#I just want to be allowed to be the way I am

[dollishmehrayan]

𐔌 . ⋮ DAMIAN WAYNE AS A S/O .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ ── .✦ ( solo damian wayne x reader run )

𝜗𝜚 a/n: I’ve been reading damian’s run these days and aww stop he’s so adorable anyways I thought why not to write something for him to get out my writers block sooo enjoy?? anyways I was pressured by my bbg @kyriakis to post this so after this I’ll probably write genuine hcs of him only of things he probably does / used to based off canon, tags: ( damian wayne x reader ) ! Disclaimer the following tags include jason, dick, bruce, Tim even when not mentioned this allows for the fandom to equally react since most don’t follow damian tag

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

A BIT OF A GREAT GIFTER ── .✦

Damian’s idea of romance is... a little dramatic. You once casually mentioned how you like the color purple or any other color and the next day you received an extravagant bouquet of rare lavender flowers, LIKE THIS MAN REMEMBERS WELL.

“Purple is a necessary part of your aesthetic,” he states nonchalantly as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

But then, if you ever mention how much you love a particular type of chocolate or a specific scent, he’ll track it down and somehow acquire it without you knowing and just say it’s a ���gift’ as if he didn’t spend hours finding it.

And if you dare to ask him about it? PFFFF

“Tt, don’t know what you’re talking about. I simply noticed the details, as any competent person would.”

DRAMATIC BUT ON LEVEL 10 ── .✦

Damian acts like you’re going on an actual mission when you leave the house. “What do you mean you’re going for a walk? You can’t just walk around Gotham. There’s danger everywhere.”, “It’s just a bodega damian.”

And even if it’s just a trip to the store, he’ll insist on accompanying you with that “I’m doing this for your own safety” tone, but the moment you come back home, he acts like he’s been out on patrol the entire time.

“I’ve successfully completed the task of ensuring no harm came to you.” HIS LOVE IS IN ACTIONS NOT WORDS OKAY?!

He says this while wearing a full suit and tie, because of course, that makes sense for a walk to the bodega ( corner shop )

Not the Best at Compliments, but...

Damian’s way of showing affection can be a little... rough. But somehow, it always gets the point across, think of like people being sarcastic as a love language but his seems to be like kinda blunt? Where at first he won’t say out loud ‘oh I love you’ no but he isn’t ignorant either, he knows he loves you and that’s validated to him.

“You’re fine. I mean, I guess I could see how someone would find you attractive. It’s not the worst thing in the world.”

And then he’ll look at you, almost daring you to call him out. But in truth, his eyes are saying, “I think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, but I’ll never admit it because I am Damian Wayne, and I am far too cool for this.”

The thing is, though, he’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy, even if it means begrudgingly going out of his way to make sure you get exactly what you want.

WILL DEFEND YOU 100% ── .✦

one of his brothers say something mildly annoying to you?

“Don’t talk to them like that.”

Damian’s got your back no matter how small the offense.

Someone’s being rude to you in public? He’s ready to pull a full I’m Damian Wayne, son of Batman, sole heir to ra’s al ghul and start a verbal altercation, followed by a very intense, “No, they didn’t just say that about you” look.

You? Trying to defuse the situation like a normal person?

Damian? “Nope, too late. I already decided it’s a fight now, this is mockery.

If you’re lucky, he’ll look at you and say, “It’s okay. I’m protecting you,” with a glint in his eye that says, “And you better be grateful.”

GENUINELY DOESNT GET PDA BUT FOR A GOOD REASON ── .✦

Damian’s not one to show affection publicly. In fact, he’ll try to avoid touching you at all if he’s around anyone. But the second he’s sure no one is looking, you’ll catch him glaring at you from across the room like, “We’re together, and everyone should know it, but I won’t say it.” BUT he isn’t embarrassed by you or isn’t hiding you relationship

It’s just private not secret.

He’ll give you the occasional side-hug or brush your hand ever so slightly, then immediately retreat like nothing happened if you don’t grab it fast enough.

But if you’re standing near him, don’t be surprised when he casually places a hand on your shoulder or rests his head on yours... only for it to turn into the most awkward five seconds ever, followed by an immediate, “What? It’s not like I wanted to do that. You were in my personal space.” HE DOESNR WANT TO ADMIT HE’S DEPENDENT 😭

So, yeah. PDA with Damian is... complicated, BUT ITS DIFFERENT

“It’s a Normal Relationship. I Don’t Know What You’re Talking About”

Damian, when you ask if he wants to do something like go for a walk, or watch a movie together:

“I don’t know what you mean. We’re not doing anything special. This is just a normal... well, normal for us. What is ‘normal,’ anyway?”

And yet, there he is, sitting with you, absolutely enjoying the time together trying to act like it's nothing special, but he’s leaning in just a little too close to you to be that casual.

Sometimes, he’ll act like he’s too cool for the typical date stuff, but in reality, he’s all in. He’s just trying to pretend he’s not, to maintain his Bat-cred.

COMPETITIVE TO A TEA ── .✦

This seems like a regular occurrence for him where, it’s not only you but anyone, he likes competition and challenges in general by classmates, friends, you, teammates, anyone. ( This also why he doesn’t do well on teams in canon but we ain’t ready for this convo )

Whenever there’s something to compete over whether it’s a simple game or a sparring match damian’s all in. He takes everything way too seriously.

“I’ll beat you at Mario Kart.”

Damian: “Tt, you think I’m going to let you win? You underestimate me immensely this is social injustice to my name.”

And the next thing you know, he’s strategizing his every move, plotting out every turn like he’s planning an actual mission. MEANWHILE ITS JUST JENGA DAMN

When he inevitably wins (because he’s Damian Wayne, and you knew he was going to), he’ll throw you the most smug smile.

“I told you. You should’ve known better.”

BUT HE LOVES YOU ── .✦

Underneath the tough exterior, Damian’s a softie who occasionally lets his guard down when you're alone together. He might not say it, but you know when he's trying to be vulnerable.

For example, one evening, after a particularly intense patrol or he says something too smart during a simple game of uno , he’ll just stare at you, quietly, in the way that only Damian can.

“You’re... okay, right? I didn’t, uh, hurt you…. I apologize for my lack of understanding if that hurt you.”

You’ll blink and be like, “You literally saved me like 10 minutes ago?”

And he’ll just look away, muttering something like, “Well, I don’t want you to get hurt. I just... don’t want to lose anyone again.” ( damian ‘I will not have anyone dying for my mistakes the way he did’ Wayne ☹️

And then he’ll change the subject super quickly, because he doesn’t want to burden you with his fears

[woso-dreamzzz]

Small

Arsenal Women x Teen!Reader

Summary: You just want to play

You try to catch her eyes, bobbing and weaving on the bench to just get the smallest hint of eye contact.

She does a very good job of pointedly avoiding your gaze.

Next to you, Vic smothers her laughter.

You pay her no mind, trying to catch your mother...no, your manager's eyes.

She's not your mother when she's coaching or at least that's what she always says.

"Your time will come," Lia says from your other side with just a hint of amusement," Renée would be a fool not to sub you on at some point. It'll come. It's still the first half. Give her time."

But patience has never exactly been your strong suit. Impatient was your trademark, always ready and raring to go and always annoyed when other people weren't the same way.

You try to act casual at half time, leaning against the door of the locker room as you wait for your manager to arrive.

"No," Renée says easily when she catches sight of you.

"But-"

"No," She repeats," Not yet. We'll see how the second half will go and then I'll think about it."

You groan. "You never have to think about it with Kyra!"

"Kyra isn't a sixteen year old menace who thinks she's much taller than she actually is."

"I don't think I'm taller than I actually am! And...And Kim's small!"

"And Kim also doesn't try to pick fights with people almost double her height. You need to actually be able to play, menace, not just try to bulldoze the tallest person you see."

Your mouth opens and closes a few times but you come to find that you don't actually have a comeback for that one.

You are kind of small and you do tend to pick fights with people much taller and much stronger than you actually are. But that's not really your fault. If given more time, you're sure you could twist your behaviour into an excuse for standing up for yourself or something similar.

"But you'll definitely think about? Like you actually will and you're not just saying that?"

Renée sighs. "Your mother won't be very happy with me if she tunes in and sees you playing against someone like Renard."

You grin cheekily. "But Mum isn't here and you're not beholden to her rules? Because you're the manager and you'll do what's good for the team? And you know I can absolutely ball out in midfield if you let me?"

Renée rolls her eyes, lightly bumping you with her shoulder. "We'll see how the second half goes and if you don't complain, maybe I'll sub you on."

You grin to yourself as you finally slip into the locker room, sitting down in your cubby and reaching over across Alessia to snag some of the mini cookies Kyra's eating.

"What's got you so happy?"

"Mama said she'll think about subbing me on if the second half goes well."

Alessia snorts. "She's not too scared of your Mum to back out this time?"

Your face turns red surprisingly quickly. "It was one match! And she said sorry after!"

Kyra giggles, hand reaching out to pinch at your cheeks. "Are you sure you don't want to stick to the bench? Maybe we can find some cotton wool to wrap you in?"

"Leave me alone!" You bat her hand away.

It wasn't exactly something you liked talking or even thinking about. You didn't like the team bringing it up.

The way you were coddled that is.

You'd moved over to Arsenal's Academy when the family moved over from Sweden when your Mama got her job as Jonas' assistant coach. It's not exactly that you got in because of who she was because you were already in an academy in Sweden but Arsenal didn't make you do a trial or anything to join them.

It was only a matter of time before you joined the senior team but that was a bit awkward at first, the rest of the team unsure of how hard they were allowed to go with you in training when Renée was on the outskirts supervising.

They relaxed into it, of course, but those first few months this season had been awkward and now that they'd seen how Renée was only willing to play you against low ranked teams, the teasing about being coddled had never worn off.

Your height hadn't exactly helped in that matter. All it did was give Renée an excuse to not play you against good teams with height on their side.

But you wanted this. You wanted Champions League football and you wanted to play now.

You're between Vic and Lia again on the bench when half time finishes, head still bobbing and weaving like it would make Renée sub you on any quicker.

She meets your gaze a few times but her eyes give nothing away.

Eventually, Vic leaves your side grab a drink and you stubbornly cross your arms over your chest.

"This is so unfair."

"Are all sixteen year olds as dramatic as you?" Lia muses idly," You don't have to play this match, you know. It's not a bad thing. You're still a kid."

You bite at your cheek to keep silent.

You don't want to admit why you're so desperate to play this match. You don't want to admit why you're so desperate to show off your skills against an elite opponent and, bar Barcelona, Lyon was as elite as it got.

There's Dutch girls on both teams. The same Dutch girls that could potentially be going to the Euros in the summer.

You want to be one of them.

You want to represent the Netherlands in Switzerland this summer. You want to represent your country like your Mama once did.

But you don't want to say it out loud. Because that makes it real. That means your teammates will be looking at you differently. Renée will look at you differently.

You don't want her to be disappointed if you don't make the team.

So you don't voice your wants and you hope and you pray that you're being watched by the Netherlands coaching staff just like you're hoping and praying that you'll get subbed on today.

And then your time comes.

You rush through a warm up and wait for Frida to come off, slapping your palms against hers as you head onto the pitch.

Blood roars in your ears, a steady pumping sound as you jostle around in the box against people nearly double your age and your height.

They practically dwarf you but you're scrappy, twisting and turning and sending the person behind you in the complete opposite direction.

The ball comes in from a corner and then goes flying back up into the air.

Someone jams their whole body weight into your shoulder and you fight to stay upright.

Your head whips up to track the ball and somehow you find yourself in the middle of the group.

There's barely enough space to do anything but somehow your leg extends out.

Your leg extends out and you kick the ball on the volley.

It's like slow motion.

Your touch is a little off, under pressure and acting on instinct, so the ball doesn't quite go where you want it to.

Because it rattles the crossbar, bouncing over the line and into the goal.

You're sprinting to the corner flag before you even realise it, grabbing and shaking it as the excitement bubbles up out of you.

Arms close around your legs and you're lifted up into the air.

Leah's the one holding you, bouncing a little bit as you laugh and try to keep your balance.

"Come on!" Someone else cheers in joy next to you towards the fans, Steph, you think.

Adrenaline pumps through you as Leah finally sets you down onto your feet again. There's head pats and laughter and you're panting like you've run a marathon.

You feel like you've been running for your life with the amount of adrenaline and endorphins running through your system.

There was no doubt throughout the second half that Arsenal would be going to the final.

Your goal in the dying minutes of the match was just the cherry on top.

Through the celebrations, you chance a glance over at the bench.

Renée stands in front of it, the widest smile on her face and you find yourself settling.

"Come on," You laugh with your teammates as they give you head pats and ruffle your hair," We've still got another minute left. Let's just see this one out."

[maisiewriter]

”Darling, you know I have always been a supporter of men’s rights. I have said, many times how men should have all the resources they need to serve women. I think your little group is very good at discussing ways to please women. Cooking and cleaning tips are fun for you. Now, what did you want to ask me about men’s lib?”

”Goddess, do you think men are capable of having voting rights?”

”Honey, it is a big responsibility to vote, I don’t think it would be a good idea, don’t worry about such things. They are for women only. Do you understand?”

”Yes, ma’am. But I could look at the party manifestos and we could discuss the various proposals. It seems unfair, men vote in other countries after all.”

This is one of the topics of conversation that comes up regularly with Max, my sissy husband. He has it in his mind that men should be more equal to women in our society. I think he got this idea from some of the sillier men at his Men’s Group.

”Honey, it is important that you have the opportunity to meet other sissy husbands and discuss your worries and concerns, to talk about recipes and home furnishing, but you mustn’t be a silly sissy, must you?”

”But, ma’am, some of the men are allowed to do all sorts of things that you wont allow me. I want to be able to vote and not have to ask your permission all the time.”

”What sort of things can they do, that you cannot?”

”Well, some can speak without permission, they work in shops and offices, they have an allowance and some even believe men should be able to vote, sorry goddess. I know I am silly, but could we discuss these things?”

I didn’t have time at that moment to discuss these ideas, but I promised Max that we will have an opportunity for a chat next week. In the meantime I set him the task of writing 100 times by Friday ‘I am a sissy and must know my place. Some things are best done by women.

”Honey, come and sit at my feet whilst I tell you what I think of the things you said last week about things other men can do, ok?”

”Here the lines, ma’am.”

”Good boy, put them on the table. Number one, some men are allowed to speak without permission. I often allow you to speak freely, it’s just that I prefer silence for a sissy, ok? It is just nicer to have a quiet, obedient boy.”

”But, ma’am…”

”Shh Max. Two, they work in shops and offices, well that is fine, but I want you concentrating on the home. You have had little part time jobs, haven’t you. I may allow it again, we will see.”

”But some have careers, and work in teams with female supervision.”

”Darling, I have told you what I think. Three some of the men have an allowance and some even believe men should be able to vote, Now, you have an allowance, isn’t it enough?”

”Yes, ma’am. it’s just that it is only enough for our weekly food shop, if I want anything else I need your permission.”

At this point I was a bit bored with this conversation. I told Max that he was being ungrateful and should consider how lucky he is to live with me in this luxurious home and that I wont let him go to the men’s group if he comes back with silly ideas.

I allowed him to kiss my feet and then sent him off to do his chores.

[rafesbabygirlx]

ONLINE LOVE | 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚄

✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝙰𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

✧ Summary- Rafe Cameron used to avoid love, only having flings and never getting close to anyone. Now 27 and raising his 3-year-old daughter Harper alone, he wants something more, a real connection. Tired of being judged on the island, he tries Hinge and sets his location to the mainland. After days of no matches, he finds your profile and is instantly drawn to you.

✧ Prompt- for hingematch!rafe could you do one where hes been busy with his daughter and doesnt realise hes left her on delivered and she thinks hes ghosted her?

✧ Prompted here

It had been a month. A month of back and forth texting, FaceTime calls, and learning more about each other. Rafe surprisingly opened up about a lot to you, other than the fact that he had his daughter. He still didn’t know how to bring this up. Now worried it would ruin everything.

You had off today so you and Rafe had spent all night on the phone. You had fallen asleep first so when you woke up you wanted to make it a point to text him.

9:29am: Hi, how pathetic am I fallen asleep on you like that?

9:30am: My first year residency is kicking my ass, I’m shocked that I even stayed up as late as I did.

9:31am: I’m free all day today, finally have a day off, so don’t be shy in texting me! 🥰

9:44am: I’m sure you’re at work and busy. Like I said I’m free all day. I just can’t wait to hear your voice again.

You hadn’t mean to sound desperate. This past month you and Rafe had been on top getting back to each other the second with of you had texted. You had both shared your schedules, you knew when he’d be in meetings and he knew when you’d be working at your internship. The second either was over, one of you was immediately sending a text. Unless there was an emergency meeting he got pulled in to, this was a bit of a strange break in the pattern.

You busied yourself as best as you could. You made yourself a nice breakfast, something you barely get to do anymore. Then, you caught up on some of your tv shows and when they were done you began a new book. You took a full pamper shower, cleaned up your nails, did your hair routine, your skincare, and applied some makeup.

It had been 4 hours and when you finally picked back up your phone it was still radio silence from Rafe. You let out a sigh of defeat. Mind racing that something that seemed so precious could already be over. He hadn’t even read the texts. You don’t mean to jump to conclusions, but no matter how well this seemed to be going, he was only just an online dating match who ended up living 5 hours away from you.

On the other side of North Carolina, Rafe was a mess. Harper had claimed she had a stomach ache and refused to go to school, meanwhile he caught the toddler in the pantry sneaking cookies and gummies 3 times this morning. He told her the only thing she was allowed to do was lay in bed and get rest if she was that sick. This lead to full blown tantrums and Rafe wanting to pull out the short hair of his buzzcut.

Between Harper fighting him all morning and having to rearrange his business schedule, this glued Rafe to his office desk. His personal phone was forgotten on his nightstand and he didn’t get a chance to think about it. He left the office door open, which gave him a perfect view of Harper’s and the hundreds of times he caught her sneaking out of it.

“Harper get back here!”

“No daddy, I want more snacks.”

“You said your tummy hurt, were you lying to me?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to daddy, Harper.”

“Yes.”

Harper bowed her head in defeat. A cute way of defeat only a 3 year old could get away with. This caused Rafe to kneel in front of his daughter, lifting her chin delicately with his fingers.

“Why’d you lie Harper?”

“I don’t like school, I wanted to be with you. You mwake me safe.”

“Why would you need me to keep you safe baby?”

“Cause kids are mean and I don’t like ‘em.”

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. How about this, we spend the rest of the day doing anything you want? Snacks, movies, tea party. How’s that sound?”

Harper’s face lit up and she threw herself into her dad’s arms, wrapping hers around his neck and hugging him tightly.

“Yes daddy! Come!”

Rafe laughed as he allowed the toddler to drag him into the kitchen. She pulled out the tea set from the lower cabinet that was designated for all her stuff. Rafe put on some water to boil, then she went to pantry to pull out snacks she wanted for tea time.

They brought up everything to her room. Harper knew exactly how to set everything up. A setting for her, a setting for Rafe, and two other settings for her stuffed elephant and American Girl doll Sarah had gotten her.

They spent the entire day doing what Harper wanted. Rafe let his assistant know he would be unreachable as he just wanted to focus on his daughter. This was the first she brought up having problems at preschool. How the hell were 3 year olds already having issues. He got her to open up about it and it was 2 boys that would take her crayons and break them when she’d color or steal her gummies at lunch time.

Rafe took offense to that personally because he was always proud of himself for making her lunches every morning. But he quickly shook off the feeling of being pissed off at a 3 year old. Heloved being a dad and making Harper happy. He didn’t want to be sad or afraid to go to school. So to just do this little thing for her to see her smile, he was more than ok to do it.

When the time came around for Harper’s bedtime, he brushed through her now dried hair from the bath and tucked her into bed.

“You’re gonna have to go to school tomorrow Princess. I know it’s scary, but you’re a tough girl, I’ll come in with you tomorrow and talk with your teachers. We’ll figure this out together. Ok?”

Harper gave a soft sigh and looked like she wanted to plead with her dad to not go in another day. “Ok. Ima tough girl.”

“That’s right. I love you little one.”

“I love you daddy.”

Rafe had given her one final kiss before making his way to his bedroom and plopping down onto his sheets. He had forgotten about his phone all day and had decided to pick it up. There were notifications from Sarah, Topper, Kelce and all the way at the bottom there were four missed messages from you.

He ran his hand over his face. He never missed a text from you. He always had Do Not Disturb on and you’ve been the only one this past month that could still get through to him. He was stuck on what to say. His entire day was spent making sure his daughter had been happy. His daughter, you had no idea about. What could he even say?

It was now 8:30 at night. You had just cleaned up the kitchen from cooking dinner earlier. Mind finally at ease from the doubt and wary feeling about being ignored. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten attached, no matter how good it felt. He probably found someone closer to him and forgot all about you. Online dating has never turned out great for you. This was just another disappointing failure.

You sat on the couch, trying to push aside your thoughts as you engulfed yourself in your favorite movie. Your phone is next to you laying face down. It was almost 9 and even with a relaxing day of doing what you loved you were already feeling tired again. You rested your head in the palm of your hand as you our eyes began to close, a ping from your phone shot them right back open.

Embarrassingly, you reached for it quicker than you’d like to admit. You look at the notification and see it’s Rafe. You hold back a smile, not ready for what it says.

8:55pm: Hi. I’m really sorry about today. From the second I woke up chaos was erupting at the office. I had to get up and ready and rush out the door. I completely forget my personal phone at home and just got back. I missed you today. 🩵

You let out a breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding and smile warmly at the message. You were scared of rejection and know he feels this way you reply instantly not caring how it makes you look anymore.

8:57PM: No need to apologize Mr. CEO. Some things are unpredictable, it’s easy to get caught up, I’m still here for you.

Rafe took a sigh of relief at your response. He didn’t want to ruin this. But the gnawing guilt of lying to you about Harper made him terrified of what was yet to come. You said you loved kids. But would you love him when you found out he had a daughter?

For now the only thing to do was to continue to talk to you. Learn more about you. Hopefully you would understand why he was doing what he was doing. It was to protect Harper. You’d understand, right?

Tags + some moots: @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @tul1preads @wuluhwuhmaster @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy @bellaballerina111 @pogueprincesa @daddyrafeslittleslut @nemesyaaa @papercranesandinkstains @frankoceanluvr11 @drewsephrry @zyafics @rafeysvenicebitch @rowdydevs @maybankslover @rafesgreasycurtainbangs

I think I have everyone tagged <3

[tacoguacamole]

ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 3

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark, Kook's a jerk and mean for the earlier chapters]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Chapter Word Count: 7k+]

[Note: A lot of time jumps and flashbacks as said on the warnings. A lot's happening in this part as well since the story needs to progress. Comment below if you want to be tagged for the future parts. Once again, I am so sorry for mean/selfish/jerk Kook. He gets better…I think. Don't fight me 😭 We love the bunny man.]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

The morning air feels different today — crisper somehow, even though the sky outside the kitchen window glows the same pale blue as every other morning.

You don’t flinch when the doorbell rings. You knew he’d come.

When you open the door, Jeongguk is standing there, awkward in his usual work button up and slacks, a small bouquet of purple tulips in his hands. He looks like he wants to say a thousand things but can’t settle on a single one. His eyes flicker down to the purple tulips, then up to you.

For a second, neither of you moves. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leans forward and presses a brief kiss to your forehead, his arms coming around you in a hesitant, practiced hug — one that used to mean comfort, but now it’s just obligatory. His grip is gentle, almost too careful, like he’s afraid of breaking something that’s already cracked.

Still, you hold on to him a little longer, hanging on to the bit of happiness your heart feels.

Stepping aside, you let him in. The scent of eggs and toast floats lightly from the kitchen, where your mother busies herself with the stove. Her clattering is pointedly loud, each clang sharper than necessary. She doesn’t greet him. Doesn’t even glance his way. Stays silent. Keeps her promise. Lets you have this.

Sitting across from him at the dining table, a plate of toast is left untouched between you. There's a heavy silence, like you're both waiting for someone to call cut on a campaign shoot you’re both working on. He twirls the tulips nervously in his fingers before you gently reach over and take them from him, burying your nose into the petals.

"You remembered," you say softly, a little laugh escaping.

“I’d get sued if I forgot,” he murmurs, lips curling into a faint ghost of a smile—one you haven’t seen in a long time.

Neither of you speak. It's just the clinking of silverware filling the awkward space between you. There’s no pressure to talk, not yet. The list said conversations are optional, and maybe that’s mercy for both of you this morning.

So you just observe him. He doesn’t look at you at first. Just keeps his eyes on the table or the clock or the edge of his coffee mug. But his hand twitches a little, like he's trying to grasp for something. Finally, he asks,

“Am I…” He pauses, clears his throat. “Am I allowed to ask why you’re doing this?”

You knew this question would come at some point. The revised and signed agreements that Seokjin brings to you by morning after you had them delivered to Jeongguk's lawyer, made you figure out just as much. Your own lawyer was shocked with how fast things were progressing.

Setting the fork down carefully, wiping your fingers with a napkin, you reply, “No. No questions throughout the days. You signed, had the chance to counter, but you didn’t.”

Jeongguk swallows hard but says nothing else. Simply goes back to the breakfast he has a hard time digesting.

You breathe in deeply, searching for something easier to talk about. “Wanna tell me about work? What’s been going on lately?”

That pulls a reluctant smile from him. “Mingyu’s the new face of Calvin Klein. I’ve been working on the campaign with him.”

You grin, genuine this time. “Look at you. Still the golden boy.”

He chuckles under his breath, tapping his fingers against his mug. “Just trying to do my job. You know how it is.”

You nod, sipping your coffee. “Work’s just about to get crazy for me, too. Seora’s landed a spot at Paris Fashion Week again.”

His eyes widen, a spark of pride flickering there. “Seriously? That’s…that’s huge.” The excitement he shares almost feel real. “Two years in row. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Mark’s been working really hard to keep getting us the spot. He’ll head to Paris soon with the team to prep.”

His gaze softens a little at the mention of your business partner. “You’re not going this time?”

You shake your head, casually swirling the coffee in your cup. “Someone’s got to hold down the fort here.” The lie comes out smoothly.

“But… Paris is your favorite,” Jeongguk says, quieter this time. “You used to call me at three a.m. just to show me the Eiffel Tower lights.”

Your heart skips a beat, hearing how he remembers the better times of your lives, the soft smile across your lips you don’t hide. “Things change, Gguk. Priorities, you know?”

He watches you longer than necessary, like he’s trying to see through your carefully placed calm. “And Mark’s okay with you staying back?”

There’s a shift in his expression you don’t quite pin point. Jealousy? Sadness?

You laugh, ignoring the possibilities, shaking your head. “Mark’s job is to travel and secure global opportunities for us. It’s what we pay him to do. He’s always been my business partner. You know that.”

Leaning back in your chair, cheek resting on your knuckles, you study him. There’s a hint of relief on him that you catch.

“Were you hoping I was secretly dating him?” The faintest shade of red on his ears makes you chuckle. “Or…wait, Jeon Jeongguk, are you jealous?” That thought would’ve been a miracle. But for now, it’s just a good joke to share over breakfast.

He chuckles, shaking his head, voice barely above a mumble. “No. Just… curious.”

It breaks some of the remaining tension between you. The rest of the breakfast is filled with easier conversations. Updates about mutual friends, industry rumors, the chaos of wrangling Seventeen’s troublemaker into a shoot.

“Thought photographers were supposed to be calm under pressure,” you tease, tapping your spoon lightly against your cup.

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. “Try staying calm when your model’s flexing so hard he knocks over the entire backdrop.”

You laugh harder than you should, and for a moment, it feels like you're twenty something again — sitting cross-legged on your old apartment’s rooftop at midnight, talking about dreams and futures you thought were set in stone.

The scent of iris, white musk, and soft leather clings to the air — the signature fragrance of Seora, your second home for so many years.

Your mother walks beside you, silent but steady, her presence a pillar against the invisible weight pressing down on your chest. She’s dressed sharply, as always — an elegant blazer, pearl earrings, her posture straight and proud. But you see the way her hands tighten briefly around the strap of her handbag.

You pretend not to notice.

Employees bow as you pass — some with genuine warmth, others with careful restraint. Still, you return every bow with a polite smile, polished and practiced, a mask you've worn too long to forget.

Mark is already waiting just outside your office – leaning lazily against the wall like he owns the place, as usual.

“There she is. Queen of Seora.” He greets you with wide grin, sweeping into an exaggerated bow. “Her Royal Highness finally graces us with her presence.”

You huff a laugh, and even your mother’s lips twitch with reluctant amusement. She’s long since accepted your dynamic with Mark — chaos and comfort stitched together.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Tuan,” you reply, brushing past him.

He shrugs, falling into step behind you. “Worth a shot.”

Inside, your office is unchanged — glass desk, curated shelves, years of framed achievements, the photo of you and your mother at your first gala.

But something feels off today. The air, maybe. Or the way the room echoes in silence a little too much.

Setting your bag down, you smooth the creases out of your skirt, take a seat after behind your desk. Your mother sits across from you – dignified, composed – her eyes scanning the folders Mark has already placed neatly at the center of the table.

“Preliminary turnover documents.” He explains, voice light, still professional. “Contracts, executive summaries, shareholder agreements. The ones needing your signature are flagged.”

You nod, flipping open the top folder. The pages blur for a moment before your vision clears.

You focus. One step at a time.

Across from you, your mother doesn’t speak. But you feel her eyes — weighted, patient. This was her legacy, once. Then yours. Now returning to her hands again only because it was necessary.

Forgetting the folder, she takes your hand in hers. Gives a hesitant but assuring smile as much as she can. “I’ll take care of it, darling. Don’t worry about a thing.”

You swallow thickly as you try to return a smile.

Mark leans back in his chair, trying to break the heaviness taking over the room. “So,” he says, stretching exaggeratedly, “does this mean I get majority of the shares now that the queen is abdicating?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up brighter than you expect. “If you’re willing to handle future meetings with Jeongguk. He’s getting a nice chunk once the papers go through, in case you’re forgetting.”

Mark groans, dragging a hand down his face. “So he gets the shares and visitation rights to you?”

“Didn’t realize this was a custody battle.”

Your mother chimes in dryly, eyes still on the new folders spread across your desk. “Funny how he always ends up with the best part of things he barely worked for.”

Mark’s expression tightens, a mix of humor and something sharper. “Always been the lucky one.”

The next hour is all motion. Documents reviewed, initials scrawled, strategies adjusted. You talk vendor relations. You approve final budget notes. When the paperwork is finally stacked neatly in three clean piles — Pending, Signed, Review Again — you lean back in your chair with a sigh.

Your mother rises, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her blazer. “We’ll go over the audit reports tomorrow. For now, let’s go home.”

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment — searching, aching — before she composes herself again.

You stand too, brushing your fingers lightly over the edge of your desk.

Mark doesn’t move. You look at him. The silence stretches too long — too full. “I’ll handle the Paris accounts. Send you photos soon.”

You manage a soft smile, grateful for everything he’s doing without saying it. “Make sure the lighting at our booth doesn’t wash out the models this year.”

“I’m offended you’d even think it.”

You roll your eyes.

But you’re grateful — so grateful — for the way he keeps the edges of this afternoon from cutting too deep.

The evening settled quietly over the house. No peace lingering – more like a tension waiting for the first person to break. The table was already set when Jeongguk arrived. Steam rose from the dishes laid out — galbi, japchae, kimchi jjigae, and a small stack of neatly rolled egg omelettes.

Picking up his chopsticks, he hesitated before speaking. “So…how was work today?”

You chew slowly, buying yourself a little time before answering. “Busy. Meetings here and there. Some finalizing needed for fashion week. A few contract turnovers. You know, the usual things when companies shift hands.” You shrug like it’s nothing, like you didn’t spend the entire afternoon sorting years of hard work.

Jeongguk’s brows furrow slightly. “You’re…handing things over?”

You’re too quick to answer. “No, no—just…just creating a little space to breathe. Was thinking I want some time to myself.” The assuring smile you give Jeongguk was convincing enough for him to move on to lighter things. “Nothing major.”

“Mark still driving you crazy with last-minute changes?”

"Who else do you know works with me, that loves throwing in new ideas when deadlines are hours away?”

Jeongguk’s mouth quirks into a smile, the first genuine one since he sat down. “Mark. Mark Tuan. Yeah, that sounds about right.”

The night falls into a soft stillness, the kind that follows when the laughter fades and the last dishes are cleaned. Soft light spilled from the kitchen, casting a warm glow that barely reached past the doorway, leaving the front hall in shadow.

Jeongguk stands by the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, fingers lightly touching it like he needs something to hold onto. His eyes drift – over the neatly hung photos on the wall, the soft rug that shows signs of time, the wide staircase that curves the way he remembers.

One photo catches his eye—bigger than the others and set a little apart. Two people in white, laughing like nothing could ever go wrong, with the ocean in the background—Gwangalli, if he’s really looking. You wonder if he missed it this morning. Don’t blame him if he did. The nerves must’ve been burying him six feet under.

“Sorry. I’ll have Eomma take it down,” you clear your throat, breaking the quiet.

“It’s fine,” Jeongguk shifts. Glances at you and then away. “So…the hugs and forehead kisses,” You notice the small smile tugging on the corner of his lips, feeling thankful for the shift from the awkwardness. "That really had to be on the list, huh?"

A soft laugh slips from you, unguarded. “It did.”

“Was it a punishment?” It’s a joke, but you don’t miss the uncertainty flicker in his eyes.

“Is that how you feel?”

Your bluntness catches him off guard. Guilt flashes. The breath he lets out like a quiet surrender.

Slowly, he steps forward, arms coming up in a hesitant, careful hug. His chest brushes yours, his forehead resting lightly against your temple – a touch familiar, but no longer easy.

Your eyes slip closed as you let yourself lean in, not because it feels natural, but because for a moment, it’s enough to remember how it once did.

“Goodnight,” Jeongguk murmurs, his voice low and close.

You smile, the kind that’s felt more than seen. “Goodnight, Gguk.”

He lingers just long enough to press the lightest kiss to your temple — so fleeting it’s almost not there, and yet, when the door clicks shut behind him and the quiet stretches in, it’s the one thing that stays.

You sit on the edge of the bed later, hair still damp from a quick shower, your fingers curled around the corner of the old photo album you'd told yourself not to open tonight.

The room is filled with nothing but the soft hum of the air purifier and the faint ticking of the wall clock. You don’t know what you’re hoping to find in these pages. Something soft, maybe. Something easier than the quiet goodbye at the door.

The pages smell like dust and faint vanilla — the kind your mother used to tuck into the drawers when you were younger. You flip until your fingers still on a picture, one that had always made you laugh.

You’re on a picnic mat, legs stretched out, shoes kicked off beside you. Jeongguk’s in the next one — lying flat on his back with his arms thrown wide, squinting at the sun. There’s a juice box pressed to his cheek like it’s the only thing keeping him alive in the heat. He’s smiling wide, without shame or thought. His hair’s longer, lighter — summer had bleached the tips — and his shirt has ketchup on it.

You can almost hear it again.

"You're the worst picnic planner ever," he groans, dragging the back of his hand over his forehead dramatically.

"You said you wanted hot dogs."

"Not molten lava ones!"

You laugh at the memory. Remembered, he’d still eaten two more after that. Said they were terrible with his mouth full and asked for a third.

You remember how he used to love loudly. How he’d pull you into hugs like he never wanted to let go. The way he’d lean in to kiss your forehead in the middle of a crowd without caring who saw. The time he ran to the other side of the beach where the ice-cream kiosk was, just to bring you a mint chocolate cone he badly wanted you to try, holding it above his head like it was sacred.

"It’s ugly and green."

"You love ugly things."

"That’s why I’m dating you?"

"Exactly," he’d said, grinning, rain dripping from his lashes, "you’ve got great taste."

You close the album slowly.

Tonight, his arms were careful. His kiss, light as a breath. Back then, there was no hesitation. No pause before he touched you, no weight between your names.

You lie back on the bed, pressing your palms over your face, hoping to bury the pain that feels like it has made a home in your chest.

You didn’t think the time would come that you’d have to miss a version of Jeongguk who used to laugh into your shoulder and whisper stupid things to make you snort in public. The version who always held you a little longer, like he could make time stop if he tried hard enough.

You always thought that version of him would stay for a lifetime.

Now, the only way you get to see that side of him is through a list—through something he feels he has to do.

But you’ll take what you can. For now, you’ll accept whatever life hands you.

The sun hasn’t climbed high enough to chase away the gray. The streets are still damp from the night, and your breath clouds faintly as you step outside, coat collar turned up against the early chill. There’s something about mornings like this — quiet, half-lit — that makes everything feel softer around the edges.

You hadn’t slept much. Rest felt like a visitor you forgot to greet last night, slipping past you somewhere between the click of the door and the ache that settled deep in your chest. Still, your steps are steady as you make your way through familiar streets, ones your feet could trace even blindfolded.

The shop appears like a memory made solid — tucked between a florist and a tiny dry cleaner, its awning still a little crooked on one side. The glass is fogged near the bottom, and someone’s taped a doodle of a smiling sun on the door.

Inside, it’s warm. Familiar.

The left wall is still lined with notebooks and sketchpads in soft neutral tones, racks of pastel washi tape, pens arranged by gradient. You let your fingers skim the edge of a purple sketchbook on display — the same brand you used to hoard during finals week. The same ones Jeongguk used to scribble dumb little nothings in just to annoy you.

You claim your usual seat by the window, near the radiator that still hums faintly when it kicks on. The light here is gentle, and the table still has the faint outline of a coffee ring etched into the wood. The café counter sits snug beside the stationery section, and for a second, it’s easy to believe no time has passed at all.

You order for two. Wait. Don’t check your phone. Know Jeongguk’s on his way. Not like you’ve given him a choice.

Your gaze drifts — over the shelves, to the corner where a worn beanbag still sits, slouched as always. Something about the moment folds in on itself, slipping back in time.

You were running late. Again. Hair barely brushed, laces undone, your tote bag unorganized and overflowing with books needed for classes today, jammed under your arm.

The bell above the door had barely finished ringing when you stumbled in and spotted him already there, halfway through a chocolate croissant and bent over your sketchbook – the one you’ve been looking for hours this whole morning, the reason why you were late.

“Seriously?” you’d huffed, dropping into the seat across from him. “Flipped our dorm upside down looking for that and it was with you this whole time?”

“Page 14,” Jeongguk ignored your dramatic flair, eyes not even lifting. “Your mannequin’s missing a head.”

“That’s on purpose,” you muttered, grabbing the sketchbook and flipping it shut. “It’s avant-garde.”

He finally looked up, eyebrows raised in mock seriousness. “Ah. The Headless Collection. Bold.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile pulling at your mouth. “You’re annoying.”

“Thank you. I rehearse.”

You’d kicked him lightly under the table. He’d stolen a bite of your sandwich in retaliation. You’d retaliated harder, dropped three sugar cubes into his coffee knowing he only liked it black and snatched the entire croissant off his plate.

“Hey!” he’d gasped, scandalized, mid-chew. “That’s a war crime.”

You shrugged, all innocence as you took a deliberately slow bite, crumbs tumbling down your chin. “Shouldn’t have touched my sandwich.”

His eyes narrowed. “That croissant had layers.”

“So did my patience,” you replied, mouth full.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, lowering his voice like he was delivering a threat. “You realize this means war.”

You grinned. “Then choose your weapon wisely, Jeon.”

“Fine. Sketchbook turned doodle board it is.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would.”

And just like that, he was scribbling something on your sketchbook, tongue poking out in concentration while you lunged to grab it back. 

The stationery café had always been your reset button — notebooks open, drinks warm, pencils rolling off the table because Jeongguk couldn’t sit still. He always left little doodles on your margins – stick figures with six-packs, dramatic cape swirls, and when he’d feel to be more annoying, he’d scribble a crown your head.

“This one's you,” he said once, pointing to a tiny sketch of a girl shouting at a sewing machine.

“She looks like she hasn’t slept in three days.”

“Art imitates life.”

You snorted into your latte. “I’m replacing you with someone quieter.”

“Impossible,” he grinned. “You’d miss me by lunchtime.”

He was right.

You always did.

And now, it wasn’t just during your chaotic uni lunch breaks that you missed him

The chair across from you slides back gently.

You don’t look up right away — just fumble with your phone before meeting his eyes.

Jeongguk shrugs off his coat with one hand, ruffles his hair like the wind annoyed him, then sits. Tie loose around his collar, shirt wrinkled just enough to tell you he dressed in a hurry. He glances around, then places a single stem of purple tulips on the table, the soft color a little too bright for the morning. “They still sell those overpriced gel pens?”

You nod, sipping your drink. “They’re too smooth to resist.“

His eyes flick toward the shelves. “I used to steal yours.”

“You used to steal everything.”

He smiles faintly — just the corner of his mouth lifting. “You let me.”

“Was being generous.”

The waitress sets down your orders — one pastry each, two drinks. You watch as Jeongguk breaks a corner off his croissant. Eats it with quiet precision. He never used to do that. Used to make a mess.

You don’t comment on it.

“So,” he says after a moment, brushing crumbs from his fingers, “still designing things with no heads?”

You didn’t think he’d remember. A smile slips across your lips. “Wow. Callback.”

“I’m nostalgic.”

Your eyes meet. There’s something light there, flickering — not quite the warmth from before, but you’re glad to see something at least.

You reach into your bag and pull out a thin sketchpad, sliding it across the table. He lifts the cover slowly, eyes scanning your latest work. “You gave her a head this time.”

You lean back, arms crossed loosely. “Growth.”

He chuckles under his breath, fingers smoothing the paper. “She looks like she’s running.”

“She is.”

Jeongguk doesn’t ask from what. Doesn’t say anything at all. Just taps the edge of the page twice, then closes it.

The silence is comfortable. A little cautious. But not cold.

You tear off a small piece of your pastry, drop it on his plate like old habit. Used to do it when you still had some left from his that you’d stolen. Even if you’d stolen his precious croissant, you never actually finished it, always left most of it for him – knowing breakfast was the only time he’d actually eat properly, your favorite meal of the day – before the two of you start your own classes.

You knew he’d run on caffeine and stubbornness alone until evening. Then he’d video call you during one of his lectures looking like a grumpy, overgrown bunny with a camera strap digging into his neck and a frown set between his brows.

He blinks at it, then at you. “What’s that for?”

“For luck,” you simply reason.

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t believe in luck.”

“Thought maybe I could this time.”

Jeongguk looks at you as if he’s trying to read you. Like there’s something else he wants to say. Ends up not saying anything. Just eats the piece.

Your drink’s gone lukewarm, still you sip away hoping to drown in the energy it’s supposed to give with the day that’s waiting ahead of you. Jeongguk’s gaze lingers out the window for a moment, watching a cyclist roll by, the soft clatter of gears audible through the glass.

“You still come here often?” he asks, voice casual.

“Every now and then,” you say softly. “Some places just… stick.”

Jeongguk doesn’t press. You’re thankful he doesn’t.

“I used to think the owner hated me,” he says instead. “Always caught me doodling on the napkins.”

“She didn’t hate you,” you reply. “She thought you were wasting perfectly good napkins.”

A small chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I was creating modern art.”

You roll your eyes. “You drew a chicken with sunglasses.”

“Exactly. Groundbreaking stuff. I’m the direct descendant of Van Gogh.”

The laugh that escapes you is softer this time — real, but quieter than it might’ve been years ago. You catch him watching you then. Not intensely. Not curiously. Just… there. Present. It slips away quickly when he looks down, wiping off his side of the table in random circles.

You glance over your shoulder at the display shelf by the counter — a glass case where people leave notes, scraps of things from past visits. It used to be empty. Now it’s cluttered and full of lives layered on top of one another.

Jeongguk follows your gaze. “We never left anything in there.”

“No,” you murmur. “We never needed to.”

He nods slowly, and you wonder if the weight in your words settled somewhere in him too.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a pen. Those smooth gel types you always fell for even when you promised yourself you wouldn’t spend another won on stationery. You slide it across the table toward him.

He looks at it, then at you. “For me?”

“Figured you’d want to deface another napkin.”

Jeongguk tears off the corner of one of the paper placemats and scribbles something. You reach over and take the pen back before he can set it down, slipping it into your pocket like it was nothing. He folds the scrap once and tucks it into his jacket.

“You’re not putting it in the case?” You ask, confused why he’d even want to keep something like that – something you’re sure doesn’t matter to him anymore.

“Maybe next time.”

You finish the last sip of your drink as the hour pulls closer to what’s next — work, the rest of the day, the return to whatever this routine is becoming between the two of you.

You stand, slipping your bag over your shoulder, grabbing on to the purple tulip after.

Jeongguk rises too, fingers brushing the edge of the table like he’s grounding himself again – a new habit you started noticing from him.

“Thanks for showing up,” you say lightly, adjusting your scarf.

I had to. He doesn’t say it, but you can see the words hovering in the hesitation behind his eyes — quiet, but impossible to miss.

The sky’s a little brighter when you both step out. The cold still clings to your skin, but the café warmth lingers at your back.

As you turn to go, Jeongguk calls out, “Hey.”

You glance back.

“I liked the new sketch,” he says. “She looked like she knew where she was going.”

“She doesn’t.”

He smiles faintly. “Neither did we.”

You don’t say anything. Just tuck your hands into your pockets, gave one last nod, before walking away.

As you pass the glass, you catch a glimpse of something slightly out of step, tucked into the reflection. You, a little lighter, and the boy beside you who used to draw chickens with sunglasses and mumble dumb jokes just to see you pretend not to laugh.

And for a moment, it’s easy to pretend this is just another morning in the middle of an old life that never cracked at the seams.

The office is a mess. Papers piled up like threats, some teetering close to the edge of his desk. The inbox blinks like a warning light. Jeongguk sits in the middle of it all, elbows pressing into the surface, fingers rubbing at his eyes. The screen blurs. Photoshoots. Edits. Meetings he’s already missed. His coffee’s gone cold. The tremble in his hand says it’s his third cup — or fourth. He’s lost count.

And on top of it all, a notification from Taehyung flashes across his phone.

K. Taehyung: Lunch date with Jiwoo.

Jeongguk swears under his breath, chair scraping against the floor as he stands. He grabs his coat on the way out, not bothering to fix his hair in the hallway mirror. As he shrugs it on, something light slips from his pocket and lands near the leg of the desk—a torn bit of paper, edges smudged faintly with purple petals drawn from a gel pen. He doesn’t notice. Leaves the office without checking if he’s forgotten anything else.

The drive to the café blurs by. Taehyung’s voice crackles through the speaker, rambling about a rookie group, a broken light, a late shoot — but Jeongguk only half-listens, mind drifting far away.

Muted light through tall windows. The smell of ground coffee, old novels, and notebooks. The gentle scrape of a cup across a wooden table. A sketchbook lying open.

His hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

The café he pulls up to now is different. Newer, glass and steel, designed for aesthetics more than comfort. Inside, everything gleams. Clean lines. Polished floors. The hum of conversation blends with quiet jazz in the background, curated to feel effortless.

Jiwoo’s already at the table when he enters. She stands when she sees him, her smile brief, eyes scanning his face like she’s trying to gauge the weather. She leans in for a hug, light and cautious.

A waitress appears, takes their orders — sandwiches, two coffees. Then the silence settles between them, brittle and careful.

��“You texted me,” Jiwoo speaks first. “Didn’t say much.”

Jeongguk exhales, straightens the napkin on his lap. “It wasn’t something I could explain over the phone.”

She nods slowly. “I figured.”

He runs a thumb along the rim of his water glass. “She found the divorce papers.”

There’s a pause. Jiwoo’s gaze drops for a moment, something unreadable settling in her expression before she nods again. “I thought that might happen. You waited too long, Gguk.”

“I know.”

“How did she take it?”

Jeongguk stares at the edge of the table. “She didn’t cry. Didn’t yell. Just… agreed. Agreed to sign on her terms.”

Jiwoo raises an eyebrow. “What kind of terms?”

“Meals together. Flowers. Staying close. Old habits. Forehead kisses,” he finishes, voice lower now. “Just… things we used to do.”

The words sounded simple when laid out like that, but they weren’t. They were heavy, drenched in old love and broken memories.

She looks down at her drink, stirring it even though it doesn’t need stirring. “And you agreed?”

Jeongguk nods. “I owe her at least that much.”

The noise in the café comes like a blessing. Somewhere behind them, a coffee grinder whirs to life. A baby laughs. Jeongguk’s eyes flick toward the window, to the glint of sun on glass, anywhere else except on Jiwoo, too scared of what he might find — anger, jealousy, resentment.

But he finds none of it when he finally turns to her. Only sadness. And love. And guilt.

“I hate that we hurt her,” Jiwoo says after a moment, her voice thick with guilt. “I never meant for it to turn out like this. I hope I can tell her that.”

Jeongguk’s gaze drops to her hands, still, folded tightly together. There’s a quiet ache in the way they sit, almost like they’re waiting for something. He doesn’t pause to think—just moves, his hand gently covering hers. It’s not an answer. Not an apology. Simply a comfort he hopes she feels is enough from his touch.

“I know,” he murmurs. “Neither of us did.”

The words hang in the space between them, soft but solid. Like stones dropped into still water, rippling outward. They don’t shatter anything. Not yet. But they make everything shift.

Jiwoo lets out a breath she’s been holding. Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t cry. “Sometimes I think maybe I deserve to lose everything.”

“You didn’t make me love her less,” Jeongguk says. “That’s on me. And you’re not losing anything. I’m here. I’m still here.”

His words are calm, certain—like if he says it gently enough, it’ll stop the noise in his head.

The hard office couch pressing into your back wakes you up with a sharp breath and neck sore from where you’d curled up with your throw blanket. The room is dim and quiet, the evening air is calm and something warm and tasty drifts through the air.

Your eyes flutter open, confusion tightening in your chest.

Jeongguk.

He’s there, kneeling by the coffee table, unpacking takeout containers with quick, careful movements. The soft crinkle of paper bags and the light tap of chopsticks on plastic fill the still of the room. His hair falls over his forehead, his sleeves pushed up, jaw tight and sharp in the fading light.

“Jeongguk… what—” you rasp, voice rough from sleep, “what are you doing here?”

He stills for half a second, fingers pausing on the lid of a box.

When he looks up, his eyes flick across you quickly — too quickly.  “You’re kidding, right?” His laugh is soft, faintly bitter. “You called me here. Dinner. List.” He lifts a takeout box slightly, then lets it fall back with a soft thud. “Just following orders.”

There’s a heaviness in the way he holds himself, something tense in his shoulders, in the tired set of his mouth. But you can’t name it. Only know it’s been this way for the past few days.

Silence was acceptable, clearly you stated that on the list, but meals lately went on without your slight playful banter. Just when you thought your conversations could last more than five sentences now.

Jeongguk was never the type to waste food – something about a silly belief that the Gods would take away his perfect sculpture if he even dared – but you’ve been cleaning up for him lately, giving away his leftovers to the homeless you’d find after your dinners.

He drags a hand through his hair, exhales sharply. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, voice rougher now. “Forget it.”

Jeongguk doesn’t look at you. Just pushes a pair of chopsticks toward your side of the table, carelessly, like he doesn’t want to talk. Then you catch it – subtle, but present.

A scent that doesn’t belong here. Sweet, citrus, expensive – far from the lavender one that sticks to your blazers for weeks – one that you’d sense clinging onto his shirts when he came home too late. The same scent hovering in the car when you borrowed his since yours was in the shop one time. The scent that told you something had shifted before the universe decided to slap you with the truth.

You shift your legs beneath the blanket, voice gentle. “You were with her today, weren’t you?”

Jeongguk stops mid-movement. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to.

Still, you smile—small, sad, and real. “It’s okay. I just… noticed.”

He exhales, short and stiff. “You always do.”

“You’re acting like you got caught doing something wrong.” It’s meant to tease, to warm the cold edge creeping in – a light touch to remind him that he doesn’t have to walk on egg shells around you anymore.

He finally turns to face you, expression tired. “Didn’t I?”

“No,” you say, quiet. “Not really.”

Jeongguk stares at you, like he doesn’t know what to do with the kindness you’ve been showing. Eyes flicking away for a second like he’s searching for a reason to deserve it. But there’s nothing—just you, sitting there, still choosing to stay soft when it would’ve been easier not to.  

You pat the spot on the couch beside you. “Sit down. Eat something. Then talk to me.”

“Kind of hard to do when our wedding rings are right here and well –“

A small laugh echoes from you, unsure if it’s meant to ease the tension or just fill the silence.

“Think about you and me, back in Uni, two dumb teenagers whose biggest crisis was whether to stock up on strawberry or banana milk for finals week."

There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of the old Jeongguk you remember. “Banana Milk wins, by the way.”

“Nuh-uh. Strawberry milk.” You chuckle, slowly drifting back to your point. “You’ve got to let out whatever you’re holding in there, Gguk. Sulking through the remaining twenty-two days will make you feel like there’s twenty-two years left. I can’t have you hating me for that long."

It’s a soft joke, still, it curls in your chest like smoke.

“I don’t hate you.” he says, like it never even crossed his mind.

Eyes focused on the blanket, you nod, holding onto the words quietly—they’re not much, but they’re more than you thought you’d get.

“If it helps, I’ll turn around and you can talk,” Shifting slight, folding your legs beneath, you face the other way. “You won’t get to see me, won’t get to worry about how I’ll react. Maybe I’ll nod, just to let you know I’m listening, and promise, I will.”

The air is filled with stillness. You think Jeongguk might’ve left you in the office but you hear his soft breaths as he lowers himself beside you, slowly but heavy with the weight he’s been carrying for the past few days.

“I was with her today.” He starts, quickly stops, unsure if he should continue but does anyway, the weight burning in his chest. “We talked earlier this week. About you. About…everything.”

You wait. Because if there’s one thing you still know how to do, it’s wait for him to speak when he doesn’t want to.

“She feels guilty,” he goes on. “Wants you to know that she never meant for it to happen this way. That we hurt you.”

You nod slowly, not because it helps, but because you’re too tired to hold it against her, against them. Most importantly, if it eases something in Jeongguk, then that’s more than enough.

Your heart stumbles but you let him continue, keeping that promise to listen.

“Told her about the list you set up before we…”

“Divorce. You can say it.” There’s a quiet laugh that escapes you.

“Right. That. Uhm…so I told her that and she’s scared.” Jeongguk says, voice cracking in between. “Thinks she’s going to lose me.”

“Will she?” You question a little sharp. Didn’t mean to. Just blurted it out in the spur of the moment.

“No.” he answers too quickly. Your heart silently cracks too quickly. “I mean…fuck, I don’t mean to sound –” You begin to hear sniffs and the slight tremble of his hands that are too close to your back now, as if he’s trying to reach out to you, trying to apologize to you.

“Hey, Gguk, breathe. It’s okay. It’s just me. Eighteen-year-old me, strawberry milk. Focus. I know you’ve got this.” You smile even though he can’t see it. Hoped he hears it in your voice the comfort you want to give him.

And you think it might’ve worked when you catch that soft, boyish laugh, just like the one he had at eighteen.

“It’s why I’ve been seeing her more often these days. Wanted to make her feel that I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s good you’re trying for her,” you manage to say. “But you sound more exhausted than relieved that you’re trying.”

He lets out a breath, ragged. “Because I am exhausted. Feels like I’m not trying enough. Feels like I broke something." He pauses. "No, I know I did. Her. You. Me. And now I feel stuck pretending like I know how to fix it.”

“You don’t have to fix anything, Gguk.” You say softly. “Not for me.”

The quiet in the room makes you hear him clearly swallow the lump in his throat. “What do I do?”

“Focus on you and her, if that’s what you want. Save what you can. Fight for what you can. Don’t carry all of the weight.” You pause, staring ahead, on the shelves behind your desk. “You may be the golden boy, but you’re not God.” The words sit between you for a second. “Can’t save everybody. Simple as that.”

A small silence settles, like peace finding its way.

Behind you, the shift is clear when you hear Jeongguk move closer; leans in just enough to press a soft kiss to the side of your head. His arms wrap around you, gentle, like old times. You’d like to think it is and not because of some stupid terms you listed on paper.

“You always knew how to keep me off the ledge.” His grip around your waist tightens for a second. Your heart tightens too. “Why did you let me talk to you like this?”

You let out an unintended shaky breath. “Because you’re trying.”

“Trying what?”

“To be good.” You don’t move, just sit there with him holding on, blanket in between, your hands curled into the fabric to keep them from shaking.

You wanted this—for him to feel lighter, even just a little. And you meant every word. You really did.

But each word that slipped out left a mark, small and invisible, like paper cuts. You blink, slow, but a tear still slips free, soaking into your lap before you can stop it.

Jeongguk doesn’t see. You don’t let him.

The deal was for him to open up to you. No one said anything about you needing to open up in return.

And some things are better left quiet.

[yumeka-sxf]

After the exciting start of a new Garden arc last time, today's new chapter did not disappoint either! First thing I noticed upon reading is - Yor's new outfit! (though you're not being very discreet with that "Garden" badge 😅)

Also that little lemur guy in the upper left of the panel is like "Wtf?!" I would think that too if a person suddenly leaped onto the tree branch next to me 🤣 (you can see him scurrying away in the next panel underneath...nice little detail from Endo there.)

Before I get into specifics of this chapter, I wanted to analyze the exchange between Yor and Hemlock in the jeep - namely, the Hemlock/Nightfall parallel, with Hemlock accusing Yor of losing her edge due to "playing house" for too long, which is exactly what Nightfall said to Twilight when she first appeared.

This made me think of an interview with Endo that was shared in the recent iterations of the SxF exhibition that's going on in Japan: when asked which character has changed the most in the series so far, he said Yor while also mentioning that Loid has barely changed. And I can see why that's the case with how Yor responded to Hemlock. Her experience during the cruise arc made her understand her own development - that now more than ever she wants to continue her work because she has more people she desires to protect.

She actually recognizes her own change and embraces it, while Loid...still hasn't gotten there yet. If we compare this exchange between Yor and Hemlock with the one between Loid and Nightfall, Loid clearly doesn't have this same self recognition about how living with the Forgers has changed him. He either genuinely doesn't know or he's in denial, which is why Nightfall is the one who points it out, and even when she tells him, he doesn't have a response.

One could argue that this may have been the case in old chapters, but ever since the mole hunt arc, he has recognized himself how he's changed. I do agree that the mole hunt arc made him realize that he's "softening" in a way, but he sees this as a detriment more than anything else. Unlike Yor who sees how her love for the Forgers has made her stronger, Loid sees it as something that will make him weaker rather than fuel his resolve.

We haven't seen much of Loid's deep inner thoughts since the end of the mole hunt arc, so only time will tell if he'll start to see his own development as something to be accepted rather than pushed away (just a note that I don't have a specific link for this part of the interview, but Fasionnessutsu shared screenshots of it in a thread here).

But anyway, back to other thoughts about this chapter, it was no surprise that even though Yor and McMahon changed into these safari-looking outfits, Hemlock is still wearing his suit. Why am I not surprised someone like him would totally refuse to wear that? 😂

And omg, the fact that Yor is still hung up about the "welcome home" kiss 😂 The fact that she's so earnest about it all this time later means...something, lol.

Also McMahon having a wife...it was kind of vague here but I wonder if she knows about his undercover work? Probably not, but would be interesting to see how much of his marital situation mirrors Yor's.

We apparently got another minor character introduced in this chapter - McMahon's pet falcon (and scouting assistant) Keekee.

In the Japanese version he calls her "Kiki-chan," with "kiki" being the sound she makes. It's nothing big, but I just found it amusing that a stoic, no-nonsense guy like McMahon calls his pet bird "-chan" 😅

The flower that Damian and company found has returned! I mentioned in my last chapter post that it may have some connection to Anya's past - we'll see!

This chapter ends on quite the cliffhanger, with Hemlock attacking Yor because, according to him, she's an impediment to his work and he's allowed to get rid of such impediments. We've already seen several examples of how quick to kill he is. Compared to Yor who tries her best to only kill "bad guys," Hemlock's first notion for anything in his way is to kill, whether it's the deer he's supposed to protect, or a fellow assassin he thinks is dragging him down.

Again, there's parallels that can be drawn between him and Nightfall, but unlike Nightfall whose obsession is fueled by idolizing Twilight, Hemlock's obsession seems to be fueled by animosity for Yor. Where that animosity came from is something we'll hopefully see in upcoming chapters. My theory is that, at some point, Hemlock idolized Yor and is now upset that she seems to have "softened," or he's always been jealous of her and now is even more enraged that she's not taking her job seriously anymore. Whatever the case is, I look forward to seeing how it plays out 👀

[antianakin]

No. That's NOT what I'm saying here, AT ALL. Move away from biology and nature being the end all and be all.

First, Leia is Leia. She is not just "Character A with some of Character B sprinkled in." She is her own person with her own motivations and flaws. I am comparing her to Padme because I think the narrative intentionally builds that parallel for us and I find it interesting to look at the ways in which Luke and Leia are deliberately set up to be the successes to their parents' failures. That does not mean that Leia IS "Padme" in any way.

Secondly, Leia would never in any way be fortified by any of Anakin's anything. Anakin is a piece of shit and part of the reason he's a piece of shit IS his self-righteousness. And it's not like Padme didn't have plenty of her own self-righteousness, too. Leia is fortified by BAIL AND BREHA ORGANA, but it's not "self-righteousness" she's fortified by. She's fortified by their passion, their discipline, their wisdom, their kindness, their bravery, their willingness to stand up for what's right without burning down everything around them in the process. She's fortified by their absolute will to remain who they are in a world that wants them to capitulate everything out of fear. Leia learns how to be a good leader because she's raised by two of them.

Thirdly, Leia learns how to be a good leader because she actively CHOOSES to be a good leader when given the options. Leia does not succumb to despair and selfishness the way both of her biological parents do. Leia does not let love cause her to give up something that would allow the rebellion to win the war. She loves Luke, but she lets him go to the Death Star as a self-sacrifice because she knows it's necessary if they're going to win this war and respects the choice he is making in this moment. Padme starts off as someone who chooses to be a good leader, and remains someone who makes that choice SOMETIMES but not all of the time. Padme CANNOT give up Anakin for the sake of the war or anything else. She chooses to exonerate him when he murders children, she chooses to cover his murders up, she chooses to trade Grievous for him despite what that will mean for the war effort and the people who died to capture Grievous in the first place, and she chooses to lie to Obi-Wan to protect Anakin even after she discovers that Anakin committed a genocide and helped destroy the Republic. Padme would never have made the choice Leia makes in ROTJ.

If you think "self-righteousness" is what allowed Leia to let Luke go in that moment, then you might need to go watch it again. It's not self-righteousness that saves Leia from Padme's mistakes. It's compassion, something Anakin barely had any of in his adult life and something Padme struggled with by the end. And by compassion, I mean the way the term is actually utilized in Star Wars, a selfless love towards everyone. It's the opposite of attachment, it's an ability to let go of biases in order to show kindness to everybody, no matter who or what they are.

And then of course there's Luke. Again, it is not anything from Padme that saves him. He's never met Padme and, unlike Leia, he doesn't seem to have any kind of latent memory of her nor do the Larses seem to have ever told him any stories about her (not that they'd have had that many to tell, but we know they told Luke that his dad was a smuggler of some kind, so it's not out of the realm of possibility that they could've come up with a lie about who his mother was, we just never hear about it). If Luke is a better Jedi than Anakin, it's not somehow Padme's influence that saves him.

It's the Larses. This is Owen and Beru's down to earth hardworking values coming in. Unlike the Organas, Owen and Beru aren't really represented as these brilliant paragons of virtue. Owen and Beru make mistakes, even in terms of how they choose to parent Luke. But what this does for Luke is it shows him how to LEARN and GROW from his mistakes, something he uses quite a lot during the original trilogy. Luke learns how to be dependable and resilient. When it matters, Luke can rise up and do what needs to be done. He DOES have some of Anakin's darkness in him, that's a major element of his character and his narrative, but it's not his biological mother's compassion that saves him. It's Owen and Beru Lars's values, and it's the Jedi philosophies he was taught by Obi-Wan and Yoda. THAT'S what keeps him from making the same mistakes Anakin did.

Leia is Bail Organa's righteous passion and willingness to enter a fight tempered by Breha Organa's discipline and wisdom.

Luke is Owen Lars's protective instincts towards those he loves and firmness of opinion tempered by Beru Lars's empathy towards everyone she meets and open-minded acceptance of change.

As interesting as it can be to look at how Luke and Leia parallel their biological parents from a narrative standpoint, the two of them as people will always be so much more a product of the Organas and the Larses than Anakin and Padme.

People are SLEEPING on the most interesting Leia & Padme comparisons because there's so much focus on Leia being "like Anakin" because she gets annoyed sometimes and Padme being this perfect moral beacon of truth and justice despite all of her very canonical lies and cover-ups and obstructing of justice.

If Luke is the Jedi that Anakin should've been, then Leia is the LEADER that Padme should've been.

Padme is a hypocrite, proclaiming that all people deserve basic decency and the right to safety, but at the same time allowing Anakin to get away with a mass murder with no consequences by covering it up.

Leia doesn't even let Han get away with being a little bit of an asshole, there's no way she'd let him get away with mass murder. She holds everyone around her to a higher standard, believing in the best of them but also but refusing to accept excuses for cowardice and selfishness.

Padme talks so much about wanting the war to end, but then allows one of the opposition's biggest generals go free just to get Anakin back because she cares about him, causing the war to continue to go on for even longer.

Leia lets Luke sacrifice himself because she knows it's possibly the only way they might have a victory and beat the Empire, even though she knows what he is to her and loves him. She knows what has to be done and respects the choice Luke is making and would never condemn their efforts just to keep him with her.

Padme's story parallels Anakin's, she devolves as the narrative goes on, until she's barely a shell of the person she used to be. That strength and moral clarity she showed as a Queen is entirely gone, leaving only a scared woman pleading with a murderer to come back to her.

Leia's story parallels Luke's, she gains more and more strength and clarity as the narrative moves forward. The bossy young woman we first met has become a confident rebel leader who knows she doesn't have to harden her heart to be strong.

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 18

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst Wordcount: 4.3K A/C: hey everybody! this will be the last part of the before london section - think of it as book 1. thank you everyone who’s read all of this and been supporting me, i appreciate you endlessly! please send me your thoughts on the chapter or live reactions because i LOVE those so much <333 also thank you for being so patient with me, if you didn’t know my charger broke so i had to write this chapter on my phone lmao. i’m gonna take a teeny break from so it goes to write something else and then get back to it :) i love you guys, thank you for everything <3 i’ve really poured my blood and sweat into this series

-

Before London

Her world comes crashing down. I can tell because she’s clutching to me as if the past three weeks never happened, hyperventilating. Her face is pressed into my shoulder, my hands holding her like no time ever passed. It took the world ending for her to come back to me. I just wish it didn’t take that much.

“Breathe Izzie,” I comfort her, my own panic subsiding to comfort the girl in my arms. Seeing her fall apart made me want to hold it together. Like I wanted to be the strong one for her.

“Remember, in and out with me,” I whisper, my chest expanding against her as I inhale slowly. She copies me, her breathing more ragged and shaky. Eventually, I feel her calm down. Good. There wasn’t much time to waste.

Pulling back I’m shocked to see how horrified she looks. There’s a tingling on my skin from where she pressed against me. She buries her face into her hands, sighing. “What am I going to do?” She murmurs.

“Hey, not you. We,” I remind her, watching the video one more time before putting my phone down. There was no way to twist this. It’s clearly me and Izara - and according to the comments, everyone else figured it out too.

Yoooooo knew they were together since may nooooo my wife paige come home Omg! Paige is gay?

Izzie is pacing in a small circle, heels clicking against the concrete floor. She’s freaking out. I had never seen her like this - Izzie always had solutions to everyone’s problems. She always knew what to do. It wasn’t easy seeing her this way. I had to figure this out for her sake.

”What are you doing?” She asks teary eyed as I lift my phone to my ear, shushing her gently. I listen to the rhythmic slow beep until a familiar voice answers. My PR agent.

”Hey, sorry to call you outta nowhere. I’m in a bit of a situation.”

”What are you doing?” She whispers, her voice trembling. I simply raise my hand, silencing her. I would never do that normally, but in this situation she allows it.

In a hushed voice I explain the situation to my PR agent while Izzie paces around me, hands thrown over her head. I couldn’t even let myself feel ecstatic over getting her to talk to me again. It was all because this was more serious than I could comprehend.

”What did she say?” Iz asks before I’ve even had the chance to fully hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze. ”She said we gotta assume everyone here has seen it,” I say. Her face twists and her eyes begin to well up. ”Everybody except Linda. We gotta make sure no one tells her.”

”There’s no point she’s probably already seen it,” Iz sighs.

”Linda? On social media in the middle of a work day? Ion think so.”

The girl thinks, looking at the low ceilings of the hallways for a while. ”I guess but what about when she gets home.”

”Ok maybe I’m wrong but Linda doesn’t seem like the type to scroll on TikTok or stan Twitter,” I chuckle hoping to earn at least a smile from her. I don’t.

”I don’t know Paige,” she says. Hearing my name from her lips feels ecstatic. Like I could’ve died right then. ”It’s risky.”

”It’s the only chance you got,” I whisper. I wish it wasn’t true. And I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for all this. I had been in a mood that day. I should’ve been more clear-headed, less drunk, more sensible. What were we thinking kissing out in the open like that?

”My PR team is gonna get that video down. Even if others are posting it, they’ll make sure we don’t end up on TMZ or something,” I comfort the girl. But she’s barely listening.

”But what about all the people that are reposting that shit?”

”All we can do is report and hope for the best Iz.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin when I say her name. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s nearly hyperventilating again.

”Fuck. Holy fuck,” she whispers more to herself, turning her back on me and pushing her dark waves back anxiously. 

”Iz,” I mumble, touching her arm cautiously. She pulls back, turning to me.

”This is all your fault you know,” she says harshly, her voice trembling. ”You were a mess that day. I was just trying to calm you down.”

”Bro,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head. She hates when I call her that. I’m immediately defensive, the guilt underneath gnawing at me. ”Now maybe I misremember but I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

”Because you were acting like a bloody lunatic!” She shouts. I hush her, praying to God no one heard the way it echoes around the desolate halls. Izara quiets down, burying her face into her hands again. What are we doing? I know she’s fighting me because she’s completely freaked out.

”We gotta stop screaming and make a plan,” I tell her calmly. She stands there quietly defiant until she realises I’m right. ”I’ll talk to my people, you talk to the media team.”

”What if they don’t listen?” She asks me, a hint of vulnerability shining through her exterior.

”Why wouldn’t they?” I reply, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lets me, despite still avoiding my gaze.

”Everybody loves you Iz, and I mean that. Never heard anyone say a bad thing about you.” It’s true. Every word. She had people on her side so easily.

Finally her green eyes stop scanning the room, landing on mine. They’re still the same, even behind the glossiness of a few tears. Reminiscent of Connecticut. Of the overwhelming vibrancy that I sometimes missed here in Dallas. The feeling when you glanced outside in the summer and your eyes were met with such intense greenery of the trees and the grass that you couldn’t bear to look away. What made it even more beautiful was knowing in only a few months it would all be gone, the view turning from orange to yellow as everything that lived dies, reminding you that everything that was alive and flourishing is there only for a fleeting moment until the pure white cover of snow buries everything that’s dead underneath it. That’s what her eyes were - that short moment, a little piece of home.

”Hey,” I whisper softly. ”Don’t give up just yet.”

Izzie nods slowly, looking straight at me. ”Okay.”

-

“Hey, Rike,” I call as I jog over, my mind stuck on how Izara’s holding up.

I had been circling around College Park for what felt like hours - though it hadn’t even been 40 minutes. Izzie had taken a cab to the office to explain our situation to the marketing team, and anyone we hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t heard of her ever since she left, which was making me nervous, on top of the uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach. 

”I was just looking for you,” Arike replies as her eyes widen.

”Me too. Hey uh, to ask but,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head.  I hated asking for favors. ”Could you talk to the team-”

”Already done,” she says. ”And the practice player, coaching staff too.”

I always knew Arike had my back. But not like this. She had truly become my sister, and this was proof.

”They all love you two. No one’s gonna say shit,” she comforts me, patting my shoulder. 

”Thanks bro,” I smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe we could pull this off. No one’s gonna tell.

”Course,” she shrugs easily. ”You know I got you. You’re family, both of y’all.”

-

My heart’s pounding in my chest, each beat like something trying to claw itself out of me. slamming my sternum painfully. Deep breaths, slow down, I remind myself, imagining the weight of Paige pressed against me. It felt almost good enough to make me forget about everything, almost.

I tie my hair up clumsily, my waves overstimulating me. The office seems eerily desolate, having me walk around for a while until I run into Ava, her blonde hair recognisable anywhere.

”Ava,” I sigh, relieved, hurrying to her. I wish I hadn’t worn heels today, my feet already aching. I hadn’t anticipated all this running around.

”Zari! I thought you were in College Park-”

”Can we sit down? Please?” I ask abruptly, interrupting her. She’s surprised by the seriousness in my voice and it shows in her face.

”Of course, what’s up?”

I lead us into an empty office room, pulling out a chair for her. I’m far too nervous to sit down myself.

”Have you seen it?” I ask carefully, looking at the carpeted floor. I can’t believe I was in this situation. Of all people. The sensible, careful Izara. I swear I’ll never be careless again.

There’s a confused look on Ava’s freckled face. ”Seen what?”

Shit. Sighing I dig my phone out of my purse, my ears burning with embarrassment. I look for shock or surprise but to my confusion, Ava watches the video, expressionless.

”Caleb owes me 20 bucks,” she chuckles, handing the phone back.

”Huh?”

She giggles. ”We had a bet, I knew there was something going on with y’all.”

Of course. Like it was ever really a secret. I feel so stupid. Who was I kidding thinking we could keep this on the low.

”Right well,” I mumble, my cheeks turning hot. ”Well it’s everywhere. And I really, really can not let this get to-”

”- Linda,”  Ava finishes my sentence, picking up on my concern.

”Yeah,” I nod. ”I just, I know it doesn’t make it better but it’s not just messing around. I really care about her and I know I’m asking for a lot but-”

”Zari. I’m not telling nobody,” she comforts me. ”And I’ll make sure no one else does. If it’s up to me Linda will never see that, okay?”

I nod, relieved. 

”I’ll also make sure those posts of the video get taken down okay?” Ava smiles, wrapping an arm around me and patting my back. She’s the one managing the algorithms and viewership so her help will be everything.

”Oh my goodness you’re shaking,” she comforts me. I notice the trembling of my legs that are indeed weak, barely holding me upright.

”It’s pretty stressful,” I chuckle coldly, my eyes burning as I hold back tears. Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating against the table makes me jump. It’s Paige.

“Hey,” I answer. The rumbling of traffic comes through before her voice.

“Hey, I’m driving over. All good at College Park.”

“Here too,” I say, smiling bye to Ava as she leaves me to talk with the blond. “Just gotta wait for the PR team to get out of their meeting.”

“You tell Trey yet?” She asks. Oh shit. Trey. 

“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’mma be there in like 10 minutes okay?”

“Paige,” I start, feeling a throbbing ache in my shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come here.”

The line goes silent, the quiet hum of the road and traffic coming through. 

“You don’t want me to?”

Reaching over to my neck I massage the tension but it doesn’t go away. Is that really what I want? Why is it so hard to figure it out?

“No, I need you here,” I finally accept. Despite the tension and the mess between us it was clear that I needed her. That her presence made everything better. That’s just what Paige is like. She brings the sun with her wherever she goes.

-

I’m picking at my skin when the blonde emerges into the empty office lobby, holding two cups. She looks surprisingly serene considering - though it wasn’t her job that was on the line.

“What’s this?” I ask as she hands one of the cups to me. It feels warm against my skin.

“Coffee, black,” she says absentmindedly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine, taking a sip of the frappucino she got for herself.

I do the same, feeling the warm bitter taste fill my mouth. It’s just how I liked it. My heart throbs. Mind overflowing with the memories of our little habit. Of Paige getting up half an hour earlier than she needed just to go pick up some coffee for me on the way to work.

”Better?” Paige asks, sprawled comfortably next to me. I can feel the heat of her thigh tingling against mine but I can’t be bothered to move, or to pretend like I didn’t need her. I felt myself fantasizing about some reality where Linda would understand. Where me and the blonde could just be together. No complications, no excuses, no goddamn hiding. It would be so much easier to let myself fall in love with her in a reality like that.

”Much better,” I mumble. ”Thanks.”

”It’s just a coffee Iz,” she murmurs, shrugging it off.

”No,” I shake my head. ”You don’t have to be doing this. You could easily just leave me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”

My eyes meet hers, blue and vibrant like the ocean. 

She shakes her head, brows furrowing gently. ”I wouldn’t do that,” she whispers. ”It’s half my fault… Okay a lil more than a half.”

She chuckles a little looking at her feet. ”For what it’s worth I am sorry for that night.”

Paige looks regretful, playing with her bracelet. 

”Me too.”

A throbbing ache runs along my spine to my shoulderblades, the tightness making it hard to breathe. Absent-mindedly my hand shoots to my neck, pressing and rubbing. Paige glances at me.

”Your shoulders again?” She asks. Honestly the only time in my life they hadn’t bothered me was probably when Paige would give me daily massages. Something about her got me to finally relax.

”Again,” I chuckle awkwardly. Without hesitation Paige’s warm and familiar hands replace mine, massaging the knot out of my shoulderblade. My body melts, the tension easing in my face and neck.

”Thank you,” I hum, letting my eyelids close. Pretending just for a moment that we were us again.

”That’s funny,” Paige says smiling, ”You sound more British again.”

I smile too, her fingers now pressing down on the nape of my neck. ”I suppose. It’s probably because I haven’t been around you.”

Sounds of steps stop us, Paige pulling away as two people from marketing walk by, smiling at us knowingly as they greet us. Sighing, I lean back in the chair and rub my forehead.

”It’s like everyone’s watching us,” I mumble quietly.

”Guess I’m used to it,” Paige replies. She’s right, it’s only new to me. Somehow she’s been handling this since high school.

”Did you um, get the chocolate?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her black shorts.

”Yeah,” I hum, thinking of the note attached to it. I felt completely stuck between two roads, not sure which one to take. On the other hand nothing about us made sense. But still I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to want anyone like I want her. 

It was like my entire life had been split into two - the time before Paige and the time after. Everything before felt irrelevant. She had come into my life with a crash, when I most needed her but didn’t know I did. She had irrevocably changed me. I don’t know how I could go back to before.

”It was amazing, I can’t believe you remembered,” I continue.

”Course I did,” she huffs, leaning her head on the wall behind us, cracking her knuckles. Terror washes over me. I realise how badly I need our plan to work. Because if it doesn’t I’ll lose her forever.

Paige opens her mouth before closing it, and opening it again.

”I meant what I said, y’know.”

I lift my gaze from my crossed ankles to her, to find her already looking over. She seems hesitant, gathering courage.

”In that note,” she adds, cheeks red. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel it in the way my heart throbs, the way my eyes burn, the way my eyes are glued on her angular face, the way my slender fingers slide between her’s like a habit I could never break and the way her touch send shivers up my spine - I love her. I do.

Paige’s breathing is shallow, glancing downward to our hands that are locked together. Neither of us have to say it. We both feel it.

The moment I wish would go on forever is cruelly interrupted by the buzzing emerging from the pocket of her shorts. With one hand she digs the phone out, reading the screen grip remaining on mine.

”Shit, I got practice,” she whispers, as to not disrupt the moment. Her voice is hoarse and vulnerable. I wanted to listen to it forever.

”Okay,” I hum, standing up with her. ”I’ll wait for Trey here.”

Paige looks at me once more before enveloping me into her arms, nose buried into my hair and inhaling unashamedly. I do it too, allowing myself to breathe her in. Sandalwood and musk and deodorant.

”It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers. And I believe her.

Paige kisses my forehead before pulling back, letting go of my hand. Her touch leaves my skin burning. Even before she goes, I already miss her.

”I’ll call you Paige,” I hum softly.

”Okay. I’ll see you later Iz.”

And she walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I’m nearly nodding off in my chair, head lulling back as my eyelids grow heavy. I glance at my phone once more. No text, no call. Just the sent receipt under the tens of texts I had sent Trey. Our one missing link to get this all to be over.

Standing up, I roam around the office, finding Caleb and Ava editing a video for Youtube.

”Hey, have you seen Trey?” I ask, rubbing my face tiredly.

”You lost me 20 bucks,” Caleb jokes, having bet against me and Paige being romantically involved. Ava chuckles.

”It’s not on her if you’re completely blind.”

I wish I had it in me to find this as fun as they did, but I just wanted to finish this and go home.

”Trey? You seen him?” I ask again, ignoring their jokes.

”I think he’s upstairs,” Caleb answers. ”Some sorta meeting.”

Finally. ”Thank you.”

In a rush, I hurry to the elevator, impatiently spamming the button to the upper floor. 

“C’mon,” I mutter to myself, ready to get this over with.

Finally the doors slide open. Stepping out into the new floor, I begin to hurry along the corridors when from around a corner Trey emerges, his face buried into his phone nearly bumping into me.

“Trey!” I say with relief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He looks uneasy, avoiding my gaze. Much like he had ever since I rejected him.

“You know I’ve been texting you too,” I huff lightheartedly, poking his phone.

“I saw,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically low and quiet. I chase his gaze, finally catching his brown eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” I say more seriously. Trey bites down on his lower lip, shutting his eyelids and rubbing his face.

“I’m in a hurry okay?”

“It won’t take long,” I tell him, placing a hand on his forearm so he won’t walk away.

“Zari, I gotta go,” he spits, pushing past me. Wow, I knew I hurt him when I rejected his kiss but I didn’t realise his ego was that fragile.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed now. “Trey, it's been weeks. Let it go.”

He turns, growing irritated. “Nah, I’m sick of you and your little mind games.”

“Mind games?!” I hiss condescendingly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You been toying with me and Paige ever since you moved here!”

He knows? I glance around before shushing him, praying to God nobody heard. Of course he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I whisper angrily.

“I saw your little video.”

Shit. Heart throbbing in my chest I swallow, wanting to crawl into my skin and disappear. Kissing my teeth I look down trying to find the words.

“Look, Trey-“

“Save it. Can’t wait for you to be back in London.”

Hold on. “What?”

I take a step closer to Trey, who’s looking at me heavy lidded.

“You broke the rules Izara,” he says with a low voice.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. No fucking way. Of course. My stomach drops. My pulse thunders in my ears.

“You told her,” I whisper, waves of anger washing over me. It took a lot for me to be enraged - but right now I was livid. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, nearly drawing bloos.

Trey looks uneasy, eyes flickering away from me. “Rules are rules Izara.”

Tears fill my eyes, welling up by my bottom lashes. I should’ve listened to everyone who hated Trey. Because they were right. He’s disgusting. I truly hate him.

“Don’t act like you care about rules. You did this because you couldn’t handle the fact that I do not have feelings for you,” I hiss, pointing a finger at him. “You’re disgusting.”

The ringing of my phone breaks off my voice, like a bad omen. Trey grins. I want to kill him.

“Must be Linda,” he says before turning and disappearing into the elevator.

My hands shake as I grab my phone - the screen lit up, proving Trey right.

-

Paige,

Remember that roadtrip we took? Driving with no plan or destination with the windows down, being stuck in that gross hotel, the storm, the night we spent together? I think about that all the time. With anyone else I would’ve been terrified. I’m no good without a plan (Lord knows). But with you I never cared about a plan. You’re so sure, so certain, so comfortable and steady it made it safe to feel out of control sometimes. That’s a gift I’ll carry with me forever. I never had that with anyone.

I never thought this is how my time in Dallas would turn out. Deep inside I want to blame someone. I want to blame Trey, and maybe when you hear about what happened you will too. But we shouldn’t. Because there’s no one to blame but me. I’ve been smart all my life. I should’ve been smarter. But something about you makes it impossible to be smart.

Still, despite everything that happened I don’t regret any of it. This summer has been the best of my life. Getting to know you has been the greatest blessing. I’d never say it to your face, but you’ve taught me more about myself than anyone.  I’ve never been loved so well, and I’ll never forget that. But my past is still haunting me. It’s just not our time.

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I know you’ll find someone and make her the happiest girl in the world, like you did me. And I’ll always regret not doing more to make us work. For not telling you how I love you. And I’ll have to live with that.

I hope you find your person who can love you how you deserve. Just know there are no hard feelings with you and me. I think no matter what it wasn’t meant to work. I don’t belong in Texas… but then again does anyone?

I’m sorry. I told you I’m not good at goodbyes.

Yours, Izzie

Reading through the letter one more time, I fold it in half and slide it into Paige’s apartment through the mail slot. For a moment I lean my forehead against the wood panels on the door, as if it’s Paige. But it’s not. And I’ll never lean my forehead on her again. I’ll never look into the blue of her eyes, I’ll never taste her lips.

A tear falls down my cheeks as the elevator takes me to the ground floor for one last time. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling, watching the driver lift my bags into the trunk. 

The cab drives through Dallas, through the neighbourhoods that had once been unfamiliar. Now I know the streets and the weather and the drive-thru barbeque place that has the best ribs. But London was calling me home. There was nothing left for me here anymore.

My heart aches, thinking about the disappointment in Linda’s voice, telling me she had no chance but to let me go. That she expected more of me. 

But the ache is nothing compared to what I feel when I think about Paige. My sweet, funny American girl. Her laughter echoes in my head, and I let her linger. My nails dig into my seat, like they did into Paige’s skin. 

I wouldn’t forget the summer I spent with Paige Bueckers until the day I die, that I know for certain. She would haunt me for the rest of my life, pieces of her existing in every person I meet. But no one will ever measure up, no one will ever be her. And maybe in another life we’ll grow old and grey together. And that’s the only thought comforting me as the clouds part, the plane circling above Thames, the London Eye and Buckingham Palace when we approach Heathrow.

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@pb524830@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@d3arapril@lovegalor333@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omg-imtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @enchantingesme @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @st4yyyy @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paigebaby5 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife @nicebellee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @cowboybueckers

[strawberry-bubblef]

Hi! How's it going? I'm going through withdrawal. I need a dose of Lilia. Can you please write about a date with a reader? Something with the boys in Diasomnia, where Lilia goes somewhere without them for the first time in her life. I guess they're not used to him having a private life and are shocked for the first time, "Where are you going? To a cafe? Yay, we're getting dressed already. Why are we staying home...?"(help, I don't know how to describe the plot in English 😔)

A date With Lilia (and not them)

For most of his long life, Lilia Vanrouge had always been part of something larger. A general. A father. A guardian. A mentor. A watchful figure lingering in the corners of someone else’s story.

But lately… he’d wanted something different.

Not duty. Not tradition. Not the comforting, exhausting cycle of raising the next generation.

Just you.

So when he slipped into a neatly buttoned shirt crimson, did his most charming make up and combed through his hair neatly for once, the boys of Diasomnia took notice.

“…You’re dressed nicely,where are you going ?” Silver said with a tone neutral .

Lilia smiled, brushing a hand through his hair again. “Hmm? Oh, thank you! A café in town.”

“Where?” Sebek demanded, already rising. “Do you require an escort?!”

Malleus looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t mind some tea. It’s been a while since we’ve gone out as a dorm.”

“I’m going alone,” Lilia said simply.

They all stopped.

“…Alone?” Sebek echoed, like the word offended him.

Lilia chuckled. “Yes. I do know how to walk unaccompanied, you know.”

Silver leaned forward. “Are you meeting someone?”

There was a pause. Then:

“I am.”

Silence.

Sebek went pale. “Are you being blackmailed?”

“Sebek, please,” Lilia snorted. “Can’t an old man go on a date without someone assuming extortion?”

“You said date?” Malleus asked slowly.

Lilia smiled,not teasingly, but soft, real. “Yes. A proper one. Just… me. And them.”

He left them behind with a wave, ignoring the anxious energy in the common room like it was static dust in the wind.

The café was warm, dimly lit, and mercifully quiet. You looked radiant in the candlelight, a comforting presence that grounded him in the now.

He took your hand over the table with a reverence you weren’t quite used to seeing from the ever-joking general.

“You really left them behind?” you teased, swirling your tea.

“Mm.” He traced your knuckles lightly. “Sebek looked like he was about to faint. I almost felt guilty.”

“You’re allowed a life.”

“That’s the part I’m still getting used to,” he said quietly.

There was a weight behind the smile he gave you, something that hinted at centuries of carrying others and never once wondering if he was allowed to keep anything for himself. But he had chosen you. This quiet moment. A world not ruled by duty.

Your thumb brushed his palm. “So… what do you want now?”

He leaned forward, gaze lidded, voice low. “You.”

The rest of the world dissolved.

Lilia rarely sat still for long, but tonight, he lingered. Every moment seemed stretched in golden thread,delicate, fragile, suspended in a space where time didn’t rush or claw at him like it always had before. You watched as he lifted his teacup with his free hand, pinky ever so slightly raised, elegant even in casual settings.

“I’m surprised,” you murmured. “You didn’t bring some strange, experimental food.”

He laughed, low and warm. “I considered it. Then I realized, for once, I didn’t want tonight to be about putting on a show.”

He said it with a smile, but his gaze was focused. Unflinching. Honest in a way that startled you a little.

“It’s just tea,” you said softly, lifting your cup in return. “But I’m glad it’s with you.”

“You’ve no idea how rare that is,” he replied, voice dropping, more to himself than to you. “To sit across from someone and not feel the centuries between us like a wall.”

You leaned on the table, elbow propped and eyes locked with his. “Then tell me something true. No teasing, no riddles.”

He hesitated, which was rare. Then he said, “I was scared to ask you out tonight.”

“…You?”

“I may be old, but even I have moments where I wonder if I've earned something or if I’m simply reaching for things that were never meant to be mine.”

Your breath hitched, but your hand never left his. “Lilia… you don’t have to earn this. You already have.”

A beat passed. Then he smiled, slowly, like spring breaking over frost. “You’re dangerously good at ruining my composure.”

“You can tease again now.”

He laughed, head thrown back. The sound wrapped around you like velvet.

Dinner came and went in a rhythm that felt natural,he let you taste from his plate, you wiped sauce from his lip, he muttered something suggestive and grinned when you rolled your eyes. The waitress brought dessert with a wink, clearly invested in whatever magic had bloomed between you. Lilia, true to form, fed you the first bite of cake himself, deliberately brushing your lips with the fork.

Later, when the café had thinned out and the tea had gone lukewarm, he stood and offered you his arm with such gallant formality that it made you laugh.

“Come,” he said softly, leaning close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Let me walk you home like someone who still believes in romance.”

You took his arm without hesitation.

He didn't look back once.

English is not my first language !

[kpoptrashlord-007]

The Vessel;; JJK

Word Count;; 1.6k

Genre;; Yandere

Pairing;; Jungkook x Reader

Summary;;

Your world is turned upside when you wake up inside a small room. More akin to a prison than a bedroom, every passing moment evokes greater terror as the room shakes in a rhythmic sway. Things only go from bad to worse when a foreboding stranger lets himself in.

Warnings;;

Dark content, kidnapping and isolation, threats of violence / the implication, bodily fluids (blood, tears and vomit). Delusional JK. Reader incurs injuries including head trauma.

Notes;;

Day Six (Cabin) of the Halloween 2k20 Prompts!

Main Masterlist || Yandere Masterlist || BTS Masterlist || Halloween 2k20

You wake with a jolt, or rather with a lurch. Heavy lids fight to stay open as you flail free of your nightmare. There’s a pounding within your skull that threatens to split you in two. Reaching for anything solid, your nails hover over the dreary grey wall. Before you have a chance to deny your reality, the room once again rocks and dips.

Without any type of steady grip you’re a victim of physics. Headfirst you collide with the wall. Your vision darkens. There’s no sound except the pain, tangible and screaming. It blossoms outward from your fingertips. Fingertips smashed between your chest and the wall, fingertips warm with blood.

Fighting to remain conscious, you avoid assessing the damage. Your stomach is already resting within your throat, the airway threatening to constrict. Breathing deep, your head lolls against the wall. Ice-cold metal bites your skin; a silent reminder of the box you’re trapped within.

There’s an unnatural chill in the air, alongside the stench of iron and salt. A small gust whips into the room when the door swings open. Shivering, you cower into a ball, using your own body as a windbreaker. When the rush subsides you allow yourself to glance over your shoulder at the intruder.

In front of the door stands a man of average stature. Atop his head is a navy blue bucket hat. Water drips from its edges. While his face is pleasant, his eyes burn dark like a wildfire. The longer you stare at him, the wider his smile grows. It’s unnerving; there isn’t a hint of his motivations nor intentions, just blind adoration.

“Goooood morning, sunshine!” he sings, swaying in tandem with the room. “We’ve hit a rough patch but it’ll pass soon. Are you hungry?”

“Who… who are you?”

His expression is quizzical for a brief moment before it morphs back into a mischievous grin. “Are we roleplaying?”

When he steps into the room his boots clang against the steel floor.

Slow. Thud. Heavy. Thud. Deliberate. Thud.

Each step reverberates against the walls before settling within your chest.

“I’ll play,” he chimes, the song melodic compared to the harsh crack of his neck. “I’ll be the nice captain who saved a sorry wretch like you. How does that sound?”

He looms over you and you slink closer to the wall. Ice claws at your back, numbing your skin. There’s no more than a foot of distance between the bed frame and his legs. Water slides down his pants, leaving a glimmering trail on the grey surface. His coat is made of the same thin material. Discomfort rumbles within your gut.

“Where am I?” you whisper, lifting your gaze to meet him.

“Is that any way to talk to your captain, wench?” he teases, placing a gloved hand on the wall beside you. He carries the scent of the ocean with him. It fills your nose before seeping down your throat. “I’m starting to think you want to be punished. Is that it?”

It takes great effort to bite back obscenities and instead say, “No, sir.”

“Oh…” He falls to his knees before you. Reverence brightens his doe eyes. Moving his hand from the wall to your face, he caresses your cheek. You flinch away from his cold touch. “I might like that a little too much.”

It’s while he’s chuckling to himself, a flush heating his cheeks, that you snap. Your hand collides with his, batting him away. Without pausing to process the indignant shock creeping across his features, you raise your legs and kick him square in the chest. He tumbles onto his haunches. A sharp exhale breaks past his lips and he winces. Leaping off the bed, you curl your toes and slam the arch of your foot against the side of his body. Soft flesh contorts around your attack.

You don’t look back at him as he yells your name. Throwing yourself toward freedom, you yank on your prison’s door. Precious seconds are wasted pulling the heavy door open wide enough for you to slip through. Even so, there’s no clear evidence of his pursuit. No footsteps, no panting, no shouting – the room fades into silence the moment you’re free of it.

The moment your eyes catch the gleam of light reflecting off a staircase, you bolt toward it. Rolling down the stairs, cold, dry, salty air licks your skin free of all moisture. Wind howls above you. Somewhere in the distance comes the splash of water lapping against steel.

Climbing two steps at a time, the metal underfoot groans and shakes. What should take mere seconds feels like an eternity. Each clatter and bang ignites terror within you. Even outside the room your world shakes and rolls, and the worst possible scenario invades your thoughts. When you breach the surface, exploding forth from the shadowy depths of the lower deck, your nightmare becomes reality.

Dark clouds gather over pitch-black water. Tumultuous waves crash against the ship’s hull. No matter which direction you look, you’re greeted with more ocean. Vomit rises into your throat, searing your esophagus until you let it loose onto the grated steel floor. The sight of it sloshing around your feet, viscous and steaming, makes you hurl once more.

“Are you unwell?”

You spin to face him. That stupid doe-eyed expression is back on his face. Concern drips from his words as he repeats himself. It’s sickening, vile even. His hand reaches for you and you bare your teeth at him. He’s unhindered as he walks, indifferent to the constant, maddening pulse of the ocean.

“You’ve been acting out quite a bit since we started our vacation, honey.”

There’s a flash of lightning in the distance. As if to really drive home how absolutely fucked you are, it illuminates the sky and sea. There’s no land in sight, no birds in view.

Just miles upon miles of nothing.

“Maybe you should lie down.”

He’s closing the distance, creeping nearer and nearer. On wobbly legs you take a step back. He makes up the loss and gains new ground in a single stride. The deck is slick beneath your hesitant feet. You stumble and slip. Collapsing onto the ship’s railing, a deep-set chill settles into your bones. Before either of you have a chance to react, another wave rocks the boat. The force pushes you into the stranger’s awaiting arms.

“Let go of me!”

“Baby, I’m wor–”

“I’m not your baby,” you spit, slamming a clenched fist against his broad chest. “Let me go!”

Round eyes narrow. All traces of his jovial nature wash away. Rage bubbles to the surface in its stead. Shadows deepen in the dips and hollows of his face. A contorted smirk taints his youthful charm. He doesn’t allow you any room to breathe as he invades your space. When you’re chest to chest, he pushes you further, herding you to the edge. Greeted again by the icy railing, your back curves around the metal bar. The stranger leans down. His weight crushes you, pressing you down onto the railing without remorse.

“You want to go?” His voice is a cold whisper against your ear. A shiver tears down your spine. Paralyzed, your body refuses to fight. “Then go.”

His grip is iron-tight as it wraps around your knee. Mumbled protests depart your lips but they’re in vain – he’s uplifting your centre of gravity, sending you over the edge. Falling over the railing, the scream you produce almost sounds disconnected from your body, as if it were someone else’s fate to drown.

Your head bounces against the hull. Raw and scratched, your vocal cords give out and you trail off into a sob. Tears mix with seawater and blood. Yet when you look down, watching the scarlet drops disappear into the murky depths, you remain several feet above the ocean. It reaches for you, hungry waves lunging for you, but you’re suspended over it, dangling precariously like a worm on a hook.

“Do you still want me to let you go, honey?”

He loosens his hold to prove he’s ready to drop you should you ask. As if you ever would. But he’s waiting for a response, forcing you to play along with his allusion to free will.

“N-no.”

“Good.”

Using his other hand as support around your back, he gives your leg a sharp tug. Pain shoots outward from your hip – just another part of you that’s going to bruise and ache tomorrow. Once you’re slumped against the inner railing, he pats your head.

“Can you walk?” he asks, his tone saccharine. His teeth are on display as he smiles, giving you an encouraging nod when you stand. All the malice is gone and his faux innocence is back. “Let’s get you back to bed. You need to rest.”

“I want to go home,” you cry, nails digging into your biceps as you hold yourself.

“You’ve been talking nonsense this whole time,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to draw you close. The back of his hand is warm against your forehead. He tuts before pressing a kiss against your temple. “I think you’re coming down with something.”

“I’m not s–”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

He cradles your head, oblivious to the wounds you’ve incurred, and peppers kisses across your face. Doing a one-eighty sweep you glance out at the sea. Vast and endless, water stretches beyond the horizon. You’re stranded on this boat with a madman. Pressing a final chaste kiss against your tightened lips, he guides you toward the lower deck.

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Thank you! – ♡ –

[inkwelldesires]

The Taste of Her.

She’s weaponized sweetness.

And I am entirely at its mercy.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Rating: (18+)

Word Count: ~6.3k

Category: Smut | Public Tension | Soft Dom!Spencer

Summary:

A single bite undoes him.

You taste like fruit and heat and something he was never meant to touch.

She’s flushed before we even finish the first aisle of the farmers market. Not in the embarrassed way, not in a way she’s trying to hide. Just… sun-warmed. Pink with heat and cotton sticking to her skin. The air is heavy, and her dress isn’t doing her any favors—thin, pale, clinging. It moves like a second layer of breath. Straps falling off her shoulder, one at a time. Her skin’s glowing. Damp. Her hair curls slightly at the ends from humidity, and the curve of her chest glistens in the sun where a drop of sweat has pooled and caught the light. She doesn’t wipe it away. She doesn’t even notice.

But I do.

I notice everything. I always do.

She walks a few steps ahead of me, humming to herself, the sound low and tuneless, some soft rhythm she always slips into when relaxed. She stops at a table of peaches and starts testing them one by one, her thumb brushing against the skin like she’s feeling for a pulse. Her hands are always soft when she touches things. Like she doesn’t realize she’s allowed to grip.

She picks one up and turns to me with a smile, cradling it in both palms. “This one’s gorgeous.”

I step beside her before anyone else can. Close. Not touching, but near enough that my presence is felt. I glance at the fruit in her hands. A subtle mark along the seam is barely visible, but it’s been handled. Someone gripped it too tight.

“It’s too soft,” I murmur.

She frowns. “It feels perfect.”

“There’s bruising.” I nod toward the top. “See the indent? Someone else already tried to make it theirs.”

Her mouth parts just slightly. Her fingers loosen around the fruit. I take it from her gently and hand her another, firmer, smoother, untouched.

She holds my eyes when she takes it. She smiles like I’ve just done something unusually kind. Then she takes a bite.

And moans.

It’s soft. Almost accidental. But it knocks the breath out of me. She pulls back with wide eyes, laughing under her breath, wiping at her chin with her wrist. Juice slides down her hand, curling toward her elbow. She tries to catch it with her tongue, then presses the fruit against her chest for balance while dabbing at her mouth. The juice smears down the slope of her breasts, right into the cotton, and she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing.

Or maybe now she does.

She laughs, tilting her head, licking her finger in slow, thoughtful circles. “Oh my god, it’s so good. I wasn’t ready.”

No one is. Certainly not the vendor, who’s paused what he’s doing to stare. Indeed, not the man next to us, who doesn’t even pretend not to look. I can feel something sharp uncoil behind my ribs.

She turns to me, still breathless, holding the fruit toward me. “Here. You want the rest?”

I take it.

Her fingers brush mine.

I sink my teeth into the bite she left behind and let the juice coat my tongue. Sweet. Ripe. Still warm from her lips. Still soft where her mouth pressed into the flesh. I can smell her on it—on my hand, in the air. My pulse is low and heavy.

I’m picturing her already. In my lap. In the car. Flushed from the heat, dress pushed up around her hips, thighs sticky and trembling as she rocks down onto me. Her voice soft and desperate as she whines my name, her breath catching as I lick the juice off her chest—slow and reverent, my hands cupping her ass, keeping her steady as she moves. Her hair sticking to her temples. Her fingers knotting in my shirt. The windows fogging while she lets me ruin her for anything else.

Instead, I offer her a napkin. My voice stays steady. “You’re always like this.”

She blinks. “Like what?”

“Sweet,” I say. “Unaware.” I glance down at her chest. “Messy.”

She looks down, gasps, and laughs again. “God, I didn’t even notice.”

“I know.”

She bites her lip. Then she hands me the pit like it means nothing. “Here. You keep everything I touch, anyway.”

I slide it into my pocket without a word.

We don’t talk again until we’re in the car.

The second the door shuts, the silence swells. Not comfortable. Not neutral. It’s thick with want. With frustration. With restraint tearing at the seams.

She shifts beside me—thighs pressed together, her dress clinging to her damp skin, her lip caught between her teeth. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

I shouldn’t be looking.

Not again.

Not when I’ve already looked too long — back at the market, at the way the sunlight kissed her skin, at the way the juice ran down her wrist and into the hollow between her breasts.

Not when I can still taste it.

The fabric of her dress drags against her thighs, sticking to the heat. My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I count to five. Then ten.

Don’t look.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice soft. Innocent.

I nearly laughed. I’m anything but okay.

“You keep moving,” I murmur, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

She blinks at me like she doesn’t know what she’s doing — but she does. She has to. The way she sits and her legs part just slightly before she adjusts them again — she’s weaponized sweetness. And I am entirely at its mercy.

“I’m warm,” she says. “Sticky. From the heat.”

Sticky.

Jesus.

I don’t answer. I can’t.

She stretches then, arms over her head, the movement lifting her breasts and tugging the neckline of her dress down another sinful inch. One strap falls. Then the other.

My jaw locks.

“Sweetheart,” I warn. It comes out harsher than I mean it to.

She tilts her head. “I’m not doing anything.”

You’re doing everything.

You’re pink-cheeked and flushed, your thighs stick to the seat, and you let that dress ride up like it means nothing. But it means everything to me.

“You’ve been so fucking messy today,” I whisper.

Her eyebrows lift. That soft, puzzled look. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You moaned when you bit into that peach and licked juice off your fingers like it was instinct. You let it drip down your chest and didn’t wipe it. You’ve been walking around like a wet dream and pretending you don’t notice what it does to me.”

She blinks slowly. Like I’ve spoken a language she understands but wasn’t expecting to hear aloud.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispers.

I groan under my breath. “That’s what ruins me.”

She shifts again. I hear the slick sound of her thighs moving, the faint hitch in her breath. My pulse kicks hard in my throat.

“It aches,” she says, voice quiet. “I didn’t know it could. Not like this.”

No.

Not now.

Not here.

“Please,” I say, already feeling the panic rise. “Don’t touch yourself. I can’t pull over.”

She doesn’t answer. But I hear the rustle of her dress. The wet sound of her fingers sliding between her legs. My body reacts like it’s mine in name only — hips shifting, cock twitching hard in my pants.

“Sweetheart,” I beg, my voice broken. “I’m trying to be good.”

I glance at her, just for a second. Her lips are parted. Her cheeks are flushed. She looks soft, dazed, like a dream folding in on itself.

“I just want to know how wet I am,” she says, and the sentence nearly kills me.

“Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought you wanted to know.”

She lifts her fingers. They glisten in the low light. Her smile is soft. Innocent.

“Didn’t I let you watch me lick peach juice off my hand?” she says. “It’s your turn.”

I groan, ruined.

I reach for her wrist, slow, like it’s fragile. And when I pull her hand to my mouth, I don’t just taste her.

I savor.

My lips wrap around her fingers—my tongue slides between them. I moan around them before I can stop it. She watches me, eyes wide, lips parted, as if she didn’t expect me to take it this far.

But she tastes like everything I’ve ever denied myself.

When I pull back, my voice is shaking.

“You taste like sin.”

She doesn’t say a word. Just lowers her hand back to her lap. I hear it again — that wet sound as her fingers slip between her folds.

I nearly cry.

“Please,” I whisper. “Be my good girl. You can’t do this here.”

“But you like hearing it,” she says, her voice light, teasing. “You like knowing how wet I am for you.”

“I like knowing you’re mine,” I say, “and hating that anyone driving by could see you like this.”

She moans softly.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t,” I beg. “Don’t say my name like that. You’ll make me come untouched.”

Her breath catches. Her thighs twitch.

“I’m gonna—,” she whispers. “You want to hear?”

God, help me.

“Yes,” I say.

And she does — whimpering, gasping, her head tipping back against the seat as her fingers work her through it.

I drive. Shaking. Destroyed. Silent.

Because I can’t touch her.

Because I can’t stop.

Because when we get home…

[olenoidedserratuspilled]

So this post ended up garnering a lot more attention than I expected, and it drew a lot of cluelessly optimistic people - which I suppose I should have seen coming. I am glad this many people saw what I had to say and thought it was worth sharing.

But I'm afraid my original point wasn't clear enough:

This isn't new, it's only the logical conclusion of a sentiment that's been allowed to grow and spread for the past 10 years at the very least. The warning signs have been there for a long time, and the few people who did care about them had no power to stop it.

Fast-forward to 2025 and that's still true: the few people who do care about this, about you, have no power to stop it - and the people who do have the power to stop it don't care. Back in the 2010s, the entire community was saying this would never happen, and that they'd never stand by it if it did, but now that it is happening, guess what?

Nobody's doing shit. Nobody who wants to can, nobody who can wants to. So the wound is allowed to keep growing and festering. By the time it gets bad enough that people can no longer ignore it, it'll be too late. It's only discourse now, it's just Twitblr drama, it's only a small minority now.

It won't be tomorrow.

You wanna know what my point is? What I'm saying and showing all of this for? It's simple:

Once the thoughts that "Calling men demons doesn't matter" and "talking about trans men the way you talk about cis men is fine" already coexist, anything and everything becomes excusable. The people willing to acknowledge that that's disgusting already have, and the people who aren't never will.

People - of all genders, races, religions and nationalities - desire an outgroup to rally against, and once they're rallied against an outgroup they'll look for more and more people to lump into that outgroup. Once you've been lumped in, there's no way out. Can't reverse entropy.

The time for discourse has come and gone, there's nothing any of us can say or do that'll change this - all we can do now is brace for impact. Marginalized men like myself and so many of those who reblogged my original post will just have to prepare for the reality of a world that's moving on without us, and neither wants us nor needs us anymore. But others have said this better than me:

Lastly: if this post ever reaches any of the people in my OP's screenshots, or anyone who thinks like them, know that I have no ill will towards you, and wish no harm on you.

But if you do manage to get everything you're fighting for, you will at some point be asked why we were left behind, and you will have to either lie or admit that you allowed it to happen.

So pray that you never grow a conscience.

I don't think very many people will see this post, but I needed to get this out there anyway:

The prevailing sentiment within transmasc communities right now is that the people above are only a loud, terminally online minority that holds no meaningful sway over IRL spaces. I won't deny that.

But you have to understand that rhetoric of this kind spreads easily - and that there's nothing you can meaningfully do to stop it from spreading. There's no amount of discourse that will prevent people from falling for the rhetoric you see above, nor any amount that can convince them to leave it.

This mentality is going to spread, it already is. I'm not here to offer a solution, but a warning: transmascs as a whole, and very likely many other groups besides them, will at some point have to cope materially, psychologically and emotionally with the reality of an LGBTQ+ community that does not include them.

I don't say this out of malice, and I do wish it weren't the case, but at this point I've also accepted that it'll happen. I urge that you prepare for it in any way you can.

[s0phslibrary]

'after school solace'; bakugou x reader drabble ! :*:·ﾟ☆ 。·:*:·ﾟ★

content tidbits: platonic bond but possssiibbleee romance leaning, class 2-A era, following the plot but not the full on war, swearing, gender neutral reader, physical affection, maybe ooc bkg?, somewhat healed platonic bkdk bond, childhood friends bkdk + reader, stressed katsuki, slight workaholic reader, mild angst because bkg is a little insecure at one point , studying, ranting, cuddling, overall slice of life things :)

word count: 983

A/N: I am so making a part 2 for the next day. I also rly wanna write some izuku fics, with his POV of the friendship with 'reader'. Maybe a trio fic/drabble? I have so many ideas HAHA, but I shall work 🫡 also this song bc it reminds me of this dynamic

The soft patter of afternoon rain tapped against the window and balcony door, the warm flicker of fairy lights and orange glow of a nearby salt lamp eased your mind into a milder state, allowing the adrenaline and noise of the school day melting off of your muscles. You sat on your bed, typing away and scribbling notes to catch up from your Heroics class earlier in the day. Your phone pings beside you, breaking your focus away from the tedious details. On the screen, a series of messages.

katsuki, 1 minute ago:

can i come to your room

long day and you're the only one i can tolerate rn

dunceface and kirishima won't shut the fuck up

izuku and four eyes are studying and the nerd looks like he's ab to cry

everyone is just doing too much

so yeah can i?

You snort at the words, and text back;

yeah, ofc :) im just doing some hw, but you're welcome to chill here

mini fridge is stocked up too btw

You sent the texts, and got a quick response

Thank fuck

be there in a few mins

You smiled, and out your phone down, and went back to typing and writing in the time you had that would remain quiet.

Soon after, as promised, there were three, distinct knocks on your door.

"Unlocked." You call out, not looking up from the screen.

In walks Katsuki, hair poofed from the humid rain, clothes daggy and comfortable, and usual scowl replaced with a tired, slightly irritated, yet soft expression. Without saying a word, he goes to your mini fridge, grabs a can of cola, then walks to your bed, and plonks down next to you.

"The fuck are you doing? We finished that in class." He asks, his usual way of words lacking any bite.

"Yeah, but I didn't get to finish it. Love All Might, but he speaks so damn fast." You respond. He snorts, and simply watches you work. You both sit in silence again, before he yet again opens his mouth.

"Today was ass. Aizawa was on me about 'you need to work on your attack aim!", as if he doesn't swing around on a bit of mouldy string to fight. And don't even fucking get me started on English class. Shakespeare is so pointless, like, 'methinks', methinks I'm gonna fucking kill you."

You let out a laugh at his rambling, and look to him. "Oh, come on, he's the greatest playwright of all time. Plus, I've seen you watch the hell out of Romeo and Juliet during that one class movie night."

"The hell I did." He scoffs, but settles back against the bed. "You should finish that tomorrow. You're already doing too much."

"It's fine." "Yeah, you say as you have your 3rd burn out of the month." "Jokes on you, this will only be the second."

He rolls his eyes, and snatches your notebook and pen, throwing them on the floor, closes your laptop, and does the same, only more careful. "No. Not now. You need a fucking break." He says bluntly, and pulls you down on the bed.

"Rich coming from you. Training for 3 hours a day, outside of school, mind you, and you want ME to chill. Love you, but you're a hypocrite." You respond.

He flicks your forehead, but doesn't respond for a bit, but them mumbles something into your shoulder.

"It's becauze I feel like 'm behind."

"Hm?" "I said it's because I feel like I'm behind!" He repeats slightly louder.

"You? Behind? In what world?"

"Fuck off. I know, I'm 4th in the class, my grades are fine, that's all fine. I just feel like everyone else has made some random bout of progress, and I haven’t." He murmurs.

You sigh, looking down at his face. "You aren't. I promise. And if you were, that gives you a chance to race past the rest of us at some point, yeah? Just don't overexert yourself. You're right where you need to be." He nods reluctantly, his hold on you growing tighter. "Dunno what I'd do without your emotionally intelligent ass." You let out a short laugh, but know what he means. You're essentially each others anchor. You lean further into him, pressing your cheek against his hair, rather than verbalising anything. You knew comfortable silence would be what he needed right now.

10 minutes or so pass in silence. The rain still pours down on the window, the slight sound of electricity buzzing in the room. You look down to see Katsuki is now half asleep, expression soft, at ease, almost vulnerable. You smile softly in affection, admiring him. Even in all these years of knowing each other, you were the only person able to lull him into this position. His earlier tensed shoulders sagged against you, the crease in his brows gone. His drink sits discarded on the floor beside the bed, and your study materials sit idle by.

A noise from in the hall jostles him a bit, and he shifts slightly, sighing. "Do we have anything planned for tomorrow? It's the weekend." "Hm, I think we're both on grocery duty. Why?" You ask in a quizzical tone.

""m taking you out for brunch first. We haven't done that in a while. And it's on me, so don't fucking start. We can also go via that bookstore you like, see if there's anything new."

You grin, pleased with the idea. "Sure, if you carry the 5 I end up choosing." "Fuck you." He responds, but you feel his smile against your shoulder.

In that peacefully joyful moment, you both let yourselves be whisked away from the pressures of heroism, classmates, and studies. You could just be yourselves, and allow one another to do the same, no judgments or critiques.

And that was more than enough. As it always would be.

[seumyo]

malleus likes your lipstick very much.

NOTE. Fem!Reader a teensy bitsy suggestive <33

Malleus was not a fae easily enchanted by the mundane. But for some bizarre reason, he liked your lip products very much. More so than he’d like to admit.

It was ridiculous; he knew that. A thing so small, so utterly insignificant by the standards of the world he ruled. Lipstick, lip gloss, lip oil—there was a lot he still had to learn about your cosmetics, but he’s doing his best. Such trivial cosmetics. Meant to stain lips, leaving fleeting color and fleeting impressions. But on you? On you? It became something else entirely. It became a brand—a seal of ownership you didn’t even realize you were placing upon him.

And Malleus… Malleus was addicted.

And for all he knew, this encounter had been sudden, unscheduled. He’d come across you in the palace garden at dusk, fireflies beginning to float in slow arcs between the hydrangeas and tall ornamental grasses. You sat on the stone bench under the arching willow tree, humming to yourself, completely unaware of how the fading sunlight gilded you like a painting brought to life.

You were absolutely divine.

He wanted to devour you, lovingly, of course.

And when you turned at his approach, he saw it. That shine. That familiar glimmer on your lips, slick and soft and just a little bit too inviting.

“You’re late,” you teased, rising to your feet. “I waited a whole five minutes.”

“An eternity,” he replied smoothly, though his throat felt tight. “Pardon me for my tardiness, beloved. Allow me to make it up to you.”

You raised a brow, quite curious as to where this was leading. You’ve always known Malleus as someone with a taste for the peculiar. “With a gift? Chocolate? An ancient relic? Perhaps your eternal devotion?”

He took your hands, drawing you close. And Malleus thinks that this is nice, having someone close without them cowering under his mere presence. So this is what it feels like—to love someone so dearly.

“Something sweeter.”

And then he kissed you. No hesitation this time, not like the first kiss you two shared, where you had taken the lead. No gentle testing of the waters. He kissed you with the full weight of all the nights he’d dreamed of your mouth and all the mornings he’d woken wanting it. Your lips were warm and pliant beneath his, tasting delightfully sweet with the kind of joy he hadn’t known existed before you.

You gasped softly against him, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting his head, feeling the way your hands fisted gently in the front of his coat. And Malleus was right, as always; you tasted divine—the kind that he’ll never grow tired of. If this is how the normal mortals share their passion for one another, then he’ll gladly do it over and over again until you plead for him to stop.

“Mmph! Malleus…”

“Forgive me,” he murmured, already pressing more kisses along the line of your jaw. “I cannot seem to stop.”

You laughed, breathless and golden in the dying light. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

“It might be,” Malleus said solemnly, before licking his lips and tasting your gloss again. “I may be addicted.”

“Oh,” you rolled your eyes, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Let me see—oh my god, Malleus, you’re covered in it.”

He blinked at you, dazed.

“Am I?”

He dares to ask, as if he didn’t have the most smug and contented smile on his face.

“Look,” you said, pulling a small mirror from your pocket and holding it up to his face.

He saw himself: normally regal and composed, and now… now he looked utterly loved. His lips were a mess of smudged gloss, shiny and tinged pink. There was even a faint streak across his jaw where your mouth must’ve dragged in the heat of his embrace and the eager fever to have you this close to him.

“Beautiful,” he said, still breathless.

You sputtered. “Beautiful? You look like someone attacked you with a cosmetics counter.”

He didn’t answer. He was staring at you again, eyes fixed on your lips, still gleaming and slightly panting from the force of your kiss.

“You’re doing it again,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I can’t help it. It’s that lipstick.”

You laughed and took a half-step back, trying to straighten your clothes, only to realize his arms were still around you. “Alright, alright, I’m reapplying it. But if you ruin it again, I will make you carry my bag through the entire academic procession next week.”

“I would carry ten of them,” he said earnestly, “if it meant I could do this again.”

“You helpless sap,” you replied fondly, and kissed him once more—just a soft peck, but enough to freshen the smear of gloss on his mouth.

-

So, Malleus was absolutely wrecked to let you go. But he had to, for he and you both have responsibilities before getting some sleep.

But he still hadn’t wiped his lips; the glossy, shimmering stain that had a sweeter aftertaste was still evident. He didn’t try to hide the evidence. He simply walked, dreamy and unhurried, and basically floated—because there was no other word for it—floated back to his tower chambers like a man possessed. Everything was a blur to him.

He barely noticed the occasional startled glances from guards or the aghast stare of Sebek, who nearly dropped a scroll upon seeing the normally stoic prince wander by with flushed cheeks and pink-glossed lips.

“Lord Malleus!” Sebek barked, scandalized. “You have… there is… your face is—!”

Malleus didn’t break stride. “She kissed me.”

“I—Yes, but—your appearance—!”

“She kissed me,” Malleus repeated and continued walking, unbothered.

When he finally reached the quiet of his room, he sat on the edge of his vast bed in utter silence for a long moment. The fire in the hearth crackled softly as per his usual request, but he didn’t even notice. His fingers ghosted over his mouth. Still sticky. Still sweet. He leaned back slowly, resting against the pillows like a man struck by lightning and only just realizing it.

“My beloved,” he murmured aloud, reverent. “What have you done to me?”

No courtly intrigue, no diplomatic meeting, and no threat to the kingdom had ever unraveled him like this. Not like the trail of strawberry gloss pressed to his skin. Not like the giggle of his beloved, who kissed him and teased him and unknowingly marked him as yours in every smudged kiss.

He lay there for a while, completely dazed, utterly in love, and positively glowing—still wearing your lipstick like a crown.

So he likes your lipstick and kissing you, so what?

[exitwound]

Like okay sorry specifically one of the things I was trying to epxress with this post and this is like just one singular thing the sentiment of the post defineitly applies more broadly but one of the things is like the prevalence and meaning of the attitude of people who are being exploited but do not recognize that, who either refuse to recognize or proclaim it as the preferred situation-- they do so because it is a survival mechanism, but the fact remains that it is also going to kill them faster and hurt them more they are killing themselves you know and killing others. Killing is the strongest limit of the effects often it doesnt come to that but like. I dont know I think that there are huge downstream impacts to the ways in which any iindividual processes and responds to their various experiences of suffering and the more often that people are reading their pain according to ways that benefit othres and hurt them more, like, the more tangled the k not gets.... I dont mean to maske generic statements i think the advantage of the jenny holzer truism style i wrote the original post in is that it allows you to state things so broadly and generically that any criticism that "thats not always true" is just ridiculous which allows you to get at ideas that might otherwise be hard to get at but anyway i am digressing.

Another related thing that I was thinking about are these passages from Deleuze and Guattari's Anti Oedipus

"That is why the fundamental problem of political philosophy is still precisely the one that Spinoza saw so clearly, and that Wilhelm Reich rediscovered: "Why do men fight for their servitude as stubbornly as though it were their salvation?" How can people possibly reach the point of shouting: "More taxes! Less bread!"? As Reich remarks, the astonishing thing is not that some people steal or that others occasionally go out on strike, but rather that all those who are starving do not steal as a regular practice, and all those who are exploited are not continually out on strike (...) "(...) Reich is at his profoundest as a thinker when he refuses to accept ignorance or illusion on the part of the masses as an explanation of fascism, and demands an explanation that will take their desires into account, an explanation formulated in terms of desire: no, the masses were not innocent dupes; at a certain point, under a certain set of conditions, they wanted fascism, and it is this perversion of the desire of the masses that needs to be accounted for." (p. 29)

IF YOU STOP TO PAY ATTENTION TO HOW IT FEELS YOU MAY OBSERVE THAT IT FEELS BAD. EVENTUALLY YOU MUST STOP PAYING ATTENTION AND CONTINUE AS YOU WERE. AFTER ALL AS DOSTOYEVSKY SAYS MAN IS A CREATURE WHO GETS USED TO ANYTHING. MAKE NO MISTAKE. THE ABILITY NOT TO CRY OUT IN PAIN AGAINST THAT WHICH IS KILLING YOU DOES NOT MAKE YOU MORE LIKELY TO SURVIVE IT

[banjomelodies]

Persona is always so amazing at writing the most queer story arcs ever just to slap you in the face with "No fuck you they're actually fully heterosexual, dumbass"..

Like Yukiko and Chie?? Calling your girl best-friend your PRINCE? Wishing she could SAVE YOU? You both are so co-dependent on each other?!?! That's sapphic as fuck! Ann and Shiho are also sapphic as fuck. The entire section where you get to romance Ann felt more like I was witnessing those two confess to each other more than anything?!?

I can't even BEGIN on Kanji and Naoto, and Akechi. However you want to slice Naotos gender as, Kanji full on was attracted to Naoto either way (I am purposely avoiding gendered pronouns as honestly I haven't even figured out how I want to see Naoto. Especially since I'm not even far along P4G. I only know about the whole gender debate + Kanji's crushing of Naoto). Our Bi-king??? And Akechi just has that "I hate you but I love you, but I can't stand you, but I wish we were friends from the start" doomed gay narrative.

Yosuke was apparently a removed love interest so I mean I don't even HAVE to talk about him.

Ryoji is just full on canonically bisexual but you're just straight up not allowed to accept his confession to you as Makoto, which is stupid. ..They let Aigis and Kotone (by technicality, since she can romance Aigis. But I'm pretty sure I've seen people post actual in-game things that read a little sapphic) be bisexual though, so go girls!

What the fuck is with Persona and throwing so many queer teenagers at me just to tell me I'm the idiot for thinking they were some flavor of LGBTQIA+!! Especially because then they also throw curve balls like the two stereotypical gay men who literally harass Ryuji. Or the really bad trans woman joke during the beach stuff in Yakushima in P3 (don't remember which version, but I know it got removed). This series is both so pro-queer and anti-queer at the same time.