#i just really like that first conversation with him where he's like 'working with a spectre will be great! i can do whatever i want!'

[cuntycompost]

Genuine question, how could something like this be undone?

I mean obviously that level of *heavy* socialisation and internalising is pretty hard to do anything about, and I’m not going to spend all my spoons trying to “fix him” on the wrong guys but like..

Idk, I’m reminded of my grandfather(/Nana’s partner) a lot in conversations like these - he grew up in a really sexist “you have to be a strong man with no feelings”/“the only thing that matters is your work ethic” environment, but at his core is really sweet. As an adult he fell for my Nana, who is Very Much Empathy First and is essentially the matriarch of my extended family (on her/my Mum’s side).

Over the years I’ve watched him deal with those internalised ideas being challenged (ie: my Nana letting us live with them when we were older teens getting into work “because that’s what family does”, & him having to face that worldview after growing up in a place where that was *not* what family did)

He’s not exactly the same ‘kind of guy’ described here, he’s very loving and never took on the idea of viewing women as objects (only men, lol) - but my point I guess is that growing up with him has taught me that people can tackle these ideas, and changes can be made.

Idk. I spent a day once at this socialist men’s group (they were at an event I was at, but I’m unfortunately not able to attend their regular meetings) and they/we were talking about little ways to challenge men who were making sexist comments about women (bc challenging that with them, as men, can unfortunately mean they’re more likely to listen to you and has been proven by a few of us to lead to introspection and change from them)

But I wonder about these more wide-spanning worldviews,, what would be an effective way of challenging that with men without having to bring out a lot of words and ideas they’re not already aware of?

I guess some little things like “what, so if you met the coolest woman you’ve ever met, but they took a photo of their food, you wouldn’t want to get to know them?” and/or something like “why women with [descriptor] specifically?” to encourage them to think a bit more on it could be a start?

But then for the second one I feel like the response would be something like “cause they’re all selfish” or “[some other nebulous idea they don’t really understand, calling them feminists or leftists or something]” and idrk what the best response to that would be.

Idk, I hate seeing shit like this. My circle of friends is mostly queer and anarchist or socialist, but I’m a guy (trans FTM, but generally pass) and sometimes straight men talk to me (ie at work). I really want to use that position to try and help these guys challenge their worldview, but the problem is that they have so little words or understanding that it’s hard to know how to get shit through.

For lack of a better phrase - Men are Stupid

Does anyone have any advice or ideas on how someone in my position (or generally!) can get through to them?/how to talk about these things to people who lack prior understanding of how the patriarchy works etc.?

Obviously so many men are just fucked and genuinely evil, but the people I talk to are college aged(usually 17 or 18-early 20s), deciding on what their worldview will be going forward (and open to input from people around them), and often… unfortunately… getting a lot of disgusting new ideas from online gurus🤮

The longer I exist as a loudly proudly gay man the more I think that cishet men aren't actually attracted to women.

[dollbrbie]

HOW YOU MET DEALER!NAGI ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

꒰ dealer!nagi m.list ꒱

the first time you met dealer!nagi was at one of isagi’s frat parties, a red plastic cup in your hand and a flirty smile painted on your glossy lips, looking up at him with a glint nagi couldn’t quite make out.

he was way hotter than you thought he’d be when isagi mentioned him in conversation, your mind already plotting on him as soon as you saw him walk in with a nonchalance that was unusually attractive, the countless alcoholic drinks slipping past your lips.

but lucky for you, nagi felt the exact same. seeing you, your glossy lips and pretty eyes look up at him like that. you really know how to get a guy’s heart racing, he thinks.

and later on that night at the peak of the party, you found yourself propped up on a bathroom counter, your legs spread with your glossy folds on display as nagi licked up your slit with his eyes closed like he’d been transferred to heaven, looking back up at you through heavy lids with his stoned, red eyes.

it had your stomach swirling with butterflies, watching him teasingly lick your clit with a faint smirk while his hands knead on the plush of your thighs. he knew exactly what he was doing, and his high was giving him a type of confidence he didn’t usually have.

but you couldn’t help yourself from gently entwining you hand with his, a playful glint in your eye from the flowing conversation you and nagi had just been having before leading him to an empty bathroom at the party. but it’s not like nagi was complaining, not at all.

you feel your back arch as nagi’s tongue flicks on your clit, using his digits so scissor your entrance while curling them up at just the right angle, hitting that sweet spot of yours. the way your hands went to his hair, gently tugging while attempting to hold back your moans causes a groan to leave nagi’s lips - the vibrations making your hips buck.

you were close, your head falling back onto the bathroom mirror before muttering, “fuck.. m’close.”

he looks up at you, wide eyed while licking his bottom lip covered in your slick before replying, “i’ve got you, angel.”

his fingers curl faster, more rough as they abuse your sweet spot - your velvet walls fluttering as you feel that build up of hot white pleasure hit your core. he doesn’t leave his mouth unused, sucking and licking at your puffy clit with the overwhelming pleasure leaving your head empty of thoughts. you’ve never been fingered this good before.

it’s an instant when it comes, the pleasure hitting your body like a ton of bricks where you writhe and your hips buck. you fail miserably at holding back your moans, pretty and uneven whimpers falling from your lips that nagi can’t help but smirk at.

he looks up at you, watching your come down with a heavy chest before standing back up, placing his hands at the side of your hips before gently kissing your lips, “i wouldn’t mind doing that again sometime.”

you breathe out with a smile, “mhm, you want my number?”

he nods like an eager pup. there was no chance in hell nagi was every gonna say no to that, especially with that glow to your face after he’d just made you cum ridiculously hard.

he just wondered what he was about to do with the growing stain of his own cum on his pants now - looking down with a pout. he definitely enjoyed that a little too much.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[ariesthetouchdeprivedgirl]

Behind Closed Doors

Pt. 2

Smoke x Black!OC

Here’s part two!!! I’ve been working on this all day, so I’m a little drained. Please excuse any typos, or too many repeated phrases. I would really appreciate any feedback, your girl is new to this not true to this, so anything will help! Anyways! I hope yall enjoy!!

The next morning Jane awoke to the smell of breakfast wafting through her apartment. She sat up in bed, blinking a few times, trying to clear her foggy, sleepy mind. Smoke’s side of the bed lacked warmth, the sheets cool and undisturbed.

Jane swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her feet making contact with the cold floor sent a small shiver up her spine as she grabbed her silk robe. The fabric glided over her shoulders while she slid her feet into some fuzzy slippers and opened the door.

Her feet padded against the floor as she made her way towards the kitchen. Her head empty until Smoke was in her view. She paused and watched him for a moment, admiring the way the sunlight working beautifully with the smooth brown skin of his back.

He stood over the stove, frying what she declared to be an egg. His movements were slow, deliberate; Smoke always took his time with everything he did. Everything was calculated and strategically thought out.

Disrupting Jane from her train of thought, Smoke finally spoke.

“Sit.” It was firm and low. He didn’t bother speaking, focused on the sizzling pan in front of him.

Jane complied without hesitation. Sliding into a chair at the table. She could feel the tension from his words, but she relished in his instructions. There was an ease in obeying his words, a comfort in the way he spoke, even when the weight of his tone dripped heavy with expectation.

His voice always gave her a sense of direction, grounding her in moments where everything felt unsteady.

She watched him finish cooking, the smooth flex of his muscles working harmoniously with his steady movements. Watching him, her thoughts to drift back to their tense conversation from last night. Smoke’s questioning still lingering in her mind.

She thought hard about why Smoke was making breakfast. Was it out of guilt? Or was it some way for him to ease her into finishing the discussion he tried to have yesterday.

The burner clicked off, snapping her back to the present. He turned around, dark eyes pooling with intensity and sat the plate in front of her with a firm thump.

“Eat.” He commanded with a soft but yielding tone, head motioning toward the plate.

Jane looked down at her food, a steamy fried egg, crispy bacon, and a piece of bread toasted lightly. The plate looked good, something she would’ve gladly enjoyed any other day. But she didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment. Her mind was too busy trying not to think about everything from last night.

Either way, she picks up a fork and began to eat. Always obeying any order from Smoke.

She picks at a piece the egg before taking her first bite chewing slowly. She was nervous, feeling Smoke watch her like a hawk. The food wasn’t bad, it was actually pretty good. But it didn’t settle in her stomach well. In fact, each bite sat heavy.

But that didn’t stop Jane, she continued to eat, avoiding looking up.

Smoke watched her. His eyes practically beaming into Jane made her want to shrink back into herself. She could feel the way his eyes lingered on her—judging, waiting. That same look that could strip her bare without a word. Reminding her of how deep his hold ran on her.

Jane wanted to say something, just to break the silence, but every time she glanced at him, she dropped her eyes back down to the plate.

She couldn’t take this, her nerves were too raw, and it was beginning to show in her fluttering hands. She set the fork down with a sharp clink nudging the plate away from her.

Smoke said nothing at first. He simply stared, an unwavering gaze. Waiting for her to speak, or crack.

Finally, when the weight of the world seemed to nearly crush her into the ground, he spoke.

“You feel like talking yet?” His voice was low and smooth.

Jane’s heart skipped. She knew their discussion from last night was bound to happen, she just didn’t expect it to be fresh off the wake up. Then again, it was Smoke. He wasn’t the type to wait around for answers.

Jane glanced at him, his stance relaxed and dominant. Leaning against the counter with crossed arms. He looked like a force of nature, watching her from above.

She cleared her throat, gathering herself before responding. “Can I get something to drink baby? My throat is dry.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing as he walked to the fridge. Grabbing a carton of orange juice out and pouring Jane a small cup.

“Thank you.” She said softly, offering a small smile.

“Save it baby.” He replied dismissively. “Answer my question.”

Jane’s smile faded, her nerves fraying. She was tired the back and forth. The weight of this whole situation had been crushing her, and she was ready to get back to normal, to get back to loving her man.

“Um, well… Bernice called me, and said she saw you at the club.” Jane’s voice thick with hesitation.

Smoke had no response. Gaze never wavering as he waited for her to continue.

“With another woman.” The words stung her mouth as they left her lips. She was annoyed with herself for feeling hurt, for dripping with jealousy. She was his mistress, she had no right to feel this way.

Smoke face was unreadable. But Jane could see something in his eyes. Something dark and calculating.

“And you believed her?”

Jane’s eyebrows furrowed.

Jane stiffened, a flicker of anger sparking her eyes. “What? Why wouldn’t I believe her?” She shot back, voice tinged with offense. Bernice had always been there for her, always told her the truth.

She had been Jane’s first friend when she moved to Chicago, always looking out for her, protecting and guiding her. Bernice never lied to her, and she couldn’t imagine why she would start now.

Smoke said nothing, eyes holding hers, unblinking. His silence stretched long enough to make her question herself.

“You believe everything she tell you?” His voice quiet, but dangerous.

“Yes?” Her voice held less conviction than she intended, her stare sounding more like a question than anything.

“How you know she ain’t lying.”

Jane’s frown deepened. “Why would she lie?”

Smoke kept watching her.

“Bernice ain’t never lie to me before. Why would she start now?” Jane frustratedly continued.

“You tell me.”

“What?” Jane exclaimed, rolling her eyes in frustration.

“Why she worried bout what she think I’m doing”

“Ain’t nobody worried bout you Smoke.” Jane snapped. “She was just looking out for me”

“By running her mouth on what she thought she saw”

“She ain’t run her mouth. She was just letting me know what she saw.”

“For what? I ain’t yo business.”

Jane paused, her breath catching in her throat. Right. Smoke wasn’t her business. He wasn’t even her man.

Her fingers clenched around the edge of the table as his words sank in. She felt her chest tighten, and a lump form in her throat. She couldn’t believe Smoke would say that to her. As if what they had meant nothing.

With a frustrated scoff, Jane stood up, her chair scraping against the floor, a harsh sound that echoed through the apartment. She didn’t spare Smoke an another glance as she stormed to her bedroom. Slippers slapping angrily against the wooden floor with each step.

Deep down her heart was hammering. She didn’t want to keep arguing with him. Not when the possibility of losing him could happen at any moment. But he had pushed her too far this time.

Smoke smirked at her outburst, shaking his head as the door slammed behind her. The sound rattling through the walls. Smoke pushed off the counter, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he approached the door.

“Storming off like a lil ass girl ain’t gon end this conversation Jane.” His firm voice cut through the door.

Silence.

Inside the room, her pulse raced, anger surging through her veins. He wasn’t her business? Then what the hell was he? He sure as hell wasn’t no stranger off the street.

She yanked her closet door open, grabbing Smoke’s shirts and ripping them off their hangers with sharp, furious tugs.

He heard her chaos through the door, the sharp clatter of hangers and rustling fabrics. Smoke couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her theatrics.

He twisted the doorknob and stepped inside, only for a crumbled shirt to come flying at his head. He swiftly stepped out the way, avoiding the shirt as it smacked against the doorframe and fell to the floor.

“Cut that shit out Jane.” He growled, patience thinning.

Jane turned to him, breath coming in sharp shallow bursts, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Fuck you Smoke.” Her voice trembled with fury. “Get your shit and get out.” She snatched another armful of clothes, chucking them in his direction without care.

He just stood there, letting her tire herself out.

“You not my business?” She snapped, a hanger clutched in her hand, trembling as she pointed it at him. “I guess fucking me through that mattress every night, in the apartment you put me in, don’t mean shit, right?” She flung the hanger at the wall beside him.

Smoke just stood there, watching her with those dark eyes, unblinking. He let her dig her own hole, knowing she’d come running back to him. Smoke never had to say anything, it wasn’t necessary. The control he had over her, the way he could make her so hot and then leave her to simmer down. He knew how to play her like no one else could.

There was something about his calm demeanor that made her blood boil. She turned to him again, chest heaving with shallow breaths. Her fists clinched so tight she could feel the blood draining from her fingers.

Heat licked up her spine, every nerve on edge. She didn’t know if she was angry with him, herself, or both.

“Go ahead, tear it all down if it makes you feel better.” He didn’t raise his voice, or let his temper slip. Smoke’s way too calculated for that. But his jaw tightened, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes for just a second.

Jane’s chest heaved, rage and heartbreak stirring inside her. She took shaky steps back, a shirt slipping from her grasp. Smoke followed, his hand catching her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“But you really gonna let her tell you what’s true?” he asked, voice rough, almost too quiet. “You trust her more than you trust me?”

“She’s never lied to me.” Jane shot back. “But you got every reason to lie. You do it enough to your wife.” Her voice trembled.

Smoke’s eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening.

“Think about what you sayin.” He murmured. “You think I’d slip up like that? Or you just believing her cause it fit the story you done wrote in your head.” His thumb brushed her jawline, a deliberate expression that felt comforting, yet cautionary.

Jane’s eyes were a mix of anger and uncertainty. She wanted to push him away, to break free from this hold he had on her. But she couldn’t, his warmth, his calloused thumb brushing her face.. shit she ain’t wanna move.

“I ain’t stupid Smoke. I know what this is.”

Smoke kissed her forehead, a gesture that almost felt comforting. “Then act like it.” He whispered. “Stop lettin other people put thoughts in your head.”

“You didn’t have to throw it in my face like that.” Her voice cracked.

“I ain’t throwin it in your face. But if you gon question me over some he-say she-say bullshit, I’m gon remind you where we stand”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Her head dropped, feeling like a child being scolded. “I just wanted you to tell me the truth.” She hated feeling like this.

“And I been trying to, you just too caught up in your feelings to hear me.” His firm grip on her chin, slipped to her cheek, wiping the tear away. “You understand?” He asked.

Jane nodded. This happened every damn time. He twisted things until she felt like she was the villain of the story. But maybe she had really overreacted this time, and she had to admit, the whole thing was immature.

She was losing her mind over something she didn’t even see for herself. It was a huge waste of time, and they only had a limited amount of time with each other anyway.

Jane swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper when she muttered “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, maybe because she realized she couldn’t hold the weight of her anger alone anymore. She wrapped herself around him, letting him absorb the words she couldn’t say.

Smoke smirked. “It’s okay baby, you know I can’t stay mad at you for long.”

Jane smiled, letting the tension disperse as she melted into his embrace. His voice, especially that tone he spoke to her in, it was all so familiar, so comfortable. She pressed a kiss to his lips, trying to burn the fire heating inside her.

Smoke met her kiss, hand slipping to her waist, fingers tightening as he pulled her closer. Their kiss deepened each second, his hand on her cheek controlling her movement. His dominance, usually sharp, felt a bit gentler now, just how she liked it. He had her wrapped around his finger, and they both knew it.

“All that fussin for nothin.” His lips barely left hers, the whisper a kiss itself. Before she could respond Smoke’s hands traveled quickly, lifting her off her feet. Jane’s laugh bubbled, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, fingers cradling his face.

“You cleanin this up when I’m done with you.” He muttered, his smirk almost predatory, but he held that rare softness in his eyes that she came to love. Everything was in his control again, like always.

He carefully assessed a situation, and handled it with ease. But deep down, Jane knew better. She knew he tricked her, once again. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She would never be able to resist Smoke.

If you made it this far THANK YOU for reading!! I would appreciate any comments and suggestions/feedback. ❤️❤️

taglist:

@marley1773 @remmickcherie @rolemodelshit @keiva1000 @christinabae @jackierose902109 @fruitypebblesstuff @solarssins @thickemadame @melodyofmbaku

[xylatox]

One In A Million || csb

The first spin-off of The Slow Surrender is here :’) After I was left literally going through it (I cried so hard and my heart broke multiple times), I am so glad to be back in this universe and even more ecstatic to read Soobin’s romance especially as the brother of the mc from TSS. Excited to see where exactly his story is interlaced with the original story or if it happens after the main events! A special congrats to Raya for reaching 800 followers as I’m reading this, so glad people are recognising and loving your work <3 Anyways, unto my thoughts!!

Before I even begin, I am always a sucker for flowers, their language, practically anything to do with them. The way you’re able to silently convey feelings through something as simple as a flower really just warms my heart.

You cherish the minuscule things, not out of whimsy but out of habit, because you grew up knowing that gratitude was not just a virtue but a necessity. You learned to say thank you for everything placed into your hands, whether it was something you longed for or simply something to fill the space on your plate. Even at nine years old, a meal was never just a meal... it was a gift.

Is it too early to say I already love everything about her? Just from the way she thinks to her past, I cherish every bit of her. My heart breaks just seeing everything she’s been through (thankfully my tear reserves are dried up for now [we hope] so no crying today [again only a distant dream knowing myself]). It is heartwarming that despite everything at least she has her grandmother with her, I feel like that’s a relationship like no other.

And you do. More than anything. Even if one day, she forgets. Even if, someday, she doesn’t remember you at all.

Raya, I will always wish to see how you think.To me your mind is literally such a beautiful place, the way you seem to just flawlessly write the words down, its something I admire greatly.

And we find out where their romance begins :( I’m taken back to that moment with the MC from TSS and God, the pain was unimaginable, familiar and heartbreaking.

His eyes catch yours, and the words die between your parted lips, caught somewhere too deep to reach. Slowly, he stands from his chair, his hand slipping away from the pouch. You watch him smooth out the front of his coat, before stepping toward the center of the table. His fingers reach for the rose in front of you. The stem just one thorn away from being trimmed. The same thorn that had cut you earlier. “I’ll take this too, then,” he says. “Is that alright with you?”

Something about this moment just gets to me, maybe its the hidden tension, maybe its something else, whatever it make be, it speaks to me. The way MC (rightfully) assumed it was Soobin’s wife that suffered a loss and then the way he still comes a year later, my god. Man, the moment she asked him out I smiled and giggled like an idiot, shes so cute, they feel like puppies who’re scared of going into the water right now and its so endearing.

I felt so bad when Soobin was late oh my god 😭😭 I had no clue what was going to happen but I’m so glad he eventually came (his reaction to her still being there was also so cute)

His brows lifted slightly, softening — not in mockery, but in surprise. “Stop acting so cute, will you?” he murmured, and his words only deepened the flush on your cheeks. “You’re making it harder for me.”

Soobin, god. The way this line alone actually sent me insane. I do love that despite the initial awkwardness/tension from Soobin being late, they have a kind of flirtatious banter going on; they eased into conversation so nicely. I love them :) 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice steady, unflinching. “Every time I come to see you… you’re even more beautiful. And you take my breath away.” That ache—the one you’d fought to swallow down minutes ago—surges back with a quiet ferocity. Your bottom lip parts, breath hitching in surprise.

I feel sick oh my god, oh to be viewed like this.

Man. The vulnerability, The kiss. The kiss. The kiss. (yes 3 times was very necessary). The moment was just so soft?? It took me by surprise.

"You taste divine," he breathed against your neck, the words threaded with awe and desire.

Raya, youre going to make me pass out.

“I’ll be gentle with you then,” he promises, voice so gentle it nearly breaks you apart. His forehead rests against yours as his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his touch light as silk. “You don’t have to fear anything with me. We’ll go slow. You just tell me everything you want… everything you don’t.”

The instant reassurance?!?!? Goodbye.

“Just think of it as my way to say sorry… for making the prettiest girl wait so long.”

MAN. (I was trying so hard to have my thoughts match the vibe of the fic; very cute, very calm but I fear I’m losing it.) CHOI SOOBIN THE MAN YOU ARE.

Before you could even set down the last plate, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest with a soft exhale of relief. His lips found your hairline in a series of slow, affectionate kisses, "You didn’t have to make breakfast, baby. I could’ve called someone."

RAYA. I literally went like “Oh, fuck” out loud because I could not handle it, Jesus. On another note though, the sleeping pills have me sad :((( and also slightly anxious. Man, the way mc single-handedly made him not think about it oh my god. Hes so downbad.

“All my life,” he murmured, gaze dropping to the untouched food on his plate, “I watched my sister become trapped in a marriage. Watching her lose herself made me believe I shouldn’t chase anyone… or anything. But then, I saw you.”

I love this Soobin so bad. He’s literally so in love with her oh my god.

Her eyes sweep over you unblinking, as though weighing you against some invisible scale. “Are you the woman seeing my son?” A chill skips down your spine.

Did I forget about their mother who I absolutely dislike? Yes. I immediately remembered her from the beginning of TSS, and the distaste I feel is ever present

Her head tilts, something sharp glinting behind her expression. “Why did you stutter?” The question is too sharp for someone who doesn't know you. Before you can even try to answer, she lifts her hand in a small, dismissive gesture. “Go on. Change your clothes. Make it fast. I don’t like waiting.”

I fear this just made my dislike her so much more, the MC is so sweet please dont speak to her like that, she doesnt deserve it, no one does.

The young woman settles beside her mother, her gaze drifting to you with a kindness that wraps around you like a soft blanket. No scrutiny, no sharp edges, it's curiosity. “I’m Soobin’s sister,” she says her name gently, her lips pulling into a smile that reaches her eyes. “You look even more beautiful than what he says.”

AND SHES HERE MY BABY :(((( My precious star, I missed her.

The air felt thinner now. You could feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the trembling tips of your fingers that curled tighter under the table. “Then how would you run a family if you don’t even have one?”

No. Raya you didn’t

“Don’t cry,” she whispers finally, pulling back, her palms warm against your damp cheeks. Her eyes search yours. Slowly, she slides a handkerchief from her pocket and presses it into your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles as she lets go. “My mother… she’s always been like this. I won’t tell you not to feel hurt, you should feel hurt. She doesn’t know how to soften her words, even when she should.”

I really do love the MC from TSS so bad, shes such a darling. Her and Soobin and such lovely examples of not feeding into the behaviour of the household that raised you (just focussing on the mother). Wait omg ::::::((((((( TSS’s MC is pregnant against oh my god :::((((((

Beomgyu stays still, waiting. His jaw flexes slightly, not out of impatience, but out of habit, you can tell. He doesn’t move, not until she disappears inside the building safely, not until the glass doors close behind her and she’s no longer in sight.

I just know he’s worried :(((((((( 

She took a step closer, “I’m Aera,” she said smoothly, not a trace of hesitation. “Soon to be Soobin’s fiancée.”

Oh god. Oh my god. I feel so bad for her what. I feel sick for her/

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, “You’ve been asleep so long, I’m starting to miss you.”

Oh this is a cute line 😭😭I didnt expect such cute words

By the time you found a clean sheet of paper and sat at the dining table, your whole body trembled with the weight of it. The pen felt too heavy in your hand. Your tears hit the page before your words did.

You slowly, wrote your goodbye.

Nooooooooooo. Raya ::::((((( RAYA NOOOOOO YOU MADE HER MOVE TOO ;-;-;-;-;-;-; RAYA.

“Why are you here?” You asked, each word flung like stones across the space between you. Your jaw clenched. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you anymore?”

Your voice cut clean but your hands betrayed you. They shook at your sides, fingers twitching like they weren’t sure whether to reach for him or push him away. The ache in your throat frayed the edge of every word. And Soobin saw it. He saw all of it.

Oh my god.

"Marry me." It’s his last attempt to keep you from walking away. “Marry me, and I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just don’t—” His throat closed up, and for a second, it sounded like he forgot how to breathe. “Don’t walk away again.”

Noooo the dried up tear reserve is filling up :(((

“I don’t want the world.” His eyes locked on yours, fierce and aching. “I never wanted any of that. Not once. I just… I just want you.”

My heart clenched oh my god. Oh, To be loved like this.

The odds of this… of you… out of all the people, all the cities, all the winding chances and missed timings, was one in a million.

I giggled. Its always a Raya fic when the title is referenced in the end. It’s literally such a trademark of yours now and I always get to giddy reading it :). This was a remarkable first spin-off to the TSS series Raya. As always, I truly love your work, there are no amount of words that exist in this world to correctly describe how your works make me feel. Thank you for existing and thank you always for writing.

‎₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝖻𝗈𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 𝗑 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾-𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

He stares at you, the glisten in his eyes that you've come to know whispers his truth. His shaking hands hold your wrists. Droplets slide from his hair, tracing the sharp angles of his face, mixing with the storm clinging to his skin as he stares at your face. You feel it before you hear it. You see it before he speaks. "Marry me." It's his last attempt to keep you from walking away.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: chaebol au, strangers to lovers, angst, family issues, toxic societal norms, yearning, longing.

𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍-𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: MDNI, multiple-smut scene, heavy make-out, body-worship, nipple-play, fingering, oral!fem receiving.

𝗐𝖼: 17.5k — playlist.

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: hi hello!! to clear things up, this is a spin-off of the main story but each txt male lead gets their own reader! (aka you, heh). other female leads might show up for the plot, but they’ll stay nameless.

(definitely read the first part if you haven’t — but you can read this as a standalone!) see the event 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

If there is one truth that time cannot taint in your life, it is your love for flowers. They bloom unburdened, much like the love you cradle for things that ask for nothing in return.

Perhaps you were a flower in your previous life — maybe that’s why people have always likened you to one. A flower is something delicate, something beautiful, something that marks in memory with its scent and colour. Yet if you were to tell the real reason why they call you that, it wouldn’t be for any of those things. It wouldn’t be because you were particularly graceful or charming.

It would be because you see the world through the eyes of a dreamer, a romantic, someone who clings to the smallest joys as if they were... lifelines.

You cherish the minuscule things, not out of whimsy but out of habit, because you grew up knowing that gratitude was not just a virtue but a necessity. You learned to say thank you for everything placed into your hands, whether it was something you longed for or simply something to fill the space on your plate. Even at nine years old, a meal was never just a meal... it was a gift.

You don’t blame your parents for leaving. People say you should be grateful — they gave you life, after all. And they did. But not even a year into your existence, they chose their own paths, carving out futures that no longer had room for you. And you never resented them for it, not really.

It doesn’t mean it wasn’t lonely.

No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, it’s hard so, so hard to grow up in a house that never truly felt like home. Hard to wake up each morning knowing there’s no mother to greet you, no father’s voice to remind you you’re safe. Hard to fall asleep at night, knowing that if a nightmare came, there would be no one there to hold you.

No one at all.

They're happy, somewhere out there. Twin sisters from your father’s side, three brothers from your mother’s. And you were happy for them, truly. They had their lives, their homes, their own worlds to tend to. They checked in when they could — once, maybe twice a month, just enough to remind you they were still out there. Just enough to keep you from forgetting... while you stayed with your grandmother.

And that was enough. Or at least, it had to be.

“Nana,” you sigh, “You just watched that yesterday. Are you sure you want to go again?”

“Yes. Mom.”

You continued to scrub the plate she ate from, forcing a smile. She’s called you Mom again. It happens often now. Some days, you’re her daughter. Other days, her niece, a friend. But most days, you’re her mother.

And that’s fine. It has to be fine. As long as there are still days when she calls you anything at all. Because the worst days, the ones that keep you up at night, are the ones when she just looks at you with empty eyes, searching your face like you’re a stranger.

You swallow hard and turn back to her. “Did you take your meds, Nana?”

"Yes."

You wipe your hands on the kitchen towel, glancing toward the small pillbox on the counter. Walking over, you flip open the lid, scanning the compartments. She took them. A quiet breath of relief escapes you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, closing the box. “After this, we’ll head to bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

You sink onto the couch beside her, adjusting the hem of your floral home dress—the one you tailored yourself, stitching distractions into the fabric on nights when the weight of it all felt unbearable.

Mama Mia plays on the screen, the familiar melodies filling the small space between you. It’s always been her favourite movie. Even after the diagnosis, even as the world around her blurred at the edges, she kept coming back to it.

As if, somehow, it was something she could still hold onto.

You glance at her, watching the way her lips move with the lyrics, her hands tapping against the armrest in time with the music. She remembers this.

“Can I hold your hand while we watch?” you ask softly.

Your grandmother turns to you with a soft smile, her eyes whispering at the corners. She’s seventy-five now, her hair thinner, her hands frail, but to you, she’s still the same. Still beautiful. Still her.

People told you to put her in a nursing home. Said it would be easier, that it was the practical choice. But how could you? How could you leave the one person who never left you? The person who held your hand through every scraped knee, every heartbreak. The only real family you have.

Her frail fingers squeeze yours gently. Then, just as you turn back to the movie, you hear it.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your breath halts. You tear your gaze from the screen, eyes wide, heart pounding. It’s been months — months of her calling you by the wrong names, or worse, not calling you anything at all. But now, she’s looking right at you, remembering you. A lump sits in your throat as tears sting your eyes. You grip her hand tighter.

“I love you too, Nana,” you whisper, voice shaking.

And you do. More than anything. Even if one day, she forgets. Even if, someday, she doesn’t remember you at all.

You slide the key into the lock, your right shoulder weighed down by the new pots you picked up earlier. As the door swings open, the soft chime of the bell echoes through the quiet shop. Stepping inside, you nudge the door shut behind you and flip the sign to OPEN with a satisfied smile.

It’s 10 a.m., and the morning light spills in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the flowers on display. Running your fingers gently over delicate petals, you inhale their fresh scent, the fragrance mixing with the faint traces of paint lingering on the walls — your own handiwork, soft strokes of color bringing the shop to life.

You set your bag down behind the counter and power on the computer, scrolling through the day’s orders. Five minutes pass in a comfortable rhythm before the familiar chime rings again. The door swings open.

Someone’s here.

"Good morning!" You greet with a warm smile, but your voice falters just slightly as you take him in. He’s not the usual type to wander into a flower shop. Dressed in a sharp, black tailored suit, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence. The glasses perched on the bridge of his nose add to his composed demeanor, but it’s his presence — towering in the doorway, making the shop feel smaller somehow, catches you off guard.

Still, you keep your smile, smoothing the surprise on your chest. "Are you looking for any particular flowers?"

He glances at you and gives a small nod — a quick acknowledgment that he’s heard you. It’s familiar. You’ve dealt with customers like this before, the ones who prefer to browse in silence before saying what they need.

You nod back slightly, a polite gesture, then shift your gaze back to your computer, trying to shake off the strange unease prickling at you. He hasn’t even spoken yet, and still, something about him makes your pulse tick faster.

Why?

“I'm looking to have a funeral arrangement made.” he says suddenly, making you blink and look up.

His eyes meet yours.

You cleared your throat, "I'm sorry for your loss." You try to follow the routine speech that you have. "Let me get my book and I'll assist you. Please, take a seat."

You point towards the table, a round wooden structure with three matching chairs, a small white vase holding a fresh boquet decorated the center. He quickly followed your instructions, pulling the chair as it scraped on along the wooden floorboards before they sit with a sigh.

You took a quick glance at him again, watching as he fishes out his phone, one of the brands that is you think the latest release, and you see a unique looking rolex in his wrists. You avert your eyes as soon as you did, and your eyes catch the black car parked in front of your store.

Your store.

Your small humble store that is stark comparison compared to everything this man have.

You cleared your thoughts as to why he chose this place to buy flowers. You turned around to gather your book filled with arrangements.

"Do you run this place by yourself?" As you reach for the leather spine of the book, you glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes already on yours.

He didn’t respond, even as you took a seat across from him. Still, you could feel his gaze following you. You pushed the roses aside, their petals bruised from restless handling, and replaced them with the open book. Its pages, worn thin, exhaled the faint, bitter-sweet scent of aged paper — a comfort you almost resented tonight.

He stayed silent, his arms draped over the table, eyes steady. His presence bled into the air, heavy and warm, as though the room itself bent around him. You swore you could see it — something low and smoldering radiating off of him, a slow burn that clawed past the polished edges he wore so well.

You tore your gaze away before it could swallow you whole.

You tighten your grip on the pen. “May I have the full name of the deceased?” Your hand drifts across the top of the page, hovering over the empty space waiting to be filled, just as you wait for his answer.

When it comes, it lands harder than you expect.

“It… doesn’t have a full name,” he says quietly. Your eyes lift to meet his. “But we call him Moon.”

Your breath catches. There’s only one meaning behind words like that. A child. Your mind pulls back into dim memories; the parents who’d come to your shop before, searching for flowers with little else to offer but love for someone whose life never had the chance to unfold. Your lips part, but no sound comes. You drop your gaze, forcing it back down to the blank page. You’ve done this before — too many times — but it still finds a way to shake you.

Pushing through the heaviness in your chest, you press the pen to paper and write the name.

Moon.

“And what are you looking for in this arrangement?” The words burn as they leave you, bitter and dry, clinging to the back of your throat. You wait, feeling the seconds stretch thin between you.

“What do you think?”

You should know. This is what you do — what you’ve poured years into. Flowers have been your language longer than words ever have. But it’s always this question that unravels you. It pulls at the seams of whatever certainty you pretend to hold. Of course you have ideas. They come in flashes,but what are they worth?

What if it’s wrong? What if it’s not enough?

The thoughts spiral fast, like they always do. Familiar and merciless, burrowing deep where you can’t shake them loose. They weigh heavy in your chest, anchoring themselves into the cracks of a confidence too fragile to stand against them. You sit there, hollowed out and grasping for something to offer this man, something that won’t disappoint him, or worse, dishonor what he’s lost.

A baby. A mother greiving. And now this man, carrying his own mourning, offering no guidance to make the task easier. Your fingers twitch, restless and unsure. You have to give him something. Anything.

“Well, for funerals, people usually gravitate toward chrysanthemums,” you say, lifting your free hand toward the cluster of blooms sitting in their vases to the right. His gaze follows where you gesture. “Lilies are another favorite,” you add, motioning to the soft petals hanging to the left. “And people often ask for—”

“But what do you think?” His voice cuts through yours, making your words falter. Slowly, your eyes meet his, and he holds your gaze across the table. “What do you gravitate toward?”

“White roses,” you murmur, your gaze flicking away from him and toward the blooms resting quietly in the front window of the shop. “They symbolize… eternal love, and remembrance.” Your voice softens. “If it were me… someday… I think it would make me happiest to be remembered that way. To be loved like that, even after.”

When you finish, your eyes drift back to his, uncertain, before you quickly lower them to the blank page in front of you. “Sorry,” you whisper, flinching at your own rambling.

“No.” His voice is firmer this time, “Don’t be sorry. Tell me more.”

You swallow hard. Your heartbeat stirs faster in your chest, a throb blooming from the tender cut on your fingertip. You breathe through it.

“Forget-me-nots,” you say. “I suppose… I’d start with a base of hyacinths, then layer in forget-me-nots and foliage as filler. And maybe top it off with white roses.”

“Think you can have it ready in two days?” he asks, his gaze shifting toward the rosebuds waiting to be trimmed on the table. “That’s when the memorial service will be.”

You nod before the words even catch up to you. “Yes, yes. That’s no problem.” You lower your head and start to write, sketching out the arrangement you’d described, even as your hand strains to keep steady against the shake running deep in your chest.

“Here.” He sets a small black bag on the table. You don’t have to open it to know — from the weight, the way it sits — it’s easily a week’s worth of your shop’s earnings.

“That’s too much. It’ll only be —”

“It’s the least I can do,”His voice is gentle but leaves no room to argue.“I doubt many would have come up with something as thoughtful as yours.”

“Please… I can’t let you overpay.” Your hand rests on the bag, fingers curling around the edge as you begin to slide it back toward him but his hand meets yours, halting you. His fingertips graze against your skin.

His eyes catch yours, and the words die between your parted lips, caught somewhere too deep to reach. Slowly, he stands from his chair, his hand slipping away from the pouch. You watch him smooth out the front of his coat, before stepping toward the center of the table. His fingers reach for the rose in front of you. The stem just one thorn away from being trimmed. The same thorn that had cut you earlier. “I’ll take this too, then,” he says. “Is that alright with you?”

The nervousness clawing at your chest tightens, cinching your breath and locking the words in your throat. It burns — sharp and hot, like a brand searing them shut. You can only nod, managing the smallest smile before your eyes drop, trailing back down to the thorn that had drawn your blood.

You reach for your shears and rise from your chair, stepping toward him.

“I’d just started working on this one when you came in,” you murmur, lifting the sharp edge to the base of the stem. His fingers shift aside, careful and slow, as you steady the blades around the thorn. His eyes stay on you, not on the flower, not on your hands, but on the furrow of your brow as you focus.

You sense the moment he holds his breath.

With one clean motion, you clip the thorn away. “Thank you,” you say, your voice soft and thinner than you meant it to be.

“Thank you,” he echoes. His tone mirrors yours, but heavier somehow. “I look forward to seeing what you create.” He turns toward the door, tall frame gliding in that unhurried way of his, but he doesn’t touch the handle yet. His body shifts just enough to glance back. “By the way… I should get your name.”

“Y/N,” you answer. The name comes easy, but your breath feels uneven behind it. “And yours?”

You’ve never been like this before. Never so openly invested in someone you’d barely exchanged a few scattered words with. Never so quick to give away your curiosity. But here you stand; unmoving, staring, studying him more openly than you’d dare with anyone else.

He smiles. Barely. So faint you might have missed it entirely… if you weren’t so completely, foolishly locked on him. Enough of a curve to tug at the corner of his mouth. And there, a small hollow moves in his cheek. Does it get deeper when he really smiles? Does his smile reach his eyes?

Your throat tightens at the thought, inexplicable.

“Soobin,”

He came back two days later. Right when he said he would. When you handed him the arrangement, his eyes lingered on it longer than you expected. His face didn’t shift much, but you caught it, a flicker of surprise, as though he hadn’t entirely expected it to look the way it did. As though he hadn’t expected you to remember it so well.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low, steady. And before you could step back or fold the moment away, he spoke again. Another request. The same one. For next week.

And that’s how it started.

It became a pattern before you realized you’d memorized it. Every week, almost the same day, he returned. Always asking for the same thing. And it took so little, for you to start waiting for him. You didn’t need to admit you were. It was clear enough in the way your hands moved faster on the mornings you thought he might show up. The way you found yourself glancing at the clock more often. The way your breath shifted, when the bell over the door chimed and you hoped it would be him.

The weeks folded into months before you realized how quickly the time had passed.

“Your wife must be having a hard time,” you say quietly, watching him from behind the counter as his fingers brush along the edges of the newest arrangement vases you’d set out last week. Your voice tries to sound casual, light enough not to pry. “But she’s lucky to have you.”

It’s the only explanation that ever made sense. The one you’d quietly settled on back when he first asked for those mourning flowers. That was how you’d made sense of it. How you’d made peace with why the arrangements always felt so heavy.

He stops. “Wife?” His brow lifts, faint confusion softening the lines around his eyes.

Your throat pulls tight. “Uh… yeah,” you fumble, heat creeping up the back of your neck. “… How is she recovering?”

There’s a pause. His stare doesn’t waver. His jaw sets, just enough that you can tell he’s measuring something inside before letting the words go.

“It’s for my sister.”

Sister. All this time, you thought you understood. The flowers, the endless varieties he carefully chose week after week — they were for his sister. That’s what you told yourself. It made sense. She must be the one who lost a child. A grief so cavernous that even the brightest blooms could barely soften its edges. You could understand it. the tenderness of a brother trying to tether her to something gentle. The quiet, steady ritual of bringing beauty to someone drowning.

But one year have passed. One year, and still, he comes.

You watch Soobin now, and something inside you twists sharp and deep. Your throat pulls tight, a burn clawing up the back of your eyes, your heart thrashing in your chest like it’s frantic to be let loose. His fingers move across the petals with reverence, the kind of touch meant for something breakable, sacred. As though each flower is an apology too heavy to speak aloud. A brother so devoted, so relentless in his quiet offerings — and surely he has a life beyond this. A job. Responsibilities. People waiting for him. And yet here he is. Always here. Always returning, as though caught in some private penance only he can feel, rooted in your little shop like he doesn’t know where else to go. Every week, standing in the hush of your little shop like a man trying to repent for a sin he never committed.

The flowers… you’ve always loved them. They’re stitched with meanings you’ve memorized like scripture; hope, solace, rebirth. They ask for nothing in return, and still, they give so much. The burn behind your eyes sharpens as you watch him, your mind comparing him to one, your chest aching in places you thought you’d long since sealed shut.

You wrap the arrangement slowly, careful with each fold and knot. Your heart thuds against your ribs like it’s trying to outrun the thoughts crowding your chest. The ones you don’t say out loud. The thought unsettles you more than it should. It coils tight in your gut, sharp and sickening. Because part of you already knows — one day, the door won’t open. One day, he won’t come anymore. You hear his footsteps before you see him. He’s seen that you’re nearly done ,the bouquet he asked for, the one you’ve handled like it’s something sacred. You feel his presence before you meet his eyes.

You don’t know why. You can’t name it, not exactly. Maybe it’s the dread that coils in your stomach that there will be a day you wake on a day he’s supposed to come, only to find the hours slipping by, the bell above the door never ringing. And before you can stop yourself, before your good sense can catch up to your mouth, the words tumble out. “Would you want to go out sometime?”

You instantly regret it, the way your voice cracked, the way you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say quickly, fumbling. “That was, I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position. If it’s invasive or —”

“Yes.” You blink. His expression is steady, unshaken. “Yes,” he says again, softer this time. “I was going to ask you, too.”

Your breath stumbles in your chest. You nod, unsure of what to say, heart hammering loud enough to drown out everything else, but he goes on, “Next week. Same day, same time. Let’s do that.”

You nod again, this time slower. Something settles in your chest, light but anchoring. “And,” he adds, as he picks up the bouquet, “make another arrangement.” You glance at him, brows lifting in question. “Anything you want,” he says. “Doesn’t matter what it costs. Just… make something for me.”

You swallow the rush in your throat, the spark behind your ribs. You can already feel the stems in your hands, the petals under your fingers. You don’t know what you’ll make yet but you know it will say everything you can’t.

“Okay.”

You stare at the bouquet as it slumps at the edge of the table. The one you arranged so carefully, over and over again for days.

Dawn had already cracked the sky.

Now, the gloss on your lips is gone, long since faded like the sun. The coat you pressed at sunrise feels stiff, resentful, like it's been waiting just as long. Your spine aches from sitting too straight for too many hours, and your breath trembles in your throat, thin and cold.

He said he’d be here before lunch. He said he’d take you out.

He never came.

Maybe he got held up. Maybe it slipped his mind. Maybe something urgent came up. You tell yourself these things because it’s easier than the alternative. Still, the silence wraps around you too tightly. It hums in your ears, thick and heavy, until the only thing left is the dull thud of your heartbeat, knocking against your ribs like it’s looking for a way out.

Your eyes sting. Are you even allowed to cry over this?

“Well,” you murmur, voice thinner than you’d like, “let’s get you to a vase.” Carefully, you gather the arrangement, fingertips grazing the petals. You breathe in — soft, floral, faintly sweet — and hold it there.

Your movements felt slow. Deliberate, almost. Strange, when these steps had always come easy to you, and yet, you lingered. As if dragging out every motion might somehow buy him time to show. Your gaze settles on the bouquet now resting in the vase. You exhale, slow and shallow, but no words rise to meet the breath. There’s nothing left to say. Nothing worth breaking the quiet for. Turning to the door, your steps this time are steady, unhesitant. No more stalling. You did what you could. You waited. You hoped.

And now, it’s clear; he’s not coming.

You were just about to lower the blinds when a familiar car slid to a stop out front. Your breath caught, frozen tight in your chest. You didn’t move, didn’t blink, as the driver’s door flung open before the engine had even settled into idle. There he was, the tall figure who’d haunted your thoughts for months, carved into every restless night. Disheveled, frantic, a deep frown cutting across his face.

When his eyes found yours, he ran.

The air slammed back into your lungs so fast it almost hurt. The fog, the static that had smothered you for hours, gone. Blown clean away in one look on his face.

He's here.

“Why did you wait for me?” The words tumbled out the moment he pushed the door open, his gaze locking onto yours. His face, guilt etched into every line. “You waited for me,” he said again, quieter this time. The guilt cracked, crumbled at the edges, and in its place came something softer. His eyes didn’t waver. It was awe, unmistakable and unguarded.

It was as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

The car ride was quiet. His coat rested over your shoulders, warm and grounding, as the streetlights blurred past. Since it was already late, Soobin had offered his place. You didn’t argue.

“We’re here,” he murmured, unbuckling his seatbelt. You’d somehow already undone yours without realizing it, stepping out into the cool air just as he rounded the front of the car to meet you. His hand hovered near the door, but you’d beaten him to it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, offering a small smile. Your eyes drifted past him, brows pinching slightly as you took in the skyline ahead —towering buildings stretching into the night. Your confusion flickered across your face before you could hide it. “You said your apartment, right?”

He hummed, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. He nodded toward the buildings ahead. “Come on.”

You walked, still puzzled, trailing a step behind him. Your eyes wandered, curious and cautious, as you neared the towering building. Inside, staff seemed to scatter and straighten the moment they caught sight of Soobin. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Postures snapped upright. The door swung open before either of you reached it.

“Late evening, Mr. Choi,” the security guard greeted, bowing deeply. The others followed suit, dipping their heads in swift, practiced motions. It felt surreal. Like you’d stumbled into the middle of a K-drama you used to watch. Like you were seeing something you weren’t meant to. Soobin didn’t slow. He didn’t pause at the front desk like everyone else did. He just kept walking, glancing back once to make sure you were still with him. When he reached the elevator, he pressed the button without hesitation. The panel lit up, and you caught the word just above it; Penthouse.

Your breath caught, but you masked it quickly, dropping your gaze. That’s when you noticed his hands, resting at his sides, relaxed. The silence wrapped around you again. You shifted your hand, hesitant, pinky inching toward his. You just wanted to hold it — just once. Who knew if you’d get another chance like this? Maybe tomorrow he’d decide you weren’t someone he wanted to see anymore. Maybe you’d bore him. Maybe he’d drift away like people sometimes do.

So just once. Just to know what it felt like.

Your fingers moved closer, careful, unhurried. Barely an inch away — Ding. The elevator chimed, breaking your focus. Your hand froze mid-reach. Soobin turned, catching you dead-on. His gaze flicked down, just fast enough to see the way you yanked your hand back, swatting it away like you’d touched something too hot. “Uh—” you blurted.

His brows lifted slightly, softening — not in mockery, but in surprise. “Stop acting so cute, will you?” he murmured, and his words only deepened the flush on your cheeks. “You’re making it harder for me.”

Before you could even piece together what he meant, his hand reached out. His fingers found yours, threading between them with an ease that made your breath catch. The touch was warm, grounding, and when he gently tugged, you startled just a little. He didn’t say anything about it. He only pulled you softly toward him and guided you into the elevator. The elevator closes, but everything feels distant.

And all the while, his fingers stay laced with yours, anchoring you gently as the world rose around.

“Do you drink?” he asks, his voice low as he approaches the couch where you sit. The bottle in his hands glints under the warm lights, dark glass wrapped in crinkled gold foil, the wine inside a deep, velvet red that swirls languidly as he moves. One glance, and you already know: it’s expensive.

His penthouse is sprawling, though you suppose all penthouses are. “On special occasions,” you admit, watching as he reaches for two crystal glasses.

“Would you call this a special occasion?” He sinks into the couch beside you, his back meeting the cushions.

“I’d say so.” Your answer draws a small smile from him as he leans closer. Carefully, he cradles a glass in each hand and offers one to you. You accept it, fingertips brushing the cool surface as you balance the bowl of the glass in your palm, the slender stem threading between your knuckles. You lift it gently, only needing the faintest tilt toward your nose to catch the aroma. Your intuition was right, this would be the finest drink you’ve ever touched.

You take a sip. The wine blooms sharp on your tongue, threading warmth down your throat.

“Tell me,” he says, lifting the glass to his lips. His bangs fall loose over his eyes, soft and unbothered, and you fight the quiet urge to reach over and sweep them aside. “How did you start your business?”

“Like most things in this world,” you reply, taking another small sip, the pungent taste stinging your palate. “A bit of luck and a bit of misfortune.”

Soobin shifts, turning more fully toward you. One arm drapes along the back of the couch, as though he’s subconsciously reaching closer. His glass rests loosely against his thigh, “What was your luck?”

“I received money. Enough to build the business.”

“And the misfortune?”

Your throat tightens slightly. You swallow. “It was because my grandmother… wouldn’t be able to take care of it anymore.” Your voice softens. “Or herself anymore.”

The quiet smile at the corner of his lips falters, folding into something more solemn. A flat line. His eyes don’t leave you, they track every flicker of your expression: the slight furrow of your brow, the quick blinks you can’t quite suppress, the faint, compulsive bite to the inside of your cheek. But he doesn’t press.

“Why flowers?”

You know the answer. It unfurls easily in your mind, sprawling and layered. But a flicker of doubt tugs at you. If I ramble, will he grow tired of me?

“I liked their meanings,” you say instead, choosing your words slowly. “How each plant holds its own importance, just by existing. It’s fulfilling. And it’s a beautiful thing… seeing the way even simple arrangements can affect people.” You glance down, your thumb brushing the base of your glass. The words settle in the air between you.

He doesn’t fill the silence or shift in his seat. His eyes stay fixed on you. The glass in his hand remains perfectly still. His gaze lingers like he’s reading something delicate between your lines, like you’re a puzzle he’s in no rush to solve. He watches without pressing, without judgment. You feel the heat creep into your cheeks despite yourself, and you lower your gaze, hoping it hides the way your pulse trips over itself.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause, his voice lower, gentler. “I feel like I’m bombarding you with all these questions. Would you like to ask me something instead?”

A dozen questions flicker through your mind, each vying for space. Yet one floats to the surface, steady and clear, eclipsing the rest. “Why did you ask me to make you that bouquet?” The words leave you smoother than you expected.

For a breath longer, he says nothing. And then — a soft, breathy laugh escapes him. His eyes crinkle at the corners, something warm spilling over his features, and you swear you feel your heart tighten in your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh. It’s the first time you’ve seen the hollows of his cheeks deepen, the dimples ghost into view.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat gently, He leans forward slightly, setting his glass on the table with a clink. “I do have an answer. But it’s a long one… if you’ll bear with me.” You nod, something soft and weightless settling in your chest.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice steady, unflinching. “Every time I come to see you… you’re even more beautiful. And you take my breath away.” That ache—the one you’d fought to swallow down minutes ago—surges back with a quiet ferocity. Your bottom lip parts, breath hitching in surprise.

Soobin’s voice dips, even softer now, like he’s confessing something he’s carried for far too long. “I asked you to make me that bouquet because I knew you’d pour yourself into it. You’d try your best to make it perfect for me. And when I saw it… I knew you’d done exactly that.” He pauses, gaze never wavering from you. “I never planned to take it with me. That bouquet—it was always meant for you.”

He shifts closer, just a few inches, slow and unintrusive. You don’t look at him; your eyes drop away, blurred with the tears threatening to spill over. You hold them back with every ounce of restraint, blinking fast against the shimmer at your waterline.

“I could’ve gone to any florist,” he continues, his voice barely above a murmur, “bought flowers and handed them to you. But I didn’t want that. I wanted you to make them… for yourself.”

Your chest pulls tight, your breath shallow and quick.

“I wanted you to create something as beautiful as you are. That’s why I asked for the bouquet.” His words land soft, final. “Because you’re beautiful.”

You try to fight it. Your head lifts slightly, your gaze tipping upward as if looking higher might will the tears back in. But the moment you blink, they slip free, tracing a slow, unbidden path down the curve of your cheek. There’s no hiding it. Not from him. Soobin’s eyes track the tear’s descent, his expression open and unreadable.

“I…” You falter, biting down gently on your tongue as your throat burns, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, “Tell me.”

Your breath shudders out, thin and shaky. “It’s just… earlier, I thought you wouldn’t come back.” The fracture in your voice is clear, woven into every syllable. Soobin hears it as easily as if you’d shouted it. His focus sharpens, tender and intent, even as another tear slips down your cheek.

Without a word, he lifts his hand. His touch is featherlight, the side of his index finger brushes just beneath your eye, catching the tear before it can fall farther. The contact startles you; your breath catches, your eyes widening at the gentle weight of his skin on yours. Though he’d caught your tear, his hand lingers on your cheek. His skin is cooler than yours, a contrast that sends a ripple down your spine. Then his finger glides down the curve of your face, tracing a path to your chin. His touch is careful, as if he’s afraid you might shatter under anything less. His fingers cradle your chin gently, coaxing, as he tilts your face toward him. Your breath catches as your gaze is guided back to his.

He’s looking at you.

Your nerves spark like a live wire under your skin, a delicate ache blooming in your chest. You swear you’ll come apart if you move too quickly, if you breathe too hard. Your heartbeat drums mercilessly in your ears loud enough, to fill the silence between you.

He leans closer. Slowly, gingerly, he edges forward like he’s stepping through every invisible barrier you’d built, slipping past every wall you thought you’d carefully kept intact. You watch as his eyes trace the line of your lips. Is he feeling the same tremor, the same breathless ache threatening to consume you whole?

Your eyes mirror his, drifting down until they rest on his lips. You feel his breath first, warm and shallow against your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipation blooming low in your belly — an ache, a flutter, a trembling promise. The thought alone sends shivers down your spine.

His lips meet yours. It's soft.

You don’t dare move. His fingers remain at your chinr. And for the first time, you let yourself surrender completely, allowing someone else full, irrevocable control. You let him lead. You let yourself fall. Then, subtly, Soobin shifts. His lips part just slightly against yours, enough to press a second kiss, lighter than air, softer than thought. The faintest sound of it rings in your ears, delicate and clear, as if it’s the only sound left in the world. There is no one else. Nothing else. Only you and him.

When he pulls away, it’s slow. He creates space between you, his gaze dropping—gentle, searching. “I apologize,” he says softly, his voice drawing your eyes open again. His pupils are dark, downcast, uncertainty clouding their depths as his fingers slip away from your skin. “If I made you uncomfortable… if I overstepped — I’m sorry.”

Without a word, with your tears now stilled, you reach for him. Your fingers wrap gently around his wrist, the same hand that had so carefully traced your skin. You hold him. With a pull, you guide his hand back to your face. When his fingertips meet your skin again, a wordless relief unfurls in your chest.

He’s watching you. His eyes are locked to yours, dark and unwavering, tracking every small shift in your expression as if deciphering the meaning behind your touch. Your hand stays clasped at his wrist as you draw your lips inward, wetting them with a soft sweep of your tongue, a silent permission offered without a single breath of speech.

You see it instantly, the way his brow knits downward, a soft furrow of longing. His lips part slightly, a breath escaping that he doesn’t bother to rein in. The expression across his face is raw, unguarded, needy in a way that makes your stomach swoop, a sweet ache pulling low in your core. His gaze flickers downward, fixated on the subtle shift of your mouth.

Before you even can take your next breath, his lips are on yours again. His mouth meets yours with more urgency, yet still achingly soft. His free hand ghosts up your jaw, fingers threading into the hinge of your neck, You’re taken aback, quite literally as his mouth parts against yours, deepening the kiss in a way that makes your breath falter. Your head tips backward instinctively, but before you can drift too far, his hand is there to catch. His fingers tangle into the soft strands at the nape of your neck, cradling you.

You clutch tighter to his wrist, as if that alone could tether you. The moment dissolves into something weightless, and the sensation of Soobin’s kiss begins to eclipse everything else — until the world narrows to nothing but his lips, his breath, his touch.

Your lungs tighten. Your head spins just as you feel the graze of his tongue against your lower lip. With a soft gasp, you break away.

Cool air rushes between your lips as you pull back, your breath coming quick and shallow. Your fingers, once gripping tight at his wrist loosen, falling limp against his skin. His hand slides gently from the back of your head, fingertips gliding down the column of your neck before settling against the delicate curve of your throat. His thumb traces there idly, barely a whisper of contact.

His voice, when it comes, is hushed. “Are you alright?”

All your life, you had been pursued. Suitors with bright eyes and polished words circled like moths, eager to capture your hand, to fasten their futures to yours. They came with promises that echoed hollow against your ribs. They smiled too easily, spoke too sweetly and though you tried, how you tried to meet them halfway, something inside you always stayed untouched.

You had forced smiles you didn’t mean. Laughed at jokes that never reached your eyes. You wrapped yourself in false emotions like gossamer, hoping the weight of them would feel like belonging. But after every encounter, you only felt emptier. You never understood why.

Until now.

With Soobin’s kiss still lingering on your lips, with his hand resting against the tender line of your throat as though you were something precious, and easily breakable. The truth settles in you, your heart had never been wandering.

It had been waiting. Waiting for him.

It wasn’t that no one wanted you. It was that your soul had already made its choice long before your body could catch up. And after all the quiet, lonely years of not knowing what you were longing for, he had finally found you.

You are home.

"I…" Your voice is thin, threadbare with wonder. You search for words, but none seem big enough to hold what you’re feeling. "I’ve never… been kissed like that before."

He smile slowly, a laugh tumbles from him and the thumb resting against your neck drifts upward, grazing the curve of your cheek with such careful reverence it makes your breath catch. You don’t have time to react. He leans in before you can even think, brushing a kiss against your lips, so brief it’s almost weightless. Too fleeting, too quick, and when he pulls away, you instinctively lean forward, chasing the fading warmth.

"Is that better?" he murmurs, mischief softening the edges of his gaze.

You swallow thickly, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch. "I didn’t…" Your voice falters, a smile tugging unbidden at the corner of your lips. "…say that I didn’t like it."

It was as if your words had unspooled something inside him, like you'd spoken a secret incantation only he could hear. The moment your words left your lips, he was on you — his mouth capturing yours with a hunger. His hands slid down at your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, warm palms pressing against your skin as if he needed to feel every inch of you. His lips broke from yours only to travel lower, grazing the delicate line of your jaw before finding the curve of your neck. The first brush of his mouth there drew a sound from you, a soft moan. You felt him smile against your skin, a low, pleased hum from his throat as if your every sigh was a gift.

Without thinking, your arms wrapped tighter around him. You shifted, lifting your legs to curl around his waist, pulling him flush against you. The soft, unrestrained groan that escaped him at the motion sent a spark racing straight through you.

You had never felt so wanted as hands slid down, tracing the shape of your thigh before they dipped to the bend of your knee. You had never felt so treasured as he slowly, began to gather the fabric of your skirt, dragging it higher along your leg with unhurried care, revealing skin he touched as though memorizing you with each pass.

"You taste divine," he breathed against your neck, the words threaded with awe and desire. His lips trailed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat, grazing you with teeth soft enough to make you shiver, as if he wanted to consume you completely yet worship every part of you. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently as you guided him back to your lips. He met you eagerly, melting into the kiss as though he’d waited lifetimes for it.

“If you want me to stop… tell me,” he whispered against your mouth, voice rough and tender all at once.

You nodded unafraid, and in that quiet, unspoken agreement, you watched something flicker in his eyes. As if he was vowing to worship you fully but never without your permission. His hands moved, deft and gentle, helping you ease out of the thin barrier of fabric that separated you, his gaze never leaving yours as if even in this unraveling, your comfort was his compass.

His smile curves against the delicate line of your neck, breath fanning across your skin as his words slip through, velvet-soft and low, “You’re already so wet for me.” His tone is laced with adoration. “I didn’t know you’d be such a good girl for me.”

The world dissolves.

It shrinks and softens until all that’s left is him — Soobin and the press of his body against yours, Soobin and the way his voice drips honey and reverence into your ear, Soobin and the hands that worship every part of you like he’s learning a language spoken only through touch.

Every piece of clothing that falls away is marked by his mouth, kisses dragged slow across your lips, your jaw, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your collarbones. His lips move like he’s tracing constellations on your skin, as though, somehow, you hold the entire night sky within you.

His hands, large and steady, move over you with a duality that makes you ache. Greedy and gentle. Certain but tender. He touches you as though he’s starved for you, but terrified you might slip away if he’s too careless. His fingers map your curves, glide down your sides, ghost along the backs of your thighs, curling possessively.

The room is thick with something heavier than air. It’s breath; yours and his, tangled in rhythm. It’s the soft rustle of fabric sliding over skin, the quiet catch of a moan swallowed between kisses, the faint sighs that spill when his hands find somewhere new to caress. Everything slows because he slows it. He takes his time, like he refuses to let any detail slip by unnoticed.

It doesn’t feel like he’s simply undressing you.

It feels like he’s unveiling something sacred. Like every inch of you laid bare is a gift he’s longed for, and now that he has it, he won’t squander a second. His gaze drinks you in between every kiss, full of a softness that cradles the sharp edge of desire. His pupils blown wide, his lips pink and kiss-bitten, his breath shaky though he tries to steady it.

You’re cherished.

“Soobin,” you gasp, breath hitching as he pulls you effortlessly into his lap. His lips find the swell of your breast, as his hands caress you with tender precision — teasing. The soft drag of his tongue against your nipples pulls a shiver from deep within you.

“I’ll take you to bed, sweetheart,” — “Yes, please,”

His mouth meets yours again, slow and consuming, while his arms curl around you. Without breaking the kiss, he rises, lifting you as though you weigh nothing, as though carrying you is the most natural thing in the world. You don’t open your eyes. You don’t need to. Your hands stay laced behind his neck, your fingers threading through the soft hair at his nape. You surrender wholly, letting yourself be cradled in his care. His footsteps echo and then you feel it, the plush give of the mattress beneath you as he lowers you gently into the center of the bed. The sheets are cool against your back, but his gaze is molten, grounding you in a warmth no fabric could match.

“Soobin…” Your voice trembles, “I haven’t done this before.”

For a moment, his expression stills. Something softens even further in his eyes. His lips tilt into the faintest, sweetest smile before he leans down, planting a slow kiss on your lips.

“I’ll be gentle with you then,” he promises, voice so gentle it nearly breaks you apart. His forehead rests against yours as his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his touch light as silk. “You don’t have to fear anything with me. We’ll go slow. You just tell me everything you want… everything you don’t.”

You gave him a smile, you reached up and kissed him. A simple peck. His eyes is open mid-kiss, like he couldn’t bear to miss a second of it. As though the feeling of your lips wasn’t enough, he wanted to see it too. “I trust you,” you whispered against his lips, “I do.”

You had never been blinded because of a smile before.

His lips press against your sternum, inching his way with slow pecks towards the plump skin of your breasts. And the second he finds your nipple, a sharp gasp leaves your throat as you feel his warm tongue caress the sensitive flesh. His hand moves to your navel, his palm lying flush to your abdomen as he holds you down to the mattress; continuing to glide his tongue over you. As Soobin lifts his lips from you momentarily, the chill of his saliva lingers on your breast, makes you softly squirm in his grasp.

He move to the other side of your body, slowly slowly repeating the process as he suckle at your hardened bud ever so gently. But this time, he use his teeth to bite the softest mark onto your nipple; the careful sting pulls your back into an arch. You whimper at the roughness, though it only lasts for a second, and as you process their actions, Soobin begins to trail down from your breasts, moving to the other one. His hands work, reaching down to caress your core which pulse between your thighs.

You try to control yourself as he went lower, to control your body, control the moans begging for release but the moment he place a kiss to your clit, the little control you have begins to slip. He starts gently, a kiss, a soft lick up your entrance, and gets back to give the most careful suckle at your clit. His gentle licks turn into passionate laps as he palce his tongue flat to your clit and allow the pressure of his muscle alone to spark up your spine.

You gasp at the feeling, your hands grip desperately onto the sheets by your sides.

With his hand still placed on your lower belly, Soobin outstretches his fingers towards his mouth latched onto your cunt. His thumb finds its place just above the hood of your clit, as he begin to add to the simulation causing your teeth to sink into your bottom lip. He swirl the wet skin, sucking, intervals of tender kisses in between as he feel you between his lips; as the squelching of his tongue against your soaked entracne takes over the silence of the night.

"You're being such a good girl for me," Soobin kisses the words onto you, "So fucking good." He use his freehand to pull your leg up and over his shoulder, your body willingly at his control. He lift his mouth from you only to place his lips inside of your thight, his fingers still simulating you even with the pause.

You can feel it brewing. The band threathening to snap at any moment. Your pleasure pleading for release as he return to lap at your cunt.

"S-Soobin," you gasp, "Wait, I-" your please turn into tight cries of desperation as they retrieve a smile from Soobin, who listens intently to you moaning his name.

"I know baby," he kisses your clit, his thumb giving you an experimental amount of pressure, "I know baby, you can cum on my tongue. I don't mind."

If it weren't for your orgasm now unleashing inside of you, you possibly would have laughed, but the only thing that comes out of you, among the essence leaking into Soobin's mouth, is the lewd noises breaching the shores of your pleasure. Your hips instinctively push into his mouth as it explodes.

Your legs twitch, faint tremors echoing long after the euphoria crests and slowly ebbs away. Your breath is uneven, your chest rising and falling in shallow pulls as your mind tries to fix itself again. The world feels distant, softened at the edges, but you feel him. You feel Soobin everywhere. You hardly register the trail of his lips scaling their way back up your body, delicate kisses pressed along your stomach, the hollow between your ribs, the curve of your collarbone; until his face hovers just above yours. His breath fans against your lips, warm and even, as though he’s been composed the entire time, despite the flush that paints the high of his cheekbones. And when you meet his eyes —

Adoration. That’s all there is. As though you hung the stars in his sky.

Your fingers, still faintly trembling, reach down to the waistband of his pants, a silent plea building in your chest to return the worship he’s lavished on you. But before you can so much as graze the fabric, his hand wraps gently around your wrist, and moves it away.

“Tonight is about you,” Soobin murmurs, voice low, coaxing you back into ease. A smile, soft and disarming, tugs at the corners of his lips as he dips forward to nuzzle the tip of his nose against yours. “Just think of it as my way to say sorry… for making the prettiest girl wait so long.” His fingers, those long, graceful ones you’ve become so attuned to, sweep gently through your hair, combing it back from your damp forehead as though you were something priceless. His thumb brushes the line of your temple before trailing down the curve of your jaw, feather-light.

You stare back at him, your gaze tender and unwavering, the reflection of your own adoration open across your features. Whatever he sees in your eyes makes something in his expression soften even further.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice dropping as he nestles closer to your side. Instinctively, you open your arms for him, and he slides into the space as though it were carved just for him, his head resting gently against your chest.

“Nothing,” you whisper truthfully, your fingers threading into his soft hair as you tilt your head to study him. Wonder flickers within you like the soft flicker of candlelight, igniting gently as you take in the way the dim glow plays in his irises — deep brown kissed with honey, shadows and softness blending as if the universe itself tried to paint the richest portrait inside his gaze. “You’re beautiful,”

The smile that spreads across his face is breathtaking. His lips curve in that boyish, gentle way that squeezes your heart painfully tight, and then he laughs. Your own smile spills out in response, and soon both your laughs mingle, weaving together in the space between you like spun gold, before your lips find each other’s once more.

You woke with the sunlight brushing gently across your skin, the warmth pooling on the sheets.

His breath is steady against the back of your neck, his chest rising and falling. His arm is still draped over your waist, fingers laced together just under your ribs as if even in sleep, he’s afraid to let go. Every time you shift, even slightly, his hold tightens; subconscious, instinctive. As though his body has decided on its own that you belong nowhere but here. You feel the ghost of his lips at the back of your head again, a soft, unthinking kiss pressed into your hair. And then that murmur that drifted from him throughout the night, something wordless and sweet, as though he was dreaming of you and couldn’t help but let it slip into the waking world.

You are exactly where you’re meant to be.

You blink slowly, everything is softened by the white sheets. Warmth surrounds you, not just from the sun filtering through the windows, but from the comforting weight draped over your back. You shift slowly, turning in his embrace until you’re met with the sight that makes your heart swell.

Choi Soobin.

Your fingertips ghost along the curve of his cheek, feather-light, afraid you might wake him if you touched him too boldly. His skin is soft beneath your hand, still asleep. His lashes rest delicately against his cheekbones, his lips parted slightly, breath deep and even.

“Sleepy Soobin,” you whisper, your thumb brushes along the slope of his cheekbone and, instinctively, he leans into your palm, nuzzling against your touch. The simple action sends a tender ache spiraling through your chest. Your mind drifts back, to the way his hands gripped you with both hunger and patience. To the way his lips worshiped every inch of you. To the way he had cradled you afterward, not letting a single shiver escape him unnoticed, whispering soft words against your skin.

Your eyes drink him in, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the tousled strands of dark hair falling across his forehead. You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses on the corner of his mouth. You linger there, breathing him in, letting your lips stay against him like a silent thank-you whispered straight from your heart.

“I don’t think,” you murmur softly against his skin, your lips curving in a smile, “I’ve ever been this happy before.” And as if he heard you even in sleep, his arm around your waist tightens, pulling you closer.

Your phone buzzes. You move quickly, fingers curling around the device as you move yourself out of Soobin’s arms. You sit on the edge of the bed, the cool air brushing against your skin. His shirt hangs loosely off your frame, the fabric soft and saturated with the faint scent of him. You tuck a hand into the hem absentmindedly as you answer. “Hello?” Your voice is hushed.

“Oh, hi. I just wanted to check in about your grandmother. She took her meds.” Hana’s voice comes softly from the other end, the caregiver you’d called last minute yesterday when you weren’t sure you’d make it home in time.

Relief unfurls gently in your chest. “Thank you, Hana,” you murmur, a small smile touching your lips. “I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

There’s a few more exchanged words, small reassurances and thank-yous, before you end the call. The screen dims in your hand, but you don’t move just yet. You glance over your shoulder. He hasn’t stirred, not really, but his brows are slightly furrowed now, as if he noticed the loss of you in his sleep. The sheets dip where you’d been moments ago, and one hand rests, palm open, where your body had once been.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You want to crawl back to him already. But you know you can't.

Setting the phone down, your gaze drifted toward the bedside table. You remembered Soobin opening the drawer last night, tucking away both of your things. You needed your ponytail. You pulled the drawer open.

Your fingers falter for the the first thing you see. You hadn’t meant to intrude. Two large bottles, their labels slightly worn, tucked neatly in the corner of the drawer as if he’d kept them close, yet out of sight.

Sleeping pills.

Your lips press into a thin line as thoughts flicker behind your eyes — how gentle he’d been with you, how steady and warm his gaze had felt, how easily sleep had taken him last night in your arms. And yet… these. Did he take them every day? Your hand brushes over the edge, and finally, you spot your ponytail nestled beside his wristwatch.

You swallow gently, pushing the drawer close.

You hummed softly as you slid the fried eggs onto a white plate, the gentle sizzle fading as you set them down. This place is a wide, unfamiliar kitchen, but somehow your hands had found their routine effortlessly. Turning, you arranged the plate beside the crisp bacon and the golden slices of toasted, buttered bread.

Out of the corner of your eye, the bedroom door creaked open. "Good morning," you called, your voice laced with a smile that turned fully when you saw Soobin, no confusion in his sleepy gaze, no hesitation in his steps. He made a beeline straight to you.

Before you could even set down the last plate, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest with a soft exhale of relief. His lips found your hairline in a series of slow, affectionate kisses, "You didn’t have to make breakfast, baby. I could’ve called someone."

"I didn’t mind it," you replied, breathless with laughter as you tried halfheartedly to nudge him away. But he only shook his head, clutching you tighter, "Come on," you coaxed gently, tilting your head to meet his soft gaze. "Let’s eat."

At just those simple words, he loosened his hold, his hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours.

“What is it?” Soobin asks softly, voice in curiosity as he chews his food. His eyes catching the question behind your gaze. “I did tell you… you can ask me anything, remember?”

You nod, your fork slowly tracing circles on the edge of your plate. “Yes…” You swallow, “I don’t mean to pry, I really don’t. I just… I just wanted to ask if you take those pills every day?”

He nods slowly. “I do,” he admits. “I’ve always had trouble sleeping.” Your lips part to speak, but before you can, he sets his fork down and leans in, elbows resting on the table as his hand slides gently over yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “But last night…” A faint smile curls the corner of his lips,“Last night, I didn’t even think about them. I didn’t need them.” His voice drops, “You were here.”

Sitting at that table, sharing breakfast, you felt like you were learning him in layers, like pages of a book gently unfolding for you. You already had your suspicions the moment you first met Soobin. The cut of his clothes, the sleek car he drove; they all whispered of a life far from ordinary. But hearing it from his lips, hearing him confess that he was set to inherit and run an entire empire, sent a quiet shiver up your spine. A chaebol. How had someone like you managed to cross paths, let alone hearts, with someone like him?

He spoke openly, though gently, about the burden he had carried since he was just a teenager. How sleep had long been a stranger to him. How those pills had been his quiet crutch in the endless swirl of expectations, decisions, and responsibilities that clouded his nights. You tried your best to absorb every word. Soobin told you how he had found you captivating from the very first moment he saw you — how, despite that, he never had the courage to approach you.

“All my life,” he murmured, gaze dropping to the untouched food on his plate, “I watched my sister become trapped in a marriage. Watching her lose herself made me believe I shouldn’t chase anyone… or anything. But then, I saw you.”

It was unclear why he trusted you so deeply, why he felt safe enough to share such memories about his sister’s pain and the misplaced guilt he carried on his shoulders. But he did. He let you in. The shadows in his expression melted the moment you leaned in, your lips pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to his and your arms curling gently around him. Maybe that was why. Maybe you were his perfect match. You were the one brave enough to ask him out first; unknowing then, but somehow sensing what held him back.

You learned more little things about him that morning too. How he often misplaced his watch because he’d take it off absentmindedly and forget where he’d set it. How he liked his coffee with an extra spoon of sugar and a generous pour of creamer, because despite everything, Soobin had a sweet tooth.

And somehow, every one of these small pieces only made you fall for him more.

“I can’t wait to get back and see you,” his voice comes gently through the phone, smooth and warm like a whisper against your ear. “Just three more days, and I’ll be back. Okay?”.

“Okay,” you breathe, your voice softer than you intend. “Just make sure you’re eating well, alright?” You swallow gently, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

His laugh drifts back to you, honey-sweet and effortless. You miss him already. “Okay, baby.”

And just like that, the line clicks silent.

You move quietly around your shop, fingers trailing along the shelves, straightening small displays here and there. You smile to yourself, a small, private thing, as memories of the past few days float to the surface. His touch. His laugh. Everything lately had felt… right. Almost effortlessly so.

The soft chime of the doorbell rings out, pulling you back to the present.

“Welcome,” you call, your gaze lifts and locks instantly with a pair of sharp, assessing eyes. A woman stands there, immaculately dressed, her age maybe in her fifties, though the confidence she wears makes her seem ageless somehow.

Her eyes sweep over you unblinking, as though weighing you against some invisible scale. “Are you the woman seeing my son?” A chill skips down your spine.

“Pack your things up,” she says crisply, her gaze drifting coolly over the small, carefully curated space of your shop. Her lips twitch, close enough to make your stomach twist. “Come have lunch with me.”

You blink, thrown off balance, your heartbeat picking up beneath your ribs. This… wasn’t what you’d expected today. “Uh—yes, ma’am,” you say, trying to gather yourself.

Her head tilts, something sharp glinting behind her expression. “Why did you stutter?” The question is too sharp for someone who doesn't know you. Before you can even try to answer, she lifts her hand in a small, dismissive gesture. “Go on. Change your clothes. Make it fast. I don’t like waiting.”

Your fingers twitch on your lap as you lower your gaze, lashes casting shadows over your cheeks. The seat beneath you feels too plush, too stiff all at once, as if you don’t quite belong in it. You’re somewhere deep inside this towering glass building — a restaurant so vast and pristine it feels like even your breath is too loud for the space. You try to inhale quietly, chest tight, as Soobin’s mother sits across from you, commanding the room with a presence that doesn’t falter.

You watched, silent, as she spoke crisply to the waiter. Her tone left no room for correction, no cracks for uncertainty to slip through. She didn’t ask what you’d like. She didn’t ask if salad was to your taste. She simply ordered it for you without sparing you a glance — as though she already knew what you should eat, or perhaps decided it didn’t matter.

The clink of glassware is sharp, and you jump slightly when she clears her throat. Slowly, reluctantly, you lift your eyes to meet hers. Her gaze is steady, dark and searching, the sort that makes you feel like you’re being turned inside out with just a look.

“What do you want—”

"Mother," a new voice drifts into the space; light, melodic. You turn instinctively, and there she stands: a woman so strikingly beautiful it’s impossible to mistake the relation. The soft curve of her jaw, the familiar gentle slope of her nose, she carries pieces of Soobin effortlessly in her features.

She moves toward the table with a grace that makes the heavy atmosphere ease, as though her very presence carries warmth where there was only frost before. Soobin’s mother’s stern face softens, her posture loosening subtly for the first time since you sat down and it’s clear this new woman holds sway over her in ways no one else has managed thus far.

The young woman settles beside her mother, her gaze drifting to you with a kindness that wraps around you like a soft blanket. No scrutiny, no sharp edges, it's curiosity. “I’m Soobin’s sister,” she says her name gently, her lips pulling into a smile that reaches her eyes. “You look even more beautiful than what he says.”

The sincerity in her voice disarms you. It feels like exhaling after holding your breath for too long, like finding a familiar light in a room full of shadows. Warm. Genuine.

“Th-thank you,” you murmur, voice small as your gaze drops shyly to your lap. The elegance she carries so effortlessly makes you acutely aware of every inch of yourself; of your softness, your simplicity. You steal a glance upward as she turns away, leaning toward her mother, her voice soft and fluid as she starts to recount her day.

Their hair, not a strand out of place, styled with a polish that speaks of salons you’ve never stepped foot in. The fine lines of their blouses, their tailored cuts, fabrics that drape as if stitched to their skin. Even their nails is perfectly shaped, coated in shades that gleam soft and subtle, unchipped. Their handbags resting beside them glint of understated luxury, the kind of leather that never creases, the kind of detail you notice only when you’ve never had it.

Your gaze falls to your skirt — the one you had sewn with patient hands from fabric you bargained for at the market’s edge. You’d chosen the material carefully, pieced it together with love, made it yours. But here… it feels smaller somehow. Less. You smooth your palms over your knees.

How long will you have to sit in moments like this? How long will you have to feel the weight of difference settle like a stone in your chest? The gap between their world and yours feels so wide it burns.

You don’t belong here.

You hadn’t even managed to lift your fork, “How old are you?” Soobin’s mother asked.

“Twenty-three,” you murmured, your tongue thick in your mouth. The number sounded too small as soon as it left you.

Her lips tugged downward. “Five years younger than him. Too young.” A pause, heavy. “Education status? What of your family?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m living with my grandmother.”

Her brow arched, unimpressed. “Since when?” — “Since I was a child.”

The air felt thinner now. You could feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the trembling tips of your fingers that curled tighter under the table. “Then how would you run a family if you don’t even have one?”

The sting behind your eyes burned fast. You blinked hard, but it did nothing to wash it away. You felt small, smaller than you ever thought you could shrink.

“Mother,” Soobin’s sister snapped, her voice tight with disbelief. You lifted your gaze to her, grateful and ashamed all at once. Her expression was shocked that her mother had gone that far.

But then the next blow landed. “Do you even know there’s a girl who’s supposed to marry him?” Her tone dropped, dripping with disdain as if she wanted to watch you crumble beneath it.

“Mom, stop it. Now.” Soobin’s sister, again. Firmer this time.

Your lips parted to answer — to say something, anything — but all that came out was fragile and thin. “We… we haven’t talked about it.” It was all you could manage. Your voice cracked just enough to make the shame crawl higher up your throat. Your chair scraped against the floor softly as you rose, every inch of your body stiff and burning. You forced a tight smile that felt more like a grimace. “Excuse me… I’ll just take the bathroom.”

Your legs carried you away before the first tear slipped free.

You gripped the sink’s edge so hard your knuckles ached, head bowed as silent sobs racked through your chest. You couldn’t catch your breath. Couldn’t hold it together long enough to even pretend you belonged here. Your reflection in the mirror blurred behind the sheen of tears; eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. Small. Out of place. A girl trying to fit in.

Of course she was right. You’d always known it, hadn’t you? You were someone born from absence. A child left behind by two people who couldn’t even stay for you, much less for each other. You’d spent so long tucking that truth away, convincing yourself. His mother didn’t have to scream to shatter you.

You wiped at your face uselessly, but the tears kept slipping, warm and bitter down your jaw. You didn’t want to ruin what Soobin had left with his mother, thin and cracked as it might be. You’d seen the strain in his eyes before when he spoke of her. You’d heard the weight when he talked about duty, legacy, responsibility; but you wouldn’t be the reason he chose sides. Maybe everything really had just been a dream. And maybe now…maybe it was time to wake up.

The door creaks open, and you flinch too late to hide the tears streaking your cheeks.

Soobin’s sister.

Her expression crumbles the second she sees you. “Oh, honey.” Her voice is soft, almost breaking, and before you can turn away or gather yourself, she’s already crossing the room. You shake your head, a weak protest caught in your throat, but it falls apart the second her arms wrap around you. You don’t mean to collapse, but you do. Your body folds into hers, trembling, your fingers clutching at the fabric of her coat.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes against your temple, her voice rawer now, as if she can feel even a fraction of what’s tearing through you.

Your chest hurts. You can’t speak. You don’t trust your own voice not to shatter the second you try. So you just stand there, breathing uneven, tears soaking the front of her blouse.

“Don’t cry,” she whispers finally, pulling back, her palms warm against your damp cheeks. Her eyes search yours. Slowly, she slides a handkerchief from her pocket and presses it into your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles as she lets go. “My mother… she’s always been like this. I won’t tell you not to feel hurt, you should feel hurt. She doesn’t know how to soften her words, even when she should.”

“I came here because I heard she’d come after you the moment Soobin flew out for his trip,” she continues, “And about that woman… or whatever arrangement that was, Soobin never met her. Not even once. That was all our mother’s doing. If you want the truth, it’s best you hear it straight from him, hm?” Your fingers curl tighter around the handkerchief.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice frayed at the edges, the apology slipping out even though you aren’t sure what you’re apologizing for— being here, being too small for this world, for falling for someone you were never supposed to have?

“Don’t be,” she says softly, her lips tugging into a smile. "You’ve done nothing wrong."

She reaches to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “You can go home. I’ll handle her,” she promises. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t come near you again, not until Soobin gets back and sorts all of this out himself.”

Your throat tightens again, “Why?” The word falls out of you in a whisper. “Why are you doing all of this?”

“Soobin deserves to be happy,” she says, there's a glisten in her eyes. “And you… you make him happy.”

You sit still, hands folded tightly in your lap, nails pressing crescents into your skin as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. Through the window’s glass, blurred by your uneven breaths, you see them, Soobin’s sister and her husband.

Choi Beomgyu.

Even from here, even without sound, it’s clear. The way his eyes search hers, soft and intent. The way his hand brushes her cheek, tender and unhurried. And then, his palm drifts lower, resting on the curve of her stomach.

Your breath catches, an involuntary gasp escaping from your lips. You hadn’t noticed it before, maybe because you’d been too wrapped in your own thoughts, but there it is now; the small, rounded swell of her belly beneath her dress.

She’s pregnant.

Your eyes dart away. It sinks in heavier than you expect—the contrast of it. The weight of what you felt in that restaurant still gnawing at your ribs. You swallow hard, blinking fast. You shouldn’t be jealous. Not of them, not of their certainty, not of the way they fit together. You curl your fingers tighter.

Beomgyu slides into the driver’s seat, his eyes flicker to you in the rearview mirror, not invasive. “You okay?” His voice is gentle, low.

You swallow past the knot tightening in your throat. “Yes.”

He doesn’t press. He just nods once, slow, and leans back in his seat. His hands rest on the wheel but he doesn’t start the car. Instead, his eyes shift toward the building. You follow his line of sight and see her— his wife, walking toward the entrance.

Beomgyu stays still, waiting. His jaw flexes slightly, not out of impatience, but out of habit, you can tell. He doesn’t move, not until she disappears inside the building safely, not until the glass doors close behind her and she’s no longer in sight.

Only then does he release a small breath and turn the key in the ignition. The car starts.

You've never seen a love so whole.

You’d finally made peace with it all, to speak to Soobin when he returned. His sister’s promise had held true; his mother hadn’t darkened your doorstep again. For once, the silence felt like safety.

Only one more day. Just one, and he’d be back.

The sharp chime of the door snapped through the quiet. You turned instinctively, forcing a smile onto your lips out of habit.

Standing there was a woman. “Good morning,” you greeted softly, stepping behind the counter, trying to keep your hands steady.

“You’re Y/N, right?” Your stomach flipped, hands instantly cold. What is it this time?

“Yes,” you answered carefully, guarded. “How can I help you?”

She took a step closer, “I’m Aera,” she said smoothly, not a trace of hesitation. “Soon to be Soobin’s fiancée.”

Your breath stuttered. The smile fell clean from your lips. “I’m sorry… what—”

“His mother told me about you.” The words barely registered before the woman dropped to her knees in front of you. The motion was so sudden, so desperate, your breath caught in your throat and your eyes went wide.

“Please…” her voice cracked as she folded her hands together, her head bowed low in a way that looked almost unnatural for someone like her; pristine, polished, composed. But here she was. Crumbling. “Please tell him to accept the proposal.”

Your chest constricted painfully. “No, no, stand up, you don’t have to,”

But she shook her head sharply, her shoulders trembling. Tears clung to her lashes, heavy and raw. “I’ll let you have everything you want. You can still be with him .I don’t care. I’ll just marry him in name. I’ll stay in a different room. A different house, even. I won’t touch him. Our family… we need his. Please, I’m begging you.” Her voice broke entirely on that last word.

Even she knew. Even she understood what his mother refused to admit; his heart was already in your hands.

You walk to the building, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of his home. You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

You run over the speeches you carved into your heart all day, I’m sorry, but we need to break up. I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. But the moment the door opens, it all disintegrates.

He stands there, and for a split second, it’s as if everything stills. His eyes meet yours, rimmed with exhaustion so deep it settles into the lines of his face. “I’ve been waiting for you, sweetheart.” His voice is soft. Almost fragile.

And before you can think, before you can remember the careful goodbye you rehearsed a thousand times, he reaches for you.His fingers curl around your arms, and he pulls you into him. Into the chest that has always felt like home.

The door clicks shut behind you.

“Soobin, I—” Your voice barely breaks through the air before it’s swallowed by the heat of him; his lips finding the curve of your neck, hot and hurried, like a man starved. His body crowds yours effortlessly, the breadth of him making you feel small. His hands, large, trembling with restraint digs firmly on your waist.

“I fucking missed your voice,” he breathes against your skin, “I fucking missed you… I couldn’t even sleep.”

Your throat tightens, a lump clawing higher and higher as your heart caves in on itself. Coward. That’s what it feels like. Your heart, shrinking, curling away from what you came here to say. Because how could you speak of endings when he’s here, clinging to you like this? When he holds you like you were his last hope?

“I need you, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers slide to your blouse, undoing the buttons one by one, slower than his breath, slower than the pounding of your pulse against your ribs. His knuckles brush against your skin, “Did you miss me?”

You open your mouth. The truth swells painfully, desperate to tear out. I did. I missed you more than you’ll ever know. But all you manage is a breathless, broken, “I—”

His hot mouth sucks your nipple. “…Yes.”

It’s all a blur — his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered your name. You don’t remember how the clothes came off, how the sheets tangled beneath your bodies. You only remember the weight of him, the heat of his skin, and the soft drag of his lips along your body that made your breath catch.

The sharp stretch, the slow push of him sinking into you. Tears spill before you even realize they’re falling. It isn’t the pain that makes you cry. It’s the ache in your chest, the way your heart splits in two at the sight of him — Soobin, tired and unraveling, still so gentle. You were too scared to say no. Not because you didn’t want him, but because you did. Too much. You craved to erase the exhaustion from his eyes, even if it was only for one night.

Maybe you were fooling yourself into thinking you were giving something to him, when really, you were trying to steal one last piece of him for yourself.

His brow furrows as he stills inside you, the concern written all over his face. His thumbs swipe at your damp cheeks, his lips brushing against your skin in soft, frantic kisses. “Did that hurt? What’s wrong?”

You force a breath through the tightness in your throat, eyes locking on his, “No,” you manage to choke out, your voice cracking. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, thumb brushing the soft curve of his under-eye, tracing the shadows you wish you could take away. You swallow the sob clawing at your chest, and say it. You have to say it. Even if it’s the last time.

“I— I just love you.” His lips part slightly at your confession. His breath stutters, and something raw flickers behind his gaze; wonder, disbelief. His whole body goes still as if those words rooted him to the earth. “I love you, Soobin.”

"I love you. I fucking love you."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then warm, featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, “You’ve been asleep so long, I’m starting to miss you.”

You exhale a soft huff, but there’s no real protest in it. Just the lazy stretch of your arm as you roll toward him, pressing your face into the curve of his neck where he smells like him. Your voice comes out muffled. “Let’s stay like this for five more minutes.”

A smile ghosts against your temple. His hand slides to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. “Okay,”

You finally peeled yourself from the bed, soft sheets still warm with sleep and the weight of him. He trailed after you, tall and shadowing your every move around the kitchen as the morning light spilled in. You couldn’t help it, your fingers found his constantly. On his wrist as he buttered toast, laced with his as you poured coffee, curled around his as you sat across from him at the table. And for the first time, you saw it clearly: the way Soobin’s cheeks flushed pink under the weight of your affection, his gaze flickering down, shy and boyish, every time you touched him like you couldn’t stop.

Now, he stands by the mirror, freshly showered, crisp shirt hugging broad shoulders, hair damp and curling just a little at the edges. You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him. He wanted you to stay here, in his penthouse. Wanted you here waiting when he came home.

You rise when you see him fumble with his tie, long fingers struggling with the knot. “Let me,” you say softly. Your fingertips brush against his as you take over, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath his skin. He watches you, head tilted down, eyes steady and soft, drinking in every precise movement as you fold and tug the silk into place.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs. He leans in, scattering kisses across your face — your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your lips — each one light and full of that unshakable, boyish smile of his.

You walk him to the elevator, bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. He steps inside, glances back at you, and lifts his hand in a wave; a grin stretching wide, something childlike and unguarded lighting up his whole face.

All while everything was breaking your heart.

You moved quietly through his home. The morning hush wrapped around you like something delicate and suffocating all at once. You folded his clothes with shaking hands, smoothing out every crease, tucking each piece into its rightful place as if order could somehow soften what you were about to break.

His watch. You found it lying carelessly on the counter where he always forgot it. You fixed it gently onto the shelf beside his cufflinks and rings, aligning everything just so, because you knew he liked it neat, even if he never said it out loud. It was small, but you wanted to leave it perfect for him.

The kitchen was next. Your movements felt numb now, mechanical. You prepared everything the way he loved it: coffee beans ground just right, the sugar jar filled, the creamer where it belonged. You wrote it all down on a small scrap of paper; the exact way you made it for him, step by step and pressed the note beside the kettle. Your handwriting blurred through your tears, but you forced yourself to keep writing.

By the time you found a clean sheet of paper and sat at the dining table, your whole body trembled with the weight of it. The pen felt too heavy in your hand. Your tears hit the page before your words did.

You slowly, wrote your goodbye.

"Nana, this is your new room, okay?" Your voice is soft, careful not to crack as you push the door open, guiding her slowly inside. "It’s a little different, but we’ll figure it out. I’ll make sure we’re alright."

You smile, or something close to it, when she nods faintly, her eyes drifting over the unfamiliar space. The pale walls, the narrow window, the worn bed frame. None of it felt like home yet, but it had to be. You’d make it be.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of the dresser as she turned to you. "Why did we move so suddenly?"

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. "Oh," you answered lightly, "because we had to."

Your chest tightened when her gaze lingered on you a beat longer, as if peeling back layers you didn’t want exposed. And then, almost absently, she asked, "How about your man?"

You froze. The air seemed thinner, sharper. You weren’t even sure she remembered him clearly — just a distant echo of the day Soobin had shown up with that gentle smile, introducing himself with careful politeness.

"I… I broke up with him," you whispered. She didn’t react at first. Just nodded quietly, turning to sit on the edge of her bed. Her small frame curved gently as she smoothed the blanket beneath her hands, her movements slow and methodical.

You took a step back toward the doorway, trying to breathe steady. Trying not to crumble in front of her. But then, just as she rose again to cross the room, her voice drifted back to you. "Love will not fail," she murmured. "If it fails… it’s not love."

It was as if you’d just torn your own heart out with your bare hands.

Love will not fail. If it fails, it’s not love.

It had been days since you moved.

And still, no matter how many boxes you unpacked, no matter how carefully you folded your grandmother’s cardigans into drawers or wiped down every surface, this place didn’t breathe like the home you left behind.

The sky hadn't lightened once since you arrived. It hung heavy and bruised from dawn to dusk, a slate-colored weight pressing down on everything. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw sunlight crack through.

And then, the rain came.

You noticed it first in the shift of the wind. A few drops scattered across the concrete, and then it broke open all at once. Panic seized you as your mind jumped to the laundry. The sheets you’d washed them early this morning and hung them in the front of your lawn, hoping they'd dry before nightfall.

You bolted outside, breath shallow, feet slipping slightly against the wet pavement. Cold droplets clung to your hair, running down the line of your neck, soaking through your shoulders. Your fingers fumbled over the clothesline as you yanked the white sheets down frantically, heart racing as you tried to save what little you had.

And then — Your body stilled. Your hands slackened on the fabric as your gaze caught on a figure standing just past the fence.

For a moment, the rain softened around you, every sound falling away except the ragged beat of your own heart breaking all over again.

Choi Soobin’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles pale under the dim wash of the dashboard lights. His eyes flicked from one worn street sign to the next, cataloguing every turn, every corner, like a man tracing the edges of an old wound. Every so often, he let the car slow to a crawl. Stared a little too long at places that meant nothing to him, but might have meant everything to you.

It’s the town, the one his investigator pointed him to. The small, quiet town where the woman who tore through his world had disappeared into without a trace but with every piece of him still in her hands.

He’d already gone over everything twice. No. Three times. He couldn’t remember anymore. His chest felt tight, like something was sitting on it and daring him to breathe around the weight. He wondered if he should start all over tomorrow. Sweep the streets again. Retrace the steps he didn’t even know you'd taken.

Without meaning to, Soobin’s hands turned the wheel, guiding him down a road he’d circled too many times to count. Muscle memory, maybe. He didn’t know why he kept coming back.

The first drops of rain tapped against the windshield, soft and uncertain, like the sky hadn’t made up its mind yet. He let out a breath and dragged a hand down his face. He glanced right, thinking to turn back, to call it for the night. But then he saw it.

A figure cutting through the field, darting between rows of white laundry sheets billowing in the wind like ghosts.

He didn’t think. His door was open before he could catch the impulse, the car engine still on behind him as he bolted forward. He didn’t even shut the door. His feet hit the wet grass hard, slipping a little, but he kept running. Fast. Desperate. Like if he blinked, even for a heartbeat, you might vanish.

The way you vanished from his life when he turned his back.

If he’d stayed that day. If he’d ignored the meeting, called in sick, shut the world out, would you still be here now?

He saw you stumble back. Your shoulders tensed, then you turned to escape. And just like that, the breath punched out of his lungs. His heart cracked against his ribs, like thunder rolling too close to the ground. Panic clawed at his throat. His feet wouldn’t move fast enough. So he did the only thing left.

He called your name. Louder than he meant to. He shouted it. Frantic. You didn’t move at first. Just stared at him across the field, rain threading through your hair, clinging to your skin. When you spoke, your voice was sharp.

“Why are you here?” You asked, each word flung like stones across the space between you. Your jaw clenched. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you anymore?”

Your voice cut clean but your hands betrayed you. They shook at your sides, fingers twitching like they weren’t sure whether to reach for him or push him away. The ache in your throat frayed the edge of every word. And Soobin saw it. He saw all of it.

Choi Soobin stares at you, the glisten in his eyes that you've come to know whispers his truth. He's now infront of you, eyes sweeping your face.

The storm isn’t just around him; it’s inside him, bleeding into the tremble of his hands as he reach and clutch your wrists, desperate. Rain seeps through his clothes, slides down his skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He just looks at you.

Because you're the only thing keeping him standing.

"Marry me." It’s his last attempt to keep you from walking away. “Marry me, and I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just don’t—” His throat closed up, and for a second, it sounded like he forgot how to breathe. “Don’t walk away again.”

“I said—”

“Don’t lie to me!” The words snapped harder than he wanted, frustration cracking wide open in his chest. His hands curled into fists at his sides, not in anger but in helplessness. “Don’t make me feel crazy. Don’t make me feel stupid. My sister told me everything, Y/N. I know. I know everything.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Your shoulders caved, the last of your defenses buckling under the weight of it all.

“I’m not fit for your world,” you choked, voice splintering as tears blurred your vision. Your hands fell limp at your sides, fingers tangled in the thin fabric of the laundry you’d long forgotten.

“I don’t have anything. I hardly even have myself,” you whispered, your face crumpling like it hurt to say the truth out loud. “And you — you deserve the world. You deserve more than someone who can’t even keep her life straight.”

Soobin’s chest hollowed at the sight of you crumbling in front of him. He didn’t care about the rain, or the mud soaking through his shoes, or the ache in his lungs. There was only one thing left he wanted to do. Fall to his knees if he had to. Beg, if that’s what it took. Beg for you. Beg for everything.

“I don’t want the world.” His eyes locked on yours, fierce and aching. “I never wanted any of that. Not once. I just… I just want you.”

His breath shuddered out, shaky, as if saying it hurt and healed him all at once. “I want to live with you. To grow old with you. To have your children. To wake up next to you for the rest of my life.” His words stumbled, his throat thick with the burn of unshed tears, but he didn’t stop.

Before you could slip farther away, Soobin reached for you, his arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you into his chest. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your damp hair with a gentleness that almost broke you on the spot. His heartbeat thundered against your cheek.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, voice cracking on the plea. “Please, baby. Not when I finally found you. Not when all I want… is to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He felt you shift in his hold, felt your hands press against his chest like you were about to push him away. His stomach dropped but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“I love you.” The words came out hoarse, frayed at the edges. Honest in a way that stripped him bare. He felt you still. The tension in your shoulders faltered. Slowly, slowly, you softened against him, all the walls you’d been gripping so tightly started to crumble in his arms.

You stopped pulling away this time.

“I love you,” he breathed again. His lips brushed against your temple, “I’ll fix everything for us. I swear it. You just have to trust me, baby. Please. Just trust me.”

He felt your arms loosen, the fight in them dissolving. Softening, giving your surrender — just as the rain itself began to ease, falling gentler, as though the sky had finally tired too. A breath punched out of his chest, relief so fierce it almost dropped him to his knees. His arms closed tighter around you, cradling you against him like he could tuck you safely inside his ribs, where nothing could ever reach you again.

When would he ever get a moment like this again?

A chance like this? To meet his soulmate. To meet the one person who could read the shadows behind his smile before he even noticed they were there. Who knew him better than he had ever dared to know himself.

What were the odds? If he hadn’t driven down that street that day. If he hadn’t wandered into your little flower shop with its peeling paint and sunlight pooling across wooden counters. If he hadn’t looked up and seen you and not known, right then, that he’d nearly lived his life without finding his missing half. And what were the chances you would’ve seen him?

He shuddered, blinking hard against the burn behind his eyes. His throat tightened as he breathed you in, the faint trace of wildflowers still clinging to your skin like memory. His heart clenched.

The odds of this… of you… out of all the people, all the cities, all the winding chances and missed timings, was one in a million.

taglist: ily @heesmiles , @lovingbeomgyudayone , @virtaideen , @hyukascampfire , @fancypeacepersona , @bamgeutori , @lilbrorufr , @beomieeeeeeeeeeees , @xylatox , @yunverie , @imlonelydontsendhelp , @moagyuu , @immelissaaa , @readinmidnight , @pagelets , @wonderstrucktae , @boba-beom , @seodami , @izzyy-stuff , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @page-isa , @tyunarisu , @s0urcherry , @prettypeachprincesz @zaynspidey @sxmmerberries @immelissaaa @definitelynotherr @fics-lovebot @missychief1404 @irishspringing @lovesickchoi @beomgyusluver @sumzysworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @soo-blue @younbeanz @storminacloud @bamgeutori @soobinieswife @prized-jules @soobmeongie @lostgirlysstuff @hoseocakes @fancypeacepersona @ke4s @lvlyhiyyih @aerangi @suneonu @ryuhannaworld @soheeunderthesun @luvleyylina @georgeweasleys-gf @marissariveraaaa

[silens-oro]

My Bitter Hands (pre-Well Enough Alone Companion Piece)

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk)

Animal Kingdom Masterlist Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist GirlDad!Pope Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Hawk has her first date Word Count: 3.1k Content Warning: typical animal kingdom warnings AN: I'm giving y'all a genuinely pre-WEA companion piece with this one 🤭 this was supposed to be posted earlier tonight, but I kept going back and doing edits. please comment & reblog :)

1992 “What the hell are you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing, Barry?” Hawk waved the spade in her hand around before digging back into the patch of weeds in one of Smurf's raised beds she had along the fence of the back yard.

“Looks like you’re playing in the dirt.” 

“Then your eyes do work. Worm?” Hawk offered, squinting up at him while holding the wriggling creature up between two of her gloved fingers as an offering. 

“I’ll pass.” Baz grimaced. “Julia around?” Hawk put the worm in a metal coffee can full of dirt with a couple dozen others she had found that afternoon and kept weeding and pruning the various plants that Smurf had around the backyard.

“She was sleeping the last time I saw her.” Hawk said with a shrug, yanking out what didn't belong. “Wasn’t feeling good when I came home.” Baz made a humming sound, but stayed put. 

“Pope usually does all of this,” He waved his arm around to the yard.

“Pope hasn’t been around lately and it needs to be done. I also like doing it.” Baz made a face she didn't see.

“Since when?” He questioned.

“Since before my mom kicked the bucket. I did have hobbies that didn’t include general crime before I moved in here, you know that right?”

“Worms were your hobby?” Hawk sighed, glaring at Baz. 

“Unless you need something, I’m clearly busy, Baz. Julia’s inside -go bug her.” She grinned to herself at the unintended pun. Baz squatted down next to her, but Hawk kept weeding and pulling out worms to add to the can. Baz glanced over to the open bedroom window a few feet over where he knew Pope was watching and listening from. This was recon, after all. 

“I heard you’re going out with Pete McKay tomorrow night.” Baz cut right to the chase. Pete McKay was a junior along with Hawk and Baz. He was tall, with dark hair and warm brown eyes that Hawk occasionally found herself entranced by when they had more in-depth conversations. Pete's smile was imperfect, with the tiniest of gaps between his two front teeth, and Hawk was bewitched by it. His smile was genuine and it was one of the first things she noticed about him.

Pete was smart, kind, and he played baseball (he'd be on the varsity team this year, she had been told during one of their lunch conversations) during the season. He wasn't really a jock, not by the school's standards anyway, but he enjoyed the sport and was looking to get some kind of college scholarship with it when the time came.

“And who’d you hear that from?” Hawk wasn't trying to play dumb, but she also didn't want to have this conversation with Baz.

“Who do you think?” Blabbermouth Julia, Hawk sighed. Julia was the only person she told, and of course she was going to tell Baz about it. Baz happened to know that Pope was going to spiral when he found out, because if there was one person he knew inside and out, it was Pope -and Pope was infatuated with Hawk. 

And Baz, ever the shit stirrer, had planted that seed with Pope to get him to do something before he lost his chance with Hawk to goddamn Pete McKay of all people. He just needed to hear Hawk talk about it to give him the push he needed. 

Pete was the first guy at school to openly show interest in Hawk, and the first guy to have the courage to ask her out. They shared two periods together -chemistry and pre-calculus, and Pete was Hawk’s personal chatterbox for both. Hawk and her chemistry partner sat in front of Pete and his partner’s bench, and Pete liked to yap with anyone and everyone -Hawk most of all when he could.

He had been outwardly friendly to her when they started the year and Hawk had considered Pete a friend, and she genuinely thought he was funny and easy to be around. He called her by her actual name and Hawk was surprised to learn how much she missed hearing it when all she heard day in and day out was the atrocious nickname Baz gave her -it was baggage. Being around Pete was freeing in a way compared to the group she usually hung out with outside of school, that much was certain. 

When Pete grew the courage to ask her out when they were hanging in the quad during their free period the day before, Hawk said yes. Why wouldn’t she? There was a lingering shadow in the back of her mind that told her there was a reason to say no, but Hawk chose to defiantly push that thought further back into the recesses of her mind. Andy, the ever present shadow in question, was never going to see her the way she saw him and as much as she’d like to wait for him, she also knew it was a one sided crush on her best friend’s twin brother who barely gave her the time of day to begin with. 

Hawk felt like a creep whenever she was in the vicinity of Andy. Andy, because he allowed only her to call him that. It sounded different, felt different, coming from Hawk. He liked it, and Baz teased him mercilessly about it when it was just the two of them. 

Pete had been surprised, shocked even, when Hawk said yes, but he took the victory with a goofy smile and told her he’d pick her up that Friday. 

It was halfway through her junior year of high school and Hawk felt like she was finally getting some sense of normalcy that she always chased -even if it was going to be through an awkward date with an equally as awkward boy. It felt like a right of passage. 

Pete was cute by anyone’s standards and he had a good head on his shoulders. He came from a normal family and didn’t look down on her for her own bleak situation. Pete also knew Hawk was heavily associated with the Cody’s -Pope and Julia had been expelled the previous school year and Pope’s departure was the biggest thing to happen at school that semester. Julia slowly faded off until she just didn’t show up anymore and the only people who seemed to notice her absence were Baz and Hawk. 

Hawk did not associate with Baz at school for more than a few words here and there in passing when she had to, so when she didn’t have Julia and Pope (by extension), she was pretty much a loner aside from a few people she knew but didn't really know. High school -which was already a miserable experience- was made even more desolate once Julia and Pope were gone. Hawk was friendly, likeable, but poisoned to everyone else because of them and just because they were gone, that didn’t mean their influence wasn’t still there. 

“If you already know, then why are you asking me?” Hawk, to her credit, did try to keep the attitude out of her tone.

“Just trying to figure out what you’re doing.” He said with a grunt as he stood back up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hawk followed his lead, tossing her gloves off. She dusted her knees off and glared up at the gangly teenage boy who always seemed to get on her nerves just a little bit easier than any other person in the house. 

“Come on, Hawk. Pete McKay? The guy’s-”

“Nice? Funny? Cute? Interested?” He scoffed. 

“Soft.”

“And? There’s nothing wrong with that, Baz.” Hawk crossed her arms over her chest.

“You really see yourself with Pete McKay, Hawk? Out of everyone?”

“Everyone? You mean the line of nonexistent guys who are lined up to take me on a date?” She blinked up at Baz.

“I’m just saying, don’t settle.”

“Christ, I’m not marrying the guy, Baz! I’m going on one date. One. And if it goes well, then two. Might get crazy with it and actually make him my boyfriend! Who knows?!” 

“Boyfriend? Are you that desperate?” The laugh that bubbles out with his question immediately ticked Hawk off. 

“Fuck you, Baz.” Hawk glared at him as she brought the pile of weeds over to the trash barrel. “Maybe I want to be wanted, is that a fucking crime? I can’t spend my days locked away in here in the hopes that something happens. At least Pete McKay had the balls to ask me out. God forbid I take an opportunity when it’s given to me.”

“Pete McKay isn’t an opportunity, Hawk. He’s beneath you.”

“Beneath me?” She scoffed, her voice raising. “What are you talking about? He's a goddamn baseball player for Christ's sake!”

“He’s an outsider!” Baz matched her volume. 

“We’re outsiders, Baz, in case you forgot! We are not family.”

“Yes we are, Hawk.”

“Listen, outsider or not I’m going out with Pete tomorrow night, alright? I don’t know what your weird hang up with this is, but I don’t fucking like it.”

“I heard yelling. Is everything alright?” Julia stepped outside from the kitchen, eyeing Hawk and Baz. Hawk stormed her way back to the house, passing Julia before she yelled over her shoulder:

“Keep your shitbag boyfriend out of my business, Julia!”

Hawk’s legs were stretched out in front of her as she sat on the curb outside of the gate that effectively blocked out the rest of the world from the Cody residence. She couldn’t go inside -she wouldn’t. Hawk couldn’t bare to see the smug look Baz would give her because he was right. She waited…and waited, then waited some more before she realized Pete really wasn’t coming. 

Hawk couldn’t understand it. Just earlier that morning Pete was talking to her in between classes about how excited he was to take her out to the Valley drive-in, asking her what she’d rather go see. 

“Dracula?” Pete asked, giving Hawk a double take.

“We can see something else, like Army of Darkness if that’s more your speed.” Hawk shrugged. “Unless…” She trailed off coyly. 

“Unless what?” Pete narrowed his eyes playfully at her, leaning closer

“You’re squeamish,” She whispered with a grin. Pete blew a raspberry at her.

“I’m not squeamish…most of the time.” Hawk laughed, holding her binder and chem book to her chest as they walked across the quad to the science building. “If it’s what you want to see, I’ll give it a shot.” He smoothly took the items out of Hawk’s hands and held them for her in one arm before putting his other arm over her shoulders.

“That is very brave of you.” Hawk giggled, leaning into him as they walked.

"You can always hold me if it gets too scary, so it's a win either way for me." Hawk full on laughed, pushing Pete playfully to the side.  

Pete was supposed to pick her up two hours ago and he never showed. Hawk cried after the first hour passed, when her chest began to really sink in acceptance. The makeup she and Julia had applied was smeared down her cheeks and she wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and never come out again. The gate started to open and headlights hit her as a car approached slowly before turning into the driveway. Andy’s 2 door Jeep Wrangler passed by her, but she looked in the opposite direction so he couldn’t see her face. 

“You alright?” Please just go inside, she begged mentally as Pope walked back down the driveway through the gate he left open. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I’m fine.” Hawk kept her head turned away from Andrew, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. 

“Crying usually means you aren’t fine.” Andrew sat himself down next to her, looking down at his hands and the new split that decorated his middle knuckle. He hid his hand as nonchalantly as he could, glancing at Hawk from time to time. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, alright?” Hawk’s tone was clipped, and any other time she would’ve been smitten that Andy was talking to her, but this was not the time. 

“Pope?” Julia’s voice called out, looking around for her brother. “You were supposed to be back three goddamn hours ago! I told you that Smurf said I could have the car tonight!” 

“Out here!” He called back to her. The sound of Julia’s flip flops echoed off the cement as she came down with a full attitude, ready to ream her twin out, but stopped short when she noticed he wasn't alone.  

“Jesus, Hawk!” She exclaimed when she saw Hawk sitting on the curb. Pope stood when Julia came rushing down to console her friend. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were with Pete?” 

“He never showed.” Was all Hawk said as she quickly stood up and walked past Julia to flee into the house with her head down in embarrassment. 

“What do you mean he never showed?” Julia followed behind her, looking back at Pope who shrugged as he followed, but Julia knew her twin and she recognized the troublesome glint in his eyes. He knew something and she was going to find out what. 

“Whoa, Hawk-” Hawk ran into Baz as she stormed through the front door. His hands came out to steady her, but she just pushed him away.

“Get fucked, Barry!” Hawk snapped, rushing past him. He looked at Julia and Pope, and Julia narrowed her eyes at him. She waited for the slam of Hawk’s door before she pointed a finger at Baz. 

“What the hell did you do?” Julia kept her voice low. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Baz was genuinely confused as to what was happening.

“You were questioning her about Pete yesterday and now he doesn’t show up for their date? I call bullshit. He wouldn’t have ditched her. The guy practically worships the ground she walks on.” Julia noticed Pope bristle at what she was saying. Her eyes narrowed further to slits. “What did you do?” Baz shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged sheepishly. Julia turned to her twin. “Andrew?” Pope looked at Baz then shrugged at Julia. 

“Maybe he just chickened out?” He offered, his fingers tapping on his thigh.  

“I swear to god if I find out you two had something to do with this, I’m murdering you both.” Julia growled before heading down the hall to do damage control. 

By the time Monday morning rolled around, dread had completely filled Hawk’s stomach. She wasn’t mad anymore, but she did want answers -she deserved them at the very least. Hawk searched high and low for Pete before the tardy bell, and with four minutes before it was set to ring, she found him at his locker with his back to her. The outdoor locker area was clearing out as students scurried to their respective classes, giving them a sense of privacy. 

“You know, if you didn’t want to go out you could’ve just said so, Pete.” Hawk confronted the taller teen. She saw his spine go rigid, but he didn’t turn to face her. “It was your idea anyway.” She scratched at her arm as her nerves settled in.

“I guess it was stupid to think you liked me, but I’m still a person and you hurt my goddamn feelings because I waited for you! I waited for you and I cried and I know it’s stupid because this whole thing is stupid, but you could’ve just said something instead of leaving me hanging. I thought you weren’t that kind of person, but I guess I was wrong.” Hawk sighed and nodded when he didn’t say anything. “I’ll uh...I'll see you around.” She said softly as she felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Hawk turned to head towards the girls bathroom when she heard Pete call her name. She turned and gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth when she saw the mottled bruises that covered Pete’s left eye. “Jesus Christ, Pete.” Hawk breathed out, taking a step towards him, but he held his hand out to stop her. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up on Friday night. I really am, but I was kindly reminded that I’ve clearly overstepped my bounds when it came to you.” 

“What are you talking about? Who did this to you?” Pete looked at her as if to say ‘really?’.

“It doesn’t matter.” He brushed her off.

“Yes, it does matter. If someone thinks they can put their hands on you-” 

“-I like you. I really, really do, but maybe staying friends is the best way to go about this. For both of our sake.” Hawk didn't think she could feel worse than she did on Friday night, and yet, the bar somehow sunk even lower.

“Where is he?” Hawk stormed her way through the house, room by room, on the hunt for Baz. He had ditched classes that day and when Hawk figured he wasn’t showing up at all, she ditched too. “Baz!” She called out without getting an answer. 

“They’re outside, baby. Is something the matter?” Smurf asked from the kitchen where she was making lunch. 

“Yeah, there’s gonna be one less kid in the house in about two minutes, Smurf.” Hawk heard laughing coming from outside and her eyes zeroed in on Baz, who was lounging on one of the pool chairs with Julia laying between his legs. Pope was sitting on the chair closest to Hawk and he noticed her first before Baz and Julia did. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Hawk shouted before launching herself at him. Pope jumped in the middle and intercepted Hawk before she had a chance to swing. 

“What the hell did you do?” Julia immediately sided with Hawk. She turned her head to look up at Baz, who was sputtering in response. 

“Settle down,” Pope spoke softly into Hawk’s ear as he bear-hugged her by picking her up an inch or so off the ground and dragging her a few feet away from Baz. 

“He beat the shit out of Pete McKay, that’s what he did! That’s why Pete didn’t show up on Friday! He didn’t ditch me, he just got his ass kicked!” Hawk shouted over Pope’s shoulder, pointing accusingly at Baz. 

“Are you serious?” Julia asked him. 

“I didn’t do shit to Pete!” Baz defended himself, pulling Julia back to him when she tried to get up. “But I did tell you he was soft.” 

“God, you are the fucking worst, Baz! The fucking worst!” Hawk tried to pull herself away from Pope, but he just squeezed his arms around her tighter. “If you didn’t do it, then who gave him the black eye he came to school with this morning? Did that just magically appear on his face? Did he imagine the whole thing? You’re the only other person besides Julia who knew he was taking me out!” Pope swung them around so he could face Baz and Julia, and Julia’s eyes zeroed in on Pope’s healing knuckles that were on display as he held Hawk. 

“Did he say that I did it?” Baz was glaring at Pope, Pope was silently begging Julia to not say anything, and Julia wanted to kill both of the boys for Hawk’s sake. More importantly, she was going to kill Pope because she told him Hawk was off limits. She just shook her head at her brother, her eyes glaring at him as she stood. Baz let her go once he saw how serious she looked. 

“He didn’t have to! He was more or less told to back off after he got punched and I want to know why!” Hawk continued to shout and fight against Pope. He grunted, but kept his feet firmly on the ground. 

“I’m the wrong person you should be asking, Hawk.” Baz said earnestly as he also stood up from the lounger to stand next to Julia, who had her arms crossed and a very pissed off look on her face.  

“Let go of me!” Hawk pushed Andy away, her hands feeling like they were shocked when they touched his bare, sun kissed torso. He finally relented when he felt her go slack against him. Hawk’s chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath. “I don’t know if you sick fucks get some kind of enjoyment out of seeing me miserable, but I’m tired of it! This can’t keep happening.” 

“Babe, I don’t think that’s what’s going on here,” Julia approached her with a grimace. Both Julia and Baz were looking directly at Pope, who was now standing behind Hawk. He looked between them anxiously and when Hawk turned to also look at him, he silently went over to the slider to his bedroom and locked himself inside. 

“Am I missing something here?” Julia closed her eyes and sighed while Baz dragged his hands down his face at Hawk’s question.  

the parallelllllllllllls the parallelllllllllls

pope stays not letting hawk beat baz's ass (granted, Baz did not deserve it this time around) 😂

[outtathisworld-imagines]

Fine line

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Warning: As much angst as there is fluff, mentions of needles/ medical environment, depression. Not proofread

A.N: Still very much holding sweet Bob in my heart 🥹🫶🏻 I feel like ‘Fine Line’ -which I recommend listening to while reading- was such a fitting song for this concept of Bob and the reader.

Lyrics are in bold italic!

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Put a price on emotion

I'm looking for something to buy

Bob mindlessly wandered the streets, smiling to himself seeing the brightly coloured souvenirs, the bustling streets and the noise that came with it. It’s the first time he can remember smiling in weeks.

Leaving home, trying to find himself and survive through his own bitter struggles, was a challenge to say the least.

That challenge was suddenly accepted by a smartly dressed man who handed him a business card telling him it would change his life. Bob had nothing left to lose, so believed him.

He sat in a cold, harsh, clinical room with others. He looked up, directly across to bouncing knees and a worried expression. He moved and sat beside the person riddled with as many nerves as he was.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I don’t really know.” You replied. “I don’t usually get myself into things like this. I don’t really even know what I’ve signed up for!” You let a nervous laugh escape your lips.

“That’s alright, I’m in the same boat as you.” He admitted. “I’m Bob.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

You shook hands and then the group was called into a room full of perfectly symmetrical beds and a vial of neon yellow liquid. You stayed next to Bob, even asking if you could hold his hand because you couldn’t bear the sight of the needle being brought to your arm. He sent you a soft smile, reaching across for your free hand and letting you tightly squeeze it as hard as you needed too.

Then for the two of you, everything went dark.

You've got my devotion

But man, I can hate you sometimes

Bob woke up in a bright room, his head throbbing and his limbs aching. He didn’t know how long he was out for this time and hated himself for it. Every time he was injected he would blackout, unaware of what was happening to him and his world.

He hated that, almost the same as he hated himself most days.

He did have one constant. Someone who made the days bearable. Someone who made the hate towards himself disappear whenever he saw the smile on your face.

A smile solely for him.

He helped you through the torment of being injected with the neon yellow liquid.

You helped him laugh again.

The two of you formed a close bond within the confines of the lab masked as a hospital ward, especially as the number of people dwindled down. You assumed the worst. You were told they withdrew. But you still had Bob.

“It was always my goal in life to have as much confidence as the ‘Florida man’ you see on the articles.” You told him one night, late after dinner when it was just the two of you in the soulless shared space they had made for you all to ‘relax’. You brought his long forgotten State into the conversation.

He laughed so much he cried, you could singlehandedly bring soul to that soulless room. He let out a relaxed sigh and let his hand fall to the void between your leg and his own, he looked down and saw his pinky involuntary stroke your thigh. You felt it before you saw it, subtly moving your own and intertwining your pinky with his.

In that very moment, Bob felt every painful thing he held inside of him disappear.

I don't want to fight you

And I don't wanna sleep in the dirt

As the weeks went on, the less people there were. There became a point where you and Bob just reached out for one another instead of asking or offering when they rolled around with the neon yellow serum. Despite the fact you got it daily, you still weren’t used to the poking and prodding of the needle. “Do you actually know what this is really for.” You asked one of the nurses who took your arm.

They remained silent and you turned your head to Bob “They can’t tell us, Bob.” You said with a mischievous smile. “They must be making us into superhero’s or somethi- AH!” With a wince you gripped onto his hand tighter feeling the sharp pinch in your arm before the world went dark.

“You okay?” A voice in the darkness. It was Bob. You were lying on his lap as you came to. You tried to move but he held you down, insisting you rested. You complied and looked over to the empty room, the soulless space that now only held two hearts.

“Where is everyone?” You asked.

“Gone,” replied Bob. “Just me and you.” He took your hand, squeezing it hard like you had done on the first day. “Please don’t go.” He begged in a pleading tone.

You squeezed his hand back “I’ll always be here for you.”

We'll get the drinks in

So I'll get to thinking of her

Your body became weaker by the day, Bob could tell. However, he felt much the same. It was tedious and exhausting being a human Guinea pig and most days you were the only thing that kept his strength up.

A call in another room, unbeknownst to the both of you, would be a catalyst for something the world was never going to be ready for.

“Two remain.” A stoic, monotonous voice droned to the person at the end of the other line. “Both doing well. Both showing good signs of responding to the serum. Both very close to one another.”

A pause.

“I wonder what would happen if we separated them?”

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

“Congratulations.” One of the nurses approached you both one late afternoon as you and Bob were chatting. “You have both successfully completed your testing.”

You and Bob shared a brief, puzzled glance. “I don’t know if I feel any different?” You said your thought aloud.

“Me too,” Bob chimed in. “How can you tell?”

The nurse avoided the question “There is a meal being prepared for you both, it will give you all the vitamins and nutrients you’ll need to sustain you. The day after tomorrow is when you’ll be able to leave, after some further testing of course.”

You both looked at each other with a smile and shared a hug, Bob would have done a lot more of the nurse wasn’t standing in front of you.

“You did it!” You squeaked, hugging him again “I knew you would. I’m so proud of you, Bob.” Your lips were by his ear which meant you didn’t see the tear of joy slip down his cheek at your words.

That someone in the world was proud of him.

And that you kept your own- you were still there for him.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

“If I didn’t knew any better, this would be a date. But with hospital scrubs…” Bob joked from across the candlelit table as you were served dinner, tugging on the attire.

You raised an eyebrow “Are you suggesting we wear less clothes…?” You playfully retorted, causing him to choke on his water.

Bob nervously laughed “Sadly I think there’s too many cameras for that.” You both shared a giggle.

“Maybe if there was a lot less eyes on us, huh,” you spoke under your breath but he could hear you clearly. Tension suddenly flooded the room, as if the truth was sitting at the invisible chair at the table.

“Maybe, once we get out of here,” Bob nervously toyed with his napkin “Just maybe we could…”

“Take on the world?” You said with a smile, you could tell he was nervously searching for the right words. You reached across and held his hand, just as he had held yours throughout the god knows how long you had both been there. “Just maybe I think we could. And maybe with less hospital scrubs.”

After dinner you both walked back to your rooms, your routine tomorrow would be a different one. Neither of you knowing if it would be good or bad, but knowing you’d still have each other which was enough to face whatever they would throw at you.

“Well…” Bob stopped at your room door. “Goodnight Y/N.” He stayed there for a moment, his lingering made you smile. Then he leaned forward and quickly pecked you on the cheek.

He wondered if he had crossed the fine line that he mentally drew. That you weren’t ready to cross it into something more. Something more with him. Nerves bubbled in his stomach until you spoke up.

“You missed.” Quietly and with conviction. Bob raised a brow in silent question. “I said…” you leaned forward, capturing his lips with your own. “You missed.”

Pulling back, you saw his grin spreading across his whole face.

“Goodnight, Bob. See you in the morning.” You disappeared into your room.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

Bob sat on the bed as someone took his blood pressure and someone took notes. “Uh, is Y/N going to be here anytime soon?” He said looking to the tray of medical instruments, one of them being a needle and a vial to draw blood. “Only because she really hates needles and needs me to hold her hand.”

The two in the room shared a glance. The one with the board placing it down and looking at him empathetically, not quite sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, Mr Reynolds.” They began and Bobs stomach dropped, lorn seeping into his veins. “Miss Y/L/N unfortunately don’t make it through this process. She became very unwell and-“

“No…” Bob choked out, barely above a whisper.

“She didn’t-“

“No!” Bob began to break down, his now bright heart- thanks to you shining on it- suddenly became dark.

“We tried-“

“NO!”

With a scream his world collapsed into nothing but darkness. The light of his life was gone and his whole world plunged into nothing but a void.

Test of my patience

There's things that we'll never know

Bob didn’t know how much time had passed.

How much time he lost.

He didn’t know what on Earth was happening in the world, or when it came to him.

He didn’t want to know.

As far as he was concerned, the only thing that was worth living for in this world was gone.

He let them test away, always looking over for a hand to hold.

One that wasn’t there anymore.

One day he was given a clear serum. His eyes closed over and he saw nothing but darkness. That was until he fell from a box into a room full of fighting people. They stood looking at him in hospital scrubs, his foggy memory didn’t help anyone either.

That was until the sun shone on him once again.

“B-Bob…?”

That voice.

He wondered if he had died and that’s why he was hearing it. “Is that really you?”

There you were. Standing in hospital scrubs with glossy eyes.

“Y/N? B-but how?!” He ran over to you, scooping you up in his arms.

“I don’t think we have time for a reunion!” A man with a shield chided the pair of you as he and two others frantically searched for an exit. You saw a body on the floor and knew better than to question it.

“They told me you didn’t make it.” You gripped onto him tightly, still not believing that he was in front of you. Bob pulled back, hazily remembering they had told him the same.

“Let’s just get out of here. We can chit chat later!” A girl with blonde hair ushered you both hurriedly before the room was set alight. All of you narrowly escaping.

Bobs hand remained holding yours.

When you all made it out and to the van, they pushed you and Bob in the back. He gripped your wrists with tears welling in his eyes at the sight of you again. But with the trouble you had all suddenly had found themselves in, he knew he had to keep you safe one more time.

And that meant letting your hand go.

You sunshine, you temptress

My hand's at risk, I fold

Your lungs burned from how loud you screamed, begging him not to go. Not wanting to lose him for a second time, not when you had just gotten him back.

He selflessly risked it all for you and the group of three mysterious people he had just met.

The one you came to know as Ava, held you in her arms as you all drove away.

Your eyes spilling so many tears, you didn’t see Bobs potential. What had happened to him from that neon yellow serum.

You weren’t around to hear Valentina ask what you both could do. What her band of nurses and doctors unlocked within you both.

“Night and day.” She was told. “He is the night and she is the day.”

Crisp trepidation

I'll try to shake this soon

When you reached the Watchtower, seeing Valentina, she sent you a smile that made you ill. Like she knew more about you than you did yourself.

You felt since briefly reuniting and then losing Bob again, being bound by another person called Bucky, which you later realised was the Winter Soldier, and now with a group of newfound allies surrounding the woman responsible for your unknown length of torment- was something almost as emotionally nerving as you being tested on. “You my dear, are just so special.” She said pointing to you. “Just as special as Robert…” she motioned to the stairs and your jaw dropped and your eyes widened at the very different (and suddenly blonde) Bob.

A far cry of who you knew.

“I made you both special.” She proudly admitted. “Meet Sentry. He’s going to ensure the security of this world. All powerful. Just like you.”

You felt the eyes of the team surrounding you suddenly lock on to your figure. “What are you talking about?” You asked.

She chuckled “You don’t remember? You burned brighter than the sun at one point.” You blinked, blithely unaware of her claims.

“Enough of this,” Bucky muttered and in a blink of an eye, Bob protected Valentina. You felt your body float before crashing against the wall, you couldn’t find the strength to pick yourself up again and fell to the floor, dipping in and out of consciousness. Rubble falling in front of you and trapping you there.

It was only when they were in the elevator after being tossed, punched and beaten, did Yelena yelp out.

“Where’s Y/N?!”

Spreading you open

Is the only way of knowing you

“Bob, stop,” you summoned enough strength to quietly beg from your trapped corner as he had Valentina against the wall.

That was until a woman walked in and pressed a button, making him fall to the floor with a sudden thud.

“No,” you sobbed. “Please not again.” The sunlight quickly dried your tears into your cheeks. Your fingertips tingling with an unknown feeling before you blinked and saw a shadow of what was once your hand-holder lying lifeless on the floor.

Your eyes opened and closed frantically, you saw sparks flash with each blink.

That was before you saw Bob again. In what looked like a well-lived in bedroom. “Is this real?” You asked, now able to walk and looking down at your suddenly unscathed body.

“Yes. No? I don’t really know.” He admitted. “But I’d like it of you held my hand.” You sat down next to him and did just that.

“Did you die…?” You asked with a trembling voice and a tear slipping from your eye.

Bob pursed his lips “After I was told you were gone back in the lab, I became a shadow of myself. I became a void.” He told you. “It’s always been there. I got even more alone after you were ripped from me and it took advantage of that.”

“Valentina was right,” you quietly spoke and your head hung in shame. “I remember. When I was told about you, I burst. Like a supernova. I let out so much light it burned everyone and everything that surrounded me.”

Bob let out a dry, humourless grunt under his breath, one that made your features quip.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

“We are much the opposite.” He said.

“The star the night sky, I guess you could say.” You solidified his choice of words.

His hand squeezed around yours.

That’s when it clicked for you.

“You have to let go of my hand.” You told him. As much as you didn’t want to. But you knew what you needed to do.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let you go”. He pleaded with you, holding onto you tighter.

You sent him a smile in order to reassure his worry. For a moment it eased him.

“Okay.” You said and leaned forward, taking you both by surprise when you kissed him. Bob melted against your lips with a smile.

He didn’t feel your hand slip from his.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

You opened your eyes, clutching your chest and gasping at the burning feeling brewing inside your body.

Glancing up from your corner, now enveloped in darkness, you saw a figure with glowing eyes hovering above the city.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

You felt a newfound strength, your body suddenly glowing and floating above the floor.

It was time to show the world, and the void that had his clutches on Bob, just how bright you could shine.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

You floated through the air and firmly remained in your spot seeing the darkness that consumed him.

“You got out.” It sounded confused.

“I just had to hold your hand.” You confessed.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

It tried to push you away, mustering as much power as it could to dim your brightness.

But it couldn’t

You reached your hand out and burned brighter than the sun and the stars in the sky.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

“You won’t take him from me again.” You yelled, burning brighter and gripped onto its hand tightly before wrapping it up in your arms. “We are going to take on the world.” You said.

“What makes you so sure?” The darkness tried to fight you.

But you outshone it.

“Because I said I’ll always be there for him.”

We'll be alright

Your eyes opened, the blue sky almost blinding you.

You felt a weight in your hand and turned your head.

Bob was lying there. Your Bob. Looking at you with his hand in yours.

“Thanks for holding my hand.”

You let out a broken laugh at his words and rolled over, pressing a kiss to his mouth as the world filled with light and the shadows were casted away.

We'll be alright

Since that day, the two of you were inseparable.

The team helped you both control your powers and embraced you both with open arms.

And most importantly, you always had a hand to hold and Bob always had someone there for him.

We'll be a fine line

We'll be a fine line

It was when he was holding your hand that he finally asked you to be his girlfriend.

The moment you said yes, you could hear the team cheer for you both.

We'll be alright (alright, alright, alright)

He held your hand through your sleepless nights.

He held your hand each time you shone like he had his own personal sun.

He held your hand when he made love to you.

He held your hand when you were scared.

He held your hand when you laughed.

He held your hand when you cried.

We'll be alright

Bob loved having your head resting on his lap, almost as much as he loved holding your hand. He gently caressed your cheek, trying to calm his nerves. It was his idea to have a picnic one summer afternoon. You enjoyed the warmth of the sun on your skin, and the smell of the wildflowers that surrounded you both, and the sound of the birds in the sky.

“Are you okay?” You asked, worry laced in your voice, noticing he wasn’t being himself.

“We’ve been together for a while now, huh?” He softly smiled and you needed in agreement, sitting up and crossing your legs.

“We have, we’ve certainly taken on the world- just like we said we would.”

“And then some.” Bob added, twiddling his fingers.

“Hand in hand,” you took his fidgeting fingers in your own.

That was before he pulled back, reaching into his pocket for something he had kept well hidden for months and propping himself up on one knee.

We'll be alright

“Will you take my hand again, but this time in marriage?”

[krirebr]

Lips Like Sugar 2

Pairing: sugar baby Ransom x late 40s female reader

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Finally cut off by his mother and grandfather, Ransom has to find a new way to access the lifestyle he's accustomed to. He figures it won't be too hard to find some rich old lady willing to bankroll him in exchange for sex. You aren't exactly what he expected.

Warnings: sugar baby au, sex work, d/s relationship, power imbalance, explicit language—All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: I'm having too much fun with this one! Where did all the angst go????????

Huge thanks to @bigtreefest for talking through so much of this with me. Thanks for being so fun to riff with, Essie!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Ransom checked his hair in the mirror for the fifth time, rolling his eyes at himself. It was fine, he looked hot. Why was he so nervous? Probably because he was down to thirty-three days before he had to be moved into somewhere new. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this kind of pressure before. 

He was going to be meeting you for the first time in—he checked his watch—twenty-six minutes. You had asked him if he’d like to meet for dinner two days ago. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. You’d sent him a message that said, “Let me take you to dinner,” and when he’d said he’d like that, you followed up with, “Great. My assistant will be in touch with the details.”  There wasn’t really much asking involved.

And that seemed to be par for the course with you. When you wanted to stop communicating through the app, you’d said, “We should take this conversation to texts.” When you wanted to know something, you’d say, “Tell me about…” And when you wanted to see more of him, you said, “I bet you have such a pretty cock, send me a picture.” Thank god, he’d already had a bunch of dick pics locked and loaded.

It was uncommon for him to feel like he was on his back foot so much. He rationalized that it was because all of the communicating so far had been over texts. It would be better in person. He would be better. More in control. More in his element.

He looked in the mirror a sixth time. He looked fucking good. He was wearing a crisp, long-sleeve button-down in a dusty shade of blue that matched his eyes. He had it unbuttoned lower than necessary, but not so much that it’d be too slutty for an upscale restaurant. He paired it with his tightest gray slacks and finished the look with his Italian loafers. Fuck, yeah, he looked good. He looked expensive.

He drove himself to the restaurant your assistant had made a reservation at and handed the keys over to the valet. Maybe he should be saving the little money he had right now, but if everything went to plan tonight, he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. It was a show of confidence, he thought, as he handed the folded bills over to the kid parking his car. 

Just as he made his way inside and gave his name to the hostess, his phone buzzed with another text from your personal assistant, Julia.

Hi, Ransom. Her last meeting of the day went long, so she’s going to be a little late for dinner. She wanted me to tell you to go ahead and order whatever appetizers and drinks you want. She should only be about fifteen minutes.”

Damn it, the one time he tried to be ontime, he was left waiting. This was why he was always late. But no, tonight he’d wanted to make a good impression. And of course, it bit him in the ass. So, fuck yeah, he’d order whatever he wanted.

The hostess led him to a lone table in a private room. That’s what he was fucking talking about. This was the treatment he deserved. Private dining, special menus, special treatment. He couldn’t wait to get used to this.

But first, he needed to close the deal. He needed to convince you that you needed him, that he was worth taking care of. He’d never had a job interview before, but if there was one thing he could do, it was turn up the charm. He was gonna flirt like his life depended on it. Because it did.

So he ordered a Macallan and the carpaccio and decided to use this extra time to strategize.

Later, Ransom would deny it, but he felt the air still when you finally walked into the room twenty minutes later. It was clear you’d come straight from the office, your belted shirtdress reeking professionalism. But it was also obviously designer and had been tailored to fit your curves perfectly. And there was an elegance too that wasn’t out of place here. Combined with the obviously high-quality jewelry you wore, it was clear you belonged in rooms like this. He could see it immediately, you were dripping not just money but sophistication. 

He’d only seen you in bits and pieces in your profile. Carefully cropped photos, so as not to give away the whole of you. He’d assumed that meant you’d been hiding something. He hadn’t put much thought to what, only focused on the dollar signs. Figuring he could make anything work as long as it came with enough money. But now, seeing you, all of you, in person, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why you would want to hide any of it. His worries of how much he’d need to rely on little blue pills completely disappeared.

You strode toward him quickly, and he stood up to greet you. “Ransom,” you said, your voice warm. “It’s so lovely to see you in person.” You gave him a brief embrace accompanied by a soft peck to his cheek. He felt your touch linger even after you’d sat down in your seat. 

He sat down as well. “It’s lovely to see you, too,” he said, his voice pitched low in the way that so many women he’d been with liked. “You’re even more beautiful than I was expecting.” He let his eyes rove over you for a moment, a predator’s smile on his face. It was a move that had worked for him countless times.

So he was surprised when your response was to snort derisively. “Ah, I see I’m in for the hard sell tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen,” you leaned forward, “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t already mostly made up my mind. But it’s been a long day, and I’d rather not talk business on an empty stomach, alright?”

Ransom felt his jaw tick, but he tried to school his expression, not let you see how much that irritated him. “And what are we supposed to do instead?” He may not have been completely successful.

You gave a careless shrug. “Try talking to each other like real people?”

Ransom opened his mouth to respond when the waitress approached the table, carrying a bottle of wine. “Welcome back,” she said to you as she poured you both a glass. 

“Jen,” you said, smiling broadly, “how are you?”

“I’m doing well. I was happy to hear you and your guest would be joining us tonight. The chef has prepared a tasting menu for you. I’ll be out with the first course shortly.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you. And pass my thanks on to Antonio as well.” 

Jen nodded and smiled in response, then left the bottle on the table and exited the small room.

When you turned back to Ransom, he raised an eyebrow. “They know me here,” you said casually.

Yeah, clearly. His thoughts couldn’t help but flit to his mother. How she would kill for this type of treatment. To have her wine brought out to her without ordering. A special menu created just for her. To be on a first-name basis with a five-star chef. He might not be so eager to never see her again if it gave him the chance to tell her about this. To rub her face in it.

His thoughts returned to you when he felt your gaze on him, an expectant look in your eye. You were obviously waiting for him to do something. Shit. What had you said before the waitress came in? That you wanted to talk to each other like real people. Fuck, did he even know how to do that? He cleared his throat, searching for something, and finally asked, “What made your day so long?”

A satisfied smirk passed over your face before transforming into a genuine smile. “Thank you for asking.” You sighed, and he saw it, just for a split second before it was gone again. You were exhausted. “I have many board members with many opinions. Some more informed than others, but I have to listen to them all. Those days can be draining.”

“What kind of company is it?” he asked. You’d been fairly cagey with personal information over texts. He wondered if you might be more forthcoming in person.

“Medical technology,” you said, somewhat dismissively. “Primarily portable scanners for things like MRIs. I won’t bore you with the details.” 

Ransom hoped you couldn’t see the dollar signs in his eyes at that. Shit, proprietary tech? You must be loaded. No wonder this restaurant was bending over backwards for you. He would, too, if this night went to plan.

As he was trying to formulate a follow-up question, you switched gears. “What about you? What do you do with your days?”

For one terrifying moment, Ransom’s brain went completely blank. What did he do with his days? Absolutely nothing, if he could help it. He went shopping, he went drinking, he went sunbathing, he read, he watched TV, and he went to the gym. It all added up to a big fat zero and that was the goal; that was why he was doing this now. But that wasn’t what you wanted to hear, was it? No, you wanted him to say that he was putting himself through law school, or caring for a sick parent, or that he wanted to quit the three jobs he hated. There was no way to explain how he’d been able to do absolutely nothing up until this point and why he wasn’t able to continue that way now without getting into who his family was or what they’d done to him. No, thank you. You didn’t need to know any of that.

As a stalling technique, he swirled his wine glass and then took a sip. A little hum escaped him at the taste. Your lips curled up into a smirk. “You like it?” you asked. “Jen brought us one of my favorite bottles. They always have it on hand for me here.”

“It’s excellent,” he said with a nod, which earned him a pleased look from you that he felt in his chest.

Jen chose that moment to come back in, bearing the first course. By the time she’d finished telling you both what was being served, your question to Ransom had been thankfully forgotten.

You took one last bite of your entree, then set your silverware down on your plate decisively. You looked Ransom in the eye. Having your full attention on him was almost disconcerting. “Alright,” you said. “I’d very much like to enter into an arrangement with you. High level, I’ll support you in exchange for you being available to me. What are your initial thoughts on that?”

Fuck. Yes. Finally. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I’d like that,” he said, trying to keep his tone even so as not to betray his eagerness.

You smiled like you'd won something. “Excellent. That makes me very happy. Now, what I'm offering: I'll cover all of your living expenses. Rent, utilities, bills–”

He cleared his throat, and you paused, giving him a questioning look. “I need to be out of my current place soon. Very soon. I’ll need a new place to live.”

You took out your phone and immediately started typing. “That’s right, you mentioned that on your profile. I’ll set up a few showings for us in the coming weeks. When do you need to be out of your current place?”

“Thirty-three days,” he said, too quickly.

There was a hint of something in your eyes, recognition, maybe, or– Ransom didn’t know, but whatever it was sat uncomfortably in his chest.

But after looking at him like that for too long, even if it was just a nanosecond, you nodded and made a note in your phone. “I’ll tell my real estate agent to prioritize listings that are available immediately. But, if it takes some time to find one we like or it isn’t available right away, I want you to know that I’ll get you somewhere to stay in the meantime.” You reached over and gently laid your hand over his. “I don't want you to worry about that.”

He swallowed, trying not to show his relief, and nodded.

You waited a beat and then said, “Say ‘thank you,’ Ransom.”

These fucking women. “Thank you,” he gritted out, realizing much too late that he hadn't managed to suppress his accompanying eyeroll. 

Luckily, you just chuckled in response. “Oh, I’m gonna have to teach you some manners, aren’t I?”

“Yeah?” he asked, starting to get a read on you. “Is that what you think I need?”

You leaned forward, your voice dropping an octave. “I think you’re begging for someone to put you in your place.”

He matched your posture. “I don’t beg.”

A smirk bloomed on your face. “But you’ll do it for me, won’t you? I’ll teach you how to beg so pretty.”

Ransom cleared his throat as heat engulfed his whole body. That picture of your legs in leather boots that went up to your thighs flashed in his mind. “So that’s your thing? Control?”

You leaned back in your chair. “That’s one of my things,” you said evenly. “But it’s one of yours, too, isn’t it? You marked an interest in submission on your kink list.”

Oh. Well, he must have, amongst all the others he hadn’t really read. And it’d done the trick. He was here, so close to his end goal. He couldn’t back out now. “Yeah.”

You nodded once, seemingly pleased. “And have you been in a relationship like that before?”

“I have,” he lied, adding his own smirk. He was so fucking close.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him. You were silent for too long. Then, “I’m going to have a lot of rules for you. We’ll go over them later, but the first one is that you don’t lie to me. Not ever.”

“What–”

“Have you been in a relationship like that before?” Your voice was firm this time, demanding. It almost made him want to–

He swallowed, but didn’t let himself look down. “No,” he said, “I guess I haven’t.”

Your posture relaxed some, but you didn’t let go of his gaze. “Thank you, Ransom, for telling me the truth.” There was a beat of silence that he wondered how to fill, but then you spoke again. “Good boy.”

Suddenly, Ransom could hear his heart beating in his ears. He swallowed dryly. Your expression had turned smug.  The irritation that caused in him helped him to shake himself out of whatever had just happened. “Rules, huh?” he asked, trying desperately to regain his defiant air.

The smirk from earlier returned, got wider. It reminded him of that other picture from your profile. The one he’d looked at too many times. It was even better when he could see your whole face. “Yeah, rules. What I want you to wear, where I want you to be, how I want you to speak to me,” you paused, making sure you had his full attention, something sparkling in your eyes, “when and how you’re allowed to cum.”

Heat flooded his face, he wasn’t able to stop it. He felt it travel to the tips of his ears. And by the way the sparkle in your eyes got even more intense, he knew it was visible to you.

You leaned forward again, your voice a little rough, “I was fucking hoping you’d blush pretty for me. Even better than I imagined.”

He didn’t have a response for that, so he looked away for a moment, to the corner of the room. Your gaze was too intense to hold. He cleared his throat again, then looked back at you. “Well,” he said, slow but determined, “for all that I’m going to need a monthly allowance. In addition to everything else.”

You nodded. “I’m prepared to offer $3,000.”

He leaned back in his chair. He had something you wanted. He could see it now. He’d press this advantage. “Seven.”

One corner of your mouth twitched and your eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly. Or it would have been if he hadn’t been watching you so closely. “Greedy boy.”

He shrugged casually. “You wouldn’t respect me if I just blindly accepted your first offer, would you?”

The twitch in your lips turned into a small grin. “Five thousand,” you said, ignoring his question. “Final offer. For now.”

He sat up straight. “For now?”

You nodded. “For now. If we need to look at these things again in a few months, once we’re settled, then we can. Adjust if we need to.”

“Alright. I can accept that.”

“Excellent,” you said, making a few more notes in your phone. “I’ll have the financial elements drawn up and sent over for you to review and sign tomorrow.” With that, you put your phone away, and smiled at him, genuinely. He couldn’t help but smile back.

The shortest moment later, Jen was back with dessert—a chocolate torte dusted with gold, a collection of red berries artfully pressed into its center. She placed it between you and you immediately dismissed her with a sincere, “Thank you, Jen,” without ever moving your gaze from Ransom.

When she was gone, Ransom picked up his dessert fork to have a taste, but you stilled his hand with a quiet, “No,” and picked up your own fork. He struggled to repress his eye roll at whatever power play this was. But you surprised him when, after effortlessly sliding your fork through the cake to collect a small bite, instead of taking it for yourself, you held it over the center of the table. For him.

He reached out to take the fork from you when you admonished him again. “No, Ransom.” He looked at you questioningly, but you just stared back, unblinking, challenging. Finally, he leaned forward and opened his mouth to accept the bite. His eyes slipped shut as he closed his lips around your fork and you slowly pulled it back. As he savored the bittersweet chocolate, he felt the tips of his ears go red again. His eyes snapped back open when he heard you breathe out, “So fucking pretty.”   

You gaze was on him, drilling into him and he couldn’t look away. At least until the screen on your designer smart watch flashed. You quickly pressed a button to dismiss the alert, but then it happened again. And again. You sighed as you actually looked at the messages coming in.

“Shit,” you muttered, then gave him an apologetic smile. “I need to go take care of this.” You sighed again, heavily. “I’m sorry to cut our evening short, but please stay as long as you’d like and enjoy the dessert. Everything’s been taken care of. Julia will reach out with the details of the apartment showings.”

 He stood up as you did, still a little dazed from you fucking feeding him that cake. You took the few short steps to join him on his side of the table. You wordlessly placed your hand on his cheek and brushed your thumb over his bottom lip. Then you grasped the back of his neck with your other hand and pulled him into a kiss. 

It was– It was fucking dirty. Wet and hot and demanding. He kept trying to gain control of it, but you wouldn’t let him. You wouldn’t give up anything. It was the closest he’d ever felt to being consumed.

Too soon, you pulled away, leaving him a little breathless. Your hand was still on his cheek. “I will see you so soon,” you said, softly. Then you pulled away, and left. You were already on the phone demanding details by the time you’d made it to the door.

Ransom just stood there for a moment, trying to let his mind catch up. Then he let out a breath. He’d done it. He’d gotten everything he wanted. He sat back down in his chair and picked up his fork. This cake seemed like the perfect way to celebrate.

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[lightsoutmatthews]

please an auston matthews with the “because i know you” prompt!

"Because I know you." - Auston Matthews

summary: a collection of things he does just shows how well Auston knows you.

pairing: Auston Matthews x female!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none, just fluff

authors note:

since the request didn’t specify if you wanted angst or fluff I decided to make it sugary sweet :)

-----------------------------

It started with a cup of coffee being delivered to your office on a random Tuesday afternoon right at the second you were thinking about getting one for yourself from the coffee station down the hall.

You didn’t particularly like the coffee from there, it was cheap and the machine somehow managed to make it worse by brewing it, but it would have held you over for the rest of the day while you continued to read through emails and write responses like your life depended on it.

The cup from your favorite café in downtown Toronto was handed to you by one of your co-workers who raised her eyebrows at you. “I didn’t order that,” you told her outright, but she handed you the cup regardless. “The delivery guy said it´s for you,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

There was no message on the cup, but you could guess from who it was. There was only one person who could know exactly when you could use a little pick me up at work.

He was smart by not putting a message on it. Your relationship not something really known to the public even though you had been together for over a year at this point.

You weren’t making a big deal about dating one of Torontos biggest athletes, especially around the office where his team was a topic of conversation on the daily. Not even your closest work friends knew who exactly you were dating. And it was good that way.

I Thanks for the coffee, exactly what I needed x

----------------------

The week after that lunch from your favorite restaurant was delivered in the same manner as the coffee was. No name on the order but yours, making your co-workers once again wonder if you were lying to them about not ordering it for yourself or if you actually didn’t.

You were knee deep into the finishing touches for one of the biggest projects of the quarter and barely had time to go and grab lunch from the cafeteria, much less to make the trip to any restaurant more than five minutes away from the building.

The delivery was godsend and like he knew, he sent enough so you had something to keep for the evening, since it was almost sure that you had to stay longer than usual and would only arrive home late, way after dinner time.

You hummed contently when you took the first bite, almost letting out a moan at how good the food felt after hours of working without taking a break.

He once again knew exactly what you needed at the right time, like he was a psychic that could read your mind all the way from his road trip across the country.

I thanks for lunch and dinner, exactly what I needed. Can´t wait to see you tomorrow. x

----------------------

The third time it happened was a week later when you finished the big presentation, and everyone gathered for a small party to celebrate the success, and that the client was happy with everything you had come up with in the weeks of hard work.

You were a little bummed because most people invited their significant others to the bar you were gathered at, unfortunately you couldn’t. Firstly, because your boyfriend wasn’t even in the country and secondly because still, no one knew who he even was.

A few of your co-workers asked about him but you kept telling them that he was away for work. Sometimes you wondered if they even believed you that he existed because you never mentioned him by name or brought him to any work functions that warranted bringing a plus one.

When a delivery person entered the bar, shouting your name for everyone to hear, you froze. “Sign here,” the guy rushed out, putting the tablet in front of your face quicker than you could react to anything.

You scribbled your signature before he handed you a box, a beautiful bouquet of flowers peeking through a hole at the top.

When you opened it, a bouquet waited for you, alongside a card.

One of your co-workers snatched it directly from the box before you could react. “Hey,” you laughed. “Congratulations on finishing your big project, sorry I can´t be there to celebrate. A.” she read.

You blushed at the message, he once again knew exactly what you needed from him in order to feel better about him not being there with you.

“Woah, we know mystery man is in fact real, and his first name starts with an A? We´ve been waiting for this confirmation for months!” you shook your head laughing. “That´s some expensive flowers, he´s got money.” Someone else chimed in.

“Give me that,” you laughed, snatching the card back before they could ask about it even more.

“One day you will introduce us to him,” someone chuckled. “Who knows, maybe you already know him,” you teased which only raised more eyebrows.

I The flowers are beautiful, thank you so much. x

--------------------------------

When you arrived at Auston´s place that night you were exhausted. The months leading up to this day catching up with you, swallowing all the energy you had left in your body, almost making you too tired to get out of the car and walk up to his door.

When you finally mustered up enough strength to make your way, he was already waiting in the frame. An easy smile on his lips, Felix next to him, excitedly wiggling his tail at your arrival.

“Hey snuff,” you greeted the dog, quickly patting his head before standing up straight again to greet your boyfriend, the flowers firm in one hand.

“Hey,” you greeted the tall man, a shy smile on your lips. “Hey,” he chuckled, opening his arms so you could slip right into his comfortable embrace.

Tension left your body as soon as he wrapped his arms around you. The familiarity of his arms taking every ounce of stress away for the moment.

“Long day?” Auston whispered in your hair. “Long month,” you replied chuckling. “Come on, I ordered some food and when were done I can set you up a bath before we go to bed.” You let out a loud sigh. Exactly what you needed.

---------------------

After eating on the couch, chatting about your days in hushed voices between laughter and shared bites, he made his way to the upstairs bathroom to set up a bath while you cleaned up the plates and made sure Felix got another snack before heading upstairs to join him.

The bathroom was lit up with a few candles he pulled from God knows where and it was smelling like your favorite bath salt. The one that you usually kept for special occasions because it was expensive.

“Since when do you have my favorite bathing salt in your bathroom?” He just laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

Raising you eyebrows at him you decided to let it go without questioning it any further and to just enjoy that he was paying enough attention to actually know what to buy.

While you were enjoying the warmth of the water relaxing your muscles and taking your mind off things Auston rumbled around downstairs doing something you didn’t care enough about to question. Every now and then you heard clinking, but it wasn’t worrying enough to go and check out.

A few minutes later he came back and handed you a glass of wine. “How did you know?” you questioned with another raised eyebrow, but he once again just shrugged and smiled before leaving you alone to soak and relax for as long as you wanted.

When the water started to get cold you got out. On the toilet laid a navy-colored hoodie. The exact one he was wearing earlier when you were sitting on the couch.

He knew one of you favorite things to do after a long day was to wear his hoodies, especially when there were worn and smelled like him.

You slipped the soft fabric over your head and inhaled deeply before putting your stuff away and making your way back to the living room after a quick detour to the bedroom to grab your phone and drop off your bag that you discharged in the hallway on your way.

Auston was snuggled up with Felix on the couch, your favorite movie already cued up, a warm blanket draped over him, the other half waiting for you to cuddle under and relax for the rest of the evening.

“You´re spoiling me today,” you mumbled after cozying up under the blanket, one arm placed on his chest, while your head rested on his shoulder.

“You deserve some relaxation after the month you had. I know how hard you worked.” A soft kiss to the crown of your head followed before the room was filled by only the sound of the movie and your soft breathing.

When you opened your eyes the next time the credits were rolling and Auston was playing on his phone. “Good morning,” he chuckled lightly before putting the device away.

“Hey,” you mumbled quietly. “Slept well?” he asked, an amused smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, but I need to go to bed, otherwise I won´t make it up,”

A soft laugh left his mouth. “Come on,” he said, getting up and holding out a hand for you to grab. When you stood at your full height he bent down and swept you off your feed, carrying your bridal style up the stairs.

“I can walk on my own, you know?”

Careful to not drop you he laughed. “I know, but sometimes you deserve to be carried.”

You shook your head but laughed at his remark.

When you were nestled in bed together, his arm lazily slung around your waist, your hand softly drawing the patterns of his tattooed arm you sighed. “What´s up?” he whispered.

“This evening was all I needed, from getting the flowers all the way to now,” you sensed that he felt a but coming. “no but, I promise, just a question,”

He nodded his head in a motion for you to go on. “How do you always know exactly what I need? Not that I´m complaining but it is a little scary that you sent me coffee the exact moment I was craving some, or sent me lunch on a day where I did not have time to get some myself?”

A quiet laugh left his mouth. “Easy question. It’s because I know you.”

“Thank you, for knowing me and for taking care of me.” You mumbled, already half asleep again. “That´s what I´m here for,” he laughed, which was the last thing you heard before you drifted off into sleep again.

[theonlyonesora]

The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

12 – Following Forward

The next day was quiet.

Oscar had sent a few casual messages throughout the morning, checking in after his flight and sending a picture of the hotel room with some sarcastic comment about the view. Lily had smiled at her phone, but the weight of the conversation she still needed to have pressed down on her chest.

Later that afternoon, she called him. He picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice soft with exhaustion. “I already miss you.”

Lily leaned back on her bed, her fingers tangled in her bedsheets. “Hey. I miss you too.”

Oscar noticed the shift in her tone. “What’s going on?”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I talked to (Y/N).”

There was silence for a beat.

“She’s not comfortable with... how things have been,” Lily continued gently. “She liked the time we all had together, but she doesn't want to be part of something like that long-term. It’s not her. And she’s afraid of hurting either of us.”

Oscar let out a slow breath. “I figured.”

“She just wants to go back to being friends. She doesn’t want to come between us.”

There was another long pause before he spoke again. “So… that’s it, then?”

Lily nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Yeah. I think it’s for the best.”

Oscar didn’t sound angry. Just thoughtful. “It’s weird. I really liked having her around. The three of us… it felt good.”

“I know,” Lily said softly. “But it only felt good because we all agreed to it. If one person isn’t in it, then it doesn’t work.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I get that.”

She smiled faintly. “We’re okay, though?”

Oscar’s voice warmed. “Of course we are. We’ll be okay, Lily.”

A beat of silence passed, soft but not uncomfortable.

“You still want me, right?” he asked quietly, like a kid pretending to be casual.

She chuckled. “Always.”

They stayed on the line for a while after that, talking about nothing. Just two people anchoring each other after the storm of something unspoken.

.

The cold autumn air in the city had always helped (Y/N) think. Maybe that was why she found herself walking more lately—long routes to campus, detours through the park, coffee runs just for the sake of it. Anything that helped her feel like herself again.

Oscar and Lily? Still together. Still posting candid shots from races and little couple moments that earned thousands of likes. And while (Y/N) was still tagged in old photos, she had stopped reposting them. It wasn’t bitterness. Just distance.

And maybe a little self-preservation.

University was relentless again—final papers, career fairs, presentations—but (Y/N) was thriving. Top of her class in Finance Strategy, already getting calls back from internship interviews. And one of them had come from a consulting firm she didn’t even think she’d land. The recruiter? A sharp-dressed, blue-eyed grad named Matteo who had been clearly smitten from their first coffee meeting.

They started seeing each other more. Not fast. Not wild. But steady. Healthy. She didn’t post him right away—only when it felt right. A soft black and white photo of his hand in hers, two coffee mugs in frame, the caption just a quiet: “Some peace looks like this.”

It wasn’t long before the comments came in.

“Wait… where’s Oscar?? 😳”“I thought she was with Lily and Oscar??”“Okay but I support this, she looks genuinely happy.”“Poly breakup confirmed?”

Even Lily messaged her that night.

“He’s cute. I’m happy for you. Really.”

That message made (Y/N) cry more than she expected.

She wasn’t running away from who she’d been in Vegas, or in the weeks that followed. But she also wasn’t going to live there forever. (Y/N) had dreams to chase—boardrooms, big cities, something that felt real and solid.

She’d always been a little reckless, sure. But now? Now she wanted things that didn’t come from blurred lines and whispered excuses.

She wanted something that didn’t need to be justified.

Tag List:

@freyathehuntress, @mimisweetz, @aleatorio1234, @totallynotluluu, @rorabelle15, @prongslena, @linnygirl09, @mangotaitai, @forensicheart, @devilacot, @lilorose25, @landofotographyy, @paolexsstuff, @sanctify-mp3, @emma-manuhpe, @virtualperfectioncat, @forumlabee, @luv4gyuuu

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hi! you have likely answered similar questions before (and if you have feel free to just link to those posts if you don't wanna answer again) but my boyfriend (cis man) and i (trans person with a vagina and bottom growth (been on t for 8 months)) have been having some issues with our sex life and had a really good conversation about it recently, but i don't feel like the conversation really did everything i wanted it to.

our relationship started out like "fwb lite"? because i had just started college and wanted to start exploring sexually but i wasn't ready to do a lot of things because of past trauma and stuff, so we hung out a lot and like kissed and kinda groped eachother in private lol. by the time i was ready to try out penetrative stuff i got on birth control and he started taking antidepressants for the first time. initially that was fine, he just couldn't cum bc antidepressants. and then his sex drive starts to flag a little, which was expected.

my 19th birthday happens and he takes me out on a really sweet romantic date (my first date ever!) and we have a great time and start to talk a little about "what are we". a couple months later we start "officially" dating and he becomes a lot more affectionate because he's not worried about mixed signals anymore and its great. his sex drive continues to slow down and i understand because of his meds (i have also been on antidepressants for a long time)

several months of him continually not being interested in sex go by, i continue to make sure he understands that its ok for him to not want to have sex and that i don't want to pressure him to do anything. i start to get pretty frustrated though, because i have a very high sex drive and i love him very much and i like having sex with him, but almost every time i initiate he isn't interested and he initiates maybe 2 or 3 times in the span of 4ish months.

a couple weeks ago i initiate again and he agrees and so i start slowly but he feels uncomfortable so we stop. i ask him if we can talk about what's going on and we finally do and im really relieved! i wanted to talk about it for a while but i didn't want to press him too hard because he's been dealing with a lot so i wanted to just be as supportive as i can. he explains that sex just hasn't been really interesting to him lately and that its just a lot of work, but he doesn't like not being in an active role because its hard for him to stay in the right headspace if he's not doing anything. obviously thats all understandable and im glad he shared that with me.

i try to explain my side of the experience without complaining about a lack of sex and i talk about how i wish he had told me that he doesn't like when im doing everything because that was my attempt to get him more into it when we have sex. i talk about how having sex with him is both something i like doing because it feels good and also because it's a very emotional and vulnerable experience for me. i explain that being penetrated is a really scary thing, you're letting someone be physically inside of you its a pretty intense emotional experience! (at least for me) and he tells me he has genuinely never thought of sex like that before and he's really shocked to hear me describe it like that. we talked through it some more and i think it was a good experience for the both of us.

we are both on summer break right now and live far away from eachother so i won't see him again until fall semester, but there are still some things that i worry about with like the state of our sex life? i wanna a) get to a point where our emotional experience with sex is similar if possible and b) get to a point where we can compromise about when/how frequently we have sex, but i don't really know how to approach any of that? i don't ever want to force him to have sex when he doesn't want to or make him feel uncomfortable or coerced or anything, but i also feel like there needs to be some sort of compromise for me to feel like my wants are being met? but i don't know how to bring that up without being like pushy. am i being like insane and selfish?? i don't know but i really want to have a strong healthy relationship with him im really serious about him and i want us to last for a long time.

idk this is very long and probably all of the context isn't necessary but yeah thats my plight thank you for reading all of that mess i hope you have a wonderful summer 🫶

this one is covered in my FAQ I think

[beeari]

Talking about platonic Jalph!!

The human is, as many animals are, a social creature. Since the beginning of humanity we have worked in groups to ensure survival. Even to the most introverted people establishing connections with other people is primordial, and to a child that is in a stage when is developing a sense of identity on its own having it’s fundamental for the normative development of said child's psyche.

Both Ralph and Jack are at their age in a stage classified as early teenagehood. A stage where kids start to gain a sense of identity and start drifting from their families and prioritizing their relationships with their equals.

The first time they meet Ralph takes a very judgmental approach towards Jack, calling him ugly. This is interesting cause it’s common for individuals to attribute bad qualities to people we consider unattractive and not want to associate with them, however since the beginning Ralph seems interested in Jack, most likely because he sees how Jack has power over the choir and, in the context, he has similar power, it’s only natural that people with similar status to want to associate with one another and that’s how their relationship starts, as two kids that have power above the rest.

This dynamic however seems to change when they climb the mountain together they already start forming a friendship, as kids of the age are more likely to consider better friends those who they do most activities with, and it seems that what i’m guessing are the first few weeks it could be theorized the time they aren’t tending to their duties they spend a fair amount of it together. Using the example of the scene where before Jack hunts the first pig, when coming back to the tribe, goes to talk to Ralph, check how the shelter building is going. This scene follows the two having a conversation, and while it is normal for the two kids that have taken the role of leaders to discuss the problems they are having regarding issues that affect them all, Is curious how the very first thing Jack does is go talk to Ralph.

Ralph's admiration towards Jack is no secret if you’ve read the book, but is it reciprocated? Does Jack hold him to at least a similar standard? The most common reason why two kids get into a conflict is because of issues of power in a group, feeling like he has the right to more power was what mainly led Jack to drifting from Ralph's tribe.

But just desiring a higher status than Ralph is not motivation enough for wanting him dead, and you could argue that at this point Jack was probably reaching some level of disconnection from reality, and while that could be true, there’s something else that could be a determining factor on the pure hatred he develops towards Ralph.

“Favour piggy like you always do”

There are studies show that the feeling of being left out can lead to conduct of aggression, and feeling rejected by a close friend is something that for a twelve year old that doesn’t know about emotional regulation is devastating, “like you always do” implies that in Jacks eyes to Ralph Piggy is a bigger priority, that he is going to prefer Piggy, someone he deems as inferior, over him.

We don’t get enough time of these two alone to really determine how deep the platonic connection this they had, but for what we can see they at least seemed to garner an admiration towards each other, and it’s a shame they never get to actually talk their issues without one of them being almost hunted..

Golding has absolutely no idea about how a child's mind actually works, so this falls flat as he probably wrote the scenes of those two without considering the psychological implications. I’m no expert on the topic either and it's been a while since the last time I read the book but child social development is one topic that fascinates me and all my claims are backed with sources that I can provide if anyone wants me to.

I'm sorry if this is messy and probably doesn't make much sense but I we all agree someone needs to bring the topic to the table.

[nobodygotyoulikehoshina]

LOOK BACK | Hoshina Soshiro

Chapter II

➢Summary: You weren't one to stick to tradition. Never were you, and never will you be. And if it meant following Hoshina Soshiro even to the pits of hell, you wouldn't hesitate on breaking any custom or practice. Too bad he never bothered to look back, where you always were.

➢Content: romance, angst, friendship, humour, violence (cw: mentions of death, fighting, blood, injuries, alcohol, cursing, possible mental distress from the characters, some gender stereotypes). will expand with the story.

➢ Pairing: Vice-captain! Hoshina x Platoon Leader! Fem! Reader

➢Genre: childhood best friends to lovers

➢Wc: 4352

➢notes: y'all are amazing. the first chap got 150+ notes in a few weeks. thank you so much for all the good, and i'm sorry for the bad. i'll try to improve as i work on my first series ever, so thank you in advance if you decide to stick around for that. comments, likes, reblogs, and DMs are always appreciated

anyway, i hope you enjoy once again!!

Your father never really liked your friendship with Hoshina.

He was a conservative man, very tradition-bound. In his mind, the Hoshina family stood on a pedestal that was never meant for him to reach, and he advised you to never try as well. The Hoshinas were meant to lead, and your family to follow. They were in the front lines, you stood in the back. They are the Captains, and you the Vice-Captains. That was the natural order of things.

But your five year old self couldn’t comprehend that. How come you were never meant to play with the kid with the bowl-cut hair with training garments way more expensive than your clothes? Why was it forbidden for him to teach you the cool sword moves that he had learnt from his father and relatives? It just never made sense to you.

But your fifteen year old self did understand better your position in the clan. Despite that, you had remained friends with Soshiro despite the disapproval of your parents and continued mastering the art of the sword in spite of all the clan’s tradition. But your awareness is what prompted that conversation with your father on a hot July morning.

“(Y/N)” he called out to you as you both sat on the edge of the tatami floor, facing the small garden of your house. “Do you understand our way of life?”

It was a heavy question for a fifteen year old, but you still answered. “Yes…I do”.

“Then you understand why I don’t like your friendship with the Hoshina kid, right?” It wasn’t the first time he had told you this. In fact, it was a recurrent theme between the both of you. But he had never looked so serious.

“Yes, father. I understand”. You wanted to say more but he spoke before you could.

“I know you do.” Then why did he ask?. “You aren’t like your brother, (Y/N). You are very smart and driven, as well as excellent with the sword. That is why I want you to understand something; your future is better away from the Hoshina clan”.

That statement felt like a sledgehammer to the head. Up until that moment, you had never considered a future without the Hoshina name attached to it. Not when you and Soshiro had dreamt for so long for a life together, side by side.

“What…what do you mean, father?,” you asked, voice trembling slightly.

Your father, ever so stern, tightened his face a little as he faced the sight of tree leaves rocking with the wind. “The Hoshinas don’t care about us the same way we do for them. Our family is strong, that is why we have survived for this long, but they do not exist in the same way as us. They live the true path of the warrior, the firsts to arrive at the battlefield and the last ones standing. While we protect the back, they continue moving forward. And moving forward means not looking back. Not even at us, their allies”.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stood behind a thick wall of bulletproof glass. The buzzing of the Operations Room set up behind you was proof of the excitement this particular trial test brought to the Division. Since the Number 10 suit was developed for Hoshina to wear, along with Officer Ichikawa’s Number 6 weapon, the level of the Third Division’s subjugation proficiency had increased tenfold. Everytime Hoshina had to put on the suit for a programmed exercise, it produced great excitement among the Operation officers, but you had to admit it did worry you a little.

Platoon leaders were never called for this type of trials, but Hoshina had personally requested for you to be there for some reason. So here you were, surrounded by dozens of people in charge of collecting data or supervising the whole ordeal. You weren’t sure what to do, as Hoshina’s request had barely anything other than the requirement of your presence during the programmed exercise, so you just stood there, looking through the glass to the empty area below you.

“Security authorizations for Number 10 Numbers Weapon release” one of the officers shouted into the room.

“Authorizations, cleared,” Operations Leader Okonogi declared. “The suit is fully on. Release Vice-captain”.

From one of the walls of the enclosed training ground opened a door, letting a small figure clash with the bright gray walls. It was Hoshina clad in the purple and green suit of the Number 10 Numbers Weapon (simultaneously, his proudest achievement in his military career and the bane of his existence).

“Number 10, on field,” one of the officers announced.

“Vice-captain Hoshina, can you hear me?” Okonogi called out to Hoshina through the earpiece channel.

It took him a moment to answer. “Loud and clear, Okonogi dear”.

You started rolling your eyes at the pet name, but stopped yourself at the last second.

How unprofessional, you thought, unclear if it was directed towards yourself or your long time friend.

“How are you feeling, Vice-captain?,” Okonogi asked.

“Perfectly fine, Okonogi, if not for the fact that this monster brat won’t shuddup”.

You quietly chuckled from that statement. No matter how many times they had fought together, Hoshina and Number 10’s relationship remained the same.

“Vice-captain, please activate synchronization with the Number 10 suit,” Okonogi requested.

“Roger that”.

A load of numbers and metrics appeared on the large screens, way too fast for you to comprehend it. An image of Hoshina’s vitals showed everything in order, including the percentage of Unleashed Combat Power extracted from the suit.

 81% synchronisation, a robotic voice announced to the room.

“Not a bad start,” you muttered to yourself.

“That is perfect for us to start with, Vice-captain,” Okonogi declared, typing away some data into her screen. “Allow me to explain today’s exercise, sir.”

More people started to move inside the Operations Room, polishing the last details of the experiment Hoshina was about to be subjected to. Being truthful, you felt a little awkward and a little useless there, just watching as everyone did their jobs.

“The present trial will consist of two exercises,” Okonogi began explaining. “The first one is to test the level of synchronisation we can achieve with Number 10 during simulated battle, so we’ve recreated a holographic replica of the kaiju captured with a 6.1 fortitude”.

You opened your eyes a little. 6.1 fortitude? That was a whole squadron with a platoon leader needed to defeat that monster. 

“The second exercise will be testing the Vice-captains new combat abilities once we reach the desired synchronisation percentage. For that, we will be engaging in actual combat with the original captured kaiju”.

“What?” you couldn’t help but ask out loud. You clasped your hand over your mouth, hoping that no one had heard you. Unfortunately for you, the operations official besides you apparently did, so he turned to you.

“Don’t worry, ma’am” he assured you, “the room we are in is designed to withstand a 10.0 fortitude and there’s other officials on standby in case the Vice-captain needs it”.

“Is everything ready for the order, sir?” Okonogi asked.

“Ready if you are, dear Okonogi,” Hoshina answered with his usual happy tone. He turned to look directly into one of the cameras. “(L/N), please watch me with care”.

You scoffed at him, crossing your arms. “That’s why you called me here, didn’t you, sir?”

“Very well,” Leader Okonogi declared. “Vice-captain Hoshina in position. Cameras and sensors activated. Shields open. Initiate simulated combat”.

From behind the bulletproof glass, you could see a huge figure appear. It was a lizard-type kaiju of around six meters of height. Kaiju of its size was Hoshina’s specialty, but even 6.1 fortitude felt a little too harsh for a start.

“Vice-captain Hoshina and Number 10 Numbers Weapon initiating honju subjugation,” Hoshina announced through his mic, and you could hear Number 10 screaming a couple of things in the background.

Through intense battle, Hoshina began subjugating the fake kaiju. Well, Okonogi had called this simulated battle, but you could still feel and hear the rumbles of the training room from the intensity of the confrontation. No matter how many times Hoshina had slashed through the fake monster, it never died simply because the Operations Room kept reviving him to force the Vice-captain and the suit to synchronise.

“Okonogi, dear, I believe it’s a little cruel to keep us fighting like this, don’tcha think?” Hoshina commented while skillfully dodging an attack from the kaiju’s tail.

“I’m afraid we’ll need to keep you like this for a little more, sir” Okonogi sounded apologetic.

You observed your friend fight against the monster. With the Number 10 suit, he was faster than he already was with the regular suit, almost becoming a blur in the air. To the untrained eye, it looked like a piece of cake for Hoshina. A walk in the park even. But to you, who had been present for most of the time he spent crafting his seamless techniques, it didn’t seem that way. You could see the strain on his muscles and the heavy amount of concentration required to subjugate an enemy time and time again. The drive of victory gleamed on his focused eyes.

“Miss Okonogi,” one of the operations officers exclaimed, “Vice-captain has achieved 92% Unleashed Combat Power!”.

“No sign of extreme fatigue or strain on his vitals!” another one informed.

“Raise the body limiters!” their leader instructed. “Prepare for the second phase release! Do not let the Unleashed Combat Power drop below range.”

“Roger that!”

Okonogi grabbed the mic and spoke. “Vice-captain Hoshina, please retreat from the target. We have reached the desired synchronisation level and will be initiating phase two of the trial. Please take a few minutes of rest while the new target launches”.

Hoshina backed up to one of the room’s corners, although Number 10 didn’t seem too happy about that, shouting "Where did it go?”, "Where did it go?”. The holographic kaiju disappeared, leaving your friend alone once more. You could see his chest rise and fall with every breath he took, waiting to continue with the battle. 

“All vitals are stable and no significant injuries have been detected, sir,” Okonogi informed Hoshina. “How are you feeling, Vice-captain?”

“As great as I can be with this brat on me,” Hoshina flicked the eye on the center of the suit, eliciting a series of complaints from Number 10.

“That’s good to hear, because the next phase will start in about 30 seconds.”

From one side of the test room opened a huge door. A big shadow emerged from the opening, making the test site shake with each of its steps. Soon, a big lizard-type kaiju stood towering over your best friend, who, at that moment, looked like nothing more than an insect cornered against a wall.

“Second phase: activated,” Okonogi declared, “prepare shields in case of danger or malfunction. Deploy the special weapons”.

The word danger activated something in you. Watching Hoshina move and slash all around the kaiju made you miss the weight of your own weapon on your hip.

Minutes stretched long with the kaiju proving more difficult to subjugate than initially thought, especially with the bothersome acid it would spit in every direction. Nevertheless, your fearless Vice-captain dodged every attack coming his way, retaliating with a few of his own. Finally, when you thought the fight had gone on for way too long, Hoshina’s demeanor changed. His stance was no longer playful; he now looked ready for the kill. Taking hold of his dual blades as well as an extra katana for Number 10’s tail, he lunged forward in a deadly attack.

“Seventh Form: Twelve-layered Strike,” you heard him mutter.

The clash of blades slashing at one point filled the room. Then, the dull thud of a falling body. Hoshina had defeated the kaiju.

For one breath, the whole room stood silent, in awe of what they had witnessed. The prodigy of the Hoshina family had unveiled his ultimate technique; an attack only he was talented enough to achieve, far surpassing any warrior who had mastered the blade. Then, having processed that majestic ending, cheering exploded inside the Operations Room, momentarily forgetting the point of the job.

You mildly cheered on your friend, who was now struggling to make Number 10 let go of the katana. Laughing at the funny sight, your eyes wandered to the replays of the fight that the data analysis team was going through. For a couple of seconds, a video of that last move and a close-up of the dead kaiju popped up on the screen.

Oh.

“Well, how did it go?” Hoshina had finally freed the sword from Number 10’s tail and returned it to its corresponding capsule. “Anything worth tellin’ me?”

Okonogi’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Congratulations, Vice-captain! This has been our best trial yet. The metrics show an increase…”

She began explaining the numbers and statistics that certainly interested Hoshina, but not you. Moving from the corner you had occupied during the whole trial, you started making your way out of the room, figuring that you hadn’t been of much use.

I guess he just wanted to be a show-off, you thought, although you knew it didn’t fit Hoshina’s style.

A voice stopped you on your tracks. “Well, Platoon Leader (L/N), how was it?”

You were confused. Was he really asking you what you thought? You expressed your confusion. “Are you asking me, sir?”

“Yes, (L/N),” he clarified. “Whatcha think ‘bout my skills?”

That question brought you back many years to when you both used to train with smaller and much safer swords in the yard of his house.

You thought a little before answering. “Sloppy at best, sir”.

A couple of people behind you gasp. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a couple of degrees with the following silence. Hadn’t Operations Leader Okonogi said that this had been Hoshina’s best results so far? So who was this random Platoon Leader to contradict what the data clearly showed? Even Number 10 seemed offended by your comment, shouting “Sloppy? Sloppy? Where is this human who dares call us sloppy?”.

Well, I fucked up, you mentally slapped yourself.

Hoshina’s lighthearted laugh cut the tension in the room. “I know I could count on ya to be blunt about this! Go on, tell me more!”.

You cleared your throat, feeling more confident to speak. “Personally, sir, I don’t believe your technique is good enough to manage some of your skills, especially those involving the use of the Numbers Weapon limb. Your swordsmanship was not adequate, that’s why I considered your attempts sloppy”.

“Oh, how so?” Hoshina continued questioning you.

You paused for a moment before asking. “Sir, may I request permission to approach the target?”

Your friend seemed taken aback by your request. “Permission granted, come here”.

As quick as you could to avoid the stares from the Operations team, you got out of the room and climbed down the stairs as fast as you could. The brightness of the white light in the trial room blinded you at first, but soon enough you adjusted to the light. There stood Hoshina, clad in the armour made to suit him and no one else, along with the mangled corpse of the lizard kaiju. You approached both of them, feeling the piercing gaze of the wine-red eyes of your best friend.

“Well, little expert,” he teased you with no malicious intent, “where did ya say I went wrong?”

You pointed at the cuts that surrounded the damaged core of the beast. “Please look carefully at the wounds around this area, sir. If my vision is correct, we can observe four cuts that appear to be shallower and messier than the rest, indicating bad swordsmanship. These correspond to cuts number 3, 6, 9 and 12 in striking order of your ‘Twelve-layered strike’ attack. While watching your fight, I realized that these are made using the Numbers Weapon tail. The lack of strength and precision evident in the injuries are proof that the attack has not been brought to its most efficient form”.

You had gotten carried away by your expression, so it shook you off balance to see Hoshina smiling widely at you when you turned to look back at him. It wasn’t a kind smile but a teasing one, almost making fun of you. But with Hoshina, nothing felt like mockery. No, with him, it was his way of expressing proudness in a weird but endearing way.

“I am impressed by the depth of yer analysis, Platoon Leader,” he congratulated you, hands behind his back, “and ya did that merely by watchin’. Now, do you have any suggestions for improvement, (L/N)?”.

Your eyes gleamed at the question. You could never pass on an opportunity to speak about blades. “Yes, sir, I do”.

You started your explanation, analysing the pros and cons of Hoshina’s  blade technique. You had seen it hundreds, no, thousands of times. It felt as familiar as your own, so it was easy to spot the defects that even experts of the Operations team could never pinpoint. When you finished giving your recommendations, Hoshina’s smile widened. He took a couple of steps in your direction, and threw an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to himself.

“I knew I could count on ya, (L/N)” he slightly ruffled your hair.

You tried to push yourself away from him. You felt your skin burn even though he barely touched any of it. From your distance, you could smell his natural scent mingling with the stench of sweat and metal from the suit.

“Please refrain from unprofessional contact, Vice-captain,” you finally distanced yourself from him. Hoshina didn’t seem to take your actions personally.

“Yes, yes,” he admitted in defeat. Hoshina turned back to the observation glass above. “Okonogi dear, I guess this concludes the trial, doesn’t it?”.

Okonogi’s voice came through both of your in-ears. “Yes, Vice-captain. We have collected the data we needed. Thank you for your service”.

“My, my,” he answered, “it’s not me ya have to thank. Let’s wrap this up quickly and go take a rest”.

“Roger that!”.

Sensing that your duty was now completely fulfilled, you saluted at your Vice-captain and dismissed yourself. He didn’t say anything, worried about something being said over his in-ear. He just half-heartedly saluted back and left you to your devices. On your way out, you met a clean-up crew waiting to take away the corpse to wherever they took dead kaiju for disposal. You looked at your wristwatch.

It’s still early afternoon, you thought, I still have time to catch up on training.

That way, you busied yourself for the rest of the day, trying to forget about the faint feeling of Hoshina’s arm on your shoulder and his intoxicating smell.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Shoot, it's late.

That’s what you thought as you scurried away through the halls of the base. It was late at night and lights would be shutting off soon. You had lost track of time during your training session by yourself, so now you had just an hour to take a bath and do a couple things in your room before going to sleep.

You were leaving some training area when you saw that the lights of a room were still on. 

“These rookies never learn…,” you muttered to yourself. Going out of your way to turn the lights on, you heard some noises coming from inside. Ready to scold some newbie for staying late, you poked your head through the door.

“Hey…” you started saying, but suddenly your mouth went dry.

Standing in the middle of the training room, Hoshina was a sight to behold. His black compression shirt and dark training pants proved to be more deadly than the twin blades in his hands. Every single muscle in his body had been sculpted to perfection, witness to the hard work your best friend put into his training. His closed eyes allowed you to admire how lethal his face card was, every single feature looking like it had been created with care and love.

On the count of two focused breaths, Hoshina started moving. Calculated slashes of his blades against the air were part of the image training he liked to practice on his own. He was meticulous like that. Watching Hoshina fight was always one of your biggest pleasures. He was a real warrior but, unlike most people, he didn’t treat the sword like just a weapon. No, to him it was more than just a slab of metal. Hoshina held his blade like an artist would hold their brush. With confidence and practiced reverence.

You sat down on your knees at the far edge of the tatami, watching him just like you had done thousands of times back at the Hoshina estate. You observed the deadly dance carried out by your friend’s mind, captivated by every move and gesture. Not daring to break his concentration by uttering a word, you remained in silence.

It didn’t take long for him to notice your presence. Finally ending his mental simulation of the battle–which you recognised as his earlier fight during the test–he turned to the door, catching you waiting for him.

“Oh, (Y/N)” he stopped on his tracks, “didn’t hear ya comin’ in”.

You raised from your kneeling position, now sitting criss-cross applesauce. “You were deeply focused and I tried to not make silence, sir”.

“I see,” he replied while putting away his blades. “And what brings ya here?”

“I thought some newbie was still in here and came to scold him”.

He chuckled at your answer. “What a diligent leader, thank ya for yer service. It is pretty late though”.

You sat in silence. If this conversation kept on, you would have to take an express cold shower instead of your nice warm bath.

Fuck it, I don’t care.

“So,” you broke the silence, “why are you also here so late, sir?”.

“I could ask ya the same,” he shot back teasingly.

You looked down at your training clothes. “I had to push back my personal practice time to attend the programmed exercise this morning, sir”.

“Oh right. Sorry ‘bout that”.

“It’s okay,” you shrugged your shoulders. “But you didn’t give me an answer, sir”.

Hoshina’s playful smile crept up to his face. “Ya ask as if ya didn’t grill my sword technique just earlier, huh”.

You shot an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, sir”.

You truly were. Your words must’ve had a deep effect on Hoshina if he had started working on improving his form right away. Although, being the perfectionist he was, it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

“Ya didn’t look an ounce of sorry back then, didn’cha?” he continued teasing you. “But it’s okay, that was why I called ya up there”.

You gulped. “I think you would’ve been fine without my input, sir”.

“Nah,” he dismissed your claim, “Okonogi and the others are good at their job, but sometimes ya really need someone who knows what they’re talkin’ ‘bout. A real pro.”.

“That is very kind of you to say, sir,” you bowed slightly in gratitude, “but I’m nothing compared to a master of the Hoshina blade style. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish with a sword if you learn it properly”.

Hoshina waved his hand in dismissal. “Nonsense, (Y/N). Ya could beat anyone’s ass with a blade any day of the week. That’s why ya are my Platoon Leader”.

Even though it was pretty late, Hoshina didn’t appear any tired. Quite the contrary. He fidgeted around the room, grabbing and moving training gear, putting away towels, and even changing the bottle on the water dispenser. You looked at him with amusement, although he didn’t seem to notice.

“Now that ya mentioned blade techniques,” he turned back at you with his arms crossed over his chest. You willed yourself to focus on his face and not on his muscles, “as far as I remember, yer family also comes from a long line of warriors. Don’t cha also have your own fighting style?”

You took a couple of seconds to answer. “Yes, we do”.

“Then why have I never seen it?!” he questioned you.

“Because it is not as refined as the Hoshina style and a little outdated to be honest”.

Hoshina gave you a puzzled look. “And why does that matter? I want you to show it to me”.

“Nop,” you replied to his request, “no need for that”.

The Vice-captain became whiny. “But why? Aren’t best friends supposed to tell everything to each other”.

“Well, you said it, Hoshina-kun. I told you about it, but I don’t have to show it to you”.

“Ugh, fine” he conceded, “that’s lame but I accept it for now, but one day I’ll make you show it to me”.

“Sure, sure”.

This time, you both finally wrapped up whatever you had been doing in the training room and headed for the showers. You continued your conversation with Hoshina, which consisted of him mostly speaking and you listening. You appreciated these little moments with your friend, which lately had been more scarce due to your busy agendas. Finally reaching the communal baths, where your dreaded cold shower awaited you, you turned to each other to wave each other goodbye. 

“So,” he started, “did ya forget your promise?”

You looked confused for a sec before it clicked. “Drinks at my place?”. He nodded. “Of course I haven’t, but that won’t be until a couple of weeks”.

“I know,” a smile adorned his lips, “but I wanted to make sure ya had added it to yer calendar”.

You rolled your eyes at him. “How could I forget, sir?”

“Shuddup.” He brought you closer to himself, and started ruffling your head like a little kid. After a little struggle, you managed to free yourself from his grip and scurried off to the showers, praying he didn’t catch the deep blush on your face.

next chapter ➢

taglist: @hana-patata @kokoiinuts @floweringdaisie @saru-93

[contract-crawdad]

Hello! I'm trying to understand Leigh. I thinked about how she loves to inflict pain, and possibly loves to just leaving disturbing words or bump into others real hard or anything that cause discomfort to her roommates. But then I felt a little confused, about why she didn't take it further.

If I'm a murderous monster who now live with the people defeated me, I will very likely eat said person alive when he's asleep or just unguarded, however Leigh never did such things. We can literally have her carrying unconscious Sam around, and heal him. It seems she really considered herself a friend to us, and will avoid attacking us when conscious.

That's very perplexing to me. Can you share some of your thoughts?

This is a thought I’ve had as well! Leigh is weird. Love her to pieces.

She’s introduced as a monster that tries to kill Sam and his companions and only joins them after Sam proves he can fight her off. Constantly talks about how much she likes KILLING and VIOLENCE and HURTING PEOPLE.

And yet!

She only ever threatens violence, backs down from a fight with Hellen, clearly has a soft spot for any of the three recruitable children, and challenges Sam to a rematch via arm wrestling of all things.

A big part of this boils down to the fact, through the dinner conversations, we can learn that Leigh had (what she considers to be) a prophetic dream revealing that she and Sam are destined to kill the other in mortal combat. Come to think of it, this is probably WHY she attacks Sam in the first place, aside from loving to fight: she saw her chance to beat the guy she’s destined to kill or be killed by and she took it.

But it still leaves it a little unclear why she continues to help!

She does continue to threaten that she’s gonna GET Sam eventually and that she’s building up her strength… but she’s a lotta talk. I think her rationale is that she and Sam aren’t enemies right now, so she’s willing to work together instead of fighting. Yes, they will be fighting in the future as she foresaw in her dream. But that’s later, and she’ll be stronger than him by then, she figures. She even says as much!

…But wait a second, she was actually preeetty easy to beat. Yeah she’s slightly challenging by early game standards, but a few forks in the face and she’s backing off. It really feels like bopping a shark on the nose.

Ultimately? I think she just really loves the thrill of the game. She disappears forever if you run from her, and it’s hard not to interpret that as her getting bored. She’s a competitive spirit who has been suppressed up to this point in her life and been allowed to let loose during the apocalypse. But… all of her interactions in the apartment are either people just assuming she’s going to hurt them, or Leigh not actually putting her money where her (very large) mouth is.

She’s not as tough or as feral as she’d prefer people think she is.

[dashing-disaster]

I may not be fully up to speed here but are we really writing off Bucktommy for the finale based on the one comment Oliver made where he said 'the last we see of them is in that helicopter'? Because, if that is the case and we haven't gotten any more confirmation or comments than that (and again, I am not up to speed, my friends got married this week and I've only been online sporadically these past two days so I've really only seen bits and pieces of things) I don't think it's enough to completely bury the ship for the season.

Yes, the phrasing sounds damning at first glance, but I don't think it is? 'The last we see/the last we've seen' is a phrase used pretty often to describe where we left off with a certain storyline or character and I wouldn't put too much weight on the tense here. After all, not all is said and done quite yet, we still have one more episode that he cannot spoil.

Buck's storyline this season was heavily focused on his relationship with Tommy and the breakup. Too heavily in my opinion, to not at least have some form of solution there in the finale. And perhaps that is not going to be Lou on screen. Perhaps all we will see is Buck finally picking up that phone in his last scene and calling Tommy. We might not even see how that conversation goes so we have something to wonder about all summer.

But Oliver clearly also said that he's looking forward to see, how it's going to continue next season. From what I heard Lou's schedule definitely is wide open for 911 so he'd be happy to return. Tim likes him and has set up the character in a way that ties Tommy in more with the 118.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there really won't be any more mention of Tommy this season and no solution to where Buck and Tommy are right now.

And I also understand the defense mechanism of expecting the worst to not get disappointed. This is in fact something I tend to do myself, which I'm currently working on in therapy. Here's something my therapist asked me: If you want to bake a (non-vegan) cake and the recipe calls for eggs, milk and flour, would you go chuck a chicken, a cow and a handful of wheat sprouts in your mixing bowl just on the off-chance that they're out at the supermarket? And would you really be less disappointed when you go to the supermarket and are proven correct? Maybe that's also not a perfect example, but I had to admit that he kind of had a point.

So in order to not be more miserable than I ultimately have to be I'm not going to write off Bucktommy based on that one response Oliver gave in that interview. Unless there's more info out there, that solidifies that argument, of course, then I will have written all of this for nothing. But then I'm also supposed to try and be more confident in my own opinions so I'll see it as practice.

Anyway, please take care of yourself guys. I don't want you to be miserable. <3

[kyoshithewriter]

The Missing Piece.

Warnings: mature themes (18+)

(Part two)

A/n: Can you tell I’m obsessed with Irish names? Also this is how I imagine him in this chapter with the facial hair. Enjoy?

It takes Niamh two weeks to fall into their routine. Their first meeting was a tense one filled with shy or apprehensive glances for about ten minutes until Shelly had broken the silence with a simple, “I like your hair.” Apparently, the younger ones were only waiting for her to break the ice because Aurora immediately agreed and started to gently play with her afro. Over the weeks, Niamh has learned that Aurora and Mason are really clingy, and on some mornings even ask that she feeds them. They love a good game of hide and seek and absolutely need bedtime stories. Shelly is a lot more independent, though she enjoys making a mess of Niamh’s fingers and toes with sticky, pink nail polish. On the nights she sleeps over, one of Mason or Aurora finds her room to crawl into bed with her sometimes. She was skeptical at first, but after discussing it at great length with Ivy, the woman discussed it with their father over text and he just said she should keep the guest bedroom door open on those nights. Besides, no one can say no to those big brown eyes blinking up pleadingly at them. When her first paycheck hit her account last Friday, Niamh muffled her cries in the soft pillow in their guest bedroom. She immediately paid off all her bills and ordered herself a nice spread of sushi back at her apartment to celebrate. In only two weeks, her life has taken a complete turn and for the first time in her life, Nimah feels at ease. No more worrying about where the next meal is coming from immediately after eating; no more worrying about how she’ll be getting to classes for the week. There’s a thought that keeps pricking at her brain though; one she’s trying and failing to ignore. Niamh has been at the house for two full weeks now and she has never seen the man once. She had done her research and won’t admit to anyone how she actually gasped when she saw what he looked like and the magnitude of his fame.

“So you just… leave his food by his door and he just… that can’t be healthy right?” Niamh can’t contain the words as she watches Ivy routinely pack his dinner on the tray she leaves by his door.

“It’s definitely not. I just… he won’t talk to anybody. I had to text him about you, you know? He refused to even have that conversation face to face.” Ivy’s shoulders slump with the admission.

Niamh focuses on stuffing her face with Ivy’s lovely lamb stew, chanting in her head like a mantra to not intervene.

***************

“Why is your name pronounced Neev but it’s spelt Niamah?” Shelly doesn’t look up from her task of polishing Niamh’s nails. Niamh tries not to laugh at the ticklish sensation of the brush against her skin.

“Well, it’s an Irish name and their alphabet works differently.”

A catchy jingle echoes through the living room from the programme Aurora and Mason are currently watching.

“Irish?”

“Yes. Irish means "from the country of Ireland.”

Shelly hums. The little girl is really smart, and is always eager to learn more. Niamh would go as far as to describe her as gifted.

“So you’re from Ireland?”

“No. But my forefathers were according to my mother. She has an Irish name and so do I.” Niamh tries not to shift uncomfortably at the mention of her mother. No matter how old she gets, it will always be a sore topic.

“Forefather? Fore means before right? So like…ancestors?” Shelly peers up at her with a curious glint in her eyes.

“Very good, Shelly. How smart are you? Hm?”

The little girl’s skin is light enough for the blush on her cheeks to be noticeable.

“You have pretty eyes. They look brown but with a tinge of red.” Shelly says instead of acknowledging her words. Niamh notices that the girl does that a lot. She doesn’t know how to take compliments— but Niamh is determined to sing her little praises every day if she must.

“Thank you, you have pretty eyes as well. Yours are tinged with a little gold hue.”

Shelly curls in on herself and mumbles a shy thanks.

“I’m glad you’re our nanny, Niamh.”

Niamh’s eyes widen briefly. She swallows around the lump in her throat.

“I’m glad I’m your nanny too.”

**************

The moonlight illuminates the guest bedroom with a soft, white glow. Niamh blinks into the dimly lit space before stretching lazily across the bed with all the grace of a feline. It’s one of the rare nights that neither Mason or Aurora have crawled into bed with her. Blinking blearily, Niamh reaches for her phone under the pillow on the opposite side of the bed to check the time. 3:27 am. She goes to clear her throat but coughs instead when she feels how scratchy it feels. Water. Gliding across the sheets, she stands and moves to exit the room. The house is dark, eerily quiet and almost still. Niamh glides through the space with a surety— already having it mapped out mentally. Her mouth is stretched wide in a yawn but freezes in an awkward ‘o’ when she reaches the entryway to the kitchen. A tall figure— a very tall figure stands with their back turned to her in the dark of the room. He’s shirtless, back muscles on display along with the mess of dark ink that trails down the length of one arm. His hair is out of the usual man bun she sees him with in pictures online; it’s a curly mass that brushes just the back of his neck. The pair of black sweatpants ride low on his hips, revealing the band of his underwear. Niamh is frozen in shock as her brain tries to quickly calculate the best course of action to take. ‘Run!’ But her feet are stuck. Stuck long enough for the man to slowly turn his attention from staring out the window above the stove to look right at her. Niamh gulps under his gaze. His face, that’s usually freshly shaved apart from the neat goatee he wears on his chin in pictures, is covered with a facial hair. It’s not an over abundance of it, but enough to add to his gruff demeanor. His eyes are blank— his stare piercing. Niamh shifts under his gaze, suddenly self conscious about the oversized shirt with a huge stain on the top that shows off her bare legs.

“Um, hi?” Her voice drifts through the room tentatively.

He eyes for a while longer before responding.

“Hi.” His voice is deep, gruff even a bit scratchy— like he hasn’t used it in a while. It makes her want to shiver.

She hesitates for only a second before approaching him.

“I’m um, I’m Niamh, the um- the nanny.”

She sticks her right hand in his direction. Niamh sees his hold on the bottle of water tighten a little but then he reaches to accept her offered hand. He easily dwarfs her hand with his— it’s big, warm and calloused. Niamh releases a trembling breath. The man drops her hand like it burns before rounding her figure and striding out the kitchen. After being here for a little over two weeks, this is the first time she has seen him. Niamh hopes to see him again. And again and again.

************

“And they lived happily ever after..”

“The end!” Aurora chimes in like she always does at the end of her stories with a toothless grin.

Niamh offers a smile in return, tugging the sheets further up her body.

“Sweet dreams, Aurora.” Niamh whispers softly.

“Niamh, does daddy hate me?”

Niamh’s hand freezes midair on the way to switch on the little lamp by her bedside. Aurora and Mason can’t sleep in a completely dark room, so she learned from Ivy to turn on their lamps before switching off the light.

“What do you mean, Aurora? Of course he doesn’t.”

Aurora toys with one of her pigtails as she looks away from Niamh.

“It’s just, I have a performance at school. I want him to come, but he won’t even speak to me. Everyone else’s dads will show up but I know mine won’t.”

Niamh blinks away the tears in her eyes at the little girl’s crestfallen expression.

“Daddy is just going through a lot right now.” She tries to ease her worries gently.

“I know. He and mommy aren’t together anymore and he hurt his knee so he can’t play football. But we never wanted daddy and mommy to get ‘vorced either or- never mind. Can you come to my play?”

Niamh’s heart sinks even lower in her stomach. Divorce is such a mouthful for a girl her age and yet she still understands the concept.

“I’ll come and guess what? I’ll get your father to come too.”

Aurora’s eyes light up. “You promise?”

Niamh gulps. She shouldn’t but she nods her head anyway and says; “I promise.”

*********

Niamh moves through the house like a malignant spirit. After doing her rounds and making sure all the children are in bed, she marches down the hallway with a stormy expression on her face. She’s so angry she can physically feel the heat of it burning beneath her skin. She wastes no time in banging against the solid surface of his door.

“Open up. I need to talk to you.”

Silence.

“Okay. You want to play this game?”

Niamh fists both her hands then pounds them against the door. It rattles loudly beneath her hands, the insistent banging echoes throughout the hallway. It goes on for what feels like minutes before the door is swung open suddenly and she stumbles into his room a bit before quickly righting herself again.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He’s furious. She almost cowers beneath his scathing glare but steels her spine. She’s angry too.

“You should be asking yourself that question! Do you know what Aurora asked me tonight?!”

His demeanor changes at the mention of his daughter. Worry quickly takes the place of anger.

“She asked me if you hated her! Your seven year old daughter is under your roof and thinks you don’t love her!”

Niamh has never yelled at anyone in her 25 years of life, but her ire is too much to handle.

“I know you’re going through a lot. But your children need you. They are not the cause of your divorce or your injury and they shouldn’t have to suffer for it. I’m tired of dancing around questions from them about how you’re doing. Talk to your fucking kids!”

Niamh brings a finger to jab at his bare chest.

“And Aurora has a school play this Friday at six and I promised her you’d be there so you better fucking be. I’m leaving.”

Virgil stares at her, eyes wide with surprise and a hint of melancholy dancing just beneath. Niamh marches off and out of the house. That was a stupid way to talk to her boss. But Aurora’s sad eyes while asking her that question makes the anger shimmering beneath her skin overshadow any feeling of regret. In fact, she feels relieved. She has been wanting to say it to the man for days now and she’s glad she did. Outcome be damned.

****************

Niamh checked her phone obsessively throughout the day. Body tensed in anticipation for the “you’re fired,’ text from Ivy. Instead, her day progresses like any other since she got hired. She had a full breakfast before leaving her apartment; attended her classes and took the bus to work, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Niamh is greeted by a beaming Ivy who grips both her hands in her own and starts an awkward dance in the middle of the foyer.

“What are we celebrating?” Niamh asks in amusement at Ivy’s clumsy feet tap dancing on the spot.

“You won’t believe what I discovered this morning when I came into work.” Ivy hastily drags her into the kitchen, clearly wanting to gossip.

“What?” Niamh inquires with an edge of impatience to her voice.

“He was awake, down here with them. He made them breakfast. He basically ran and left me to take over after I came but still! That’s progress! And Aurora, poor sweet thing, she was so happy. Apparently, he slept in her room last night and promised to attend her school play on Friday.”

Ivy’s eyes glint with happy tears.

And Niamh? Niamh can’t help that her smile is a little smug as warmth spreads throughout her entire body.

[carolingarts]

I'm just gonna expound on my Bob headcanons because...yeah. After my "thoughts on Wanda" thing I have a lot of thoughts and I'm kind of annoyed about some of the ones I've seen so let me just - break this down.

AS A PERSON:

this is a man who is familiar with Gen Z/Alpha internet lingo but he tells no one. So when the "New Avengers" are confronted with anything "Skibidi" or Ohio he plays dumb or mildly says "Well you *don't* have aura maybe?" but refuses to explain what the words mean and he won't - unless Yelena asks (and even then Yelena has kind of an idea.)

He can't cook worth shit but he likes baking tons mostly because following recipes is easy as hell, its on a box, it's brownies (and Yelena just side-eyes him the whole damn time but he laughs and shrugs)

If somebody makes a remark about his whole "problem" he just rolls his eyes and bounces it off him with a joke and if he's having a bad day the jokes get nastier (" Look, I'm crazy. I'm not stupid. There's a difference." "C'mon. Throw me a bone here. My life runs the gamut from normal guy to chicken on meth that'd mess with anybody...? man." "Yeah. Well. I'm gonna go sit in my box and take five minutes.") he always apologizes after. He's working on it.

If he remembers to vote he votes Green party. While his favorite was Captain America growing up, when it heads into the fourth of July he just starts to subtly drop hints about how much America sucks. He doesn't really care but he can quote a lot of facts about the failures of American policy. Red Guardian laugh. Bucky chuckles. John takes it very personally.

He fucking hates, *hates* *haaaates* cops. To the point that "oh you poofed a bunch of cops into the void. "huh. that happened. did they come back? ah. well good for them I guess." The comics don't talk about his family but in this case his dad was a cop in my HC so.

He's really good with numbers because the way he got to where he was was doing numbers for drug cartels (this man has an arrest record) and he is very, very good with taxes. So if he wasn't watching Allegra having seen her memories he threatens to look up her tax numbers. ("Are you threatening to kick my ass?" "No. I'll look at your tax returns")

WITH YELENA.

He tends to go to Yelena first to share triumphs and tribulations about anything he's learned or discovered. This also means she gets to deal with any "Sentry" moments. This varies from dealing with his "hey I did a cool thing" to his delusions of grandeur "It's because I'm fucking amazing and the rest of you fucking suck."

It's because he catches himself around her though, and he does, and he apologizes. To her credit she's set some pretty good boundaries with him and he respects that. They have a 15 minute rule if he's having a bad day or he recognizes he wants to share something mental health related.

He's turned her on to playing Mario Kart and gotten Red Guardian to play with them. he will never admit to either of them that he considers them the closest thing to family because he has no idea what their relationship is he just knows he is happy around him.

He has also turned her on to ASMR because it helps *him* fall asleep. She'll never admit some of it freaks her out but he swears it helps so she just humors him because okay sure watching videos of people pretending to brush your hair works and maybe it kind of does she won't admit it.

WITH ALEXEI

he's getting him to teach him Russian.

Despite having done every drug under the sun, he doesn't drink which confuses the hell out of the Red Guardian but having done quite a few drugs himself (as well as drinking), Alexei is probably his biggest sobriety partner. Sometimes people will find the two of them deep in conversation. If Yelena needs a break she'll send him to Alexei and Alexei will just grab him a little like scruffing a kitten with a "C'mon boy. You're talking to me now."

They go for drives. .

He does Alexei's taxes (or at least he tried. Then he determined he's going to prison because he never filed. so he'd go to prison if he tried to turn them in.)

The two of them talk communism with Alexei trying to convert him to a comrade. Bob doesn't care but he humors him.

WITH AVA

bob took Ava's remarks about "not having a childhood" really seriously so he started sending her cartoon recaps because he's obsessed with youtube. Stuff like Rugrats, Cartoon Network, Pokemon. When she asked him "Why" he lied and said that "It might be helpful in training because reading over what kids like might help with dealing with kids". She told him to stop - until she asked for more stuff about anime like pokemon. Just - stop spamming her email.

She's the one who teaches him meditation. His "bad" days are his and he doesn't show them to anybody but the one time she caught him - a rarity - she's the only person that ever has- she taught him meditation to keep himself grounded. it helps. he's grateful.

Sometimes Bob has a tendency to get annoyed with people who his friends are pissed off at which translated to a passed off hatred of Hank Pym, Scott Lang, and Hope Van Dyne. Ava was watching them on TV and just kind of rolled her eyes at them on TV making a casual remark about "stolen valor" for her father's work and Doctor Foster's. Bob's remark, "Do you want them here? I mean I'll hold them down, Drag um down even and lock them *down there* and you can just. Do what you want. Or I will. It'll be great!" No? Okay no. No I mean...bad idea. Yeah. Sorry sometimes...Just slips out." Sorry.

WITH WALKER

He does make the Gen Z/Gen Alpha lingo jokes at John mostly about not having Aura or Rizz. But he'll point out that he was "made in Ohio" technically and when John asks if he's okay or having an episode Bob will feel bad but he keeps up with the joke so he'll say yeah. It's just too good a joke to not keep going.

The whole reason that Bob has done any kind of training at all is because of John and he's gotten really good at it. He can actually put together a gun together and take it apart and put it together. He just hasn't shared he can do it with his mind *really really fast*.

He doesn't "like" the guy but he'll defend the guy. He doesn't like what he represents and he likes what they do to soldiers even less. When he was dealing, vets were some of his customers so whenever anybody from the government shows up he makes sure to dress extra nice and just sit and stare really really quietly trying to be as creepy as possible.

When they get close to either Bucky or John he doubles up on the staring and when Allegra gets close to either of them he'll just move up and sit even closer staring at her directly tilting his head even more animal like before smiling. Then when people afterwards ask him why he behaves like that he shrugs "I don't care what people think about me. They treat you guys like trained dogs. You're not. I don't give a shit what people think. They don't get to treat you like that."

He's not going to bend the shield back into place ever but he did buy Taco bell tacos and buy a big card that said "Have a smashing birthday" and he crossed that out and wrote "I'm sorry I smashed your shield."

WITH BUCKY

He's put together about Sam and Bucky falling out and he is trying to figure out how to approach the idea that Bucky should break away from Allegra. Or they should strike out on their own. Or maybe just disband. He's not sure how to play things yet.

He just doesn't want them to leave him and he doesn't want to leave them either because he's worried that if they leave then he'll snap and he feels like Bucky gets it but he can't talk to Bucky about that so he just kind of haunts him and tires to engage him in conversation because he's seen what Bucky went through and he knows that he might get it.

"You should get a pet." "What?" "You should get a pet man. I'm not saying everybody I'm saying. You. Like I know you've got this tough guy persona to maintain but you just strike me as a dude who needs like, a pet." "...Maybe you need a pet." "I've got a pet." "...No no! It's not you guys! wait that didn't come out right. Hang on it's um. hang on. It's a virtual pet! See it's a tamagotchi! I feed it, play with it. I had a dog growing up...I'm gonna go now."

Bucky doesn't scare him but the void knows that Yelena has to be the first to die, Bucky has to be the second. Yelena is the barrier preventing it's return to power, Bucky is the one who would organize people to stand against it.

WITH ALLEGRA

Allegra is a huge trigger for him. She avoids looking at him and tries to fake mother him whenever she sees him. It's hard to turn off that need for approval but he likes how people stand beside him.

That turns on that protective sense of "I've got to protect these people these people suck and don't want what's best for everybody otherwise they won't try and divide this whole team thing because something bad is coming."

If I really could control this I should just kill her. - is a regular thought Bob's had and it's the one thing he wishes all three of his personalities could agree on.

He is banned from seeing her but he still shows up anyway. It's gotten to the point where people have taken her aside and said point blank "Look. You need to stop asking to see him." "Why? He's-" "It's for your safety. We don't know what to do with him. And we don't know what he'll do to you. He doesn't like you. At all. He likes us. and he might hurt you."

To which Bob would respond, "No no, I wouldn't do thaaaat- I'd just y'know. Remind her. about her dad."

And he just stares.

"But that's private right?"

and he just spends the rest of the day alone and Allegra leaves.

Anyway those are my headcanons.