hand cups the back of his neck and you yank him forward, pressing your lips to his like it'll keep everything messy and tender at bay. It’s not careful. It’s not supposed to be. It’s a distraction, a fire alarm, an emotional eject button.

Seokmin doesn’t kiss you back, not immediately; his brain is still caught on whatever he was about to say. The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but it’s long enough for the door to swing open behind you.

“GUYS—”

You both tear apart like you’ve been electrocuted. Soonyoung stands at the doorway holding a neon slushie. The look on his face is the type of thing that would have him going viral on TikTok.

You and Seokmin exchange a look, wide-eyed and flushed.

It’s the worst time to get caught, and of course, that’s when it finally happens.

--

The fallout begins quietly.

Which is the worst part, really.

No fireworks, no messy confrontation, just an unrelenting silence that creeps in where easy laughter used to be. Every brush of Seokmin’s hand now feels weighted, every shared glance taut with the possibility of a conversation you’re not ready to have.

Worse, people are buying it. Hook, line, and sinker. After Soonyoung caught the two of you mid-liplock, the rumor mill went into overdrive, and suddenly, no one bats an eye when Seokmin shares his food with you, or when your knees knock beneath the merchandise booth. Everyone thinks you’re together. That you’re real.

It makes it harder than ever to fake it.

Seokmin still tries. He flashes you that warm grin and slings his arm around your shoulder like nothing’s changed, but it has. You can feel it in the way he hesitates before touching you, or how his laughter doesn’t quite reach his eyes when you tease him. He wants to talk about it. You know he does.

And he tries.

It happens after another long shift, the two of you walking side by side through the near-empty parking lot. The sky is bruised and pink at the edges, cotton-candy dusk descending on Carat Bay like an afterthought. He catches your wrist, gently but firmly.

“Can we just—talk?” he says, voice low, eyes impossibly sincere.

It’s the exact thing you’ve been avoiding. You look at his hand around your wrist and your heart hammers in your chest. You want to hear him out. You want to ask him which parts were real, and which ones were for show. You want to tell him it’s been pretty damn hard for you to tell the difference, even if you’re the one who laid out the blueprint months ago. 

But you’re a coward. And this isn’t part of the plan.

So you do what you’re best at.

You run.

You tug your hand free and turn on your heel. You don’t get far. Just past the bumpers, right by the yellow staff lines painted across the lot, you hear it—the telltale squeak of worn soles and a long-suffering sigh.

Changbin. 

He’s standing there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His eyes flick from you to Seokmin, whose hand is still hovering like it’s caught mid-air.

“Inside. Both of you,” Changbin says coolly. “HR wants a word.”

Great.

You’ve been trying to get fired for months. And now, at long last, it feels like your wish is about to come true.

Except the look Seokmin shoots you isn’t relief.

It’s heartbreak.

The HR room is ice cold. Not temperature-wise—someone must've left the thermostat on the exact edge of comfort. It’s cold in that awful, bureaucratic kind of way. Like nothing good has ever happened in here. Like no one’s ever left this place with dignity fully intact.

Changmin, the HR Manager, offers you both paper cups of water. His smile is so bland it’s offensive. “Let’s make this quick,” he says, as if he has something better to do than scold employees for handsy interactions in the Carat Bay parking lot. “There’ve been some... concerns.”

Your arms are crossed. Seokmin’s foot keeps tapping under the table, a nervous rhythm he’s trying to stifle.

“Rumors have been circulating,” Changmin continues, folding his hands neatly. “Several employees have reported seeing you two getting cozy on company time.”

You open your mouth, but Seokmin beats you to it. “We weren’t—I mean, it was nothing compromising,” he argues feebly. 

“The CCTV disagrees.”

Holy shit. You almost forgot about that. There are eyes and ears all over the place; you and Seokmin didn’t even have to wait around for Soonyoung. The two of you could have just made out in the merch booth and been done with it.

“You’re both aware of the rule,” Changmin goes on. “No romantic fraternization during work hours. No workplace relationships without disclosure. And certainly not in full view of customers or staff.”

“Yes,” you mutter.

Changmin sighs, as if he genuinely hates what’s about to happen. “After internal discussion, we’ve decided to terminate the employment of one party.”

It sinks in a beat too late, what’s wrong about the statement. 

One party. Only one of you is going to get sacked, and it’s pretty clear who it’s going to be. 

Seokmin’s head snaps toward you. “What? No, that—that doesn’t make sense,” he sputters. “We both broke the rule.”

Changmin's smile flickers. “Mr. Lee, you know very well your position in this company.”

Ah. There it is.

The heir card.

You could laugh, but it’d come out strangled.

“This doesn’t have to be a big thing,” Changmin says smoothly. “We’ll phrase it as a mutual separation. No disciplinary record. A clean reference, if needed.”

You stare at the condensation sliding down your paper cup. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To get fired. To be released from this pastel-colored theme park hellscape and finally live your own damn life.

And yet.

Beside you, Seokmin's voice breaks. “It wasn’t just her. If anyone should take responsibility—”

“This is final,” Changmin says, in the politest voice imaginable.

You got what you had planned for. Why does it feel like shit?

You find Seokmin in the parking lot after the meeting, his hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders drawn up like they’re trying to shield him from the world. The Carat Bay sign flickers behind him, casting a tacky blue halo over his profile. You take slow steps toward him, gravel crunching under your shoes.

“Hey,” you say tentatively. “I—I didn’t think it would go like that. I thought we’d both get fired. That was the point.”

Seokmin doesn’t look at you. His jaw works, like he’s trying to swallow something sharp. “I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted,” he says flatly.

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, bite your tongue. “You know that’s not what I meant. I didn’t want you to get hurt by this. I didn’t think they’d—only fire me.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, the kind that tastes of ash. “Of course they didn’t. Why would they? I’m Lee Seokmin, Prince of Carat Bay. Fucking heir to the tacky throne.”

You step closer. “Seokmin—”

“No, seriously. This is the first time I ever tried to do something for myself, and I managed to ruin it by—” He breaks off, exhales hard through his nose. “By catching feelings for someone who only wanted a clean way out.”

You flinch. “That's not fair.”

“Isn't it?” he snaps. “You heard what I told Shua, right? You were eavesdropping. So you know. You know I wasn't acting. You kissed me anyway, like it didn’t matter. Like it was just another scene.”

You shake your head. “I kissed you because I didn’t know what to say,” you say, voice cracking. “Because I was scared. Not because I didn’t care.”

Seokmin finally looks at you, and it guts you. His eyes are red-rimmed, vulnerable in a way he’s never let you see. When he speaks, it’s as good as a confession, “I thought maybe, just maybe, if I kept being useful, if I kept showing up, you’d start to want me for real,” he manages. “But I guess I really was just an acting partner, huh?” 

He pulls back when you reach for him. “Don’t,” he says, looking less like the boy you’ve come to love and more like the ghost of him. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.” 

And then he’s walking away, shoulders still hunched, hands still buried in his pockets, as if letting them out might betray too much. You stay rooted to the spot, the neon lights buzzing overhead, your name already half-forgotten by the place—and the coworker—you were trying so hard to leave behind. 

--

You have at least two more weeks before your exile from Carat Bay is final, and you tell yourself you’re okay.

You tell yourself that when Seokmin, who you’ve worked elbow-to-elbow with all summer, starts pretending you’re not breathing the same air as him. You tell yourself that when he disappears to ‘stock’ the back room every time you so much as look at him.

You tell yourself that when he hands you inventory lists like he’s passing secret messages in a Cold War spy thriller. Gaze averted, fingers barely brushing yours.

You’re fine.

It’s fine.

You’re very normal about the fact that the boy who once had a casual palm curved to the slope of your ass now can’t stand to be within two feet of you. The boy who used to trip over himself to steal kisses, to coax soft sounds out of your throat in the shadowed corners of Carat Bay, now can’t even meet your eyes.

The merchandise booth is tiny, the kind of claustrophobic that’s usually endearing in the early stages of a slow-burn romance. Now it feels like a battlefield. 

Every interaction is a landmine. You joke with Soonyoung and Joshua louder than necessary just to fill the silence Seokmin leaves behind. You laugh a little too hard when Mingyu teases you about winning the Fastest Employee-to-HR Pipeline award. You act normal. You’re good at acting normal.

Seokmin, for all his theater-kid roots, isn’t.

His silences are loud. His stiffness is louder.

You catch him watching you sometimes, when he thinks you’re not looking. There’s a hollow, guilty kind of sadness in it, like he’s punishing himself. Like he’s mourning something neither of you can name.

You don’t know how to fix it. You’re not sure you should. Wasn't this what you wanted?

You got out. You got what you needed. It’s not your fault if somewhere along the way, Seokmin handed you something far messier, far more dangerous, and you didn’t know how to hold it.

You clock in. You clock out. You memorize the days until your last shift like you’re counting down to parole.

You don’t think about how empty the booth feels now.

You don’t think about the way Seokmin used to smile at you like you put the sun in the sky.

You don’t think at all.

You can’t afford to.

And, really, you don’t mean to cry. You’d told yourself you’d get through your shift, maybe duck into the bathroom if it got bad enough. You could’ve handled this like an adult. Quietly. Dignified.

Instead, here you are in the back break room, facedown against the sticky laminate table. Your shoulders are shaking, and you’re sniffling embarrassingly loud as you try to muffle the sound.

“Whoa, hey,” comes Soonyoung’s voice, full of immediate alarm. “Hey, what—oh my God, are you crying?”

You don’t look up. You can’t. You just groan low into your arms, trying to make the world swallow you whole. Of all the people who could find you. 

There’s the rustling sound of Soonyoung pulling out the chair next to you, scooting in close. A warm, awkward hand pats the middle of your back.

“Hey,” he says again, softer now. “Hey, it’s okay. Breakups suck. Like, really bad. Especially when it’s someone you see every day at work. That’s brutal.”

You let out a wet, miserable noise.

“Everyone’s been talking,” Soonyoung continues, unaware of the dagger twisting deeper into your gut. “Like, we all kinda figured something was wrong since Seokmin’s been… I dunno, all weird. He barely even smiles anymore. He’s acting like you killed his cat.”

You lift your head just enough to squint at Soonyoung through bleary eyes. “It wasn’t even real,” you whisper.

“Huh?”

You sniff and rub your sleeve across your nose, cringing at yourself. “It was all fake. Me and Seokmin. We were faking it.”

Soonyoung blinks at you. “Like… the relationship?”

You nod miserably.

“Why?”

Through your tears, you tell Soonyoung everything. The plan, the faking it, the makeout sessions. The way it ended on a Wednesday, of all days, which is terrible—because you both had to clock in the next morning like you hadn’t just broken each other’s hearts. 

Soonyoung leans back in his chair, processing this with the same serious expression he reserves for really important things, like choosing what to order for lunch.

“Okay,” he says after a beat. “That’s kinda… diabolical. But also, like, you and Seokmin… you’re just idiots in love.”

You let out a half-sob, half-laugh, wiping your eyes with the heel of your palm.

“I mean it,” Soonyoung says, smiling now, in that rare, earnest way of his. “You’re both idiots. And it’s kinda beautiful, if you think about it.”

You don’t know if ‘beautiful’ is the right word for the mess you’ve made.

But maybe—maybe it could be.

--

You always figure there’s a big act of romance in every rom-com. A grand, sweeping gesture by the male lead. Unfortunately, your male lead is out of commission; you decide to take things into your own hands. 

It’s your last day of work, and you have nothing left to lose.

Lunch time is your choice of poison. You wait for the clock to hit exactly 12:30, and then you hit Send after making sure everybody who matters is in the breakroom. 

Someone gasps. Someone else drops their coffee. Employees and managers alike pull out their phones to see what’s so stunning. 

The screenshots are in the group chat. Seokmin’s texts to you over the past few months, confessions of all the petty little sabotage attempts he’s made at the merchandise booth: mislabeling shirts, sneaking wrong sizes into bags, purposefully miscounting plushies. 

People are side-eyeing you, whispering among themselves—

“Damn, she’s really airing him out.”

“Was the breakup that bad?” 

“Evil ass ex.” 

You ignore them all.

You’re focused on Seokmin, who is seated between Joshua and Soonyoung. When he glances at his lockscreen, he does a double take. Blinks. Shoots up, his expression slack with horror. He looks like he’s about to make a run for it. 

You cross the room in a couple of quick strides. Before Seokmin can say a word, you grab him by the collar of his stupid Carat Bay polo and kiss him. Long. Hard. Unapologetic. 

Your mouth moves against his like you’re staking a claim. Like you’re not done with him yet. 

The breakroom explodes in noise—shrieks, whistles, laughter—but you barely hear it. Your brain is doing that thing again, the one where your entire world narrows into nothing whenever you’re up against Seokmin like this. 

You’ve known since the first time you kissed him that he would ruin you. You were right. 

You break the kiss to breathe, to murmur against his lips, “You’re definitely going to get fired now.” 

You don’t need to look to know a few mothers outside the breakroom are going to be scandalized. That the CCTV in the corner is blinking red, and Seokmin’s face is angled so you absolutely cannot manipulate or miss who had just participated in public indecency. 

For the first time in days, Seokmin smiles.

Not the fake half-smile he’s been giving you lately. Not the sad, wilted one. A real one. Wide and bright and devastatingly beautiful. He cups your face, leans in, and kisses you again—softer this time, like a promise. 

Screw the script. You're writing your own ending.

--

EPILOGUE. 

The drive is long, but not unbearable. 

Soonyoung and Joshua have packed the car with snacks, and between the three of you, there’s enough chaos to keep the ride from feeling too heavy. It's only when the road smooths out into rolling countryside and the first glimpse of the shelter comes into view—an unassuming building with bright, inviting banners—that your heart tightens in your chest.

“There it is,” Soonyoung says, leaning forward against his seatbelt, eyes wide.

“Cute,” Joshua adds, pulling his sunglasses down to get a better look. “Looks like it belongs to someone who loves, like, every living thing.”

You laugh, amused. “Sounds about right.”

The car barely parks before you're throwing the door open, feet hitting the gravel with an eager crunch. Seokmin is already at the entrance, waving both arms above his head like he's trying to guide a plane in for landing. You sprint the last few steps and collide into him, arms wrapping around his middle.

He lets out a winded, delighted noise, hugging you so tight your feet lift off the ground for a second. “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here,” you murmur against his neck. “I’d be a terrible girlfriend otherwise.” 

Behind you, Soonyoung and Joshua groan loudly.

“God, it’s worse than I thought,” Soonyoung sighs. “You’d think the honeymoon phase would be over by now.” 

“It’s watching a rom-com on 2x speed,” Joshua agrees.

Seokmin only grins against your hair, clearly unfazed. He sets you back down but keeps an arm looped lazily around your shoulders as he ushers everyone inside.

The shelter is still new—there’s the faint smell of fresh paint, and not every kennel is full yet—but the energy is unmistakably Seokmin: warm, bright, buzzing with earnest hope. He introduces you to every animal like he’s presenting you with priceless treasures. You fall in love with each one.

You had properly fallen in love with Seokmin shortly after you were both freed from the clutches of Carat Bay. The two of you talked it out. He asked you on a proper date. The rest became history, and the story of your origins—now about half a year in the rearview—proves to be a fun tale to swap during drinking sessions. 

This time, you both got what you wanted, and so much more. 

At one point, Seokmin presses a kiss to your temple. You instinctively lift onto your toes to kiss his jaw in return. You both giggle like teenagers, noses brushing, completely lost in each other.

From behind you, Joshua pretends to gag. “Do we need to leave you two alone with the puppies?” he says judgmentally, arms tightening around the Rottweiler puppy he’d been eyeing for weeks. 

Soonyoung joins in on the teasing. “Disgustingly cute,” he announces dryly, already halfway out the door so he can escape you and Seokmin. And then, he throws in as an afterthought: “You two deserve each other.” 

You glance up at Seokmin. He beams down at you like you’re the only thing he can see.

It pains you to admit—but for once, Kwon Soonyoung might be right about something. 

[elryuse]

Post Ceremony Awards

Giselle X Male Reader

Tags : Idol Girlfriend, Kissing, Cowgirl, Lots and lots of Sex, Temptation

Words : 3,2k

This is a Commission for My Friend @dav1233555 on Tumblr. Hope you liked it buddy.

The soft hum of the city outside was drowned out by the faint sound of heels clicking against the marble floor. Giselle’s delicate yet hurried footsteps echoed through the empty hallway as she approached the door, her heart racing with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. The award show had been a whirlwind—flashing cameras, blinding lights, and the constant pressure to smile even when her feet felt like they were about to give out. But now, all she wanted was him.

Y/N.

Her safe haven. Her escape from the chaos of being an idol. She fumbled with the keys for a moment, her hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Finally, the door clicked open, and she stepped inside, greeted by the warm, dim lighting of their shared apartment.

“Y/N?” she called out softly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness as she kicked off her heels and let them clatter to the floor. There was no immediate response, just the faint sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen. A smile tugged at her lips as she padded toward the source of the noise, her hips swaying ever so slightly in her form-fitting dress.

There he was, standing by the stove, his back turned to her as he stirred something that smelled absolutely divine. His broad shoulders relaxed under the casual shirt he wore, and Giselle couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly handsome he looked, even in such a simple moment. She leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she watched him, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Did you miss me?” she purred, her voice dripping with teasing affection.

Y/N turned around, his face lighting up the moment he saw her. “Of course I did,” he said, setting the spoon down and wiping his hands on a towel. “How was the show? You look… stunning, as always.”

Giselle smirked, stepping closer until she was just inches away from him. “It was exhausting,” she admitted, her fingers lightly trailing down his chest. “But seeing you makes it all worth it.”

His breath hitched as her touch sent a shiver through him. He could feel the heat radiating off her body, the intoxicating scent of her perfume enveloping him. Before he could say anything, she closed the distance between them, her lips crashing against his in a kiss that was equal parts desperate and passionate. Y/N’s hands instinctively found her waist, pulling her closer as their tongues danced together, exploring every inch of each other’s mouths.

Giselle moaned softly into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him. The fabric of her dress felt too constricting, too much of a barrier between them. She pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “I need you. Now.”

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion, he lifted her off her feet, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the living room. He carefully set her down on the couch, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to undress her, peeling away the layers of designer fabric until she was left in nothing but her lingerie. His gaze darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her, his hands trembling slightly as he traced the curves of her body.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with need.

Giselle’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, but she didn’t have time to respond before he leaned down to capture her lips once more. His hands roamed over her skin, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every touch. She arched her back as his fingers dipped beneath the lace of her panties, finding her already wet and eager for him.

“Y/N,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he teased her sensitive folds. “Please…”

He didn’t make her beg for long. With a growl of approval, he stripped off his own clothes, his erection springing free as he positioned himself between her thighs. Giselle reached down to guide him inside her, her breath hitching as he slid into her warmth, filling her completely.

They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies melding as if they were made for each other. Giselle’s head fell back against the couch as Y/N’s thrusts grew more frantic, each one sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, urging him deeper, harder.

“Fuck, Y/N,” she moaned, her voice breaking as the pressure built inside her. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop…”

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he chased his own release. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, mingling with their muffled cries of pleasure. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, they both came undone, collapsing into each other’s arms as the world around them faded away.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the steady rhythm of their hearts beating in sync. Giselle nuzzled against Y/N’s chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin as she basked in the afterglow.

“Let’s stay like this forever,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/N chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “As long as you want, princess.”

But just as they were beginning to drift off, the sound of the front door opening jolted them awake. Giselle’s eyes widened as she realized what time it was—the rest of the members must have come home.

“Shit,” she hissed, scrambling to grab her dress and pull it back on. Y/N quickly followed suit, throwing on his clothes just as Karina, Winter, and Ningning walked into the living room.

Their eyes immediately zeroed in on the disheveled state of the couch—and the unmistakable flush on Giselle’s cheeks.

“What were you two doing?” Winter asked, her tone laced with amusement as she raised an eyebrow.

Giselle laughed nervously, trying to play it cool. “Nothing! Just… catching up after the show.”

Karina and Ningning exchanged knowing glances, clearly not buying it, but they didn’t push further. Instead, they plopped down on the other side of the couch, stealing bites of the food Y/N had prepared earlier.

As they ate and chatted, Giselle leaned back against Y/N’s chest, feeling more content than she had in weeks. Despite the chaos of her life, moments like this made everything worth it.

But deep down, she knew this wasn’t the end. Not even close.

And as she glanced up at Y/N, a sly smile playing on her lips, she wondered just how far they could take things…

Giselle’s fingers traced lazy circles on Y/N’s thigh under the table as the other members chatted animatedly about the award show. Winter was recounting a particularly funny moment backstage, her laughter echoing through the room, while Karina and Ningning were fully immersed in their video game, controllers clicking furiously.

But Giselle couldn’t focus on any of it. Her mind was still replaying the way Y/N had touched her earlier, the way his hands had lingered on her skin, possessive yet tender. She glanced at him from under her lashes, her lips curving into a mischievous smile.

He knew exactly what she wanted.

“Hey,” she whispered, leaning closer to him, her breath warm against his ear. “I think I left something upstairs… come help me find it?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly catching her drift. He glanced around the room—the girls were too preoccupied to notice anything amiss. Without a word, he nodded, standing up casually.

“Be right back,” he said, though no one was really paying attention.

Giselle followed him up the stairs, her heels clicking softly against the wooden steps. The moment they reached the hallway, she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind them.

The air between them crackled with tension as she turned to face him, her back pressed against the door. Her eyes darkened, her lips parting slightly as she tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

“You owe me,” she murmured, her voice dripping with promise. “From earlier.”

Y/N didn’t need any more encouragement. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one swift motion. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips crashed onto hers. The kiss was hungry, desperate, filled with all the pent-up frustration they’d been holding back downstairs.

Giselle moaned softly into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, and it sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.

“Fuck me,” she breathed when they finally broke apart, her chest heaving. “Right now.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. He spun her around, pinning her against the door as his hands slid down her body, gripping her hips tightly. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses that made her gasp.

“Quiet,” he warned, his voice low and rough. “Unless you want them to hear.”

Giselle bit her lip, nodding as she reached behind her to undo the clasp of her dress. It fell to the floor in a pool of silk, leaving her in nothing but her lingerie. Y/N’s eyes raked over her body, and she could see the hunger in his gaze.

“Take it off,” she demanded, her voice trembling with anticipation.

He obeyed, his hands trembling slightly as he unhooked her bra and slipped off her panties. She stepped out of them, completely bare before him, and the look in his eyes made her shiver.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, his hands roaming over her curves, savoring every inch of her.

Giselle reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle as impatience gnawed at her. She needed him inside her, now. When she finally freed him from his pants, she gasped at the size of him, her body already aching with need.

“Hurry,” she whispered, turning around and bracing herself against the door.

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. He lined himself up with her entrance, his hands gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly, letting her adjust to him. Giselle’s nails dug into the wood of the door as she let out a stifled moan, her body trembling with pleasure.

“Don’t hold back,” she breathed, pushing back against him. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Y/N gripped her hips tighter, thrusting into her with a force that made her cry out. Each movement was deep, deliberate, hitting all the right spots as her moans grew louder, more unrestrained.

“Shh,” he reminded her, though his own breathing was ragged, his self-control slipping.

But Giselle couldn’t help it. The pleasure was overwhelming, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy through her body. She bit down on her hand to muffle her cries, but they still escaped, soft and breathy, filling the room.

Downstairs, Karina paused mid-game, glancing up at the ceiling. “Do you guys hear that?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

Ningning tilted her head, listening. “Sounds like… I don’t know. A cat or something?”

Winter snorted. “In this apartment? Doubt it.”

Karina shrugged, returning to the game. “Probably just the neighbors.”

Upstairs, Giselle was far past caring. She rocked back against Y/N, matching his rhythm as their bodies moved together in perfect sync. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their gasps and moans.

“Harder,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

Y/N obliged, his thrusts becoming rougher, more urgent. He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back as his lips found her shoulder, biting down lightly. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she arched her back, pushing herself further onto him.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice strained.

Giselle smiled to herself, reveling in the way he was falling apart for her. She reached back, tangling her fingers in his hair as she guided him closer, urging him on.

“I’m close,” she whispered, her walls tightening around him. “So close…”

Y/N kissed her neck, his breathing uneven. “Come for me,” he urged, his voice thick with desire.

And she did. Pleasure ripped through her body like a tidal wave, her vision going white as she cried out, muffling the sound in her hand. Y/N wasn’t far behind, his thrusts growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside her, spilling himself with a groan.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies pressed together, both trembling from the intensity of it all. Then Y/N pulled away slowly, helping her turn around to face him.

Giselle looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from kissing. She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead as she smiled.

“You’re amazing,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Y/N chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

They stayed there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow, until the sound of laughter from downstairs brought them back to reality.

“We should probably get dressed,” Y/N said reluctantly, though his hands still lingered on her waist.

Giselle pouted playfully. “Do we have to?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Unless you want to explain why we’re naked when they inevitably come looking for us.”

She sighed, stepping away from him to retrieve her dress. As they got dressed, she couldn’t help but glance at him, a sly smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she said, smoothing out her dress, “we could always sneak back up here later…”

Y/N smirked, pulling her into his arms once more. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Giselle giggled, leaning up to kiss him again. “Maybe.”

The soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware filled the apartment as the group gathered around the dining table. Y/N had outdone himself with the meal—sizzling bulgogi, steaming kimchi jjigae, and perfectly seasoned japchae adorned the table. The aroma wafted through the air, mingling with the lingering tension that seemed to hang just beneath the surface. Giselle sat close to Y/N, her fingers occasionally brushing his under the table, a secret smile playing on her lips whenever their eyes met.

Karina was the first to break the casual chatter. She leaned forward, her chopsticks hovering over her plate, her sharp gaze darting between Giselle and Y/N. “So… how long have you two been sneaking around?” she asked, her tone light but laced with suspicion.

Giselle froze mid-bite, her eyes widening for a split second before she recovered, her lips curling into an amused smirk. She set her chopsticks down deliberately, leaning back in her chair. “Sneaking around? Who said anything about sneaking?”

Winter snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh, come on, Giselle. We’re not blind. You’ve been glowing like a neon sign since we got home. And don’t think we didn’t notice how long it took you two to ‘help clean up’ earlier.”

Ningning giggled into her hand, clearly enjoying the sudden shift in the room’s energy. “Yeah, and let’s not forget the very loud thud against the bedroom door. What were you doing, redecorating?”

Y/N felt his cheeks burn, but Giselle remained unfazed. She tilted her head, her expression turning almost predatory as she glanced at the others. “Well, if you’re so curious, why don’t you just ask? I’m sure Y/N wouldn’t mind sharing… details,” she purred, her voice dripping with mischief.

The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. Karina’s jaw dropped slightly, while Winter’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. Ningning choked on her sip of water, coughing loudly as she tried to regain her composure.

“Sharing?” Karina finally managed, her voice higher-pitched than usual. “You mean… you’d actually… share him?”

Giselle shrugged lazily, reaching for her glass of wine. “I mean, if the offer’s tempting enough, I might consider it.” She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Karina’s. “But let’s be real—you’d have to give me a damn good reason. And maybe throw in a bet or two. I’m not giving him away for free.”

Y/N nearly choked on his food, coughing loudly as he tried to process what he’d just heard. He turned to Giselle, his brows furrowed in disbelief. “Uh… excuse me? Am I a prize now?”

She reached over, patting his cheek affectionately. “Of course not, baby. You’re my prize. But if they want a taste…” She trailed off, her grin widening as she looked back at the others. “Well, let’s just say they’ll have to work for it.”

Winter leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her gaze locked on Giselle. “What kind of bet are we talking about here?”

Giselle tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hmm… how about this? Whoever wins the next round of whatever game we decide gets to spend some… quality time with Y/N. Nothing too crazy, of course. Just enough to make it interesting.”

Ningning let out a squeak, her face turning bright red. “Giselle! You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Giselle replied, her tone unwavering. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “But hey, if you’re not up for it, no hard feelings. More for me.”

Karina’s eyes narrowed, a competitive glint flashing in them. “Fine. Let’s do it. Winner takes all.”

Winter smirked, nodding in agreement. “You’re on. But don’t cry when I win.”

Ningning hesitated for a moment before raising her hand tentatively. “Um… can I sit this one out? This feels… weird.”

Giselle chuckled, shaking her head. “Nope. You’re in this now, Ning. No backing out.”

Y/N stared at the scene unfolding before him, feeling both flustered and oddly intrigued. He cleared his throat, trying to interject. “Uh, shouldn’t I have a say in this?”

All four pairs of eyes turned to him, and Giselle grinned wickedly. “Don’t worry, babe. You’ll love it. Trust me.”

Before he could respond, Karina stood up, slamming her hands on the table. “Alright, enough talk. Let’s play. But I’m warning you, Giselle—I’m not losing.”

Giselle’s grin widened, her confidence unshaken. “We’ll see about that.”

The group quickly cleared the table, moving to the living room where they decided on a game of truth or dare—with a twist. Each dare would be designed to push boundaries, and every truth would dig deep into secrets none of them had dared to share before.

As the game began, the tension in the room grew thicker, the air electric with anticipation. Y/N found himself caught in the middle, his heart racing as he watched the girls strategize and flirt openly, their competitive sides taking over.

When it was Winter’s turn, she spun the bottle, and it landed squarely on Y/N. Her lips curled into a sly smile as she leaned forward. “Truth or dare?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

Y/N swallowed hard, glancing at Giselle, who simply raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to choose. “Uh… dare?”

Winter’s smile widened. “Good choice. I dare you to kiss the person you find most attractive in this room… besides Giselle.”

The room went silent, and Y/N’s eyes darted between Karina, Winter, and Ningning, his pulse quickening. He could feel Giselle’s gaze on him, watching intently, waiting to see how he’d handle the situation.

He took a deep breath, his mind racing. The stakes were high, and the tension was palpable. As he moved closer to make his choice, the sound of Giselle’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and commanding.

“Careful, Y/N. Choose wisely…”

- To Be Continued -

[undoing-daughters-blog]

I'm going to explain the theory that Jinx is not actually dead

(I know this is long, I promise it's worth it)

This starts in chapter 8 of season two.

We see Jinx in the prision, she's devastated, lost, defeated, and wants things to end. And we see the first interaction she has with the voice of Silco. In this interaction Silco tells Jinx that "killing is a cycle" and that it would continue. But Jinx says she's "done running in circles", meaning: she wants to stop this cycle. To which Silco says:

And later, when Vi goes to visit Jinx, and Jinx tricks Vi and escapes the prison. Vi then asks her what she will do, Jinx answers:

And now Jinx knows the way to break the cycle, is by leaving.

Next time we see Jinx is in episode 9. She is still in the same mood as before, and now she cuts most of her hair off and burns The Last Drop

Burning down The Last Drop and letting go of her hair shows this closure. Later, she tries to kill herself, which is her way of "walking away" to "break the cycle".

But then Ekko shows up, saves her, and they go to save Vi and the others together.

At this point, Jinx wants to stop the killing and wants to leave, but she will always want to save Vi ("I'm always with you. Even when we are worlds apart").

But she still wants to break the cycle. She still needs to let go.

So, as she saves Vi from Warwick with the monkey bomb explosion, she escapes and leaves Piltover.

And we get a hint of that in the final scenes of the show when Caitlyn is going through her mother's database. She finds a blueprint of the hexgate tower and finds secret air ducts in the place where the explosion happened.

We also see her holding a part of Jinx's bomb.

And after seeing the blueprint she has this look. Like she's thinking "is it possible she survived?"

And in the very last scene we see one of these things that is flying away from Piltover.

Which reminds me of Season 1 Episode 1:

She has always wanted to ride one of them.

Maybe, this is her new way of walking away, instead of dying.

And the two frames are almost exactly the same, it couldn't not be a reference to that s1 moment.

And I know this theory may sound dumb but, why would they show us Caitlyn looking at those blueprints then? Every scene, every frame in Arcane is carefully designed. The team is very good, they wouldn't just show it for no reason. It wouldn't make sense. Especially because they have only 9 episodes of 40 minutes each (except 9 which has 50) to develop everything that happens in season two. And there are A LOT of things going on, they don't have time to spare. If they chose to show us that, it had a very important meaning.

Also I think it's kinda bad If Jinx just dies, I wouldn't like that ending, at least not like this.

[allyeilishh]

ᥫ᭡ SURPRISE ── .✦ B.E.

Pairing: Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Genre: fluff

Synopsis: with the "Hit Me Hard and Soft" Tour, Billie and you haven’t had much time to talk, less than see each other. But as she went to Sydney—the place both of you wanted to visit—so did you.

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: guys I’m so excited for this I think it’s realllly good and ur gonna love it 🫶🏼🫶🏼

The house was quiet, just like it had been for the past few months. The soft glow of the fireplace illuminated the room, the soft glow of candles on top of the mantel, making the room smell like vanilla. But there was that emptiness of the room, even when everything was so full, there still was that emptiness hanging above your head.

Billie had been on tour for a few months, and it had been keeping her really busy, along with her exploring the places she went to before she performed. It gave her little time to communicate with you, no matter how much she wanted to. Of course, you wanted her to explore where she went, but the silence from her left a pit of sorrow in your chest.

And now, you were sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a fluffy blue blanket that engulfed your frame. The TV was playing some reality show that you weren’t focusing on. Your mind was on Billie and what she was doing. She was probably roaming the streets of Brisbane, probably at the zoo looking at all the different animals they had to offer.

Your thoughts were quickly snapped out of when your phone began to ring beside you. Your arms wiggled out of the blanket, reaching over for your phone. And when you saw the caller ID, your heart leaped in excitement. You quickly clicked the green 'join' button, a smile on your face as the call connected. Billie’s face instantly popped up, and she was smiling widely, almost as much as you.

"Hi baby,“ you said softly, excitement hinting in your voice. "I missed you. What are you doing?“

Billie chuckled softly, "Hi, my love. I missed you more. I always miss you.“ She spoke in a gentle tone, almost as if she was trying to soothe a crying baby. "I’m not doing anything at the moment, just laying in the hotel. I wanted to talk to you.“

Your heart fluttered at her words, your cheeks turning a light pink hue. Your lips curled up into a wider smile, your cheekbones beginning to hurt. "I wanted to talk to you too.“ You said a little quietly, your voice soft and soothing. "How’s the tour going?“

"It’s been going pretty good, I love seeing all the faces. They’re all so sweet. I love all of them." Billie said gently, shifting on the bed she was laying in. "But I always love you more. You should know that.“

You smiled, pulling the blanket higher up your body, stopping just under your chin. "I love you too.“ you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Before Billie could respond, Maggie’s voice rang through the room, calling out for Billie, saying something incoherently. Before you knew it, Billie was saying sorry, quickly saying another 'I love you‘ before hanging up. Your smile slowly faded, your bottom lip disappearing under your teeth.

You put your phone down, wrapping yourself into the blanket more. It was always like this. She would call for a few minutes, then something would pop up, and she would have to go. It felt like the tour was ruining every moment they tried to have with each other. It made your heart ache each time, feeling like a stab to the heart.

But then, a idea sprang into your head. Probably was a little stupid, but it was a idea you wanted to pull through with anyways. Her next show was in Syndey, Australia. And you were going to go.

It might’ve been super last minute, and costed a lot—even though most of your money was Billie’s (she didn’t want you to spend your own money)—it still felt like a pound of money you were handing off. But it was definitely worth it.

You gently knocked on the hotel door, the small, warm lamps between every other door lighting the hallway. The carpet below your feet had a nice, blue and tan design to it, little waves of white contrasting the colors well. The hotel was pretty fancy, and considering the room was on the 14th floor, Alanna knew that Billie was staying in Deluxe suite, most likely to hide from crazy fans hunting her down.

You had just landed in Sydney—your suitcase handle still in your hand, resting next to you—and you had instantly went to Billie’s hotel. She was supposed to be out with her band, supposedly going out to dinner with them. Giving you the perfect opportunity to surprise your girlfriend.

You informed Maggie that you were coming, but begged her to not tell Billie. You wanted this to stay a secret until everything was perfect for you two.

You held a bouquet of flowers in your hands, a mix of roses, Lillies, tulips, and carnations. It was a pretty mix of white and light pink and red, along with the green leaves and stems. The bouquet was wrapped in a pretty, light pink wrapped around the flowers, a ribboned bow tying them together.

Maggie opened the door, a wide smile crossing her face. Her face wrinkled gently, her teeth showing through her smile as they always did. "Hi, sweetheart! Come on, come in!“ Maggie said, her voice hinting with excitement. Maggie was like a second mother to you, so seeing you again served her to feel a pit of joy.

You let out a little chuckle, stepping into the hotel room, dragging your suitcase behind you. You leaned the suitcase next to the door, before quickly enveloping Maggie into a hug. The tour had definitely separated the two of you, especially sense even you and Billie barely spoke sense it started. And having your second mother holding you again felt like there was a piece going through your veins.

"God, it’s so good to see you again!“ Maggie said as she pulled away, closing the door before walking further into the room with you. There was a sliding frosted glass door leading to the bathroom on the left, and on the right was closests, and a small snack bar.

"It’s good to see you too, Mags.“ You said with a small laugh, feeling her pull you to the couch. You sat down next to Maggie, letting out a small sigh as you slipped off your shoes, placing them together, next to the couch. You placed the flowers down on the coffee table carefully, making sure they didn’t get smushed.

"So, Billie will be coming back in about two hours, so you have some time to take a shower, get all pretty and set up.“ Maggie’s said, a smile on her face. You had told Maggie you were planning on surprising Billie, and Maggie told you when Billie would be away today. And you felt like your heart was racing miles in a second with excitement, a wide smile crossing your lips.

"Thank you, Maggie." You said, your voice gentle and soothing. You didn’t know what you would do without her. She was a absolute angel that you wouldn’t be able to live without.

The room was now dark, only a few candles and lighting up the room. You were standing in the middle of the room, holding the bouquet of flowers in your hands. You had a long, ankle-length white skirt on, a white eyelet square neck top, a little bow tying it at the middle of the neckline. Your hair was perfectly straightened, which you had done about ten times, just to make sure your hair didn’t have a singular wave.

You had mascara fanned out on your eyelashes, your skin smoothed out with your foundation and concealer. You didn’t need blush—the redness fanning your face from complete nervousness you were feeling. Your hands were shaking, making the flowers rattle a little bit. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment.

Billie was going to be coming into the hotel in mere seconds, and everything felt so overwhelming, yet excited. A nervous smile was plastered on your face, your teeth shining a bright white shining against your pink lipgloss. You could feel nervous beads of sweat forming on your forehead, but you quickly wiped it, making sure not to smudge your makeup.

You were so excited to see Billie, but you had no idea how she would react to you suddenly showing up. Would she be happy? Indifferent? You didn’t know. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing a little shaky. It was almost 10 PM, and you were a little tired. You almost never stayed up this late, but to see Billie, it was definitely worth it.

You heard the little beep of the card to the hotel door, signaling Billie was finally coming in. You instantly straightened up your back, taking a big deep breath. The door opened, the hallway light shining through the room. And there she was. Her normal jorts going down to her knees, and a football jersey engulfing her body. A tie around her neck, hanging loosely. Her normal jewelry was on, her stacked necklaces and silver rings complementing her entire outfit. She looked so damn pretty—like she always did.

She stopped when she saw you, freezing in the doorway. Her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open. She stayed like that for a moment, almost dropping her keychain in her hand. You were there, really there, standing in her hotel room. And holding a bouquet of flowers, which was shaking a bit. But before long, a big, wide smile spread across her face, and she let go of the door knob, letting the door close and click into place. She spoke in complete shock and happiness, "oh my god, baby!!“

Before you got much time to react, she was running towards you, keychain completely forgotten about, and she practically jumped into your arms. You moved the flowers just in time so they wouldn’t get flattened, and you held Billie so close, not even a piece of paper could slip between you two. There was a excited giggle that escaped Billie’s mouth, her face burying into your neck.

"Hi, my love.“ You spoke softly, your one hand going to the back of her head, gently scratching her scalp with your nails. She felt so warm, her warm breath against your neck was soothing. Your eyes flickered closed for a moment, basking in the warmth of the moment. The world shut off around them, and it was suddenly only them. The loud city around them was suddenly quiet, and there was nothing but them.

Billie gently pulled away from you, her eyes locking onto yours. Her bright blue eyes boaring into yours, soft and loving. She spoke a little frantically, needing you to understand her, "My god, I’m so sorry I couldn’t call you as much, I wish I could, everything was just so much with all the tours and everything I went out to see—"

"Sh sh shh, it’s okay. I understand, my love. It’s okay." You said softly, your hand reaching up to rest on her cheek. You gently rubbed her soft, smoothe skin with your thumb, a gentle, understanding smile crossing your face. You understood. You always did.

Billie leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering close for a second. The soft touch of your hand instantly soothed her worried mind, letting out a soft breath. Her heart rate went down, and she felt the most content she had in months.

You gently put the flowers in between you two, lifting it just above her nose. She recoiled a bit, but she quickly let out a giggle, smelling the nice scent the flowers held close to her nose. She gently took it from your hands, her smile widening as she gently touched the delicate petals of each flower, her touch feather light. "They’re so beautiful. Thank you, baby.“

"Of course, my love.“ you said.

She gently placed them on the dresser, right next to the TV. She then gently took your hands, pulling you closer. She tilted her head to the side, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips. Then, she leaned closer, her arms hooking around yours neck. She leaned closer and closer, until her lips were on yours in a soft, loving kiss. You instantly responded, kissing her just as gently, your thumb continuing to rub her soft skin.

When you both pulled away, you both were a little breathless, but smiles instantly appeared on both of your lips.

"You are the best surprise I could ever ask for.“ Billie said softly, her voice no louder than a whisper.

"Your the best person I could ever give a surprise to.“ you said softly, gently moving some hair away from her pretty face.

"We should definitely go to the Opera house together.“ Billie said, her smile widening. You chuckled, nodding along with her words. ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

a/n: two and a half days and it’s FINALLY done 🙂‍↕️

[futfemfantasies]

A wedding to remember ~ Steph Catley x reader

Weddings in vineyards are always beautiful but it's something about the venue under the Australian sunset that makes it stand out. With fairy lights decorating the trees and rustic vibes from the wooden tables, Emily and Kat designed it perfectly. You watch the newlyweds have their first dance, a glass of champagne in hand, when you notice a familiar brunette join your other Matilda's teammates across the dance floor.

Steph has been in your life since you were teenagers. Growing closer when on camps together and sharing moments on and off the pitch. Between you both there has always been an unspoken connection that neither person wants to acknowledge. For many years now, there has been one complication for your friendship to progress further - Dean. You told yourself over and over again that there was no chance anything could happen. But Steph got engaged to Dean and you couldn't stand to see it so you move clubs to protect your feelings. Every camp for the national team you'd try to hide your feelings but many of your Matilda's teammates caught on quickly. Every time Steph glances your way, it becomes harder for you to keep those feelings settled.

The sun started to move behind the horizon and more people moved to the dance floor. You decided to stay back and watch, not really in a dancing mood. You heard heels click behind you and you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around and saw the woman taking over your thoughts since you arrived.

“Hey stranger,” She said softly.

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to appear nervous.

Steph smiled small, but warm. “You've been hiding over here all night.”

“Just enjoying the view.” you said, gesturing to the many trees in the vineyard.

Steph nodded, looking at the sunset and dimly lit trees before facing you again. “You've been radio silent lately, is everything okay?”

“Just a lot on my mind I guess.” you hesitated. Steph studied you, her expression unreadable.

“You know you can talk to me about anything?”

“I know.” you whisper before going to see your other Matilda's teammate.

Emily insisted that all the Matilda's are to go on the dance floor at least once during the night. Ellie dragged you on there, declaring you needed to ‘loosen up’. After pushing through the crowd, one of your favorite songs comes on. As you dance around with Ellie, she gives you a slight nod to look behind you. Steph was there with her hand outstretched, silently asking you to dance as the music got slower. You hesitate for a millisecond before taking Steph's hand. Time seemed to slow as Steph guided you to the middle of the dance floor. You placed your hand on her waist, trying to ignore all the feelings inside. Neither of you spoke for a while, just gently swaying with the soft melody, until Steph broke the silence.

“Dean and I broke up.” she said, voice quiet but steady.

You stopped in your tracks, looking Steph in the eyes. “what?”

“It's been coming for a while,” Steph admitted. “We both knew it wasn't working anymore,” Before you could respond she continued.

“I've been thinking a lot about what I want - about what makes me happy,” Her eyes met yours, hands tighten around your waist. “and it's you.”

Your breath hitched, as the weight of her words started to settle in. “Steph…”

“Follow me.”

Steph untangles from you and pushes her way through the crowd. You follow behind like a lost puppy until you get a little bit away from the reception. Steph pulls you in her arms and you search her face for any hint of doubt. There was only honesty and Hope.

“I've wanted to say this for so long,” you admit, as your voice trembled. “but I didn't think I could.”

Steph hold your face in one of her hands as she smiled, “well, now you can.”

With that, the distance between you became non-existent. the music Fading Into the background and all you can focus on is her. you both lean in and the wedding slowly forgotten as you two were caught up in each other.

The kiss under the stars changes everything. For the first time, the barriers between you and Steph crumble. As you pull back, your foreheads resting together, Steph smiles—a real, unforgettable smile that feels like home.

“We can’t keep this just for tonight,” she says softly.

You nod, your heart pounding. “I don’t want to.”

The rest of the wedding fades into a blur. You and Steph spend the next few days together, slipping away from the chaos to steal quiet moments just for yourselves. Long walks along the beach, lazy afternoons in the sun, and late-night conversations filled with laughter and shared memories remind you both of what you’ve always had—and what you could have.

As the offseason looms, you both return to Europe, reluctant to leave the bubble you’ve created but excited to see what the future holds. Steph heads back to London, while you return to Barcelona, the distance between you feeling more manageable now than ever before.

The transfer window is in full swing, and rumors are flying about player moves. You’ve kept your decision close to your chest, wanting to surprise Steph when the time is right. The deal with Arsenal has been finalised, and the announcement is just days away.

With the help of Caitlin and Katie, you arrange to meet Steph at one of your favorite coffee spots in London. She’s already seated at a corner table when you arrive, her face lighting up the moment she sees you.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she says, standing to hug you.

You grin, nerves bubbling under the surface. “I have a surprise.”

“Oh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as you both sit.

You slide an Arsenal scarf out of your bag and place it on the table between you. Steph stares at it for a moment, her eyes widening as realisation dawns.

“No way,” she says, her voice filled with disbelief and excitement.

“Way,” you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face. “The transfer is all finalised. I’m joining Arsenal next season.”

Steph laughs, leaning back in her chair as she takes it all in. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” you say. “Thought it was time for a change—and maybe time to be closer to you.”

Her smile softens, and she reaches across the table to take your hand. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

[secriden]

Just going to cry again (see: my previous post about the parallels between the storage room scene and the abandoned factory scene) about parallels and juxtapositions in the store room scene vs the one in Styles bedroom:

Both these scenes have such a tone of desperation and are characterised by an overflowing of emotions, but in drastically opposite directions.

(Note, some of what I say in this post directly relates to concepts and themes I talked about here, so it may not wholly make sense without that context.)

The scene in the storeroom is filled with frustrated desire. Fadel kisses Style because he wants Style's body and also wants to take his frustrations at Style out on his body. He doesn't need to look Style in the eye (and in fact very intentionally only does so only in small snatches) because this isn't about a connection as much as it is about a release. Fadel's kisses come fast, hard, and are intended to bruise more than to adore.

But episode 5's scene is filled with much more quiet and tender sort of desire. Style is kissing Fadel so much more slowly and purposefully. He keeps looking back at Fadel, checking in to see how he feels and whether Fadel is enjoying it. Everything Style wanted in Episode 3, he now gives to Fadel here, pours the secrets of his knowing and choosing Fadel anyway into the way he presses his lips onto Fadel's skin. His kisses linger, they carry a weight but are somehow infinitely gentle still; Style's kisses contain a purpose that Fadel's kisses couldn't in Episode 3 because in all honesty they were relative strangers back then.

There's also the way there's such a ferocity and carelessness in the way Fadel starts the encounter in episode 3 that is juxtaposed beautifully by the slow, tender, almost hesitant way Style slides his lips onto Fadel's. Both of them are in such different headspaces, between these episodes and its especially evident in the way they care so much more about the other person's comfort and how intentionally they showed that to the audience.

There's hunger present in both scenes but what this hunger is focused on is so drastically different. In the storeroom, they're both mainly focused on a physical release; its primal and visceral but lacked emotional resonance. Fadel gives Style what he knows Style wants (that hint of danger, with the hand on his neck), but its not because he really cares about what Style wants on anything more than a physical level. In Style's bedroom, however, Fadel is drunk (intentionally and by his own design) and desperate to open himself up to Style on an emotional level. Meanwhile, Style wants that desperately too, but knows that Fadel shouldn't because of his own terrible secret. So this kiss is what they both will allow themselves - an honesty and a hunger for this deeper connection they can only share in act but not in words.

In the storeroom, Style wants Fadel to want more than his body but knows (or thinks) he can't push for it yet, so he remains passive, lets Fadel do whatever he wants, lets him turn and shove and place Style how he wants because at this point, this is all Fadel will give him. Here, Style is passive in spite of what he wants. But in the bedroom, Fadel is passive because it's what he wants; he wants to let Style do whatever he desires to and with Fadel's body. He wants to lay himself as bare as he possibly can, which is only physical, and so he does.

And because the encounter in Episode 3 lacked that emotional connection, the focus is merely their respective releases. There's a sense of two people trying to find pleasure and 'finish' while remaining emotionally disconnected despite actively having sex with each other. Because in some ways, they didn't really need each other in that moment to get there (there's actually a lot of truth in what Fadel says about it being easier to just jerk off alone). In sharp contrast, the scene in Episode 5 isn't focused on the destination but on the journey. Style is taking his time and Fadel is letting him - Style is choosing to worship Fadel's body, with his fingers, with his lips, to respond to his vulnerability with gentleness and tenderness and adoration. The goal has stopped being about finding a release, it's about allowing both these men to revel in the giving and receiving of pleasure.

The point of these scenes is to show to us the ways in which Fadel and Style have grown to care for and, dare I say it, love each other in ways that are so purposefully portrayed by showing the nature of their physical connection. Because the ways in which these scenes are the same and yet so wholly different showcases how their touches are now no longer merely tied to their senses any longer, but also to their hearts as well.

[akanemnon]

Wait wait wait, if Frisk and Kris are each half of Chara’s soul, does that mean they each retain different aspects of Chara’s personality?

If so, I’m guessing Frisk got Chara’s love of monsters, violent numbness, and deep compassion. And Kris got Chara’s hatred of humanity, love for their family, and social awkwardness.

In my personal headcanons, it’s pretty much the same thing but Kris is the whole, and Chara and Frisk are the halves. It’s funny that someone else agrees that “Kris and Frisk/Chara are the same person” or “Kris, Frisk, and Chara are unrelated” is too simple for my taste, because I actually made my headcanons before I even read Twin Ruens.

Btw, thank you SO MUCH! The work you put into these comics is INSANE! AND FINALLY SOME GOOD KFC GANG RECOGNITION! Your art, designs, and dedication is truly inspiring! Honestly, a lot of my current art style came from your early comics. Keep it up! Us Twin Runes fans will stick with you no matter what! And if you ever want to take a break, please do so, pumping out long comics on so many platforms must be exhausting.

Please exuse my fanenbying and have a great 2025! ^^

In the case of Twin Runes saying "they are the same people" or "they are unrelated" really ARE too simple answers.

You are right, both Kris and Frisk have one half of Chara's soul. Not just a red soul. It IS, in fact, Chara's. The comic HEAVILY hints towards it, which is why I'm so openly talking about it. The only thing I can't talk about yet is the HOW and WHY. You goys gotta sit tight for that.

But them both having one half of Chara's soul is the reason why only they were able to see them. And it's the reason why Chara points out that the resonance of their souls felt familiar.

They've been dead for so long that they can't recognize their own soul anymore. Also because there is CLEARLY something else in Kris and Frisk to replace the missing other piece.

But yes, both Kris and Frisk do natually take on some of Chara's traits because of that. Kris is more or less a reflection of how Chara could have turned out like if they had been raised by the Dreemurrs.

Well... that's not 100% true because Kris (and Frisk) are still their own people. It's a nature vs. nurture sorta thing. Personality and behavior wise they're ALL very different from one another.

Again, this line right here is SUPER IMPORTANT.

The correct way to put it is "Kris and Frisk are not Chara, but Chara is a part of them."

[writtenbycassandra]

i usually don't talk about httyd on here, but for some reason i've felt the sudden urge to rewatch all the tv shows and overanalyze everything and i've got some things to say about the twins (mainly ruffnut). they are actually so underrated and not necessarily in the fandom, but rather when it comes to the shows itself. especially in rob/dob, where they barely have any characterizations at all. this is such a missed opportunity because both of them can be extremely perceptive and witty at times. they have lots of random knowledge, are multilingual and actually show interest in topics such as poetry, philosophy, psychology etc. (their entire character designs just scream insomniac kids with ADHD).

specifically ruffnut is pretty smart. she is one of the best liars in the dragon rider group (tbh the bar is set pretty low) and extremely cunning. that one scene where she tricked the dragon hunter guard by pretending to crack? only to steal his key without anyone noticing?? this comes to my mind. or how she just straight up lied to viggo and ryker without showing a hint of fear or remorse? and the entire thing with gruffnut. to me, she seems like she just doesn't really care and wants to keep the expectations low to have fun. also, her calling astrid out for not respecting the team was completely valid, especially if you consider the character dynamics. although astrid is a lot more present in the show, ruffnut has a stronger connection to the other dragon riders (except from hiccup). ruffnut, tuffnut, snotlout and (even) fishlegs have plenty of bonding moments together, where you can sense the found family vibes. astrid mostly ignores fishlegs/only talks to him about hiccup/rolls her eyes at him, is openly aggressive when it comes to snotlout, and dismisses everything the twins say. she, too, never got really close to ruffnut (another missed opportunity), which is why there was barely any female friendship represenation in the main group. (i mean, there was heather, but she wasn't there the entire time in rtte and barely at all in rob/dob.)

also, i think the twins were just generally more fleshed out in rtte than they were in rob/dob. like, tuffnut got his chicken and we see all his hyperfixations (mostly very dangerous dragons, which is just a mood on its own). and i loved the scenes where we saw that they actually cared for each other a lot. like when ruffnut forced snotlout to get bitten by every dragon possible just to convince her brother that he wouldn't turn into one. and tuffnut giving up his beloved maze, realizing that his sister was more important than his weapon, which was just an item he could replace.

i just generally love the twins and their sometimes chill and sometimes chaotic vibe.

[swightops]

"throuple! mark grayson and samantha eve wilkins"

First, let's set the stage for your background: You're Art's adopted superhero daughter with gravity-based superpowers. Like Mark, you keep your real identity a secret to keep you and Art safe while you're a part of Teen Team. From time to time, you help Art with his secret work of designing suits for heroes. If throuple Mark and Eve were to happen, I imagine that the sparkles would happen first with Eve first rather than Mark. ────୨ৎ────

You and Eve have always been very good friends, especially since you're always there to listen to her complain about Rex and her parents.

Now, if we're being honest, there's always been a little something between you and Eve. Neither of you was ready to ever talk about it since you weren't really sure how to go about it, and Eve was with Rex.

But sometimes, when you're both alone and just sitting together on top of a building looking over the city, your pinkies intertwine, and there's a nice silence that settles between you, and both of your cheeks flush.

────୨ৎ────

It's early on in Mark's superhero career when you first meet. He's there at your dad's shop trying to figure out his suit when you walk in:

"Daddd, have you seen my sketchbook? I can't find it anywhere! I already loo- Oh! Mr. Omni!" you smile, rushing down the stairs and towards Nolan. Mark watches with surprised eyes as you fake punch his father and giggle as you latch yourself onto his bicep, and he lifts you off the ground. Your eyes soon land on Mark, and you smile at him before looking at Nolan. "Is that your son?" you ask, curiosity clear as day. "Don't you think you should introduce yourself first?" Art teases, always amused with how you interact with Nolan. You roll your eyes at your dad's teasing before introducing yourself to Mark. "No way, you're going to put him in that!" you say as your eyes rack over Mark's body. His cheeks flush under your heated gaze, and both of your dads glance at each other as you step closer to the young hero. "You've definitely got the lean build going for you, ya know. And a pretty cute face. Shame you wanna hide it behind a mask," you say, and if you were actually paying attention to Mark, you'd see his face flush even more. "The kid hasn't decided on a name yet, you know," your dad says, and you turn to look at him. "Says he wants something iconic," he adds, and your face lights up as you get what he's hinting at. You quickly turn to Mark again, eyes wide, and smile even wider. "You have to let me design your suit!" you say, and with red cheeks, Mark agrees. You go on and on about different possibilities before Nolan cuts you off, saying that they have to go, and with a smile, you let them go, but not before stopping Mark one more time. "Here's my phone number! Text me when you finally have a name," you say, and Mark can barely say anything, so Nolan thanks you for him before they leave. Little do you know that you're the first girl to ever give Mark their phone number.

────୨ৎ────

The first time you see Mark in action is during the Flaxan invasion, and soon after, you introduce him to Eve and the rest of the team.

Before you know it, you're starting to feel funny around Mark the more you get to know each other, but as soon as you find out he's seeing Amber, you push your feelings to the side.

And then, when you find out Rex cheated on Eve, you two start spending a lot more time together. In fact, you start spending the night in her treehouse so she doesn't get lonely, and it's finally then that you talk about what's been going on between you:

"If I'm being honest, I've always had a little bit of a crush on you," Eve admits, her cheeks a dark red and yours also flush. "But I was with Rex, and I didn't want to ruin our friendship if you didn't feel the same way. Oh, and I don't know if you're into girls, and I've never really thought about it, but I know that-" you cut her off by kissing her. "I feel the same about you," you giggle as Eve smiles. "I was also scared of ruining our friendship in case you didn't feel the same, and you were with Rex, so I just never said anything." You both laugh and spend the rest of the night talking about exploring the connection between you both more.

────୨ৎ────

The one who brings up Mark is actually you. Since you and Eve are officially going out, you notice how she acts a little differently around Mark, kind of like the way you did to her when she and Rex were still together. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you and Eve were missing something—that something being Mark.

After a long talk, you tell Eve about your past feelings for Mark, and she tells you about her current feelings for Mark. Even though you both are on the same page about Mark, he's still seeing Amber at this point, so you both agree that it's better to keep him as a friend than ruin your friendship over your feelings.

────୨ৎ────

After the whole incident with Nolan (or Omni-Man, as you prefer to call him now because you still cherished your past moments with Nolan), you and Eve grow much closer to Mark by being there for him and helping him with his relationship with Amber.

One night, when Mark is telling the two of you about his newest issues with his relationship, do you let it slip that you and Eve are together.

While Mark was happy for both of you, there was a weird feeling at the bottom of his stomach now that he knew you two were happily together while he was struggling with Amber. It was like he was missing out on something, but he didn't know how to explain it, so he just congratulated you two again on your relationship.

────୨ৎ────

Time passes, and more threats come your way before you find out Mark and Amber broke up and about his fight with Angstrom.

You both met with him to make sure he was okay, and you weren't ready for how much it would hurt you when your eyes met Mark's sad, tired eyes.

While reassuring him that you were both there for him if he ever wanted to talk, a strange look overcomes his face before he shakes his head and looks down at the water. You three spend the rest of the night with Mark's head on Eve's shoulder and his arm wrapped around your shoulders with your hand holding his.

────୨ৎ────

Things change after that night, and then Eve tells you about her and Mark's conversation about his time in the desert dimension. To say that you hated the future you was an understatement. Cause there's no way that your feelings about Mark are revealed by a future heartbroken, devasted you.

Although you want to talk to Mark about everything, the universe seems to be pitted against you as you hear about his and Cecil's fighting. You send Eve to check up on him and his family while you catch up with your dad about everything, needing to get everything off your chest.

You talk for most of the night about everything that's happened and apologize for being so secretive about it all. Thankfully, Art is very supportive of you and Eve and your now-growing feelings for Mark.

It's later that night that Eve stops by your house and meets your dad, and she tells you about her conversation with Mark. While you completely understand how she feels, you can't but feel bad for Mark. While she falls asleep in your room, you sneak out and fly over to the Grayson house to finally talk to Mark.

The whole conversation is a little embarrassing, and your heart breaks as Mark tells you about how he always felt something for you and Eve but never acted because of timing:

"You blew me away the first time I saw you," Mark admits. Your heart beats a little faster. "I know Eve thinks that I'm only saying this because future her said so, but I'm not. I know how I feel for both of you, and I'm done being afraid. I'm not wasting any more time. So, please, if you feel anything for me, even a fraction of what I feel, just give us—all three of us a chance." Mark's eyes bore into yours, and you turn to look up at the sky before giggling. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, huh, Invincible," you tease, smiling at Mark before telling him you'd be willing to give all three of you a try but that Eve needed to agree as well because you loved and respected her opinion. Needless to say, Mark was over the moon and more than willing to talk to Eve again.

────୨ৎ────

With a little help from you, Eve and Mark were able to talk about everything again, and as Eve finally agreed, you came out from behind the pillar you were hiding behind and hugged the both of them.

The three of you laughed as the night went on, and you spent the next hours sitting on the bridge with one of Eve's hands intertwined with yours and the other with Mark's.

────୨ৎ────

i might want to flesh this out more in the future with headcanons and one-shots..

[jaydenism]

been thinking about this bug a lot recently...

i want a big kanade arc pls pls pls 🙏 its her turn to go through the horrors ♡

long kanade ramble ahead!!

i think that savior complex of hers is gonna send her crashing down. hard.

we haven't gotten any huge kanade focus events yet, or anything that really progresses her story or builds her character in a significant way, but im really looking forward to see what they have in store for her character arc. im hoping kana5 will stir the pot a bit and get the plot moving.

i feel like overall shes been really mysterious and strangely without much going on, and at first i thought she was a little boring even... but i think that's by design. she doesn't open up about herself much, and generally appears to be pretty put together, maybe aside from her poor self-care. she doesn't talk about many of her own problems, because she doesn't want to have the others worry for her, when her problems are "insignificant" compared to the others, as she says. i think the lack of progression in her story also fools the audience into believing she has her shit together. ena has had her fair share of struggles. mafuyu had her big arc, but shes also been trying to find herself since the beginning. mizuki just went through hell and finally fell apart after the long-lasting growing tension in her story. but kanade? she's been stagnant. unchanging. it makes it easy for her to be overlooked. but that's exactly what she wants-- to not weigh the others down, and to be their support. but she can't keep that up forever. so yes, i admit i wasn't super interested in her character before, but I've now realized that's because they've hardly even started her story yet. as one of my oomfs said, she was always going to be the last wall to fall.

when reading the story at first, kanade has a lot of warning signs you might glance over. ive only recently started to see them more, like just in passing comments here and there that are REALLY concerning and unhealthy. i mean the most obvious sign is that she barely gives herself time to eat or sleep of course, but the more you pay attention to the subtle things, the more apparent it becomes that she's got some serious shit she needs to unpack, or she may just end up crumpling under the weight of it all. i think her undoing has the potential to be huge. catastrophic even. i really wonder what the writers are planning for her, but all this waiting leads me to believe they could have something big planned. like okay, looking back to the card i drew from, the bloomfes kanade card, shes got some wild shit going on... there is nothing normal about that !!!

i also posted abt this on bluesky, but reiterating it here, i felt like her newest card for her mixed focus event kinda seemed like foreshadowing... specifically because of the niigo colored star charms. mizuki and ena's charms are together, facing each other (yippeeeee), but mafuyu's charm faces kanade's, who's charm is not facing hers. mizuenas charms also seem to glow in the light, while kanamafus dont reflect as much light. could just be coincidence, but i know they love hinting and foreshadowing with card details like this. and overall, kanade's expression is unreadable, like a still, empty doll. the card has a bit of a melancholic feel, to me at least. im not sure how soon the next niigo event will be, but it's gotta be a kanade focus, unless they pull a saki. i dont think its the biggest leap to suggest this could be some foreshadowing for the next event.

but anyway, i think kana5 will start building up the tension at least, maybe entering a kanade arc even. i need to see her snap pls pls pls pls pls

if you read all that,,, wow thanks, u get a star ☆ :)) also lemme know ur thoughts and if im off base about anything

[alaritheaurora]

Impossible SMP Jimmy design! (Other designs: Pearl)

Design notes under cut

With these designs I am trying to use the original minecraft skin as much as possible while also having apocalypse vibes.

Jimmy doesn't show a lot of skin, that's to protect from burns! He probably has some scars from the lava monster but he's covered them up and now wears long sleeves as protection.

He has a bunch of patches on his jacket that he sewed on himself, these either cover up holes or are just personalization. He's also wearing a pink friendship bracelet that Lizzie gave him! He has a little bag to carry things attached to his belt. His pants and shoes are wrapped together, this is to keep water and lava out of his boots, in fear of triggering sharks or the lava monster. He's also wearing his communicator on his leg.

A lot of the ropes/fabric matches each other, both to tie in the design, but also to suggest that he keeps making things out of fabric that he has on hand. He also has various little hints towards book writing. He has glasses in his pocket, and charcoal pencils hanging from his belt along with a knife to sharpen them.

I wanted Jimmy to have hints to being more scholarly, as his role for the server generally tends to be documentation. And he honestly doesn't get up to much danger and doesn't really go adventuring unless he's with friends. So I wanted his design to reflect how anxious and cautious he is, while still being a bit roughed up.

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Gift 🎁

Leah Williamson x reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

Leah Williamson was on a mission—a gift mission, to be exact. With your birthday just a week away, she was determined to find something that was absolutely perfect, a gift that would make you smile in a way only she could. But finding the perfect gift? It was turning out to be a lot harder than she’d expected.

Leah had already scoured the high street, the little boutiques you loved, and even asked some of the other Arsenal girls for advice. Kim had suggested a designer handbag, but Leah dismissed it with a quick, "She already has a bunch, and besides, that's too generic." Katie had recommended a custom jersey signed by the team, but Leah just shook her head—she wanted it to be special, something unique and personal.

She had even been at it online, scrolling through websites, adding things to her cart only to delete them a moment later. It had to be perfect because you deserved nothing less.

The team could tell she was on edge. They’d never seen her so particular about something before. "Just get her something nice; she’ll love whatever you pick," Viv teased, watching Leah put down yet another promising option with a determined look on her face.

"But it’s not about her just liking it, Viv," Leah insisted, a hint of frustration creeping in. "It’s gotta be… special, you know? I want her to feel like I put thought into this. She makes me feel special all the time, and I just want to return the favor."

Caitlin nudged her with a knowing smile. "You’re such a softie, Leah. Just go with your heart. Maybe do something personal, like a scrapbook of memories?"

The idea sparked something in Leah’s mind. Memories. She suddenly realized maybe it wasn’t about finding the perfect gift on a store shelf. It was about creating it.

That night, Leah stayed up, gathering photos, mementos, and little notes she’d written over the time you’d been together. Each picture she placed carefully into a scrapbook, writing little notes on the margins—memories of trips you’d taken together, jokes only the two of you would understand, and random, sweet reminders of how much she loved you.

The final touch? Leah got a necklace, a simple silver piece she knew would suit you. She attached it to the last page of the scrapbook with a note: *For my favorite memories and the ones we’ll still make. Happy Birthday, love.*

When she finally handed you the gift on your birthday, she was nervous, fidgeting as you opened it. But the look on your face when you saw the scrapbook, flipping through page by page, laughing and tearing up, told her everything she needed to know.

Leah knew then she’d finally gotten it right.

[onlyhereforthestories]

Dangling Memories (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Day 17! This is so cheesy but I kind of really love it. I really want to have this with someone some day. Like imagine having a tree full of memories

The weather had turned colder, it never got cold enough in Barcelona to snow really but it was cold. You and Alexia were currently surrounded by boxes in her warm apartment, it was a rare day off for you both in the lead up to Christmas and you had both decided it would be the best day to finally decorate the tree.

“So, where do we start?” you asked, looking at the collection spread out before you which included a medley of tiny footballs, mini jerseys, and even a few golden trophies. “I didn’t realize you had quite this many football-themed ornaments, Alexia.”

Alexia chuckled, lifting a miniature Barca jersey ornament between her fingers. “It’s a collection I’ve been working on for a while,” she admitted, glancing at you with a soft smile. “But I thought it’d be fun to make this year’s tree a little more personal. Together.”

You smiled at her, feeling the warmth of her words flow through you. It had been a long journey for the two of you, but now that you were together, you treasured every Christmas you get to spend with her. Each year you made new traditions or continued ones you had already started and it just made each year that little more special. This was the first time Alexia had asked you to come decorate the tree with her and you were excited to see this side of her.

As Alexia dug through one of the boxes, she pulled out a small ornament and handed it to you. “Here. This is one of my first ornaments I got for my own tree, and it was from my dad so it’s special.”

You took the tiny soccer ball ornament from her, feeling the weight of it both physically and metaphorically, as you turned it over in your hand. The design was simple, but the faded red and blue colours hinted at years of care. “Was this from when you started at Barca?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded, her gaze softening as she looked at the small ornament. “Yeah, I got it that first Christmas after joining the academy. My dad gave it to me as a reminder to keep going, even when things were tough.”

You gave her a soft smile, you knew how much this little decoration must mean to her. You never got to meet her dad, but you felt like you knew him from the stories she shared. You knew for sure that he would be so incredibly proud of the woman she had become. “Look at you now,” you said, holding the ornament close before gently hanging it on the tree’s lowest branch. “From academy player to the heart of the team. He would be so proud and honoured you still have this.”

A sad smile crossed her face before she spoke, “Thank you I hope you are right. It’s the one that always reminds me of where I started, you know? What got me here, who got me here.” She reached for your hand as she spoke, seeking the comfort you brought her as she thought back on the one she lost. You gave the hand in yours a gentle squeeze before bringing it to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it, trying to give her the comfort she was silently asking for.

She used her other hand to reach into a box next to her and you saw her face light up as she lifted it. You recognised it the moment it came into your view, and you could feel your cheeks heat up as a result. “The silver boot! This was the year you scored your best goal tally, and the team got you this to remember it by.”

She smiled at the memory, “The team still laugh when they see it on the tree each year, but it means a lot to me. And not because of the solo achievement but because they brought it for me.”

You laughed a little before smiling to yourself, brushing a thumb over the shiny boot. “I remember seeing that game. You were on fire.” You grinned, thinking back. “I think that was the first game I went to after we met.”

Alexia’s gaze softened, and she nodded. “It was,” she said, reaching up to add the little silver boot near the centre of the tree. “You being there meant a lot. It still does.”

You took a moment to let that settle, warmed by her words, and reached for a small ornament of your own. You picked up a tiny Polaroid frame that held a photo of the two of you from your first trip away together. It was a candid shot from when you’d visited the beach, and both of you were grinning at the camera, sun-kissed and happy.

“Do you remember this?” you asked, holding up the little frame.

Her face lit up as she looked at the picture, laughter bubbling up. “Oh my god, that was when we got lost after eating at the cute little seafood restaurant and had to be saved by the bar owner of that tiny corner bar.”

You nodded, the memory bringing a laugh of your own. “I’ve never been so relieved to see a pub in my life, I swear there was nothing else on that damn island. I thought we were going to be wandering all night. But it was so worth it, that whole trip was perfect.”

Alexia wrapped her arm around your waist as you hung the ornament on a low branch. “It was perfect,” she echoed, leaning into you for a moment pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “That trip felt like a big step. Like the beginning of us.”

You glanced up at her, feeling the love you always do when looking at her, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “The best beginning.”

Rummaging through another box, you came across a tiny golden ornament with ‘2021’ etched into the side. It had been a custom gift from you to Alexia after that incredible year, the year she’d won her first Ballon d’Or. It was a little pair of football boots resting against a small version of the trophy itself, and you remembered how her face had lit up when she’d opened it.

“Oh, my little Ballon d’Or,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling as she held it up. “I can’t believe you thought of this, and I still don’t know how you made this happen.”

“It was just a little reminder of how proud I am of you,” you said, smiling. “And of how much you deserve everything you’ve achieved.”

She looked at you, her expression soft and grateful. “Having you by my side through it all made it even better, you know?” She hung the decoration close to the top of the tree, taking a moment to admire it as it caught the light.

The next ornament you reached for was one you’d picked up together at the Christmas market last year. It was a small, hand-painted wooden heart that the both of you had fallen in love with the moment you saw it. You traced the delicate lines of the paintwork, recalling the cold winter evening when you’d found it.

“Last Christmas,” you said, smiling at the memory and at the music chiming in your mind. “You insisted on carrying all those bags so I wouldn’t get cold.”

Alexia laughed, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “I wasn’t about to let you freeze. That was the best Christmas market I’ve ever been to.” She ran her finger along the ornament.

As you hung the wooden heart on a low branch, your fingers brushed against hers, and you paused, suddenly feeling the weight of all the memories you’d built together. Being with Alexia, creating these traditions, it all felt more special with each passing year.

As you continued adding ornaments, the tree started to fill with the little mementos of your life together, each piece telling a chapter of your journey. By the time you placed the last few ornaments on, the tree had come to life, sparkling with a blend of her football achievements and your shared milestones.

Finally, you reached for the last decoration in the box, a gift you’d planned as a surprise. You held it up for her, feeling your heart flutter with a mix of nerves and excitement.

“Alexia, I um, I actually got us something new for this year.”

Her eyes widened, and she leaned closer to get a better look. The ornament was simple, but you hoped meaningful. It was a small, golden key inside a clear glass ball, a nod to the new home you’d recently brought together.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, a gentle smile spreading across her face. “A key. Like, the key to our new place?”

You nodded, feeling a surge of happiness as she understood the meaning behind it. “Yeah, I thought it would be a nice way to remember this next step, even though we haven’t moved in yet. We do have a house together now.”

Alexia’s expression softened, and she took the ornament from your hands, looking at it with a mixture of love and happiness. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice a bit hushed. “Thank you. I love it.”

Together, you found the perfect spot near the top of the tree for the golden key. Stepping back, you wrapped an arm around her waist, admiring the tree now glimmering with lights and all the memories you’d created. The football ornaments mingled seamlessly with your personal moments, creating a tree that truly represented you both.

Alexia pulled you close, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Thank you for making this so special. For making all of this special.”

You looked up at her, feeling the same gratitude and warmth reflected in her gaze. “It’s all special because of you, Alexia. This whole life we’ve built together, I couldn’t ask for anything more.” She leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss.

[erinwantstowrite]

OKAY. I DIDNT. I don’t know if it’s been confirmed that bruce is otherworld ben but i’m fairly confident he is and i’m losing it. bruce. i didn’t realise that meant HE’D DIED THE WAY HIS PARENTS HAD. LIKE SAME BUT DIFFERENT, I DIDNT REALISE THE BEN = BRUCE DEATH IMPLICATIONS UNTIL YOU WROTE PETER TELLING DICK ABOUT IT.

YOU’RE AN EVIL GENIUS /POS

even if it’s unintentional there’s a lot in this chapter that’s. delightful. devastating too

it is a SHAME i can't reply to two asks at once so anon #2 this is for you as well teehee

Benny was foreshadowing!! Benny is a counterpart to another guy that Peter knows in his world: Biggie. (he'll show up later in a Ned POV). Biggie and Benny are very similar, but in a way that made Peter wonder if Benny was a counterpart to someone that Biggie is related to- Benny is older, he was military, he also looks different enough that it took Peter a minute to see similarities. But they are, in fact, the same person/soul, and are counterparts to each other. Peter does not know this yet, but he has his suspicions.

that's because some counterparts do not look the same, and have different stories, etc, but are the same person. i'm reeeeaaaaaalllllyyyy stretching it here, but i wanted to play around with possibilities. Kind of like concept art? there can be multiple different versions of the same characters drawn down, one makes it to the movie that we see. but in another universe, a different design was chosen. same character, different design and concept. the timelines between worlds is shifted about 7 years behind for 1300 (Bats') compared to 1299 (Peter's), but that doesn't mean everything is perfectly matched up. there are faces in the crowd that are older or younger or look completely different, but they are there.

this includes Ben and Bruce - which, by the way, Benny's name being Ben is also foreshadowing that Ben is playing a role here: with Bruce. a gruff older guy named Ben takes Peter in to make sure he has a home and he worries about him and is very bad at hiding that fact, and then we look at Bruce and raise our eyebrows. (Ben really is haunting our narrative) Benny was a hint the whole time to counterparts not being the exact same across universes, and he's technically the first counterpart that Peter meets. he had gone into the burger shop before he met Nightwing, but it's not until later in the chapter do they talk to each other.

fundamentally i can see Ben and Bruce as the same person/character type (far more than i can see Jason as Ben, which I don't hate, but it doesn't appeal to me as much). Bruce has a more parent type relationship with Dick than Ben has with Richard but the relationship is not that far off. Circumstances changed and things are different but ultimately they are the same souls. Bruce and Ben advocate for responsibility to help other people with the power you have, they both are trying their best to raise a kid that needs a teacher/guiding hand to comfort them but also push them forward out of their grief, etc. and their stories revolve around gun violence. Ben died protecting Peter from a gunman which is very close to how Martha and Thomas died from a mugger. and i did, in fact, giggle when i wrote it down :3