#not sure why anyone would but just in case

[harunayuuka2060]

Azul(?): What does this mean? Are you protecting them?

MC(?): The guests haven't violated any rules.

Azul(?): He was alone. Surely, that gives me the right to—

MC(?): It is forbidden to harm guests who have been following the rules. I urge you to be patient and wait for the hunt. *bows their head*

Azul(?): ...

Azul(?): I will let this slide for now. *glances at Kalim and Riddle before turning away*

Kalim: Wh-Whew... That was a close call...

Riddle: Kalim! What were you thinking, running off on your own?!

Kalim: Sorry... I heard a kid crying for help—

Riddle: We don’t have the luxury of worrying about anyone else right now! Do you understand?!

Kalim: Y-Yes...

Kalim: *glances at MC*

*Kalim saw the glint of concern dance in their eyes for a second, even as their expression remained stoic.*

Kalim: !

Riddle: Kalim!

Kalim: Y-Yes... I'm sorry...

Leona: The "hunt"?

Riddle: Yes. I wasn’t able to ask, but it seems we’ll all be killed on that day.

Azul: That’s all the more reason to escape this place.

Azul: But the question is... how?

The dorm leaders: ...

Malleus: We haven't fully explored our options yet.

Vil: Are you suggesting we conduct an investigation?

Malleus: If we remain isolated in this room, we won't be able to accomplish anything. Additionally, I think we are safest when we stay together in pairs.

Leona: That idea would be great, but the question is, would those doppelgangers just stand by while we roam this place?

Malleus: If push comes to shove, we’ll just have to eliminate them.

Idia: No, no. We're not doing that.

Leona: I agree with Radish Sprout here. Also, how are you so sure we can beat them, huh?

Malleus: Are you scared, Kingscholar?

Leona: Ha! Why? You think it’s baseless? Then why not ask Vil?

Malleus: Schoenheit?

Vil: ...

Vil: When no one was looking, Kalim’s doppelganger snuck up on me from behind.

*The room went silent.*

Azul: Why didn't you tell us this sooner, Vil-san?

Vil: I don’t see the point of it. However, we should be cautious. None of you noticed. He could’ve dragged me away, and it would’ve been too late.

The rest of them: ...

*Someone knocks on the door.*

Leona: Who is it?

MC(?): It's me.

Kalim: *opens the door*

Azul: Kalim— *sigh*—Nevermind.

Leona: What's your business here?

MC(?): ...

MC(?): These are not enough, but…

*MC(?) rolled up their sleeves, revealing small daggers embedded in the flesh of their arms. They stifled grunts of pain as they carefully pulled each one out.*

*The dorm leaders stared at them, horrified, and felt pity as they witnessed the scene.*

Vil: Potato...

MC(?): *blood still dripping from their arms*

MC(?): Please use these to protect yourselves.

Leona: Oi, Fake Herbivore, why are you doing this?

MC(?): ...

MC(?): There can't be two in the same world... One must die. I sincerely hope... it won't be any of you.

Leona(?): You should've been more generous with the weapons you offered. What could those little daggers possibly do, hm?

Leona(?): *has grabbed MC(?)'s hair*

Kalim(?): The hunt is approaching. Could it be that they've done this to make it more thrilling? *giggles*

Azul(?): In that case, this punishment is meaningless.

Malleus(?): I agree.

Leona(?): *shoves MC(?) to the ground, with Malleus(?) catching them*

MC(?): ...

Malleus(?): It's alright, my dearest. I understand that you still desire fairness.

MC(?): You are kind.

Azul(?): *looks displeased*

*Azul(?) dragged MC(?) to his room and started stabbing them, while they made no effort to resist.*

Azul(?): I'm angry...

Azul(?): Really... angry...

MC(?): I understand...

Azul(?): YOU DON'T!

MC(?): ...

Azul(?): *his voice softens* You... Your smile... Where did that go?

MC(?): ...

MC(?): I don't understand... what you're asking me.

Azul(?): ...

Azul(?): *releases them, his expression shifts back to its usual cold demeanor*

Azul(?): They will never escape this place. *leaving MC alone*

MC(?): ...

MC(?): I must hurry...

[suzukiblu]

Day one of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon sighs, then dusts his hands off and eyes Croc’s unconscious body, debating how the fuck he’s supposed to handle this situation. Fuck knows where the cops are, and there’s already a bunch of civilians taking pics and shit of him, so he really doesn’t wanna wait for ‘em. Also, like, explaining why he committed aggravated assault on a giant crocodile dude to the cops does not sound like his favorite time anyway, especially Gotham cops. He technically does have an emergency comm on him, but it’s obviously not tuned into any of the local Bat-channels and he doesn’t really know if he’d be able to sync it up to ‘em. 

Admittedly, Alfred is like, half a block down the street with a cell phone and probably already told his boss literally everything that just happened, but still. 

Actually, speaking of Alfred . . .

Kon refocuses his hearing back towards the limo, and hears–

“Wowwwww,” Jon says from the backseat, sounding awed about . . . something–who knows what, given he’s like ten and Kon doesn’t even know the grown-ass version of him well enough to know what kind of shit the dude thinks is impressive–and Alfred makes a little “hm” sound. 

“Mr. Kent, I do hope you’ve got an ear out,” he says, which even if Kon didn’t would’ve caught his attention pretty quick. “The police have an estimated time of arrival at two and a half minutes, and they were informed to come equipped for Killer Croc. Please do retreat out of the public eye for now, though I’m sure Master Bruce would appreciate the consideration if you wouldn’t mind keeping a bit of an eye on the situation until they have Mr. Jones secured. We’ll rendezvous with you on Pearl Street in seven minutes.” 

There is literally no version of Bruce Wayne that has ever “appreciated” a single thing Kon has ever considered in his life, except maybe for that one weirdo in Hypertime who’d definitely just wanted a Robin that was bombproof this time, but whatever. Kon nods once, short and sharp, and then takes off with superspeed in the opposite direction from Croc and the fucked-up street, if not Super-speed. That he saves ‘til he ducks into a conveniently out-of-sight alley, shoves the security camera over the emergency exit in the back of it askew with his TTK, and then takes off straight up into the air too fast for human eyes to follow. 

He should’ve avoided tearing up the street like that, probably, even if Croc and his boys had already fucked it up pretty bad. Didn’t mean he needed to go making shit worse. He’s maybe a little stressed, but he fucking knows better. 

Ugh. 

Kon hangs out above the heavy gray smog and cloud cover, wishing there were some sun up here instead of just moonless night, and keeps one ear focused on Croc and the other half-paying attention to the limo, just in case. The cops do in fact show up in two and a half minutes, and by then Alfred’s already taken Jon and the limo most of the way to Pearl Street. Kon can hear Jon chattering excitedly about something and Alfred at least making some more little “hm” sounds in response, though he doesn’t focus in enough to eavesdrop. Rude, for one thing, and also a distraction he should be avoiding anyway. 

He waits around to make sure they get Croc locked up nice and secure in the heavy-duty restraints and armored truck they brought without him waking up and taking anyone’s head off or anything like that, and it goes surprisingly smoothly for Gotham, though the cops have a fuckin’ time of it getting Croc’s K.O.’ed ass into the back of the truck. Kon would be more concerned about the possibility of a head injury with the guy staying out for so long, but a quick X-ray glance already cleared him for at least the first-aid level basics, so like, it’s probably that weird “toxic mobility” thing Tim was talking about that time he was explaining Croc’s whole thing to him. Or–no, “tonic”, and “immobility”. Whatever, he just knows Croc usually stays out longer than a baseline human would and it’s not a concern. Just some weird side effect of his whole . . . everything, basically. 

This is not in any way his circus or even his monkeys, but hey, why not be the interdimensional version of neighborly? Like, just while he’s in the reality and all. Lend the local Bats a cup of sugar, metaphorically-speaking. Batman’s gonna bitch about him doing it and how he handled it the first second he sees him, obviously–even after Alfred asked him to do it, he’ll definitely bitch–but whatever. He wasn’t gonna let anybody get hurt just because Batman gets pissy when vigilantes without any Bat-branding exist in his territory. 

So yeah, he waits around.

[yawping-poets-society]

we don't talk enough about cameron's first real scene, where he talks to neil outside his dorm before todd arrives. in case anyone doesn't know what i'm referring to, here's the dialogue from the scene:

Cameron: Hey, Neil, study group tonight?

Neil: Yeah, sure.

Cameron: Business as usual, huh? [turns to leave, then] Hey, I heard you got the new kid. Looks like a stiff. [laughs at his own joke] [Todd enters] Oops. [Cameron leaves]

so let's talk about it!!

cameron opens with the study group question. this is pretty straightforward to me-he knows he's none of the poets' favorite, and certainly not charlie's. neil is his foremost supporter, pretty much the only one who sticks up for him, so this makes sense. he's checking with neil, his 'in' to the group, to make sure he can hang with these guys. he wants to be part of their circle so badly, and that's pretty clear from the get-go.

and then he hits us with this whole "stiff" business. this is a major thing i've seen people use to justify their hate of cameron and i really struggle with that.

because, well...this is SO undeniably awkward. neil tells todd just a moment later not to mind cameron because he was "born with his foot in his mouth." so off the bat, that's not something you say about someone who's consistently rude or who you don't like. that's neil sticking up for cameron. he's saying, sorry todd, he means well, or at least, he doesn't have any ill intentions. cameron's just not got the best grasp of social cues, that's how he is. this is a pretty valid explanation in and of itself, but if you'll walk with me a little further, i've got a deeper theory about why cameron makes this comment.

more than just it being awkward, this casual friendliness, haha, new kid, a mild insult said with much bravado...this isn't really cameron as we see him for the rest of the movie. though he does remain relatively awkward, it doesn't really match his character of being cautious and trying to not stand out, to fit into the group (as we see in his first line). so how to explain this action (because i don't believe the explanation is just: cameron is being an asshole/being awkward)?

to me? this is what cameron thought charlie would say. isn't that almost exactly how charlie always talks about cameron, after all? for a great example, see later in the same scene:

Charlie, about Cameron: What's his specialty, bootlicking?

so maybe cameron believes that this is how friends treat each other. or at least, how they talk about other people to entertain their friends. charlie, while not a stellar student and clearly not liked by the administration, is the class clown, which makes him popular with students at welton. thus, cameron is probably jealous of charlie. he probably wishes he was more like charlie-confident, funny, well-liked, etc. and again, he clearly wants to be friends with neil, and part of their larger group, very, very badly. all of this to say:

i don't think cameron meant what he said about todd.

he's trying to get a laugh out of neil. so what does he do? he does what he thinks charlie-neil's funny best friend-would do. it's not a nice thing to say, but to me, it really just reads as someone who is trying to guess what the appropriate, funny thing to say in a situation is, but doesn't actually know. cameron might not have even really thought the 'stiff' joke was funny. but he thought neil would find it funny, which is really the whole point. cameron is, at the most fundamental level, an unpopular kid who wishes he was well-liked, and is fumbling around blindly trying to find his way there.

[diamonddaze01]

Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. “Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?”

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this. 

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining. 

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.” 

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

[cheralith]

from slytherin!kaiser au, he finds out one year when you and him are students that you've been asked out to the yule ball during the quinquennial triwizard tournament and he tweaks the Absolute Hell Out. i'm taking like ferocious plays in quidditch where he's just absolutely ravaging everyone on the field and hexing anyone who even slightly crosses him. he's frustrated and the most irritating thing is that he doesn't know why. he just knows that he felt surges of anger and vexation after he had overheard in the dining hall that you were asked out by a stupid beauxbatons boy and that you had to absolute nerve to accept his invitation. every time he sees you in his classes, the familiar surge of aggravation boils back up again just at the mere sight of you, even if you both haven’t began your bickering yet.

he’s already pissed off that your best friend, yoichi isagi, was chosen as hogwarts’s contender in the tournament and not him, so for you to be running around collecting attention from people outside hogwarts had upset him even further. he sees you one weekend in hogsmeade with a strange boy that he’s never seen before, so it’s safe to say he’s the beauxbatons boy that your friends were rumoring about earlier. ness’s words are absolutely drowned out as he focuses on the unintelligible conversation you and him have, his fist tightening around his wand. figuring he should take his anger out on something else rather than poor ness for the fifth time this week, he conjures a jelly-leg jinx just before he turns on his heel, snickering when you exclaim out when your companion suddenly crumples to the ground unexpected. 

ness obviously has noticed kaiser’s short-temperament that he’s harbored for the past few weeks, he’s sure everyone has. he does not do a very good job of disguising it, considering his azure eyes absolutely burn into the back of your head during dinner. 

“are you jealous?” ness suggests, squeaking out when kaiser whips his head at him as soon as his friend finishes his sentence.

“huh?” he scowls, “fuck off. i don’t get jealous. why would i get jealous? that’s dumb. if anything, (l/n) should be the jealous one since i bagged myself that hot gryffindor girl—what was her name? fuck, i forgot already.”

ness blinks at his friend’s babbling as he stuffs a piece of meat in his mouth and chews it with obvious aggravation, his icy stare still lingering onto you and how you laugh at isagi’s joke. he sighs, moving kaiser's wand a little further away from him just in case the slytherin chaser decides to cast another jinx on the poor boy again.

[moodymelanist]

too good to deny it

happy @sjmromanceweek 2025 everyone! I'm so excited for this event to be back and we're kicking things off with some Nemerie 🫶🏽

Summary: Nesta has never kissed anyone before, and when she gets asked on her first date, Emerie takes matters into her own hands.

Word Count:

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Emerie

Emerie was suffering through her statistics reading when her roommate barged through the door in what looked like a state of panic. “Emerie. Em.”

“Yeah?” Emerie asked, looking up from her textbook at the sound of Nesta’s voice. She hadn’t known Nesta very long — they’d only been living together since the start of the semester, and this weekend was her last chance to get some decent studying in before midterms started in earnest — but judging by the look on her roommate’s face, this was something serious. “What happened?”

Nesta shrugged out of her backpack and sat down hard on the edge of her  bed. “I think I have a date this weekend?”

“What?” Emerie asked, fully sitting up at her desk now. “What do you mean you think?”

“Well…” Nesta trailed off with a sigh. She kicked off her white sneakers before shifting back onto her bed in an attempt to make herself more comfortable, and Emerie turned around fully in her desk chair, statistics studying be damned. This was way more important. “You know that guy who’s been driving me crazy?”

“Which one?” Emerie questioned. She’d heard Nesta complaining about a guy in her bio lecture, but there was also the guy in her political science lecture that drove her nuts, too. “Bio lecture or poli sci?”

“Bio lecture,” Nesta confirmed. Emerie wracked her brain for the guy’s name — it was something that reminded her of Narnia. Caspian? Casper? Something like that. “Apparently he was flirting with me the entire time.”

“What an effective method,” Emerie replied dryly, pulling a soft laugh out of Nesta. It made something go a little warm and fuzzy in her chest, but she pushed it aside the same way she’d been doing these last few weeks. “So he’s been pulling your pigtails all semester and now he wants to get serious?”

“I guess so?” Nesta answered hesitantly. She seemed uncertain, which was rare for her; in the short time Emerie had known Nesta, she didn’t tend to show anything other than a very healthy dose of self-confidence. “I mean, I don’t know. He asked me to go to dinner with him on Saturday and I said yes and now I’m kind of… panicking.”

“You? Panicking?” Emerie responded, raising both of her eyebrows. Nesta didn’t do panic, which was generally pretty helpful, but now that she was actually showing something like human weakness, Emerie didn’t totally know what to do with it. “Why? He’s just some guy.”

“Okay, but I don’t do just some guy,” Nesta said. She curled into herself a little bit and Emerie frowned, not sure what to do with that, either. “I haven’t done… any guys, actually.”

Emerie just blinked; she actually had no idea what Nesta was going with this. “What do you mean? Guys must ask you out all the time.”

“Not really,” Nesta told her, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

Okay, now Emerie was really intrigued. She closed her textbook and got up to come sit on the bed next to Nesta, their thighs nearly pressed together because of how little room existed on their twin XL mattresses. “Nesta. What are you talking about?”

“You’ve met my mom,” Nesta said, and boy, had Emerie ever. She’d thought her family was bad, but watching the way Mrs. Archeron bossed every member of Nesta’s family around had managed to put even her uncle to shame. Emerie had been a little worried that Nesta would be just as bitchy as her mom, but thankfully that hadn’t been the case, and they’d turned into fast friends instead. “Everyone back home already knows how insane she is. Even if I’d been allowed to date, nobody wanted to deal with her.”

“Oh my God,” Emerie said back. She privately thought it was dumb to pass up on the chance to call Nesta Archeron your girlfriend just because her mom sucked, but maybe she had more brain cells than the guys in Nesta’s hometown. “So you’ve never—?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, no.” Nesta looked away, her cheeks going even pinker. “I’ve never even touched a guy other than dance classes, and that definitely doesn’t count.”

Emerie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could someone as gorgeous as Nesta be freaking out about something as simple as this? Emerie didn’t have that much experience with guys — she’d figured out what that strange swooping feeling in her stomach when Jade from Victorious came on her television screen meant early, thank you very much — but from the little she did know, it wasn’t really that hard dealing with them. She imagined it would be even easier when you looked like Nesta, with her icy eyes, bronze hair, and general air like she knew exactly what she was doing and you’d be dumb not to go along with it. 

“It’s not that hard, really,” Emerie replied after a second, still reeling. Her first date with a guy on the lacrosse team had been pretty mediocre, but she hadn’t realized the reason she’d been so bored was because she’d wanted to catch the captain of the girls volleyball team’s attention instead. “You just have to laugh at their jokes and put your hand on their arm a little.”

At Nesta’s dubious look, Emerie added, “I’ve seen your Story Graph, Nesta. I know you know how to at least do that.”

“Okay, okay,” Nesta responded with a sheepish smile. “But what if he wants to kiss me?”

“It’s not as hard as it seems,” Emerie answered. “I mean, you’ve seen movies.”

“Of course I’ve seen movies, Em.” Nesta rolled her eyes and Emerie laughed. “But it’s not like I’ve actually done it myself.”

Emerie scrambled to find a response that seemed normal enough. “You can just practice on the back of your hand. Or maybe your arm?”

“Wouldn’t he be able to tell?” Nesta asked, biting her lip. Emerie tried her hardest not to notice how pink they were. “I don’t want to look like I don’t know what I’m doing. Or worse, kiss like a golden retriever. My sister says her boyfriend does that and she hates it.”

“Okay,” Emerie said slowly. She wasn’t completely sure how to respond to that, but she’d do her best. “We don’t have time to unpack the golden retriever thing, but I promise you won’t kiss like that.”

“Okay, but how do you know?” Nesta said back. “You can’t promise that.”

“Just kiss me and I’ll tell you,” Emerie blurted out before she could stop herself. She had to physically shove her hands under her thighs to stop herself from clapping her hand over her own mouth and make the situation even more embarrassing; she’d already done the worst, so now she just had to shut up until Nesta laughed it off.

Nesta didn’t laugh it off, though. She just narrowed her eyes like she was actually considering it, and Emerie nearly bit off her own tongue when Nesta said, “Are you sure?”

“I mean, only if you want,” Emerie replied, hoping it didn’t come off as desperate as she thought it did. Her heart was pounding so loud in her chest it was a miracle Nesta couldn’t hear it with how close they were sitting. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Nesta responded. She looked at Emerie expectantly and added, “Well?”

Emerie quickly shifted so she was facing Nesta properly, leaning on their cinder block wall for some more support while Nesta did the same. This close to her, Emerie could see Nesta had the faintest dusting of freckles across her skin that looked like they trailed down under her shirt, and Emerie hoped Nesta didn’t hear how thickly she swallowed.

“Okay, so…” Emerie trailed off before summoning her courage. She wasn’t going to squander this opportunity, and if Nesta decided to use this knowledge to her date’s advantage, at least Emerie would have the memory. “Pick a side to tilt your head so you don’t bump your nose.”

“Like this?” Nesta asked, tilting her head to the right so far it was a miracle she didn’t strain her neck.

“No, no,” Emerie answered with a little laugh. She reached out to touch Nesta’s face without thinking about it, her cheeks going warm as she tilted Nesta to a better angle. “Like this.”

“Okay,” Nesta breathed. Her eyes looked incredibly blue this close up. “Now what?”

“Just lean in,” Emerie told her. She thanked whatever god was listening that she’d happened to brush her teeth when she’d come back from her discussion section earlier this afternoon. “And close your eyes.”

Nesta didn’t so much as lean in as she aggressively pushed her mouth in Emerie’s direction, but Emerie certainly wasn’t complaining. Nesta’s lips were soft and full against hers, and she could faintly taste the spearmint lip balm that Nesta liked to use. Emerie was fully expecting this to just be a peck, but to her surprise, Nesta’s lips parted and suddenly her tongue was licking at Emerie’s lips.

Emerie gasped a little, surprised, and that was all it took for Nesta’s tongue to slip inside her mouth. She tried to show Nesta how good it felt to slide their tongues together, how to move their lips to form a semblance of a good rhythm, but who was Emerie kidding. Nesta was clearly a natural, and Emerie was one hundred percent benefitting from that right now.

“Um,” Emerie said once she realized just how long they’d been kissing and pulled away. She didn’t know what to say but she didn’t totally know what to do with the strange silence between them. “So. Um. That’s how you kiss.”

Nesta studied her for a few moments before her look turned knowing. Emerie wasn’t sure whether she should be afraid of that look or not, but wow, was it doing things for her. “Right.”

“Right,” Emerie repeated, still at a loss for words. Her lips were still tingling from where Nesta’s had been pressed against them a minute ago, and she had to fight the urge to bring her hand up to touch them. “So. Yeah.”

“I’m canceling my date,” Nesta announced suddenly. Her lips were an even darker shade of pink now from all the kissing, and it was really distracting. “We’re doing more of that.”

Emerie had to mentally rewind the last few seconds to make sure she hadn’t misheard. “What?”

“I said we’re doing more of that,” Nesta repeated firmly. She leaned forward so their lips were just barely touching, and even that was enough to make Emerie a little crazy. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“No,” Emerie said quickly, and then immediately realized how Nesta might interpret that. “I mean, yes. I want to.” 

“Good,” Nesta said back, leaning in to press her lips firmly to Emerie’s.

This time when they kissed, they were both smiling too hard for it to really count, but Emerie didn’t mind.

tag list: @c-e-d-dreamer | @jsmelodies | @queercontrarian | @nativeswfl | @that-little-red-head | @dustjacketmusings | @fieldofdaisiies | @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk | @kale-theteaqueen | @goddess-aelin | @livinforthetea | @valkyrie-archeron | @agents-assemble | @sweet-pea1 | @lilah-asteria | @brieq | @mydnights | @jmoonjones | @readskk | @fwiggle | @bookstantrash | @climbthemountain2020 | @underneath-the-sidras | @illyrianshadowhunter | @sublimecoffeefestival | @superspiritfestival | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @burningsnowleopard | @bri-loves-sunflowers | @itsinherited

[sunseed-fandump]

Witch's Castle Headcanon Time Because I Said So

Since, in my own works, I imagine the Witch's Castle and Kingdom settings do exist in the same world (the games themselves taking place in different timelines) I've kinda developed a few headcanons revolving around life in the Castle itself! Y'know for funsies. :>

The Witch's Castle itself is rather isolated, this is because when the Witch of Light first built it she wanted it to be a safe haven for herself and her Coven-sisters. I imagine due to their powers and normal humans' general feelings towards witchcraft, they wanted to make sure they wouldn't be hunted down or have a random stranger stumble across their sanctuary. (Or like in the case of the Witch who would become First Grain Cookie, they didn't want anyone who would try to exploit them discovering their hiding place.)

The castle itself is huge because these are 13 witches who had to be entirely self-sufficient. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a wing for each Witch to have space to conduct her own branch of magical research. Not to mention space needed to create basic necessities like a greenhouse for food, a water pump for plumbing, etc etc etc. Even by human standards, it's ridiculously massive and very easy to get lost inside of.

Because the castle is so big yet so isolated, this has had an interesting affect on those who call it home. By Cookie standards, the castle could be considered a small continent in and of itself. There's a multitude of settlements and what could be considered independent city-states scattered throughout.

A common insult around the Castle is "Your batch should've burnt" not just between desserts but its used between non-baked residents as well, this little idiom has stuck in the common Castle vernacular even long after the Witch of Light and her coven-sisters vanished.

SPEAKING of the residents of the castle, as we've seen in the game, not all of them are desserts or food items, they're animals! But while some of them make sense like mice and chipmunks, other creatures should be way too big to fit in castle walls; like the Stag brothers and the Marlin Chefs. They don't LOOK like desserts, so I don't think they were baked, but if they're not desserts, what are they? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if they're a result of whatever Life Powder experiments were being conducted in the castle. When it comes to the Mice, the Life Powder might've given them heightened intelligence. And in the case of the animals that SHOULD be bigger, I personally headcanon that they started off as small things like figurines or toys that were brought to life via Life Powder; made "real" like Pinocchio but retained their small stature.

Most food and water in the castle does not have Life Powder in it. Where on Earthbread, it can be found everywhere, it's a lot more of a precious resource in the Castle. That's why the residents need a constant supply of Life Potion, since it's one of the few resources in the castle that contains Life Powder. Cookies on Earthbread don't need to worry about going stale from not drinking Life Potion consistently, because Life Powder is in the rain, the crops, everything! Life Potion still exists on Earthbread, however it functions more as a typical RPG Healing Potion.

The food grown in the Syrup Garden and the Temple of Abundance are a few exceptions to this, their goods are full of Life Powder, hence why crops grown in those places are so heavily sought after and their well-being is so vital to the Castle overall.

Unfortunately, there are very few left in the Castle who were around during the era of the Witch of Light. As such, when the Shadow Witch moved in, the mood towards Witches shifted from reverence to fear.

So don't say anything like "Witch's Blessings be upon you" in the Castle, you'll get some weird looks.

Most residents within the Castle are active at night since that's when it's considered "safest". As in: the Witch and other dangers SHOULD be asleep. Unfortunately for everyone, the Shadow Witch has a terribly inconsistent sleep schedule.

She's also a massive workaholic. Which does work in everyone's favor, because typically she's too tunnel-visioned on her work to notice little things.

Castle residents don't like being out in wide open spaces, as being out in the open means it's all the more easier for the Witch or her minions to find you.

[frillydolle]

hiiii !!! so i dont know if it was u who wrote an arthur x reader fic where reader wears their fathers glasses to read? im pretty sure it wasnt, but i thought of it as a good idea. so, what im asking is, would u be comfortable writing something with reader wearing glasses but instead of not seeing things near they don't see things far away. so they're going through life blurry and arthur notices because they keep bumping into things bc they have no sense of depth without their glasses. offers to make them an appointment for eye doctor and helps them choose the glasses and everything ? thought it would be cute (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

arthur morgan x blind female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ wearing my glasses right now as i write this :)

“sweetheart, 'm right here— no, 'm here—... y'alrigh'?”

“... i think so.”

that was probably the fourth time u have walked into something? no one else wasn't really sure why, but only because u didn't tell anyone. it was like a secret of urs that u have kept for a long while.

arthur was really the only man who knew u struggled with ur eyesight for as long as u can remember. shooting was a huge problem that u avoid as much as u could despite living in an outlaw gang, arthur would do best his best to help u, but it never went well. u couldn't even hit a bottle!

shooting was definitely not in ur skills. no matter the number of times that arthur willing helps u shoot a gun or help u aim better, nothing worked. u always still managed to shoot a tree or shoot at.. basically nothing, u always missed the three empty bottles he placed for u to gun at.

“mr morgan, i can't— i can't see that bottle, 's too far.”

“want me to bring it closer?”

of course he did. undeniably, he's always had a soft spot for you, but it's not like he'd admit anyone else in camp or you, especially. he treated u like a fragile girl, which u weren't too far from. having bad eyesight did make u feel more vulnerable and fragile, and arthur knew this. makes him just a little protective with you as he's often seen with his fingers intertwined with urs or his arm rests around ur waist. it gave yoy sense of safety and.. comfort.

sometimes the silly man might forget just how blind you really are:( he'd never mean to! he'd just be so so focused on something and he'd bring you with him and it just slips his mind simply!

“arthur, wait—!” you'd say as u try to catch up to his pace, ur hands slightly out just in case u fall. “oh, 'm sorry, sweetheart. 'm right 'ere.”

but now, he decided to help you, proper this time. the two of u are on his horse whike trotting away, your hands around his torso tightly incase you fall or anything like such. you had no idea where he was taking you though, his words being “'s a secret, but nothin' too big, y'know?” nonetheless, you were just glad that he out if camp, noticing how stressed he would be until his blue-green eyes would set on you:(

“... saint denis? what do you have planned, arthur?” you say with a small giggle, looking at him while he's looking straight onto the road in front of him. “jus' a nice day out. you 'n' me.” he replied. huh. a nice day out. just a day out. but days were him were never often that simple, usually ended with someone recognising from blackwater or another robbery, or you talking him out of beating a man for making you uncomfortable. you thanked him regardless, making sure you're safe and well.

then he hitches off his hourse, you follow suit...the doctor's office? what was he doing here? i mean, he's fine, right? you're fine too except your eyesight, of course. wait, was he—

“c'mon, darlin'. yer fine, i promise ya.” he says as he sticks his arm to you, waiting for you to hold his arm before walking into the building. he knew you were slightly anxious about it, but he was willing to help you in any way he could.

a man like him... blood on his hands, lives taken because of him, rough and callous from hard work, a man like him with all bite and bark like a violent dog. that man bring a sweet girl like you to the doctor's office to get you sorted out with a new pair of glasses. ♡

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (ii): SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs. 

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, toxic relationships, fem love interest, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsessive compulsive disorder, paranoia, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; this entry is skippable! while ive done work to establish the laws and details for the insert and the world around them, the batfamily moments one would look for scattered across. the prologue is planned for this world building exactly, and the next part will be focused on the family.

you have to be prepared. profiled. planned. not paranoid. you are not paranoid.

plans upon plans, plots behind plots, ploys behind ploys. by sixteen, you had your entire life planned out, exactly what you'd do, what you’d do if that didn’t work out, and another two back up plans just in case. you were prepared for yourself to get moved around like this too, driving into the third option you’d laid for your life. with its own backup plans, own what if’s and what not’s, probables and situations.

order. organisation. prepared.

it only makes you a little sick to see your behaviour mirrored on the man of the house, with his contingencies and protocols. but you’re not that stuck up, surely. you do it only out of resentment, you're nothing like him. he and your family are unable to save the scraps they've left, you have to do this to make up for the mess they've created.

you make sure none of your outings, meeting areas, contact lists or even the names you sign on grocery bills are the same. you can’t let any common clue stick out, whether it’s in your civilian life, or under the duty you’ve taken up. even though you’re relatively low on their radar right now, studying the world’s greatest detective’s tactics and those of his rogues has taught you that a frayed past never does anyone any good. it was a backup plan, a just in case, in the event you gained too much unwanted attention.

you want your family out of your business. it’s funny how the teenage, "i’m my own person" phase has so morbidly warped in your life. but you mean it. you don’t trust them with their rules, and will not risk anything trying to correct their errors and making yourself a target. they can live in oblivion, but you won't let them intrude. you don’t trust them.

to ensure your “friends”, as you have termed them, stay similarly in line, you make sure they update you on everything. no detail of common interest is hidden, because everything is common, aligned, on your principles and clues. everything must be known, not because you are paranoid. you check in on them, their health, their whereabouts, their families. they’re in debt, with not much space to refuse, taking the burner phones you force into their hands wearily. but sentimental isn’t the best word to use for you.

you are concerned for the wellbeing of your accomplices only to the extent that they remain in your line of work, alive. yes, you will feed their families and see to their wounds, but only and only to tip the scales of their debts towards you. it’s the exact reason why you make sure the work you put on them isn’t too much, so that there's a low chance that scale could be imbalanced, this time, against your favour. they need to remain in your control, to propel your movements and wipe out the instance of a snitch, a tattle tale.

in a way, with much reluctance, this is a trait you’ve picked up from the batman. you’ve learnt that his training comprises many different things, how to stop a man from running, how to disarm their guns, how to keep them from fleeing. but never how to kill.

of course, you don’t do as much fighting as he does, but you’ve taken the liberty to curve his ways to suit you. you’ll teach the people who work for you how to figure out plots, hidden intentions, the next move and the one after that. but never your next move.

you’ve wondered morbidly, only once, if he’d be proud of you, if your skills were somewhere more suitable, per say. but you have no intentions to change your ways for his peace of mind. you do not care for his pride.

you’ve made of yourself an independent dependant, unreliable. you'd caught on early that having expectations from others and expectations on yourself was an unnecessary burden. your first year in the manor was terrible, and it has improved only out of your isolation, your distrust.

you trusted just about no one, and made sure no one trusted you. no debt, no obligation.

you had to know everything, but not because you were paranoid.

there are only five people out of the handful you keep, allowed into your inner circle. people to confide in and accompany you when you need a plus one. they’re the easiest to keep in line, students or workers, and of course, her. your ‘girlfriend’ who too was a device for your plotting.

however, with her drawling voice and less than weary affections, you need to remind her of it often. you’ve heard very little endearment from people in your life; called “kid” or “doll” by the people in your childhood, your proper legal name by your ‘family’, and a plethora of less pleasant things by self-proclaimed rivals in school and on the streets.

so when she takes to calling you angel, you pause from smacking her hand away from curling in your hair. in an attempt to decipher her intentions, knowing damn well she did all this to gain your favour (you would not so kindly give it), you think upon it. for more hours than considered normal.

is she calling you inhumane? damian had said the same thing to you once, coming across your little hobby in the greenhouse once. is she calling you frightening? you were kinder to her than the others, just by a sliver. dick grayson had looked at you with weariness once, perhaps seeing the hint of a familiar scowl on you. or is she genuinely, as genuine as the glorified scum of your accomplices get, being genuine? an angel… you.

you don’t dwell on it any longer after that, pushing her hand aside and her legs off off of yours, leaving. you were not weak, and if that was what she was trying from you, it would not work. you were not weak, and not ashamed to show that you weren’t. people deserve to know their faults. and you’re no exception.

you did not ever, ever hide your disappointment nor disgust. damian wayne was scorned out loud for his empathy, dick grayson scowled at for his sensitivity and tim drake hissed at for his distance. jason todd for his dramatics, but not to his face, and duke for his concerns.

you judged, as an interrupting scoff that broke their peace, and did none of it for fun. you did not gain anything by irritating your brothers, nor did you hope to lose anything. you were speaking your mind, what they deserved to know.

if they resented you for it, fine! you couldn't care less, since you didn’t owe each other anything for it. you wanted them out of the way, and needed none of their kindness. you are unbothered.

you are not paranoid, but you can always be more prepared.

> a/n; i hope i’ve made a good effort to build on the mindset here. i had to rewrite this whole chapter cus the styles weren’t matching up (- - ;;) the prologues are super just set ins. plot starts from ch1 that i'm hoping to get out before my exams.

i’m incredibly happy that people are finding interest in this!! however, i need opinions on the relationship dynamics you think would be visible with the “friends”. i will expand on it maybe in a drabble? even though this is something i’m writing, i think it's important to know what kind of thoughts my sentences create. this means valid criticism on the writing is also appreciated (just please don’t be mean).

thank you for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr

[yellowcry]

You know what time is it? It's time to yap about the new solarballs episode because I loved it

Uranus, please, calm down and think for a moment. I feel so bad for him tbh. For the first time he had a chance to become something other than a joke and unfinished parody of Saturn with weird tilt. Just for reality to smash it into pieces. And the last scene, where he threatens to leave... like you can see he just begs for attention. But, just as always, the ice giants are forgotten...

Mars seems as the most conflicted. Well he did admire Jupiter. Honestly I'm glad the planets aren't all immediately jump to hug one another but seem to have pretty hard feelings in case of the rocky planets. Saturn and Neptune are probably the only ones genuinely happy. (And be real, we all could expect this from Saturn)

"Let's not pull this stunt with heading into the sun again" MERCURY I'M GONNA THROW YOU INTO THE SUN MYSELF RN this is literally the best way to make suicidal person even more suicidal why did you have to say this. 😭😭/hj No but I understand he's probably stressed too. Pretty nice to see Mercury putting his feelings first. This isn't right, but just as Uranus, it all makes a lot of sence. And the way Mercury got unsulted at being called 'a moon' bro weren't you told not to treat them as inferiour? Honestly, this kinda returns to the point where planet, while they DO love their moons, they see them as lesser.

But seriously can anyone put earth to therapy again. And jupiter. And sun. And honestly the entire solar system.

Low-key dissapoined that they called past Earth 'Proto.' Proto is kinda shortened of Prototype. And prototype of what he was? The current Earth? They couldn't even be aware of his existence? (Say I as if the fact their names before humanity make any sense at all). I am a deep Gaia believer. (Or at least Terra)

Jupiter reunited with his moons! Finally! I've been waiting for this for the past ten years lolz. 'Wait that was real?' The best reaction one could have. But omg they are so wholesome. And seing Europa tear up wasn't on my 2025 bingo card. The entire scene was honestly so sweet. Solarballs for real let Ganymede be hurt. (Fair, Jupiter wouldn't have to question his state. Question is only WHY is he healed in the patreon previem like it takes place right after the episode??). But dang it, nice to see that despite everything they love one another.

'Are you really saying hi to me or is it another one of your lies?' Sun, are you okay? Like mentally/j i know he is not. But this is the weirdest reaction one could have.

The fact planet X didn't lose suddenly makes a big mess. I mean, Jupiter won't be ejected again that's for sure. But damn, it would be so easier if moons had actually won. Bro, Ganymede looks so guilty when sun reminds planet X won the challenge. But Sun I am still pissed off at how you made them play an asteroid dodgeball. Kinda hope he would be confronted on this fact in the next episode.

[mayxxday]

Well-Conditioned : Katsuki Bakugou

Katsuki was acting oddly. And that was underwhelming of a statement to put it because he was all over the place. Fidgeting, crackling, and irritation were through the roof. Katsuki was barely in his seat even. Bouncing his leg, he couldn't help but feel like he did something wrong. Why else, wouldn’t you kiss his cheek as you always did whenever he did something for you?

Katsuki sucked ass when it came to talking love. But it wasn’t that he didn’t show it through his actions. Softened gaze dripping honey each time he wiped his sweat palms on his pants before cupping your cheeks. There was no way he’s gonna get the sticky vile flammable on you—his precious. 

Katsuki showed his love when he snatched your backpack off your shoulder, throwing it over his while he dragged you out of the class. He earned himself a sickly sweet kiss on his cheek, showing that you acknowledged his actions and their meaning. It wasn’t an ‘I love you,’ but that’s what anyone but them would say.

Katsuki wasn’t big on grand gestures of love either but he made do with little trinkets and stickers he bought because ‘he thought of you’. And you like it that way. Or at least that’s what he inferred when you would jump into his arms, kissing all over his face.

He surely couldn’t write about his love, he tried that crap and ended up charring his desk black. But he packed you bentos whenever you were to travel back home from the UA dorms. He made sure to put in extra effort and make the fanciest dishes in case your parents were to see the food and judge him off it ( a good potential husband?). Before you would have seen the inside contents or noticed a lacking love note he should have written to you, he would have his arm tugged down, his precious on her toes, to press a big smooch to his cheek. 

Katsuki was more than gentlemanly for you, he was your boyfriend, so, of course, he tied your shoelaces for you (why do you still use the bunny ears method, is his excuse), draping his jacket over your legs whenever you wore skirts, all because he knew you liked to manspread worse than him. He carries pads and hair ties in his bag, but which boyfriend wouldn’t? He holds your heels with a grumpy frown, holding your waist to ensure you didn’t trip in his shoes because you thought you could handle being in heels all day. 

Katsuki did all this not for praise or compliment. No, he wasn’t obligated to do these either, but he did it because that’s what a good boyfriend would do for you. That however didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate or relish the kisses he received each time he showed his love through his actions. 

So what was different today? When he draped his jacket around your shoulder today, why didn’t he get his kiss? And he knows you noticed it, turning your head to him offer your sweet smile, before returning back to your conversation with Mina. 

THAT’S IT? Katsuki was confused, he had even leaned in to receive his daily dose of kiss, instead of awkwardly standing back straight noticing his instinct. Was he desperate? No. Was he needy? Maybe. Why can’t a man get his share of kisses?

Staring at you annoyed he waited for you to notice. 

BUT YOU NEVER DID.  

He even huffed thrice, each time only receiving a distracted rub on his thigh while you gossiped with Mina. Gosh, he wanted to explode her right now. When he finally got over his petty subtle hints he just grabbed your face to face him. 

"How long will it take ya' to kiss me, brat?” 

Katsuki was easy though. Maybe not for everyone, but his little doll had him wrapped around her finger. When you just smiled innocently at him, pecking his lips without a question. The beast was finally appeased. 

“Thank you for the jacket, ‘Suki”

Goddamn, this woman really had conditioned him to seek her kisses without a clue in her pretty head.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated >.<

please lemme know if you wanna be added to my taglist. my inbox is open for any requests too if you guys might have any.

[bunni-v1]

Pls the thing with Jamil from your Yuu being wary of scarabia post and why he kept Yuu around like that. Elaborate I’m begging you it’s too interesting of a dynamic before and after. I can pay you in my adoration keep it up here!

🍓Okay so I really haven't touched twst in a long time, but this idea continues to haunt me. I think about it so frequently, and I've been into twst again because of Malleus statue, so I decided to revisit this concept. It's more of a big long ramble, but I do hope you like it <3

TW: Manipulation; Creepy behavior; Power imbalance; This IS written with implied romance (but it's pretty fucked up and toxic); Possessive behaviors; unedited

Info: Jamil x Reader; Angst

Disclaimer: Jamil is an incredibly complex character with very contradictory actions throughout the whole of book four. This is my take on his character, and it may not align with how you view him. It's important to note that the only canon interpretation of his character is what is in-game and official depictions.

Post referenced

Jamil is very aware of you far before you're aware of him. He makes it his job to know who to avoid, and you're very high up on that list. You have a reputation that he's pretty certain you're not fully aware of, and trouble seems to follow you wherever you go. It's not really something he wants to have to deal with.

For whatever reason, though, he does end up bringing you back to Scarabia. In part, this is almost a power play on his part. You make him have a sense of power he doesn't really have with anyone else around NRC, even as vice housewarden. You rely on him, and your naivety is something addicting to someone who craves power. Not to mention he also considers that you could help him sell his story much better.

Kalim abusing the magicless, helpless human from another world would only make his case for upheaval all the better amongst his dorm members. So to start it's all part of his plan, a means of stroking his ego.

However, the issue comes in when he makes a genuine connection with you. You are kind, generous, and understanding with no real ulterior motives -- a genuineness he hasn't really experienced before. Of course, he doesn't actually open up to you much. He keeps you pretty distant, despite how he does his best to play up that warm and welcoming persona. But he does give you crumbs of his real struggle, shrouded in manipulation.

He finds himself... attached. Jealous of any time you spend with Kalim, wanting to keep your attention on him, and desperate to sell the idea of Kalim as a monster to you more than others. It's an odd feeling for Jamil, who doesn't usually care for more than surface-level appearances and feelings. It's just another addition to his ultimate overblot, and he's quite terrifying when he does finally blot.

One of the very first things he does is isolate you from your "friends" (if you can count the tweels and Azul as friends at this point), making sure your attention is on him. He wants you to worship him, he wants that reliance that he craved so much in the time you spent together, he wants to feel powerful. Next to you, he feels so very powerful.

I don't even believe he would do anything violent or too cruel, mostly just worshiping and demanding attention and praise. It's not much different from what you normally go through, though a little less blatantly violent and aggressive. That's what makes it so awful to you, though.

Before everyone else was just blatantly being... evil. Jamil manipulated, lied, extorted, and so much more. You liked Jamil, you genuinely thought he wanted to be friends with you and meant well. He reveals otherwise in your time (sort of) alone with him, and it really shakes you up. It would shake anyone up.

What's worse is you don't have time to process all that terror and anger and betrayal. Everything happens in such quick succession, one moment you're being kidnapped and the next there's a grand celebration. It's all too much for your brain to process, and it only gets the chance to do so when Ace and Deuce -- your safe space -- come to get you.

Your reaction, on the surface, seems incredibly dramatic. Collapsing and sobbing until your throat is so raw you can't make noise, but after the trauma you've endured, it's wholly reasonable. Jamil falls into the former way of thinking, believing you're just being overdramatic and theatrical. You'd been through many overblots at this point, with much more powerful sorcerers... this reaction is a bit much...

After all's said and done, though, Jamil doesn't spare you much thought. Of course, there is a lingering sense of... something. Not quite guilt, not quite regret, just an ache that he doesn't have the time or energy to address himself. He's far too busy dealing with his own reputation and wellbeing to bother you.

Your sobs, though, they keep him up at night. He has dreams where he hears them tear through the silence, and they continue to ring in his ears long after he's woken up. He isn't sure why it's bothering him so much, it really shouldn't, but it does. It's a constant nag at his conscience, just a bug that he swats away when he doesn't want to think about it.

He doesn't have to confront it until he comes face to face with you during VDC auditions. The genuine terror on your face when he looks at you, like he might overblot then and there again, it's sobering. He'd seen that look a million times on his parents faces, horror as they face punishment from the Asim's. It's not a face he'd imagined he would be the cause of -- not a face he wanted to be the cause of.

It hits him hard in that moment just how... evil he was. He knew he was bad. He's fully aware he's selfish and the stunt he pulled was something unspeakable in a lot of ways. Yet, he never thought he would have to deal with someone looking at him like that, someone thinking of him the same way he thinks of his captors.

It's just his luck that he can't avoid you, ending up on the official VDC team and literally living in your space. It's not just you, either, both Ace and Deuce seem to hate his guts with a passion. Grim voices that anger all the time, and Kalim doesn't help the tension with his guilty puppy demeanor. You do end up forgiving Kalim, thanks to Kalim finally making an active effort by himself for once. Jamil won't lie and say it doesn't make him a little jealous, but he also fully understands he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

He doesn't push or pull, he just allows you to do what you will. It's not his place to push or pull, you are the only person who can decide what you need. He won't apologize unless you seem to want him to by seeking him out, he won't ask for forgiveness unless you seem willing to give it to him. He just allows you to be, which is quite honestly the best reaction you've gotten from any former overblotees.

He, of course, ends up confessing this all to his sister. Heavily edited and censored, for her own wellbeing. Najma tells him he's a moron, but encourages him to make amends with you, or at least try to let you know he's sorry. Without him knowing, she even talks to you about it a bit when you visit the Scalding Sands. There is a notable shift in your comfortability around him after it, though he doesn't know why this is.

He does eventually get the chance to talk to you, though you have to approach him. It's a quiet night when it happens, and he just couldn't sleep and the warm air in the dorm was making his skin far too hot, so he takes a walk and ends up outside of your dorm. His guilt led him there like an idiot, a rare show of vulnerability.

You, who also couldn't sleep, saw him out there and invited him despite better judgment. He accepts, despite his own better judgment, and finally, you talk. He expects anger and hatred, but of course, you cannot manage that even against him. You are understanding and gentle, even with the way you tremble as you speak. He gets to apologize, genuinely, for scaring you and doing the things he did. Explains that he, at some point, was genuine about his friendliness with you. That he did like having you around, but all of that means nothing with what's already happened.

Whether or not you two fix things and are able to be friends is up to you, but you do both get closure.

[twst-hottest-takes]

My Hot Take: Grim is just as dateable as Malleus. Or the other way around: Malleus is just as dateable as Grim.

They are both beasts, who are physically very different from a human or beastman, but mentally much like them. Malleus just tricks humans/beastmen into finding him attractive, because he changes into a form that looks like a human/beastman. Now, I know that is not his plan when he changes into the beastman form, he does it because it is more practical to have hands and literally fit in with the other people, but it's a side effect, lol. Grim could theoretically do that, too, with a transformation potion, also in the scenario: if he wanted to seduce someone from another species. But he doesn't.

Some people see Grim like a child, because he is so short and acts a bit immature. But we don't know at what age/life stage Grim actually is. It has been stated at some point, that Malleus is still far away from being an adult by the normal development stages of his species, but his beastman form looks like a young adult. He may be a mentally far advanced/quicker matured prodigy, but if his beastman form reflected his age, he would appear much younger (understandable that he doesn't, because it would be awkward at NRC). So if you think that Grim is taboo, because he might still be a child, then you can apply the same to Malleus.

(Sorry, if I got something wrong, I don't know the lore that well yet.)

Okay, but, Anon, why in the ways of this wide and wonderous world would you even suggest that?

I have to push back hard against the concept of dating Grim, so if you don't want to read my rude responses to that thought just skip the rest of this post. (I promise it's not personal, Anon.)

He's an awful, selfish, trouble-making, trash-munching, feral, piece of ♤♡◇♧. Whatever degree of thought it would take to consider it "Okay" to date Grim is ignoring that he'd be a miserable boyfriend, and I judge anyone for suggesting otherwise.

Now, with THAT out of the way: Sure. You're right.

First off, Grim is totally going to have a humanoid form at the end of the game (tropes and all that), so yeah, the fact that he's currently a cat monster won't matter anymore once it happens. If he's a direbeast then he was likely a human who overblotted at some point in any case. I still argue against trying to date him in cat form regardless because that's getting into, "It's okay to ♤♡◇♧ Scooby Doo," territory and NO I am NOT going to pretend that I'll be nice about that garbage.

Secondly, most people argue against the idea of dating Malleus because he's too OLD so someone going in the opposite direction is just crazy to see. Malleus is not a child. Being "young for a fae" or "not fully matured yet" doesn't mean he's the fae equivalent to a minor. Older teens and young adults can still be considered immature so I will fight back on the front that his comparative age (treating him as younger) would make it inappropriate to date him.

Since I've already said that Grim is basically datable as long as he has a human form, my own arguments about Malleus being a dragon would be pointless. The same rule applies.

Conclusion: The blog owner thinks that Grim becomes "datable" the minute he has a humanoid form (ideally one that doesn't look like a child), but doesn't recommend it because the character sucks. Malleus on the other hand is passably datable already, dragon be darned. The fantasy age argument can happen somewhere else.

Thank you for your take.

(This was legitimately a hot one. Nice job.)

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ CH. 4 TEASER

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you. 『 series masterlist 』

✧ TEASER WARNINGS: none!

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: this chapter is kicking my ass, y'all. that's all.

✧ TEASER WORDCOUNT: 944 words

✧ STATUS: ongoing

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

✧ TAGLIST:

@kkaetnipjeon @ktownshizzle @joonary @jajabro @pitchblack0309 

@ot72025 @futuristicenemychaos @tea4sykes @sugainmybowl @wobblewobble822 

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@silencionyx @dropdeadbec @lilifiedeans @darklyceremonials

[fascinationstreetmp3]

Sometimes I fear they won't do devil's minion at all. Armand won't call Daniel beloved and like the turning- the turning was said to be done in spite where in the books there was at least some love, something that made Armand say they will be in hell together after all. I feel like there is a possibility that in the show hell together means like a thorn lodged in the throat. You can't ignore it and you can't get rid of it. That will hurt a lot if they do that.

im sure dm will definitely be romantic in the show at some point, it's just a case of how they get there because things are obviously different from the books.

i myself am keeping an open mind about the whole "spite" thing tbh. that descriptor does not come from armand or daniel, it comes from louis, who was not there— and in my opinion, daniel sorta dodges addressing it any further when louis brings it up, and there could be multiple reasons for that (he doesn't want to talk about it? or maybe there's more to it he isn't letting on right now?)

just throwing things out there but if it WAS entirely spiteful, but past dm happened, it's possible they could also utilise daniel's book turning scene for the "memory wipe", framing that as armand's act of love in order to save daniel's life, which would balance things out a little more. either way i think we WILL see the turning no matter what anyone says

where they are now with each other, the writers might take inspiration from the sort of push/pull they have towards 1985 in qotd, along with the long period of separation they have after qotd and the regret armand feels for turning daniel. daniel feeling resentful towards armand (for turning him? for messing with his and louis' memories? for leaving him all alone?), but unable to stay away for long; armand believing he has made a horrible mistake and trying to stay away while also dealing with the fact that daniel destroyed armand's relationship with louis, but he and daniel are bound together now and the maker/fledgling connection sometimes seems to be a lot stronger in the show, even between "strangers" as displayed by madeleine & louis being able to "feel" one another

i think show daniel seeing armand at his lowest, knowing what he can do to people and what he has done to him, will play into the way daniel sees armand in the books: a terrible creature capable of great evil who daniel is drawn to and loves for who he is, and armand gets to be perceived outside of the roles he's always playing by someone he doesnt have to control or lie to (and cant, really). for how they get to the love part... im curious to see how it will go because there's a lot of ways it could happen. i'm just certain they will get there. they might feel stuck in "hell together" at first, but eventually hatred won't be the only thing that binds them together (if it ever was the 'only' thing between them in the first place)

maybe tangentially related but ive seen people suggest rolin jones has some sort of dislike for dm or that he just straight up doesn't care/wasn't planning on including it, and of course i have no clue what's going through his head but i have to disagree. a deeper relationship between armand and daniel has only been hinted at right now; pieces of a puzzle slowly make themselves known, and the audience has to notice them and put the puzzle together with what they've got so far. just because something's in the books doesn't mean theyll just talk about it openly, its still a show spoiler. which means outside of the show (in interviews etc) it's only going to be acknowledged as a "thing that happens in the books", yknow? just like book characters that havent appeared yet, the way theyll be portrayed in the show isnt discussed. kinda why i think they got king of spoilers eric bogosian to drop the "budding romance" line in those sdcc videos from a while back because to me... that technically is a show spoiler lmao

[nethhiri]

Chapter 66: Wa-no! Let's Go!

Warnings: Violence

Kid's breathing was ragged as he leaned against the cold stone wall for support. Every breath was fire in his lungs. Several ribs were broken, he was sure of it. More than several. This was the first time he remained conscious for an extended period of time. He was in seastone restraints and he had been beaten to hell and back by Kaido. He had a concussion, part of the reason he couldn't stay conscious for long. His face was swollen and bleeding. He could barely see, the swelling around his eyes was so bad. Even if he could see, it would be in doubles. His throat was raw from screaming. Some of the screaming had been from pain, but most of it was hurling insults at Kaido, earning him more beatings. When they came to move him to a permanent cell, he could scarcely stand on his own. At least this would spare him more beatings from Kaido. The guards were like ants compared to him. 

The first week at Udon prison was miserable. Kid worked through the pain of recovery, moving giant slabs of rock. He used the opportunity to scout the prison out. He didn't see a single member of his crew there with him. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. What if Kaido had punished them for his actions as well? What if he was the only one left? His thoughts turned to you. Were you okay? Did Kaido find you along with the rest of his crew or were you able to escape his wrath? Part of Kid wanted you to stay away if you had survived. He didn't want to endanger the remaining crew he had left. He would find a way out of here and find the rest of his crew. They would escape this place somehow and find you. 

The other part of him wanted you to come rescue them. He wanted you to come find Killer and Heat and Wire, along with everyone else, since he couldn't. Especially as the weeks dragged on. He dreamt about you coming to break him out. Sometimes it was Killer. Sometimes he dreamt that you and Killer were brought here with him. Even that made his imprisonment more tolerable. It was being alone that was the worst part, or so he thought. It turned out the only thing worse than being beaten, starving, alone, and depressed was being kept in the same cell as Straw Hat. 

"Jaggy! Why do you look so sad?"

"I'm not sad!"

"You're frowning though."

"BECAUSE YER BOTHERING ME."

"But you were frowning before I was bothering you."

The guard outside slammed his weapon against the bars to get their attention. "You two, shut up."

"SUCK MY FAT COCK SINCE MY GIRL AIN'T HERE TO DO IT FOR ME."

"If your girl was here, she wouldn't be sucking your cock. But I'd be happy to give her some adult entertainment," the guard sneered. 

Before he knew what happened, Kid's hand was wrapped around his throat. The bars were just wide enough and the guard was just close enough to be within Kid's grasp. He was nowhere near as beaten down as he had been after Kaido. The wardens were unwise to test him.  

"I'd reconsider. The last man who tried that lost his manhood." Kid snapped his teeth together for emphasis. 

Kid squeezed until he felt something snap under his grip and he felt the man go limp. He released the guard into a crumpled pile on the ground and spit on him. 

"Aw, Jaggy, you didn't have to kill him," Straw Hat said. 

"Anyone who threatens my crew deserves to die, that goes double for my partners."

"What's your girl look like? Maybe I've seen her."

"Wouldn't ya like to know..." Kid scoffed. After a few moments, he decided to answer, just in case Straw Hat had seen you. It would be a relief to know. "She's got a glare that would melt yer face and eyes brighter than molten metal. Her face is marked by scars that dance with her freckles. The right side has been touched by acid in such a shape that it matches my hand when I hold her cheek. She ain't big, but she's got a commanding presence that forces men to their knees. Her legs go on forever and ya would thank her for choking ya to death with her strong thighs. Her tits are so perfect they make ya wanna build a temple justa worship them and an ass so plump if ya used it as yer pillow, all yer dreams would surely come true. When she fights, her fury is like a hundred angry vipers and she strikes like them too. Even her insults tempt ya to be impaled on that sharp tongue of hers. She's perfect."

The sound of Luffy's snores filled the cell.

"SOME FUCKIN HELP YA ARE."

Kid was annoyed, but talking about you so passionately made him miss you more. It also made him semi-hard. He wanted so badly to have you in his arms, to feel you scratch his back and bite his neck. He wanted to feel your thighs around him, begging him to fuck you deeper. He wanted to feel your soft lips against his own. He may as well use the limited privacy to relieve himself of his pent up libido before they replaced the dead guard or Luffy woke up. Kid drew your likeness in the dirt on the floor, trying to remember the dreams he had where you were bouncing on him or under him. A visual aid would be more stimulating than nothing, even if it was a stick figure with boobs. Then, he noticed something sticking out of the dead guard's pocket. He crawled to the bars and reached through, barely grazing the papers with his fingers.  He managed to tug them free without ripping them and he was rewarded for his careful extraction with wanted posters, wanted posters that happened to display the objects of his affection. Neither of them displayed you in the way he knew, though he would recognize Killer's and your face anywhere. His immediate reaction was giddiness, because this would be way better material than a dirt drawing. In his post-nut clarity, when his brain was functioning, he was relieved you were both alive, and he wondered why the fuck you both had wanted posters. What did you do? What did Killer do? 

The closer you got to Wano, the rougher the seas got. Seawater crashed over the sides of the ship, drenching everything. You had to maintain a protective shield of compressed air with your devil fruit in order to stay dry. Given the circumstances, your crew performed well. The women from the Snake Den picked up sailing without much trouble. The Kid Pirates followed your orders without question or complaint. You had been nervous due to your past experiences, but there was no need to be. Kid's crew respected you and loved you. For Kid to ask you to be a fleet captain, he knew they did. 

Through the spray of salt water, Wano slowly but surely became visible. Goldie directed you toward the entrance to the country. At first, you didn't believe her, that it was behind a waterfall, not until you actually went through it. Before that, you disguised the ship according to Goldie's sketches of a traditional Wanese vessel. Lucky for everyone, she was a decent artist. When you sailed through the entrance, you approached the dock slowly, using your eye's enhanced vision to observe the clothing of the general public. With your fruit, you had everyone in clothing that would blend them into the population without a problem. 

This was it. You made it to Wano. Now, you had to rescue the Kid Pirates. The plan was simple: gather as much information as possible, find out where your captain and the crew were being held, and free them. Jade and her girls were ready to take on the brothels. The rest of you were to scatter across the land and keep your ears open. The plan was to stay out of trouble. What good would it be to stir something up and get captured too? The plan was to work fast. Much like the rest of your life, nothing went according to plan.

First, the clothes annoyed you. Why did no one wear pants? You hated the openness of the kimono-type clothing. You didn't even make it a day before you were tailoring the garment to have pants. The shoes were annoying too. Altering the cloppy, unstable, wooden sandals, you turned them into plain flats. Sandals were going to fly off your feet if you fought someone or fall off when you rode Mini. Second, it took a lot longer to find useful information than you thought. Maybe you had gotten too used to the instant gratification that torturing information out of people brought you. It had beens days of wandering through towns. None of the native residents would talk to you. They were all too wary. Contrary to that, several times you had been questioned by who you now knew as Beast Pirates, some fucked up animal hybrids with busted smiles. How it pained you to behave. That didn't last long. After a week, you decided enough was enough. Yes, you did say you would stay out of trouble, and you made a valiant effort, but you were impatient. You had previously thought that getting captured would prove antithetical to the mission. It was possible that getting captured would take you right to the top, the person that knew where all your friends were. If you could avoid being put in seastone, you may yet get to torture information out of someone. 

Riding atop Mini, you traveled through several rural villages. Your gunblade was kept hidden under a colorful haori that hung over your shoulders, tucked into the sash around your waist. You had kept it hidden, as it was obviously foreign. By the way the townspeople seemed to avoid the Beast Pirates, and how you had seen them interact, it was clear they were the ones keeping everyone in line. There were also clearly corrupt town officials, made fairly obvious by disparities between the townsfolk's shacks and the elaborate compound the official lived in. As much as you would have liked to kill them all, you had to keep some alive so they could identify you to their superiors. It took a while to come across your prey. You finally crossed paths with some of the Beast Pirates, who were busy harassing villagers. Now, you weren't a good guy or a hero. Some may see you that way, but it was only coincidence that your personal goals induced actions that brought those accolades. That being said, you shot one of the Beast Pirates in the head and the other one non-fatally. You rode by slowly, letting the surviving pirate get a good look at your face before spurring Mini on to the next town. They were too in shock to retaliate before you were out of sight.

Mini's hooves pounded the ground, flying through different villages. A few times, Beast Pirates came after you, each time, you put them down. They increased in strength over time, so they must have been taking you seriously. You managed to overhear some things as you traveled. The shogun of Wano was called Orochi and he was in the Flower Capital. That was where the most well-off of the population lived. You also learned he was in league with the Beast Pirates and Kaido. He was the reason the people in the outskirts of the capital were destitute and also the reason they all wore fake smiles. Orochi would know where your crew was, so Orochi would be your target. Maybe you didn't even need to get caught, you could find him now that you knew who he was. That worked out better. Taking action yourself was faster than waiting to be taken to him, and that wasn't even guaranteed. With this new direction in mind, you steered Mini toward the capital. This time, when anyone stood in your path, you didn't even bother to dismount the boar, letting her run straight through them or shooting them dead and using their corpse as a springboard. You didn't need to put on a show for anyone now that you had a name and a location. Hunting people down and killing them was kind of your thing. 

Judging from the way the buildings increased in number and quality, the distant glow of lights, and the increasing amount of people, you were getting closer to the capital. It was late. The only souls awake were yourself and Minerva. You could hear a stream somewhere behind the main row of houses. The moon was the main source of light as you dismounted the boar and wove through the brush to get to it. You dropped to your knees, eager to wash the dust of the road from your mouth and face. The water was freezing, probably coming from mountain snow melt, but it felt good against your skin. You had scarcely stopped to take care of yourself or eat since you started this mission. You drank from your cupped hand, nearly choking on the acrid taste of the water. You spit the taste out of your mouth. It was tainted somehow. When you opened your eyes, the moonlight on the water's surface reflected a figure behind you. There was a cold, sharp edge pressed against your throat, forcing you to stand to your feet as it pulled against the skin.

You didn't sense them at all. Mini didn't alert either. An eerie laugh rang out from behind you, sending a chill up your spine. In one motion, you ducked backwards to get the blade off your neck and pulled your own weapon from your waist. With quick reflexes, the assailant dodged or deflected every shot you sent in their direction. The figure laughed once more, tightening their grip on their weapons. You frowned. No one that had been sent after you so far had been even close to dodging anything. You hardly had time to think on it. Two scythes slashed at the space you had just been standing in. Finally, you were given a challenge. 

The man, as you had figured out, was very agile. Your bullets were fast, but he was faster. It was like he knew what you were going to do before you did it. Contrary to that, his attacks were random, haphazard, and hard to predict. You felt yourself on the defense more than offense. He caught you off-guard, kicking you in the side instead of using his scythes. You were thrown into a tree, slamming your back into the trunk. The moment of incredible pain delayed your reflexes, and his foot was in the center of your chest, pinning you to the trunk. He leaned his entire weight into you, slowly squeezing the air from your lungs. Glowing yellow roots sprung up from the ground and constricted around him, pulling him off you and immobilizing him. The brief glow illuminated bandages around his face, a haori with colorful dots on it, and hair in a high ponytail. He wasn't in the same uniform as the other Beast Pirates. You rubbed your chest where he had pinned you and caught your breath. The man struggled and laughed in the confines of the vegetation, partially breaking out until you had restrained him further. 

"You're not a Beast Pirate."

"Fa fa fa! You've caused Master Orochi a lot of trouble, boar rider." The man's voice seemed familiar.

"Take me to him. I just want to talk." 

"It will be hard to talk when you're dead. Fa fa fa!" 

"I'm worth more alive," you countered.

"I'll be the judge of that." 

The man flexed, causing the roots trapping him to snap and break until he was free. He came at you again with the scythes. The roots weren't enhanced at all, still you were a bit surprised that he shrugged them off that easily. The gunblade was hard to use against his weapons, so you instead transformed your bracer into a spear. It was easier to block with that. No matter how hard you brought your weapon down on him, he barely budged. He blocked everything without much effort. On the other hand, when he attacked you, you were pushed back by the sheer force of his hits. If he kept at it, you were going to tire fast. You started dodging instead, making him chase you. Neither of you paid any attention to your surroundings, fighting in the open and sending the very few people that were out at this hour into hiding. 

Every strike of his scythes was jarring. He didn't let up either. Strike after strike, he kept coming after you, not giving you an opportunity to hit back. It was pissing you off. You came back at him hard, but he seemed to brush off your attacks, only enraging you further. With your next attack, he waited for you to be in a vulnerable stance before using the butt of his scythe to knock you off balance. Then he kicked you backwards, knocking the air out of your lungs, as you flew through the walls of a house and slammed into the ground. You didn't have time to be dazed, but it was hard to push yourself up when the world was spinning. You managed to roll onto your back a second before a scythe was being plunged into your chest. Immediately you were drowning in your own blood. There was a burning in your right side as your lung deflated around the sharp metal tip embedded in it. There was a tug, pulling you from the ground for a moment before your body slid off the man's scythe and thumped back to the ground. An excruciating pain radiated from the wound. Out of instinct, your hand covered the spot, feeling how much blood was soaked into your clothes. You coughed blood out of your mouth, a reciprocal spray coming from the opening to your chest cavity. 

The man stood over you, watching you bleed out before his eyes. Of course you wouldn't give him the satisfaction. A yellow light emanated from your chest as the hole closed. You took a deep breath in, getting the air that you were in desperate need of. Lashing out with your hand, you grabbed his ankle and used your fruit to paralyze him. The man wobbled and fell on top of you. You flipped him underneath you, straddling his chest. You looked down at him and the bandages on his face. They weren't covering any wounds. They were simply serving to cover his face, hide his identity. You released the paralysis from his head so he could speak, at the same time sliding your hand under the bandages of his face, ripping them off one strip at a time. 

"Fa fa fa! Maybe you are worth something."

Blood still dripped from your mouth and landed on the man's face. "Worth more than you, it seems." Pointedly, you ripped off another bandage. 

"Perhaps. Master Orochi may have use for you. He may let you live if you serve him."

This was an option you hadn't considered. You could infiltrate them from the inside. As much as you wanted to torture information about Kid and Killer's whereabouts from him, it may be unwise to torture the shogun. You would have every Beast Pirate and samurai in the country on your tail. But if you worked for him, maybe the same way this man did, you might gain free access to this information. 

"I'll let you move again if you bring me to him."

"Fa fa fa! I can't do that," The man's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Why not?"

"If I bring you alive, he may kill me. Fa fa fa!"

"One of us has to die then." You contemplated it and then smiled, "I'll gamble mine if you gamble yours." 

"Fa fa fa! I like you, boar rider. I hope you live."

Ripping through the last bandages, you froze. The moon was not bright enough to illuminate the blue of his eyes, and you were hardly paying attention to the familiar blonde of his ponytail. Those features should have been enough. The thing that was keeping you from recognizing him, was that you had never seen him with a smile so big, and you had never heard him belt out a laugh like that. Now you could see the man in front of you. It was Killer. You could see that it was him, but you still did not recognize him. Something was wrong. This was not him. It was obvious he didn't recognize you in the slightest. Still, tears pooled in your eyes. He was alive. He may not be himself, but at least he was alive.

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