#on account of being a broken human being

[thelotusrabbit]

DpxDc #12

Danny pushed the cigarette between his lips, taking a long draw out of it.

What time was it? Four… five in the morning?

He exhaled, watching the smoke fill the air, relaxing with the smell of tobacco.

Everything was tinted in a blueish light, and with the sun coming out in an hour or so, he pulled his hood a little bit tighter.

The entrance of the abandoned church was the to-go meeting spot since he decided to become an informant, deciding that selling info was more profitable than a normal retail job.

Sure, he got paid on commission, but he didn’t need identification, an address, or a bank account.

He tried not to sell to criminals if he could, but sometimes it happened that the info he got wasn’t necessary to the bats, so…

He heard someone approaching, so he took a last draw from his cigarette and pressed it against the wall to put it off.

The familiar figure approached, and Danny smiled.

“Hood”

The man nodded, as they greeted each other.

“Hi Phantom, sorry for being late. Listen, I need some stuff and it’s kind of time-sensitive”

“Oh, shit man, sound serious”

“Yeah, don't tell me... I don’t know how you do it, but I heard that you know stuff about spirits and shit?”

Oh, fuck.

Danny has been in Gotham for the most part of two years, liking how there was enough ectoplasm in the air to keep him going, but not many ghosts around to annoy him every day.

If this was a ghost matter, and it was enough to worry the Red Hood, then peace was about to be broken.

“I know some stuff, what about it?”

“You do? Any chance you heard about the Infinite Realms?”

Dany shifted a bit, feeling the sudden weight of the invisible crown above his head.

“Sounds dangerous, doesn’t it? Why do you want to know about it?”

“A portal opened around here in Gotham and a fucking monster dragged my brother inside. If you know something, you have to help me. I’ll pay you”

Danny stayed silent for a bit.

On one side, he hated going in there. Too many memories, too many enemies…

But on the other side, a human was taken, and, well, at least he was going to get paid.

He inhaled deeply, taking out another cigarette.

“Sure”

[clubconsent]

So, in Gideon the Ninth, a cavalier comes to Canaan House. Our cavalier is largely uninterested in necromancy, on account of being a huge jock with too many muscles who would rather be playing with swords or talking about playing with swords, and frequently mocks the weirdos who get worked up about things that aren't swords.

Our cavalier has a rocky relationship with their necromancer, who, it must be said, is kind of a terrible person. But by the end of the book, they've achieved true unity, just as Jod intended.

It's surprising to me that up to my most recent read, I hadn't realized how much Babs is clearly meant as a foil for Gideon, down to the sense of humor. Gideon loves Magnus's puns, but "anyone goes missing, we assume they're having a nap in the incinerator" is the kind of thing you can actually imagine Gideon saying.

So their differences become really interesting. His reflexive insistence on being called Prince Tern whenever his ego is threatened throws Gideon's indentured servant status into sharp relief. His shock and anger when rules are broken contrasts with her experience of rules as threats she has to manage. And while they both instinctively dislike most people, she rapidly makes a surprising number of friends. He looks down on everyone too much for that. (She distrusts. He disdains.)

And, of course, in the end, she chooses her fate, while he gets lyctored in the back.

The contrast between them definitely works with the themes of the book, but I think I missed it because it speaks even more to the the larger series: how cozy are you with power and privilege? How do you decide to navigate your bonds with others in a world that turns human relationships to horrible ends? For what cause are you willing to work with the systemic violence that animates everything around you?

Gideon makes her choices with open eyes. Babs turns away into a warm cocoon that turns out to be a bag over his head.

[alaakhaled]

Hello my friends...

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Alaa lives in Gaza City, where life before October 7th was filled with hope and hard work. Ali, who lived with his family, led a simple yet stable life. They had a home that sheltered them and a source of income that provided for their basic needs. They shared joys and sorrows with their neighbors and friends, planning for a better future.

But in a single moment, everything changed. War struck the city mercilessly, destroying homes and shops, leaving Ali and his family with nothing but beautiful memories of a life that had become part of the past. They found themselves homeless, jobless, and clinging to hope under a small tent that could neither protect them from the cold of winter nor the heat of the sun.

In these harsh conditions, Ali tries to hold on to hope. Despite the pain and loss, he still believes that life can improve, and that he can rebuild a home that will provide his family with safety, as well as a source of income to restore their dignity. He seeks help from anyone who can extend a helping hand, not just to build a new house but to reclaim the life that was taken from him and his family.

In conclusion, Ali’s story is one of many voices from Gaza, a message that carries both pain and hope, calling on the world to unite in building a better future for the displaced and those in need.

.

The Story of My Child Khaled

The youngest member of Khaled's family is a child no older than two years. This little boy was the source of joy and happiness for the family, but war robbed him of a healthy childhood. After our home was destroyed, his health began to deteriorate due to the harsh conditions in the camp. The lack of clean water and the absence of basic health services led to painful skin diseases.

"My child cries day and night from pain, and I am helpless to do anything for him. There is no clean water to wash his body, no medicine to ease his suffering. Seeing him suffer without being able to help him has broken my heart."

Despite the pain, Khaled clings to the hope that his child’s plight will reach those who can save him. "Please, help me treat my child; he is innocent in this war. I just want to see him smile again."

This little child’s story is not just an individual tale of suffering but a human cry to save the children of Gaza, who endure silently under these harsh conditions.

This child is in Gaza, and he is crying because there is no food, milk, or diapers for him. His parents are asking for help from everyone to provide these essential supplies for the child. I don’t have money, and the child’s father is also struggling. We need donations to help provide for our baby.

We need your help to support our family and provide the basics of a decent life. Every donation, no matter how small, will make a big difference in our lives.😭🇵🇸🙏💔

A child is suffering from severe rashes and infections in sensitive areas of his body due to the use of unsuitable cloth diapers. His condition is getting worse, and his family is desperately seeking treatment for his skin and relief for the sensitive areas affected. They are in urgent need of help to provide the necessary care and medications for their baby. They are pleading for assistance to help give their child the relief and comfort he desperately needs.💔

We are struggling to find clean water, and the available water does not meet safety standards. With no access to clean water in our homes, we are facing a serious crisis. We are making an urgent plea for help, as the lack of water is putting our lives and health at risk.💔🙏

We are forced to cook our🇵🇸 food over firewood, and as a result, the food is often unhealthy and harmful. The lack of proper cooking resources is making it difficult to provide safe and nutritious meals, putting our health at risk.😭

Our home was destroyed by the Israeli occupation, and we no longer have a safe place to live. We are left without shelter or access to proper healthcare, struggling to find safety and basic care for our family.💔

🚨🚨🚨

We are a simple family from Gaza, and we have suffered greatly from the difficult circumstances we live in here. The difficult economic conditions and the unstable security situation have made daily life very difficult. We need your help to support our family and provide the basics of a decent life. Every donation, no matter how small, will make a big difference in our lives. Thank you for your generosity and solidarity. Our prayers for peace and well-being for you and your families.

@irhabiya @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @junglejim4322 @kibumkimxap @kibumkimxap @kibumkims @neechees @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @heritagepostsbot @heritagepostswithjax @toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoidot @evillesbianvillainarchive @ot3-old @ot3-old @ot3showdown @ot3showdown

We need your support; even a small donation can make a big difference. Thank you to everyone who has helped us. 😞💔🇵🇸

[acid-ixx]

i don't even get why she was so salty over "woke" propaganda when the fandom she literally writes for is inherently woke from the start 😭 you can never deny how superman is an illegal alien immigrant who is titled champion of the oppressed, who fights not just for america but for human rights as a whole, then there's also batman, wonder woman, literally green arrow, every superhero you idolize are woke as hell, let's not forget how writers planned to make conner kent a trans woman? 🤨—

then you gotta tell me she came to a conclusion to form bigoted opinions, and THEN tell others not to dabble into her own country's politics when she spews shit about the damn issues happening in america (fuck ICE, fuck the government, and most especially you tr*mp 🤮)??? also, as far as a stretch as this sounds, the tim drake hate feels very much targeted, cause ik she mentioned how the writers "ruined" his character by making him bi and ruining his romance with steph, when the latter has already broken up with him long ago (homophobia much??? for someone who claims she actually doesn't care about his character, why so salty then? and why complain about him being bi when that was also announced YEARS ago)

and also, her one pinning a long message saying the blog is supposed to be free from politics or whatsoever, but damn what a hypocrite, especially when she calls everyone who rebuts the r slur? i have had so much gripes on her from the start damn 😭

just saying, if you're a writer with a big following, like me with a big platform, that doesn't mean you automatically have the power to talk about your dogshit, uneducated opinions and expect to NOT get attacked or called out for it, ESPECIALLY if it's targeted to minorities, and especially if you know you can't defend yourself and end up deleting your blog cause you know you're in the wrong LMAO

(yes, this is about luv-lock. i once vaguely mentioned her in my account, idc if i get attacked for this, i'm just pointing out my own observations)

[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | "single mom" au | masterlist

8: pupae

No matter what form it takes, all meat looks the same. 

Swine. Sheep. Man. The fibres are all kindred—pale connective tissue, blooming red cells. Two legs or four, Simon can always mark the cuts with a single glance. Chuck, round, flank, plate—a dancing blade, flesh slicing apart, splitting open until it reveals itself and all its gorey glory. Even the scent is the same; come human or pig, the offals are just as rancid no matter the name.

It’s the only job Simon was able to pick up after being discharged. Trading his gun for a knife only made sense. Being a butcher isn’t too different from being a soldier, and even after all his time spent away from the craft, his hands still have each cut memorized. Everything smells the same, just with less gun powder. When things get too quiet, he turns on the radio and cranks it up until the crackling voices sound like barking commands given over a shotty earpiece. 

The order is comforting. When 17:00 stares down at him from the analogue clock hung high over his head, he gets to put everything in its place. Cold, coagulated blood washed down the sink, stainless steel turning pink, knives sharpened and honed until he’s able to store them on the magnetic rack above the chopping block. When he suds up his hands—antibacterial soap stripping his skin until it’s dry and cracking—he nearly misses the redolence of death that he’s grown so fond of. 

As he locks up the shop and wanders towards his car with a cigarette pressed to his lips, Simon thinks about how he never really needed this job. Between his disability payments from his time in the service, and his offshore accounts, he could vanish. Slip deep into the woods where no one would hound him. Just him and the flies for company. 

Though, if he is going to take care of you and his child, the extra money won’t hurt. 

“Ghost.” 

There’s someone leaning against the driver’s door to his car. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, navy jacket stretching over his shoulders—it’s been a long time since Simon’s seen the fellow before him and the russet eyes and telltale scar on his cheek that creases with the brassy smirk on his lips. 

“Gonna scratch my paint, Gaz,” Simon grunts through his nicotine haze. 

“Right, sorry,” Kyle says with a chuckle. The man gently pushes himself away from the car with a quiet wince. Simon isn’t blind to the off kilter limp in his gait. 

“You broken?” he asks bluntly. 

Kyle dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Temporary medical leave.”

“Reckon your back isn’t treatin’ you too kindly after all the shit you’ve put it through.” 

“No sir.” 

Though his cigarette is only half finished, Simon tosses it to the ground where it sputters on the asphalt for a short moment before he smothers it with the toe of his boot. The flickering embers make him hungry. 

“Here for a tour?” Simon questions bluntly. 

“I’d rather a drink,” Kyle quips. 

He thinks it over for a moment. There’s this thought of you that lurks at the base of his skull for all hours of the day—waking and unconscious. You. Ever rounder with his child, you’re probably home by now having thrown yourself on the couch or into bed, groaning over your hips and swelling feet. His teeth hurt at the thought, and his hands itch to return to you, but as he stares at Kyle, he thinks he can pretend to be human for at least a little while. 

The pub is just the same as all the other times they’ve gone out for drinks. That forever lingering scent of smoke taints every pore in the walls and ceiling, souring the hoppy beer and fresh chips, but it doesn’t turn either of them off from grabbing a seat. Kyle slinks into his chair slowly with his palms flat on the table before he falls back into the seat with a strained grunt. Simon can’t help but chuckle. 

“Yeah, real funny,” Kyle murmurs. 

“Just wait ‘til you’re my age,” he hums. 

“What, thirty-eight going on fifty?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” 

Both men sip on the pint glasses in their hands while the sconce lazily flickers overhead. The wooden table beneath Simon’s elbows is in desperate need of a good clean. His jumper sticks to the top, and the scratch marks threaten to leave splinters in his forearms if he makes any sudden movements. 

“Settling into civi life alright?” Kyle asks after a short stretch of silence. 

Simon eyes the man carefully; studies every inch of his face. The concern is real, but the verbiage isn’t his. “Ol’ skipper worried ‘bout me?” 

“Of course he is,” Kyle shrugs. 

“Can take the man out of the military…” The rim is cold against Simon’s lips as he takes a sip, thin layer of foam breaking over his tongue until the amber liquid washes down his throat with a gulp. “Thing’s are fine.” 

Kyle smirks. “Never been one for details.” 

“Only the important ones.” 

The laughter is tight in Kyle’s throat, and Simon can’t tell if it’s from the discomfort of pain or his gauche company. He’s always been a rough man. Hardly agreeable. Built for one thing, and it certainly isn’t for being a gracious host or a model citizen. 

“But really,” Kyle pushes. “I mean, after everything. Makarov and Soap… I guess worried might be a bit of an understatement. You might not be active duty anymore, but Price still considers you one of his men. We all do.” 

All. He says the word as if there’s any more than a small handful of members who aren’t corpses in the ground buried too far out of reach. Kyle, Price, Laswell; and who else? Not Soap. Not his Johnny. Still, he has a trail to diverge. A scent to cover. 

“I work. I sleep well. I eat. I’m gettin’ there, Gaz.” Not too perfect that it’s faux, but blunt enough to be from his mouth all the same. 

Kyle nods as his eyes study his face. He gazes deep at every scar that mars his features, the creases in the corners of his eyes, the puffy texture of his skin. A war torn, battle scarred man. Something so rigid in a world of softness—sharp edges waiting to puncture and wound. 

Still, it’s enough to muddy Kyle’s senses for now. “Glad to hear it.” 

Neither of them linger for long. Between Kyle’s injury and Simon’s intense distaste for most social interaction these days, the two men wander up to the front with their wallets drawn to pay for their tabs. The cash is flimsy between Simon’s fingers as he relinquishes it, watching the notes flutter onto the counter, but the only tangible thing he can keep his mind on is you. 

His skin itches. Unrestrained want slithers beneath his skin, bloating him as it wraps around his organs, his bones, his throat. A desire of the most primal instinct. To keep. To protect. 

“Holy shit.” Kyle’s exclamation is near breathless. It draws Simon’s attention, and his hairs stand on end when he realizes the man isn’t looking at him. Blinking, Kyle gestures to his wallet. “Congrats, man.” 

That’s when Simon remembers the sonogram. Delicate black and white film is shoved carefully into the ID slot in his wallet, displaying his child with pride. Still forming limbs, curled towards the torso, head bent forward as if swaddled. He runs a thumb over the plastic before humming. 

“How far along?” Kyle prompts. 

“Almost six months,” Simon says after a short moment of consideration. 

This is the first time he’s discussed the baby with anyone other than you. Otherwise, it’s been kept a secret inside of him. A jittering truth fluttering in his chest, tightening every muscle in his body until his desires bear fruit. 

“Do you know the gender?” 

Slowly, Simon begins to fold his wallet, carefully creasing the leather so as to not blemish the sonogram; one of the instances of proof of his baby. Still, he cannot deny the pride that purrs in his stomach. 

“A boy.” 

The drive home is quick. Heavy foot on the pedal, streets speeding by—it isn’t long before he’s trekking through the door. Though enervation nips at his heels from a long day on his feet, all that weariness vanishes when he finds you in the living room. 

You have a harder time curling up these days, so instead of your legs being tucked underneath you, they spread straight out while your feet rest on the floor. A blanket drapes over your lap as you lazily watch whatever programme is droning on the television, but your eyes light up once his heavy steps break into the room. 

“Simon!” you exclaim. “Come here!” 

He’s trained you well over these last few weeks. You’re more dependent on him. Less likely to push down your feelings and hide away. Instead, you come to him with wet eyes and outstretched fingers, ready to fall into him, ready to let him kiss everything away until it’s numb. Just as you ought to. 

Following your request, he sits beside you on the couch and it isn’t long before you’re snatching his hands into yours. Placing his palms flat on your stomach, you rest your touch on top of him, buzzing as you scoot closer to him. 

“He’s been really active today,” you inform with poorly hidden glee. 

And you’re right. Simon feels him right away—the movement. The fluttering kicks against your womb and how it displaces your stomach. He can’t hide the way a smirk pulls at his lips as he presses harder, desperate to feel every morsel of movement his son will give him. 

“Quite the kicker,” Simon hums. 

“It’s fun until he lands one against my ribs,” you tease. 

Smirking, Simon bends forward low enough until his lips brush against your clothed stomach. As if feeling him, the baby prods at his mouth, and he imagines tiny fingers reaching out to poke him. 

“You be good to your mother, young man.” Then, he kisses you. The warmth from your stomach bleeds into him and for a moment everything goes quiet. There is no ticking bomb, or gunshots and ichor, there is only you, him, and his son in the palm of his hands.

“Don’t worry, you and Daddy will meet real soon.”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | early access to chapters here

[starkeyslibrary]

STILL YOURS

sypnosis: When Rafe Cameron left chasing bigger dreams, he never thought he'd lose her along the way. Years later, fate and one reckless basketball game, brings them back together, but old scars make second chances harder to earn. They aren't the same kids who once promised forever but maybe this time, love won't have to wait.

pairing: you x rafe cameron

word count: 8.7k

basketballplayer!rafecameron x nurse!reader

Rafe Cameron was feeling himself.

Fresh off a win, city lights glittering outside the stadium, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. The crowd loved him. His bank accounts loved him. And he loved the way people looked at him - like he was invincible, untouchable, something more than human.

Especially tonight.

After the game, his teammate Jordan had taken a nasty hit - nothing too serious, just some bruised ribs but enough that the team doc wanted him checked out at the nearest hospital just to be safe.

Rafe came along for the ride, mostly out of loyalty, partly out of boredom.

He strolled into the ER with his hoodie up.

And then he saw you.

Across the room, standing at the nurse's station, scrolling through a chart. Hair up in a messy bun. Scrubs hugging your curves. Smirking at something the nurse beside you said - that quick, sharp smile he remembered like a goddamn punch to the gut.

Rafe froze.

No fucking way. You? Here?

The girl who used to patch up his scraped knees and roast him for missing free throws?

The girl he hadn't seen in years, not since he blew out of your shared hometown without looking back. He didn't even think. Didn't stop to question it.

He strode across the room like a man possessed, cocky grin sliding onto his face like armor.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter, blocking your view. "If it isn't my favorite nurse."

You looked up, a polite, professional smile already in place, the kind you probably gave to every annoying patient.

Than you actually registered who it was.

Your eyes flickered over him - tall, broad-shouldered, tattoos snaking up his arms and then flicked away like he was nothing special.

"No visitors past this point" you said crisply, barely glancing at him.

Rafe blinked.

You knew exactly who he was. He could see it. You just... didn't care.

And holy shit, if that didn't make something tighten painfully in his chest.

He laughed, flashing that grin that usually had people tripping over themselves.

"Come on, you don't even say hello?" he teased, voice low, coaxing. "It's me, baby."

You raised a brow. "Baby? You been dropped on your head recently, Cameron?"

Jordan, behind him, choked on a laugh. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "I like her already."

Rafe ignored him, laser-focused on you.

"You work here?" he asked, folding his arms, tattoos flexing. "Since when?"

You shrugged, flipping a page in the chart, completely unfazed. "Since I decided I deserved better than small-town bullshit."

He grinned wider, loving and hating how you didn't fawn over him. "Better than me, you mean."

You looked him deadly in the eye. Cool. Flat. Deadly.

"You were never on the list."

Jordan wheezed in the background.

Rafe's smirk faltered, just a hair, but he masked it with a low chuckle.

Damn, you were good.

You turned to Jordan without missing a beat. "You the one with the bruised ribs?"

"Yeah," Jordan said, still grinning. "Not broken though, right?"

"Probably just bruised," you confirmed, professional now. "But we'll do a quick scan to be safe. Come with me."

He stood there, reeling.

For the first time in a long, long while, Rafe Cameron didn't know what the hell to do.

FLASHBACK TO WHEN IT ALL FELL APART

It wasn't always like this between you and Rafe.

There was a time, back before the fame, the pressure of being an NBA star, and the endless media coverage - when you were everything to him. Well, almost everything. You'd grown up together, inseperable, sharing secrets and dreams of what the future could hold. He'd never been the cocky athlete, just Rafe, your best friend.

But as soon as he got drafted, everything started to shift. It was gradual at first. Small things, like his texts coming fewer and farther between. The way he started cancelling plans, promising to make it up to you and never doing it. But you didn't think much of it at first - he was busy, right? He was going to be famous, and you were happy for him.

Until one day, you realized that the only time he reached out was when he needed something. When it wasn't about you, it was about him. His schedule, his career, his life. Your texts and calls started going unanswered for days, sometimes weeks. It wasn't like the old Rafe. The one who'd always made time for you, who'd showed up when you needed him.

It happened after that last phone call. The one where you'd finally had enough.

"Rafe, we need to talk," you said, your voice tight with frustration.

It had been a month since you'd last heard from him, and now, you were standing in your apartment, staring at his name on your phone screen as it rang for the third time that week.

You loved him. You did. But he wasn't the same anymore. You weren't even sure you liked the person he was becoming.

You hit "answer" and put the phone to your ear, heart pounding with anticipation.

"Hey," his voice was thick, like he'd just woken up. "Sorry I missed your call."

"Yeah, well, you've been missing a lot of calls lately," you shot back. The frustration in your chest was starting to boil over, but you were trying to keep it cool. "It's been weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And I haven't heard from you once. You know, you could've at least tried to reach out."

There was a pause on the other end, like he didn't really know how to respond. Finally, he spoke again, his tone quieter. "I know. I've been... busy."

"Busy?" you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "That's all you've got for me? Busy? You're busy being a superstar, and I'm supposed to just sit around and wait for you?"

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, sounding defensive. "It's just... everything's changed, Y/N. I didn't think you'd understand."

“No, I don’t understand,” you said, your voice rising now. “You used to make time for me. You used to care about me. But now? Now you’ve got a hundred people demanding your attention, and I’m just some background noise. I’m not gonna be a part of your life when it’s convenient, Rafe.”

You could hear him sigh on the other end. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want things to change, but they have. I didn't mean to push you away."

“Well, you did,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “And now it feels like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

There was a long silence, and for a moment, you thought he might say something — something that would make it better. Something that would make you believe he cared. But then, the truth of it hit you. The truth you’d been avoiding for weeks.

He wasn’t the same Rafe anymore.

The next few days were a blur of heartbreak and anger. You tried to reach out to him again. Texts. Calls. But each time, it felt like a slap in the face. His replies were short, delayed, or non-existent.

And you couldn’t help it. You felt yourself slipping. The Rafe who used to be your best friend, the guy who told you everything, had disappeared. And in his place was a stranger who only remembered you when it was convenient.

The final nail in the coffin came when you saw the pictures.

It was late one night when you scrolled through your social media feed, your heart already heavy from the way things had been going. You should’ve known better than to check, but there it was: Rafe, front and center, surrounded by his new teammates, flashing that signature smirk that made every camera in the room snap photos.

And there was a girl beside him. Pretty, tall, blonde, all smiles, laughing up at him like she was the only person in the world.

You stared at the picture for a long time. The caption was simple: "The squad’s all here. Couldn’t have made it without these guys."

But it wasn’t the picture that stung. It was the realization that Rafe had already moved on. He was already living the life he wanted, and you weren’t even a blip on his radar anymore. The girl in the picture wasn’t you. It never would be again.

That’s when you made the decision.

You stopped calling. You stopped texting. You stopped waiting.

You moved on.

LATER

He waited.

Of course he waited.

Sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room, cap pulled low over his eyes, ignoring the people sneaking glances at him.

He waited until you finally walked back out, clipboard tucked under your arm.

Rafe shot up, following you down the hall.

“Hey, Y/N,” he called, catching up easily. “Hold up.”

You kept walking.

He grabbed your wrist – gently, spinning you to face him.

You glared up at him, unimpressed.

Now, standing in front of him - the man who once meant everything to you - you had to fight the urge to crumble. Your heart was still scarred from the way he'd slipped away so easily. The way he'd left you in the dust when he got what he wanted, like you didn't matter.

"I didn't know you were here," Rafe said, voice quieter but still laced with that trademark arrogance, like he couldn't quite believe you'd slipped past his radar.

"Yeah, well, you didn't exactly make a habit of checking in." You replied harshly, arms crossing over your chest.

He took a lazy step closer, and even though the fluorescent hospital lights weren't exactly forgiving, he still managed to look good enough to ruin a life. Hoodie still up, cap pulled low, but his eyes burning into yours like you were the only person in the room.

You raised your chin, refusing to let him rattle you.

"You were busy," you added with a shrug, the casualness in your voice undercut by pounding of your heart. "Busy being Rafe Cameron: NBA star, city legend, certified heartbreaker."

He chuckled low under his breath, the sound rich and smug. God, he was annoying. God, you hated that part of you still loved it.

"You forgot devastatingly handsome," he said with a wink, stepping even closer.

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. "Must've slipped my mind."

Before he could answer, Jordan limped out of one of the side rooms, a grin splitting his face when he spotted you both.

Jordan was cleared. He was fine.

"Hey, Y/N", Jordan called, patting his side. "You fixed me up good. Still breathing. Thanks."

You offered him a smirk. "Miracles happen every day."

Jordan laughed and clapped Rafe on the shoulder. "You ready, man?"

"Yeah," Rafe said easily, but he didn't look at Jordan. His eyes were glued to you.

Jordan noticed, and with a knowing smirk, he started hobblin toward the exit on his own. "I'll be in the car," he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to hide his amusement. "Try not to get kicked out."

You shook your head. "Your friend's gonna need another trip here if he keeps playing wingman for you."

Rafe grinned, undeterred. If anything, he looked even more pleased.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, voice dropping a little lower, just for you. “Won’t be the last.”

You opened your mouth to shut him down, to remind him exactly how badly he’d screwed up – but he beat you to it.

“I am not giving up,” Rafe said, and suddenly, there was steel under all that cockiness. “Not this time. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You stared at him, heart thudding.

“You say that now,” you said, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “But give it a week. Maybe two. You’ll be back to your busy, superstar life. Just like before.”

He smiled – slow, lazy and infuriatingly confident.

“Yeah?” he said, cocking his head. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

You huffed a laugh under your breath, because goddammit – he was so annoying. And so gorgeous. And he wasn’t backing down.

“You’re impossible.” You muttered.

He grinned wider, reaching out to tug gently at a loose strand of hair that had fallen from your bun.

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, bold as hell. “Still the best thing I’ve ever seen in this city.”

You glared at him. “Flattery’s not gonna work.”

He just chuckled, stepping back like he had all the time in the world. Like he already knew the game wasn’t over. Not even close.

“See you around, Trouble,” he said, backing toward the exit, hands in his pockets, cap low over his eyes again. “And don’t bother changing your number. You know I’ll still find you.”

Trouble.

He hadn’t called you that since you were kids – back when you’d drag him into late-nigh adventures, when you’d dare him to climb fences and sneak into the empty gym just so you could shoot hoops under the stars.

Back when you were his whole damn world.

And with a cocky salute and a wink, Rafe Cameron disappeared through the ER doors. Leaving you staring after him, heart pounding, pulse racing and a very, very dangerous smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

A FEW DAYS LATER

You figured he’d get bored.

You figured he’d move on.

He was Rafe Cameron, after all, the guy who had an attention span about as long as a TikTok video and an ego big enough to feed a whole village.

You were wrong.

It started the very next morning.

A knock at your door – way too early, interrupted your sad attempt at sleeping in after a night shift.

You opened it, bleary-eyes and wearing old sweatpants, expecting Amazon or a neighbour or maybe some aggressive Girl Scout.

Instead?

A huge, obnoxiously gorgeous bouquet of flowers was waiting on your doorstep. Roses, lilies and some wildflowers you didn’t even know the names of – so big you could barely see the delivery guy behind them.

There was a card tucked into the mess of blooms.

You rolled your eyes but snatched it up anyway.

In his messy, familiar scrawl, it read:

“Since I never properly apologized for being an idiot. This is step one. Step two’s gonna be way more fun. – Trouble’s #1 Fan.”

You let out an involuntary laugh – a real one, before quickly thanking the delivery guy and slamming the door, cheeks burning.

Cocky. Arrogant. Bastard.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

Everywhere you went – the hospital, the little coffee shop near work, even the damn gym where you took your pilates classes – he showed up.

Always casual. Confident. Always looking at you like you hung the damn stars.

At work, he started showing up with Jordan – who, for some reason, seemed way too amused by all of it.

Jordan would limp into the ER, milking his injury for all it was worth, while Rafe would lean against the wall like he had all the time in the world, cap pulled low, hoodie half-zipped, giving you that stupid, heart-melting smirk.

"You sure you don’t need to check me out, too, Trouble?" he’d call, hand pressed to his chest dramatically. "I think my heart’s bruised."

You didn’t even blink. "You think you have one?"

Jordan almost collapsed laughing.

Another time, you spotted him across the hospital cafeteria, holding a smoothie cup in both hands — the kind the nurses always fought over when the shifts got long — waving it at you like a bribe.

You tried to ignore him.

You really did.

But every time you turned around, he was there — cocky, relentless, unbothered.

And somehow... underneath it all, sincere. Every flower, every smoothie, every shameless wink — it chipped away at you, little by little.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Loss. You should’ve been used it by now.

It came with the job, you knew that. Sometimes you fought like hell and it still wasn’t enough.

But tonight... it hit different.

The patient had been young. Too young.

One minute you were laughing with them, promising they’d be fine. The next, you were watching monitors flatline while doctors shouted and hands moved too fast to make a difference.

You stayed until the family came. You stayed until the room was cleared. You stayed until the hospital felt like it was swallowing you whole.

And when your shift finally ended, you dragged yourself out into the dark parking lot — bone-tired, heart heavier than it had been in months.

You didn’t even see him at first.

Not until you reached your car, fumbling your keys, and a voice cut through the night.

"Baby."

You turned sharply, breath catching.

Rafe.

Leaning against the hood of his own car a few spaces away, cap low, hoodie zipped halfway up, hands shoved in his pockets — like he’d been waiting for hours.

He pushed off the car slowly, crossing the few feet between you.

And for once... he didn’t smirk.

He didn’t crack a joke.

He just looked at you — really looked — and somehow, he knew.

Your throat tightened painfully.

"I’m fine," you said automatically, wiping at your face even though you weren't sure if there were actual tears yet.

"Bullshit," he said quietly.

You laughed — a hollow, broken sound — and shook your head.

"Not everything’s a game, Rafe."

"I know," he said.

He reached out, hand hovering — not grabbing, not pushing, just offering.

And for once, you didn’t shove him away.

You let him cup the side of your face, rough palm gentle against your cheek.

"You don’t always have to be the strongest one, Trouble," he murmured. "Not with me."

Something inside you cracked at that — sharp and aching.

Because you remembered, now.

This was why it hurt so much when he left all those years ago.

Because even then — arrogant, reckless, stubborn — Rafe Cameron had always made you feel seen. Made you feel safe.

Even when you hated him for it.

You leaned into his hand, just barely, letting your eyes flutter shut for one brief second.

Just breathing.

Just feeling.

And when you opened them again, he was still there — still steady, still waiting — blue eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

"I’m not giving up on you," he said, voice low and certain. "You can hate me. You can run. I don’t give a shit. I’m still gonna be here."

Your heart twisted so hard it hurt.

Goddamn him.

Goddamn him for making you want to believe again.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes.

"You’re such a pain in my ass," you whispered.

Rafe just grinned — that stupid, heart-aching grin — like he was proud of it.

He let his hand drop slowly from your cheek, but he didn’t step away.

Instead, he tilted his head toward the parking lot behind him.

"Come on," he said. "Let me drive you home."

You opened your mouth — to protest, to tell him you could handle yourself — but the exhaustion caught up with you all at once, weighing down your limbs, your chest, your heart.

And the truth was...

You didn’t want to be alone tonight.

You nodded once, silent.

He exhaled softly — almost like he’d been holding his breath — and led you to his car without another word.

The car was warm and quiet, the faint hum of the engine filling the silence.

He didn’t blast music like he usually did. No cocky rap songs. No show-off playlists.

Just the soft buzz of the heater and the occasional swipe of the windshield wipers.

You stared out the window, watching the city blur past in a mess of neon and rain-slicked streets.

After a minute, you felt him glance over at you.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low — not the teasing, cocky tone he usually used — but something careful. Gentle.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening in your lap.

"No," you said honestly. "Not really."

You half-expected him to make a joke, to deflect, to do something Rafe.

But he just nodded, hands loose on the steering wheel, giving you space to breathe.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked, quieter.

You hesitated.

And then, for some reason you couldn’t quite explain — maybe because it was dark, maybe because you were tired, maybe because it was him — you started talking.

You told him about the patient. About how helpless you felt. About how no matter how many times it happened, it never got easier.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t offer dumb advice.

He just listened.

Really listened.

When you finished — voice thick and raw — he was quiet for a beat.

Then he said, simply, "I'm sorry, Trouble. You didn’t deserve that kind of day."

You blinked fast, staring hard out the window so he wouldn't see the tears trying to burn their way free again.

Another few blocks of silence stretched out between you — but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was... safe.

"You know," he said after a while, glancing sideways at you with a half-smirk, "if you ever get tired of saving lives, you could come be my personal trainer or something."

You snorted. Loudly. "Yeah, because coaching your lazy ass to do two push ups is really gonna heal my emotional trauma."

He laughed — a real, full-body laugh — and you found yourself smiling despite everything.

"There she is," he said softly.

You shook your head, biting back a smile.

"You’re unbelievable."

"I know," he said easily. "But you love it."

He pulled up to your curb and put the car in park, but didn’t kill the engine.

Neither of you moved.

You fiddled with the strap of your bag, suddenly nervous.

"Thanks for the ride," you said finally, voice small.

He reached over, his fingers brushing yours lightly — a barely-there touch, but enough to ground you.

"Anytime, Trouble," he murmured. "You don't have to do everything alone, you know."

You opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air — but before you closed it, you leaned down slightly, meeting his eyes across the cab.

"I’m not ready to forgive you," you said, honest and sharp.

"I know," he said — steady, sure. "I’ll wait."

Your heart twisted painfully.

Stupid Rafe Cameron. Stupid loyalty. Stupid beautiful, reckless, infuriating boy who somehow still knew exactly how to get past your walls without even trying.

You closed the door without another word and hurried up the steps to your apartment — refusing to look back.

But you didn’t have to.

You knew he stayed parked there for a few minutes longer, engine rumbling softly in the night, watching over you until your light switched on upstairs.

Just like he always used to.

Just like he promised he would.

THE NEXT MORNING

You were exhausted when you finally stumbled into bed last night, still reeling from everything — the patient, the parking lot, Rafe.

You thought maybe you’d dream about it.

But instead, you woke up to your phone buzzing loudly against your nightstand.

You groaned, burying your face in your pillow, but finally cracked one eye open enough to check the notification.

1 New Message: Unknown Number

Your heart stuttered.

You opened it.

Rafe Cameron: Hope you’re free tonight, Trouble. Left you a little something downstairs. Wear it loud. Front row’s waiting for you.

Your stomach dropped — in a good way — as you sat up quickly, shoving the blankets off.

You padded down the stairs to the lobby of your building where the sleepy concierge waved you over.

“There’s a package for you,” he said, lifting a sleek black box.

Your name was scrawled across the top in familiar, messy handwriting.

Inside:   — Two front-row ticket to tonight's game.   — One official jersey.

Not just any jersey. His jersey. Cameron.   #10.   And tucked between the folds of fabric — a tiny handwritten note:

Thought you might need something to wear when you’re screaming my name.

Cocky, arrogant, infuriating.

You laughed — actually laughed — shaking your head.

God, he was impossible.

You wore the damn jersey. (Over your loudest protests. Your best friend practically forced you into it.)

The crowd was insane, energy buzzing through the stadium as you slid into your seats right on the court line.

Your friend nudged you, smirking. “Bet he’s showing off just for you.”

You rolled your eyes.

Right as Rafe jogged onto the court — hoodie peeled off, tattoos on full display — he glanced toward your section.

Caught your eyes instantly.

Grinned. Winked. Winked.

And the whole stadium erupted like he just hit a three-pointer from half-court.

Your face burned as you sank lower into your seat, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

He played like a man possessed — quick, reckless, cocky as hell — and you hated how your heart raced every time he scored, flashing a grin like he knew you were watching.

But then late in the third quarter, It happened.

Rafe drove toward the basket, got clipped mid-air, and hit the court hard.

The whole stadium gasped.

You shot to your feet before you even realized it.

Trainers rushed onto the court. His teammates circled him. And you — heart hammering against your ribs — could only watch helplessly.

He sat up after a few tense seconds, rubbing his knee, wincing — but waved off the stretcher.

Still, he limped off the court, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Stubborn idiot.

Your friend grabbed your arm. "Stay calm. He’s fine. You know he’s a cockroach."

You wanted to laugh. You wanted to scream.

You wanted to see him.

As soon as the final buzzer blared — the win barely registering in your brain — you bolted toward the tunnels, trying to push through the crowd.

Security immediately stepped in, blocking your path.

“No entry, miss.”

“I’m not — he knows me! Rafe Cameron, we grew up together, I swear—” you said quickly, heart racing.

“Sure, sure," the guard muttered, already looking away.

You were about to lose it —   Until a familiar voice called out:

"Yo! She’s good."

You whipped around.

Jordan.

He jogged over, flashing a grin. "Come on, Y/N. Pretty sure he's been waiting for you all damn night."

You sagged in relief, flashing him a grateful look.

Your friend squealed as Jordan casually threw his arm around her, steering her back toward the players' lounge with a wink.

You barely heard them — already jogging toward the locker rooms.

You hesitated outside the heavy door, nerves buzzing under your skin. This was dumb. He probably had trainers, doctors, managers — a whole parade of people taking care of him. 

He didn’t need you.

You were about to turn away when the door cracked open.

And there he was.

Rafe stepped out into the hall, towel slung around his neck, hair damp, white tee stretched across his broad shoulders. His knee was wrapped, but he was walking — stiffly, carefully — and thank god he wasn’t seriously hurt.

He froze the second he saw you.

The cocky grin slid across his face like it was second nature, but there was something softer hiding underneath it. Something almost careful.

"Told you the jersey'd look good on you," he rasped.

You tried to glare — you really did — but your chest was too tight, relief crashing through you like a damn tidal wave.

"You scared the shit out of me, Cameron," you said, punching his shoulder lightly.

He shrugged, easy and casual — like it was nothing — but you saw the way his eyes clung to you.

Like you were something he wasn’t ready to let go of again.

You shifted on your feet, hesitating, then blurted it out before you could lose your nerve:

"Are you okay?"

The words were barely a whisper over the noise of the stadium still echoing down the halls.

Rafe’s smile tilted, slow and lazy — but his eyes... His eyes softened in a way that punched the air right out of your lungs.

He stepped closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough.  "I am now."

And the way he said it — low, certain, like it was the only thing in the whole damn world that mattered — made your heart break and heal all at once.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

It was just the two of you standing in that too-bright hallway, years of mistakes and missed chances hanging heavy between you.

Then he nudged your chin up with the back of his knuckles — soft, careful — and gave you that shit-eating grin you used to hate, but now... Now it just made your knees a little weaker.

"Come on, Trouble," he drawled. "I’m driving you home. Doctor’s orders."

You tried to roll your eyes, but it came out more like a breathless laugh. "You're not a doctor, Rafe."

"Good thing you are," he quipped, already steering you down the hall with his hand resting low on your back. "Means if I pass out behind the wheel, you can save me."

You snorted. "You're unbelievable."

He winked as he pushed open the side door leading to the players’ lot.

The inside of his blacked-out Mercedes was warm and quiet, a weird little bubble separate from the world.

You watched the city lights blur past the window for a moment, trying to get your heart to slow down.

"You sure you’re okay?" you asked again, voice softer this time.

Rafe glanced at you sideways, something serious flickering across his face.

"I’m good," he said. Then added, lower, "Better now."

Your throat tightened stupidly.

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. "So cocky."

"You love it," he said easily.

You opened your mouth to argue — but stopped.

Because honestly? You kind of did.

Loved the way he made you feel seen. Loved the way he didn’t let you hide behind your walls. Loved the way he was trying — really trying — even if he still did it with that reckless, arrogant Rafe Cameron brand of chaos.

The drive continued in comfortable silence until Rafe pulled off the highway. The gentle rumble of the engine and the hum of the city around you felt like a little private bubble.

 “Uh…” Rafe glanced over at you, a little unsure. “I, uh, I was thinking... you wanna come over to my place instead? I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your mind, and honestly, I could use some company. Unless, you know, that’s too much or something.”

His voice trailed off at the end, but you could feel the tension in his hands tightening on the wheel.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the invitation. “You’re asking me to your place after all that... cocky, charming stuff?”

He gave you a look, the one that said don’t test me, but it was softer than usual. “Yeah. And if you say no, I’ll just drive you home, I guess. No big deal.”

You smiled, and maybe you surprised yourself more than you surprised him. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Rafe’s grin was back in full force as he drove toward his apartment, the city lights flickering outside like a trail behind you. Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop the excitement that curled inside you.

You hadn’t expected this — hadn’t expected the nerves and the awkwardness that hit you as you stepped into his apartment. It wasn’t anything like you remembered. No more leftover pizza boxes or half-empty beer cans scattered across the place. This was clean. Sophisticated. Almost like he was trying to give off a “mature” vibe.

You could feel Rafe's eyes on you as you took in the space. It was cozy, but minimalist. The kitchen was sleek, the furniture modern and dark, the walls adorned with framed art you figured he probably picked up on one of his international trips. He’d clearly put thought into it, something that made you feel like you didn’t really know the guy who’d once been so reckless with his life, so careless about everything that mattered.

He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, throwing an arm across the back like he owned the place. His gaze flicked toward you, cocky grin in place, but there was something else there too — something softer.

“Make yourself at home, Trouble. Gotta warn you though, I’m a pretty bad roommate.” His grin spread wider.

You arched an eyebrow as you slid onto the couch beside him, the comfortable distance you used to maintain now completely absent. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, mixed with the fresh smell of his apartment. It was strange, this feeling of both familiarity and unfamiliarity all at once.

"Let me guess, you leave your dirty socks everywhere?" You smirked, trying to fall back into the old rhythm.

He chuckled, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. "I was gonna say I don't do dishes, but sure, I leave socks everywhere too."

You laughed, but your heart wasn’t really in it. There was so much you wanted to say to him. So much that you didn’t know how to say.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you glanced at him, trying to gauge where his head was. "You’ve changed, you know that?"

He turned his head, meeting your gaze, a small frown forming on his lips. "You mean for the better, right?"

You shrugged, leaning back on the couch as your eyes met his. "Maybe. It's just... I don’t know. You’re different now. But you still have that Rafe Cameron cockiness."

"Can’t get rid of that if I tried," he said with a wink. "And I’m not sure I want to."

His eyes softened, a glimmer of something deeper flickering in his gaze. The cocky front was still there, but now there was more to it — something vulnerable, something real.

You shifted, suddenly feeling more exposed than you had earlier that night. "I just... I don’t know how you do it. You left. No calls, no texts. Nothing. I had to move on, and you just... disappeared." The words came out sharper than you intended, and you winced.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a long breath and sat up, turning toward you. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I never wanted to make you feel like you were... nothing. I was an idiot. I didn’t know how to handle everything back then. I thought distancing myself would make it easier for both of us.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in your lap. "It didn’t. I spent years wondering what happened, why you didn’t even try. And every time I saw you on TV, I hated myself for still caring."

Rafe’s expression hardened slightly, but he didn’t look away. "I get it. I was selfish. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess, and I was so consumed with the game... I pushed everyone away. You didn’t deserve that."

The air between you grew heavier, but there was something else too. Something you hadn’t expected. A quiet understanding. The gap between the past and the present was closing, but there was still a lot left unsaid.

He reached out slowly, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand — a soft, careful touch. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear that until now. It was like he was giving you permission to let the past go — permission to not carry that weight anymore.

But instead of responding right away, you just nodded, your hand still resting in his. "It’s... it’s okay. You’re here now. And I guess that’s all that matters."

For the first time that night, you saw the cocky edge fade entirely from Rafe's face. It wasn’t just an apology. There was something deeper there — regret, pain, maybe even longing.

He gave a small smile and pulled back a little, then grabbed the remote from the coffee table. “Wanna watch a game? Or... I don’t know, we could binge-watch something ridiculous?”

You snorted, a smile tugging at your lips. “Do you even know how to relax without a ball in your hand?”

His grin was wide and mischievous. “Not really.”

You didn't remember falling asleep.

One second you were side by side on the couch, half-watching some ridiculous show Rafe picked out, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. The next, the world blurred into darkness.

When you blinked awake, early morning sunlight was bleeding through the blinds, casting lazy strips of gold across the apartment.

And Rafe was still there.

Your head was on his chest. His arm was draped around you, loose but steady, like he’d just anchored you there without even thinking. His hoodie had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of warm skin, and you hated — hated — how good it felt to be this close again.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

You could feel the slow, even rise and fall of his chest beneath you. You could hear the faint, steady beat of his heart.

It felt safe.

It felt dangerous.

You shifted slightly, trying to untangle yourself without waking him — but the second you moved, his arm tightened instinctively, pulling you closer.

"Where you going, baby?" he mumbled, voice rough and sleep-warm.

You froze, caught.

"I should..." you started, words catching awkwardly in your throat. "I should go."

His fingers brushed lightly up and down your arm, a slow, absent-minded touch that made your skin shiver.

"You don’t have to," Rafe said softly. No cocky smirk. No teasing. Just honesty. "You don’t have to run."

You closed your eyes, fighting the sting behind them.

He made it sound so simple.

Like after everything — the missed calls, the empty silences, the years of pretending you didn’t miss him — you could just stay. Like it was that easy.

"You don't get it," you whispered, voice shaking despite your best efforts. "You broke my heart, Rafe."

You felt him go still beneath you. Completely still.

And then he shifted — slow, careful — until you were looking at him.

His hair was a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something raw in his gaze. Something that stripped you bare.

"I know," he said, voice low and rough. "And I'd spend the rest of my life trying to put it back together if you'd let me."

Your heart cracked wide open.

You shook your head, blinking fast. "You can’t just... say things like that."

"Why not?" he said, and there was no hesitation, no bravado.

Just Rafe. The boy who used to follow you anywhere. The boy you used to trust with everything.

"Because I might believe you," you whispered.

Silence stretched between you.

Then, so carefully you barely felt it — Rafe reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your jaw.

"I'm counting on it," he said.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it..

You weren' sure when it had shifted. When seeing Rafe everywhere stopped feeling like an accident and started feeling... inevitable.

It wasn't grand gestures. It wasn't sweeping apologies or dramatic confessions.

It was the way he kept showing up. Quiet. Consistent. There when you needed him. There when you didn't even realize you did.

A coffee left on the hood of your car after a brutal shift. A smoothie shoved into your hand after pilates with a lazy "you're welcome, Trouble."

A quiet presence leaning against his truck, waiting outside the hospital just to walk to your car.

You told yourself you were annoyed. You told yourself it didn't matter.

But somewhere along the way, the anger stopped feeling sharp. And started feeling a lot like hope.

Today, today he was pushing a little.

You were stepping out of the hospital after another brutal shift when you spotted him, leaning casually against his car, cap low.

He straightened up when he saw you, a lazy smirk pulling at his mouth.

You groaned immediately. "What now, Cameron?"

"Good shift, baby?" he asked, ignoring the bite in your tone.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don't."

He grinned wider, cocky and smug, but there was something softer under it. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

"So," he drawled. "Got plans tonight?"

You eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

Rafe shrugged, all casual arrogance. "Big game. Afterparty. Open bar. A table reserved. Could use a date."

Your stomach flipped.

You hated how easily he could still do that to you.

"Get Jordan to be your date," you said dryly, stepping around him toward your car.

Rafe matched your pace easily, his voice dropping low and teasing as he followed. "Jordan said he's busy. Something about your friend. Looks like it’s just you and me."

You threw a glare over your shoulder. "I'm not your backup plan, Rafe."

He caught your wrist gently, pulling you to a stop. Not hard. Not demanding. Just... there.

"You were never a backup plan," he said, voice quieter now. "Not then. Not now."

You stared at him, your heart hammering.

For once, he wasn’t hiding behind cocky jokes or stupid winks. He just looked at you — the way he used to, before everything got so damn complicated.

"Come with me," he said. "Tonight. No games."

You swallowed hard, the war raging inside you — old anger, old hurt, old love — crashing like waves.

But somewhere deep down, you knew...

You were tired of pretending.

Tired of lying to yourself.

Tired of pretending he didn't still have you.

You exhaled slowly. "Fine," you said, pretending to be annoyed. "But if you start acting like an arrogant asshole, I’m leaving without saying goodbye."

Rafe grinned, that cocky light flickering back into his eyes. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Trouble."

The bar was packed.

Rafe was still in his post-game clothes — black jeans, a hoodie zipped halfway up, cap tugged low.

You wore simple jeans and a leather jacket over his jersey, feeling oddly exposed but somehow right next to him.

People kept coming up to him — fans, random strangers — and he dealt with it all with lazy charm.

But his hand never left the small of your back.

Every time someone tried to pull him away, his fingers would brush your hip, reminding you: I'm still here.

And when Jordan finally showed up his arm slung around your best friend, who looked way too happy for someone who’d spent the whole night pretending she didn’t like him — Rafe leaned down, voice low against your ear.

"Wanna get outta here?"

The brush of his lips against your skin made your whole body tense.

You turned your head, your breath catching when you found yourself inches from his face.

“Where would we go?” you asked, voice lower than you meant.

His grin was slow. Dangerous.

"Anywhere you want, Trouble."

The air was cool and crisp when you stepped out into the parking lot. The noise from the bar faded behind you, swallowed by the night. You tugged your jacket tighter around you, feeling suddenly, stupidly exposed.

Rafe stayed close behind, just like he had all night — his presence a solid, steady thing at your back.

His hand brushed yours — light, casual, but not accidental. You knew him too well.

You reached his car and paused, the sharp scent of leather and cologne wrapping around you as he leaned lazily against the door.

He was looking at you — really looking — like he wasn’t in a rush, like he had nowhere else to be but here, waiting for you to decide.

"You're thinking too much again," he said, his voice low and warm, almost a smile.

You huffed a laugh, pushing a hand through your hair. "That’s rich, coming from you."

Rafe tilted his head, his cap casting a shadow over his eyes, but you could still see it — the softness. The patience. The want.

"You don’t have to figure it out tonight," he said, voice a little rougher now. "You don’t have to figure me out, either."

You stared at him, chest tight, heart stupidly loud in your ears.

Because he meant it.

For the first time ever — no games, no cocky smiles covering it up — Rafe Cameron was standing there asking for nothing but whatever you were willing to give.

No pressure. No demands.

Just... him.

And something in you — something tired and stubborn and scared — finally cracked wide open.

You stepped closer before you could think, before you could stop yourself. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

Rafe froze, his body going perfectly still — like if he moved, you might bolt.

You stared up at him, at the familiar tilt of his mouth, the blue of his eyes, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

And then — almost without meaning to — your hands found the collar of his hoodie.

You tugged him down.

Soft.

Careful.

Like you were remembering him all over again.

You kissed him — a brush of your lips against his, fleeting but so full of everything you’d left unsaid.

You pulled back barely an inch, breathing hard, heart crashing against your ribs.

And Rafe... Rafe just stared at you, dazed, stunned.

Like you’d just punched him in the chest.

"You’re dangerous, Trouble," he rasped, his voice wrecked and raw, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth even as something fierce and bright flared behind his eyes.

You smirked up at him, cocky and confident and shaking like a leaf inside.

"Payback," you whispered.

For leaving. For hurting you. For making you fall first.

You started to pull back — teasing, playful, in control again.

But he didn’t let you.

One of Rafe’s hands caught your waist, the other finding the side of your neck — big, warm, a little rough — and then he was kissing you back.

Deeper. Slower. Like he had all the time in the goddamn world to undo every bad thing he'd ever done.

You gasped softly into his mouth, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie as he kissed you like he was trying to memorize you. Trying to make up for every second he hadn’t been there.

The kiss broke finally, both of you breathing hard, foreheads pressed together in the dark.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you wanted to.

"You kill me," he whispered against your skin.

"You deserve it," you whispered back, but it came out more fond than cutting.

He chuckled low under his breath, that soft laugh that you hadn’t realized you missed until now.

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you — really look — and god, the way he looked at you.

Like you were it. Like you always had been. Like you always would be.

“Come home with me,” he said quietly, almost like a question.

Your heart slammed against your ribs — because you knew he didn’t mean it in a reckless way.

He meant just this. Tonight. Simple. Safe.

Just you and him and nothing else.

You nodded once, biting your lip to hold back the smile that wanted to escape.

He exhaled a shaky breath like you’d just given him the world.

And when he opened the car door for you, slipping into the driver’s seat with one last, lingering glance your way, you realized maybe — just maybe — you were finally ready to let him have it.

Not all at once.

Not perfectly.

But piece by stubborn piece.

The way only Rafe Cameron ever could.

The drive to his place was quiet, a different kind of quiet this time. Not awkward. Not tense. Just full — with things neither of you needed to say out loud anymore.

When he pulled into the garage and shut off the engine, he looked over at you.

No cocky smirk. No teasing grin.

Just him. Open. Real.

"You sure about this?" he asked, voice low.

You smiled, small but sure. "Yeah."

That was all he needed.

Inside, the place was dim, the city lights spilling in through the windows. You dropped your bag near the door, kicking your shoes off. Rafe followed behind you, quiet, his hands jammed in his pockets like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you too fast.

You sat on the couch, pulling your knees up under you.

He dropped beside you — close enough that his thigh brushed yours, but not pushing.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. The TV was on low — some mindless highlights from the game — but you barely heard it.

You turned to him slowly.

He was already watching you.

Always watching you.

"What?" you whispered, a tiny smirk tugging at your mouth.

Rafe shook his head, his grin soft — the kind he never showed anyone else. "You," he said simply. "Just you."

You felt your face heat, and you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. "You're gonna make me puke with all that sweetness, Cameron."

He chuckled under his breath, looking down like he was debating something. When he looked up again, his eyes were brighter somehow — rawer.

"I’m serious, Y/N," he said, voice rough. "I spent so long being a selfish asshole. Pushing you away. Chasing shit that never meant anything."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling loose — a picture of casual, except for the way his shoulders were so tense he looked ready to snap.

"And all it did was make me realize..." He swallowed hard, shaking his head like he hated how stupid he sounded. "I never stopped loving you."

Your breath caught — sharp and sudden.

He glanced at you — fast, nervous — like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going.

But you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t move at all.

"I still love you," he said, quieter now. "Probably always will."

You stared at him, chest aching, every part of you thundering.

Because this wasn’t some big, planned speech. This wasn’t him trying to win.

It was just him.

Simple. Messy. Real.

Exactly the way you needed it to be.

You shifted closer without even thinking, until your knees brushed, until you could feel the heat rolling off him.

Rafe let you, his hands twitching like he wanted so badly to reach out but was waiting — waiting for you.

"You’re an idiot," you whispered, voice trembling.

He gave a soft, crooked smile — a little helpless, a little hopeful. "Yeah. But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me."

You stared at him — at the ridiculous, reckless, beautiful boy who’d broken your heart and then spent every day since trying to piece it back together.

And you realized — you weren’t scared anymore.

You nodded once, voice barely there.

"I love you too."

The second the words left your mouth, something inside Rafe broke — his shoulders sagging like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally let it out.

He leaned in, slow enough that you could have stopped him. You didn’t.

You met him halfway, your mouth finding his in a kiss that was soft and deep and sure.

When you pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

"So," he murmured, voice teasing now but thick with something heavier underneath. "Is this where I ask if you wanna be my girlfriend?"

You laughed, breathless, curling your fingers in the collar of his hoodie. "You planning on making it official with a handshake or something?"

He huffed a laugh, nudging your nose with his. "Nah," he said. "Gonna keep kissing you until you say yes."

You smiled against his mouth, your heart full to bursting.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Good," he said, kissing you again, softer this time. "Because I’m not letting you go again, Trouble."

A FEW DAYS LATER

Hand in hand, you and Rafe walked down the crowded sidewalk, coffee cups in hand, the afternoon sun warm on your backs.

You caught people staring — double takes, whispers.

You didn’t care. Neither did he.

Rafe squeezed your hand a little tighter, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, and leaned down to brush a kiss against your temple without breaking stride.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t running anymore.

You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

With him.

Home.

[lxzy-bxby]

Extra Free Time

Husband!Leon Kennedy × Fem!Reader

Summary: How to turn overprotective Dad's brain off 101. WC: 1,884 CW&TW: 18+ MDNI ♡ Established Relationship ♡ Fingering ♡ Unprotected p-in-v sex ♡ Interrupted sex ♡ Explicit Language ♡ No use of Y/N ♡ No proofread Tags: @writingwisterias | Taglist A/N: long time no see! i was going crazy ab finishing up with this uni year+then i got & am currently sick but i managed to birth this lol

~ ♡ ~

You jerk in your seat on the couch from the intensity of door slam. Snapping your head towards the house entrance, you see Leon’s sour face and glooming frame.

And here it comes, before you can even open your mouth:

“This bastard is picking her up today.”

It clicks in your head immediately. Lily’s boyfriend. Right.

So, Lily is sixteen. Totally acceptable to start playing the teenage version of house. That’s literally part of human’s development, right? Try explaining that to Leon, though. And better make it quick so he won’t have time to pull his gun out.

Honestly, you gave up on trying. It was easier to deal with the consequences of his wrath than trying to prevent them.

You just sigh when Leon makes a beeline to the fridge and snatches a can of cold beer. “So she just turned you down?”

Leon takes a solid sip before grumbling in response. “I pulled up, she ran up to me, babbled something about this Jason dipshit and waved bye-bye.”

You pictured the scene perfectly, knowing your bubbly daughter. You were able to picture Leon’s expression as well, knowing your husband even better.

Leon plops down onto the couch next to you, crossing his legs at the ankles and nursing his beer. And despite almost two decades of marriage, you still have no idea how the hell to ease his mind in this situation.

“Well, she’s supposed to be there soon too, then.” You usher, aiming for nonchalance, hoping to shift Leon’s mood to the same nonchalance, as well.

But he just scoffs. “Yeah, sure. Right after they’re done making out in the backseat.”

“Gosh! Why’d you suspect exactly… that.” You wince at the mental image.

“‘Cause I remember myself at this age. All that these fuckers do is thinkin’ with their cock.” Leon grumbles, squeezing half-empty can subconsciously.

“Oh really?” You snort, “Some things never change, then. That’s just how men are, I suppose. Because in case you haven’t noticed, you never stopped thinking with your— Ow, what the heck, Leon!?” A squeak escapes your lips at the feel of two arms sliding under your thighs with ease to shift you onto his lap.

Not even one muscle twitches on Leon’s face when his palms slide to your boobs, “I’m stressed. Need relief,” He shrugs unabashedly, squishing the plush flesh of your breasts. “Did I tell you that you got a helluva set of tits?”

You just groan, “See! That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you! A whole ass human being in front of you, and all you see are tits!” You practically spit out the last word.

Leon smirks, “Now now, you’re not being fair. I noticed your butt as well.” He taps it in confirmation, and you just give up.

At least he’s not thinking about Lily anymore. Well, obviously he still is, to an extent. But since your assets could save you from his grumpiness… you decide to let him be.

More than that—to give a head start.

“I hope you noticed a positive side of your daughter being out and about, too. Like… extra free time.” You grin, tracing a random path down his chest with your fingertips.

Frankly speaking, you’ve been worried about Lily just as much; about her heart getting broken or any unwanted consequences. So you gave her the talk—something that’s waaaay more awkward to perform when you’re a parent and not the teenager listening to it.

Lily then told you that she’d be more likely to delete her Ao3 account than to let a dick in her vagina.

You had no particular idea on what Ao3 is. When you googled it to be a supportive mom, you just cheered internally: if she’s keen on reading and writing smut instead of practising it, that’s just great. 

Didn’t stop you from sliding a condom in her bedside drawer, though. Just in case.

Sudden feel of stubble on your neck brings you back to reality.

Right. Dealing with Leon.

“That so?” He murmurs close to your ear, his lips grazing the lobe. “And what shall we do with all this extra free time, huh?”

You almost feel surprised at how easy it is to switch his attention to more exciting matters. Almost. After all, it was a good idea to send him off to the couch for two days.

Leon acts way quicker than you think, his lips already sliding down your neck, feeling the flutter of your quickening pulse.

“I don’t know… You got any ideas?” You squeeze out, trying your best to remember how to flirt 101.

Not like you ever had to do that to get him going. Which is exactly why you forgot how to sweet talk in the first place.

To get Leon going, you just had to like walk into the room or something like that.

“Oh yeah, baby, I do,” He rasps to your ear, a distinct smell of bear blowing over you, “You, me… and this counter. How that sound?” His free hand already slides underneath the waistband of your shorts, and you think wow if that ain’t a new speed record.

You raise your eyebrows slightly at the poke of his hardening cock as if you weren't damp already, as well. Well not like you were the one who downed a can of beer five minutes prior.

He cups your sex through the clammy fabric of your underwear, pressing a finger to your entrance. “Gonna fuck that pussy so good, baby.”

You arch your back a tad at the sensation, dipping a hand under your shorts to pull your panties to the side. Leon grins smugly at the action, pushing two of his fingers forward the very same moment.

“Such a warm snug cunt.” He groans to your neck, scissoring his digits slightly and feeling your lube coating them. “No point in fingerfuckin’ her, always too damn tight.”

But you did see a point in fingerfucking your cunt, rolling your hips actively, “That’s just you too big.” You mewl, thinking that ego boost wouldn’t hurt.

What could hurt is him sinking balls-deep into you later, but that would be later.

“Yeah?” Leon grunts, sneaking third finger in. “Gonna be a tight fit, then. So… fucking tight.”

You moan under your breath, riding his fingers and thinking that maybe your daughter being away is not as bad as you thought, after all.

“Wanna take my time with you.” Leon promises, kissing his way down the column of your throat. 

You feel him leaning against the back of the couch to lift his pelvis so he could slide his slacks down to his knees. You help—at least try to—him haphazardly, feeling the heat of his erected cock through the thin fabric of his briefs.

“What happened to fucking me against the counter?” You attempt to tease, watching Leon’s hand slip into his boxers to pull out his literally stony length.

“On my to-do list. As soon as you come all over me on this couch.” He just grins shamelessly, finally exposing his drooling shaft and pulled-out sack to the conditioned air of the living room.

You watch Leon sloppily fist himself a few times, smearing pre all over his shaft, when finally remembering your own state of full dress. As deftly as possible, you yank your shorts off just enough to give Leon room to work with.

“That’s right, baby. Those—” He crooks a finger under the edge of your underpants. “—stay on.” 

And, way deftlier than you, he gently moves them to the side, putting your glistening folds on full display. Leon simply groans at the view, sliding a finger down your cunt, saturating it with your wetness. 

“Can’t fucking wait no more.” He then states, pumping his cock again, before aligning the swollen head with your entrance, smearing both his pre-cum and your juices at your opening.

His tip pushes forward before his brain can even register it, and Leon all but moans. Your inside is not just warm—it’s scorching hot; it’s not just soaked—it’s slippery.

Leon lets out a low groan as he slips out of you for a third time, and against any better judgement, he just plunges to the hilt, turning your moans into squeals.

He strokes your shoulders and back soothingly, giving some time to adjust; you two’s ability to speak suddenly gone, Leon only managing an incoherent string of “I know”s.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to start moving on him, way slowlier than he preferred, but moving nonetheless. 

You clutch his shoulders, going up and down on his dick, encouraged by his soft moans. Horrified, you realize that your thighs start to strain after a few bounces already, but Leon thrusts forward, working his hips and spurring you on.

And, finally, you settle on a comfortable pace, simply enjoying the carnal act without any rush or hurry.

You ride Leon leisurely like it’s a completely decent and common thing to do, his head lowered to caress your sternum with his lips.

Your head snaps left for the change of scenery, and the change of scenery makes you suddenly jump on Leon in surprise, making him groan at the feel of your cunt unexpectedly squeezing him.

“Holy… do that again.” He rasps, encircling your waist.

Then he hears car pulling up, and his eyes go wide.

Leon curses under his breath as you both still, his cock twitching inside of you. “Just fucking great. Couldn’t have a nice roll in bed while she was a toddler, now he’s a teenager and it only gets worse.”

You snort as you sink off him, your cunt clamping around nothing at the loss of contact. “Weren’t you the one making a fuss about her being out fifteen minutes ago?”

Leon hisses as he feels the absence of your wet heat, tucking himself back in. “Ever heard of a change of priorities?”

You chuckle, quickly dressing your lower self back up; and as soon as you’re done, he tugs you back onto his lap.

“What? It’s not like parents should be devoid of any kind of affection in front of their kid.” Leon shrugs at your arched eyebrow.

You don’t have much time to protest, because Lily just sprints through the front door, her blowout disheveled yet lipstick all in one place. “Mom, Dad! We’re going to the rides! Just needed to leave my bag!”

“Yeah well, I could’ve gotten a nice ride too.” Leon grumbles under his breath, and you suddenly think that no way in hell that’s the same person who was so against Lily going out.

And Lily’s already back downstairs, a flickering figure rushing to the door. “See you later!”

“W-wait, honey, when will you be home?” You shout, feeling your head spin from her constant running.

“By dinner!” She yells serenely, next moment slamming the door closed.

You blink a couple times, trying to process everything that happened. 

While Leon grins at you like a Cheshire cat. “That gives us… what, three extra hours?”

You look down at him, not knowing if to smack him or to kiss him.

And, quickly taking your pick, you kiss him—so you won’t have to waste even a second of your precious leisure time together.

~ ♡ ~

[baphometsss]

I don't wanna sit here and act like I'm a professional or anything, because I'm not, but as someone who has had to do a lot of work to overcome trauma and reconfigure my brain more or less from the ground up, there's a lot I have to say about Solas's mental state

We know that Solas was essentially used and abused by Mythal for millennia. Even if he wasn't under a geas, he was twisted from his purpose by being made to fight, and then created the Wolf's Fang which was used to make the Titans tranquil and started the Blights. He made those choices himself, but it's important to understand that no choice is ever made in a vacuum. She took advantage of his vulnerability when he was given a body after however long as a spirit semi-existing peacefully in the Fade, and moulded him into a weapon.

He is broken, because Mythal broke him. I'm not incapable of seeing why she did what she did because like I said, no one makes choices in a vacuum and I could write about her for a long time too (in a similar way to how I have had to do myself in my own life in understanding why others abused me). He was so traumatised by everything that happened and he was trauma bonded to Mythal pretty much from the minute he gained a body. Trauma bonds are not about love. He definitely interpreted it that way, as most people do, but that's the weapon abusers use to keep the victim under their control. Abuse abuse abuse show a scrap of love and then abuse some more. If I just take it, I'll get the love/attention I need. I will earn it, because love is suffering, and I have to suffer to earn getting my basic needs met from my family/friends. Mythal, as his creator, was the one who he would've attached to in a similar way to spirit Cole/human Cole.

Trauma bonds are pathological. Mythal made him believe that if he did as she asked, and kept supporting her, then eventually he would gain her favour and they would be able to free all the elves, and he'd be able to live according to his true nature, which is one where he doesn't have to fight. (Remember his personal quest in DAI? He actually kills the rebel mages for corrupting his friend--another Wisdom spirit--into Pride.) In reality, she was just using him. She always kept the bone just out of reach for her lapdog. The line from Rook where they say (paraphrasing here) 'you know, I was actually excited about getting your approval... That's how you do it, isn't it? Keep giving little scraps of approval to keep someone loyal, and then you turn around and betray them' is so telling too.

Where--or from whom--do you think he learned to do this?

It literally reeks of a pathological trauma bond and honestly, with how isolated, 'grim and fatalistic' Solas is, it is not a surprise that he's so broken.

Solas, essentially, is little more than a lap-dog to Mythal. He followed her like a lost puppy, because especially in his early days, that's kind of what he was. You have to remember that most of the insight we get about Mythal is from Solas's perspective, and he is not a reliable person when it comes to her after so long being repeatedly terrorised and twisted and manipulated. There are several instances where he describes being betrayed by her, and mentions some of the things she did, but he never quite holds her fully accountable and ends up directing his rage elsewhere. (The parallel between Mythal/Solas and the rebel mages/Wisdom is important here.)

This awesome post by @mythalism only reinforces this. He is so messed up in that scene, he is broken, he is holding the Wolf's Fang up, trying to give it to her because it symbolises the burden he has carried for thousands of years trying to avenge her death. He never wanted the Fang, like he never wanted a body. Mythal just stands over him, fully aware of what she did to him, and only getting him to stop because Rook petitioned her successfully, and the reunion with the more benevolent Mythal within Morrigan tempered her anger. She was a goddess, with the unequal power dynamic, right to the end.

As a side note, on the potential romance element between Mythal and Solas, I read an excellent breakdown of it on Reddit a while ago about how out of character it would've been for Solas to keep something like that from a romanced Lavellan, especially in Trespasser when he comes clean about his plan/past. I can't find it now because it was pre-Veilguard release, but it made a lot of sense to me. Solas and Lavellan never have a love scene in DAI because Solas didn't want to 'lay with them under false pretences'. Lying about who you are when sleeping with someone is nonconsensual. You can't consent to sleeping with someone if you don't know their true identity, and someone who knowingly lies about who they are to get into your pants is a sexual predator. For someone who led a slave rebellion (no doubt many of them being sex slaves), and a former spirit of Wisdom, Solas would've been well aware of this. In the unsent letter from Solas to Lavellan he says he came so close to breaking and desperately wanted to stay with them as Solas, with the implication being that that is where he planned to sleep with them once he'd come clean. But because he stops, because he's still unable to forgive himself or release himself from his trauma bond with Mythal, he breaks away, and they never have sex.

Bottom line: Solas would've been honest about it. Especially that. As the Inquisitor says, he can't lie about his heart.

And it's why the Solas/Lavellan romance is so powerful because quote, 'you change everything'. Solas thought he knew what love was, that love was loyalty, devotion, worship, etc. It's not just his plans or worldview that Lavellan changes. Lavellan sees him for who he is, without the mantle of Dread Wolf, and because of that he's able to express his true nature to her, even if he's not being totally honest in Inquisition. Lavellan got much closer to the real him than most, as he says, and changed his understanding of love completely. Unfortunately, he has unfinished business, an unresolved trauma bond, and his crushing sense of duty to the past is what keeps him from taking that final step towards letting go of it entirely. Trick also says Solas doesn't think he deserves love, which tbh is kind of a hallmark trait of people who have survived abuse.

And honestly? Call me a simp but I think he really was trying to get the Inquisitor to stop him. He saw himself being unable to let go because he was so broken and burdened by his guilt, and knew he couldn't save himself--was too proud to admit that he couldn't, because how pathetic does it make him look? And how could he stop now without rendering all the damage he'd wrought pointless? Yet here was someone who had changed him right down to his core, who understood him in a way few people ever had, whom he trusted, whom he loved in a way he hadn't loved anyone else before. It took him 'centuries' to build up rapport with the members of his rebellion. The man does not know how to form attachments without trauma, and suddenly he forms a strong one with someone who loves him completely and without condition. It's a jarring change.

Lavellan says that maybe they're being prideful themselves, refusing to see their own folly. But I think in admitting that they might be wrong, that it might be wishful thinking borne from misguided love to a truly terrible person, they've rendered the point moot. It shows self-awareness, which isn't folly.

If anyone can make Solas understand true love, it's Lavellan. Lavellan loved him when he was being his true self. Lavellan loved him after his betrayal was revealed. Lavellan loved him when his guilty conscience and terrible actions almost destroyed the world. Lavellan loved him because they knew the real him, and knew that his heart and spirit were broken, and knew that their love would endure, that their love would heal him.

And that's exactly where they end up. Healing the past, soothing the Blight, and loving one another completely.

[lenny-link]

TF2 x SU au fusions!

oof this took too long but i finally made it !

I kept @gracefireheart Andalusite (HeavyMedic) and @cariocay ‘s Turquoise (EngieSpy) (that i just realized their account got deactivated just a few days ago im sad now) fusion designs because i just found them perfect and whenever i wanted to try making my own designs i always ended up with making something similar to theirs since i was very influenced so i just kept them! They’re so awesome plz check the original artists!

my designs :3 :

< Part 2 >

About the fusions:

I tried to choose a theme for every fusion that suits the characters like Spessartite (DemoSolly) is a warrior i put Demo’s sword with Soldier’s shield thing well he doesn’t specifically have a shield but yknow the helmet thing i thought that could work.

He’s very powerful, strong and jump into action without a second thought, while he possesses immense strength and a love for loud and chaotic things, his battle prowess is a double-edged sword since his attacks lack precision. however, this unpredictability often leaves his enemies confused and scrambling to defend. he fights more efficiently when drunk lol

Lepidolite (MedicSpy) is a plague doctor, he is very inspired by Hannibal Lecter (nbc Hannibal lol shout out to that one Anon who recommended it for me to watch it lol) at first i wanted to give him a bistouri as a weapon, since it would suit Medic’s saw with Spy’s small knife, but then i felt the fusion was leaning too much towards Medic than Spy, so i put a cane instead to give that old idk gentleman look :P

He is polished and sophisticated, with a hint of underlying sadism and very precise in his movements, he meticulously analyzes his opponents, exploiting weaknesses with surgical precision before jumping into action and strike right where it hurts the most, the cane appears to be a simple walking stick, but inside is a hollowed core that had a retractable, poison-tipped blade, and his poison isn't fast-acting he enjoys toying with his victims, watching as the venom slowly takes hold, fueling his twisted sense of amusement. they are far from being the strongest fusion but they rely a lot on making their opponent weaker by their ability to attack precise hits as well as poisoning them!

Carnelian (SniperScout) his design was inspired by a equestrian outfit (he was the hardest to design tbh bc i wanted his design to be specifically different from the others since Scout is half human so i wanted this "human" aspect to show in the fusion).

He is a walking paradox, he's got Sniper's calm confidence with Scout's hyperactive energy, he loves a good plan but his execution is often fueled by pure adrenaline, he can zip across the battlefield with incredible speed, dodging attacks and flanking enemies. good at mid range and long range attacks but weak at close range, has internalized monologues with himself a lot, he appears calm on the surface however, his foot constantly taps, he fidgets with his slingshot, he cannot stays in place for too long. enjoys taking challenges.

Rubellite (DemoPyro) is a robot with a 50’s cartoon style but with like a creepy vibe to it, their voice sounds like a broken radio perpetually stuck on a laugh track, is both infectious and unsettling.

They just as powerful as Spessartite but just a bit more agile and lean more on the defense style than offense, their body stretches in a cartoony way and battles become a twisted playground for them, a child's game where they hop and blow things up everywhere. they’re very joyful and loves to have fun while making chaos, they usually make jokes but no one understands their muffled voice so they often laugh all by themselves lol the weapon actually expands where the ball and the shaft of the mace connects there’s a chaine (i didnt draw it cuz there was already too much going on in the drawing lol) which helps them reach target from close to mid range easily, they twist and turn their body in very flexible ways before swatting their weapon at their target.

♠︎ If you want to suggest a pair for the next fusion please just comment here DO NOT send it in my ask box plz !!

And if you want to make your own fusion designs/fanart go ahead ! id love to see other people’s interpretations could be ! just don’t forget to tag me and add the tag ( tf2 x su au) :D

hope you enjoy !

+ early designs :

[kissingmilfs]

⚔ 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⚔

18+ minors and men dni. i do not condone these actions in real life.

content warnings: mentions of abuse, stockholm syndrome, voyeurism, masturbation, boot and thigh grinding, sorta-ish pet play

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

🗡 if ambessa were to keep a pet (human) — i think she would want one she can break. she adores a feisty person. one who will bite her and head butt and maybe even have the audacity to spit on her. she doesn’t mind any of it. matter in fact she finds ways to antagonize you into getting those reactions.

🗡 as her prized possession of war - ambessa was well aware you were gonna be fiery and headstrong. everything you wanted you needed to plea and beg for. you went a whole month without a shower once. every time she asked something of you, you’d respond with “fuck you” or if she got close enough—you’d most likely bite her. eventually ambessa got too irritated with slapping you into submission. instead she created a gag and watched as you helplessly thrashed as the gag was wrapped around your mouth.

🗡 her favorite form of punishment most likely is stepping on you with her boots. or even kicking you depending on how insolent youre being. you’ll say something snarky and ambessa will only glare at you once before you realize she’s pushing you on the floor and her boot in your back.

🗡 it took ambessa three months trying to break you but she figured it out. it was pathetic honestly. you were so touched starved. deprived of human contact and affection. even before she found you on those ruins of a battlefield. it happened unexpectedly too. ambessa had went to wipe your drool off your chin. she didn’t necessarily think about how gentle she was either.

🗡 you never flinch when her hand comes close to your face. there’s always a defiant look in your eyes. ambessa could never tell if you were masochistic, a product of your severely messed up environment or both. but she does know the second you flinched at her soft touch and the dilation of confusion in your pupils—she had you.

🗡 ambessa never stopped with her harsh disciplining. but things changed. she took it upon herself to move you from the hole she had you in. the servants liked you enough, because you never lashed out on them, and she ordered them to give you an intense bath. once you returned to her an actual human—ambessa brought you into her personal chambers. she made you lay your head in her lap, absentmindedly stroking your hair. she spent days upon days doing this with no words spoken between you.

🗡 finally after three weeks ambessa asked for your opinion on documents she was overlooking. she allowed you to sit on her lap as you quickly read them. and when you offered the same opinion as ambessa and one potential detail ambessa overlooked - she knew she had you.

🗡 wherever she goes - you go. you’re attached to her hip but in a different manner than rictus. you do trail behind her nonetheless. but you have to actively watch her body cues for instructions. if she wants you to sit, ambessa only needs to raise an eyebrow. if it’s your turn to talk ambessa pointedly stares.

🗡 most people assume you’re a well trained advisor or secretary. both are true. ambessa hasn’t broken you to the point you’re a dumbified thing. she has no use for people without a purpose. you’re always diligently taking in your surroundings. keeping account of those interacting and reading their body language just as ambessa taught you.

🗡 no one knew, maybe besides rictus, your true title as ambessa’s pet. she reserved her affections for private. but you always knew if ambessa annoyed, displeased, or satisfied with you in public. in private ambessa pinches your cheek or pats your head when you’re good. she loves seeing the warm glow and your closed eyes as she gives the tiniest amount of affection.

🗡 ambessa hasn’t…well it took ages…for ambessa to touch you sexually. it doesn’t mean she didn’t keep her prized possession and pet satisfied. she’ll make you slowly strip in front of her. the first time she asked you to show her where you like being touched. you only pointed but ambessa demanded more. your fingers would tug on your sensitive nipples. you’d trail your fingers over the swells of your thighs. teasing the soft areas of your inner thighs. she did not stop you from rubbing your clit. or fingering yourself. when you came with a measly whimper—ambessa flicked you away with dismissal to clean yourself up.

🗡 if ambessa wants more contact—she’ll have you grind on her boot. it’s a humiliating experience for you. but even more humiliating when you actually do come and made to clean up the mess with your tongue. she even makes you thank her for the opportunity. or if ambessa is feeling particularly cruel—she’ll have you grind on her clothed thigh while you go over reports. every time you stop or stutter—ambessa’s forcefully pinches your nipple and slaps your thigh.

🗡 ambessa cannot deny she enjoys having such a pretty and mostly docile pet. you’re an excellent outlet and she doesn’t have anyone else in her ear saying what she’s doing is wrong. especially not when you kneel expectantly at the end of her bed—waiting for her to drag you into her arms and stroke every inch of your skin until she falls asleep.

tag list: @ivorydevil @langedelalune @doktorblitz @tojisbestslut

[charcoaldustonmyfingers]

Raphael skeletal anatomy! Click for better quality

Turtle shells are really funky, and in real life turtles, their shoulders and hips are actually fused to the shell and form immobile shoulder and pelvic girdles. Their scapula (shoulder blades) therefore are pushed almost fully downwards to give turtle arms that elbow up look. Most of their muscles are attached via ligaments to their plastron and limbs, with their large neck muscles reaching back along their spine with very minimal muscles on their sides or back.

Because of how funky their bones are, I tried to find a good middle ground between the brothers’ humanoid shape and mobility vs. their original species limitations. Their shoulders are very human, with their collarbone instead connecting to the top of their plastron rather than a sternum (flat bone in the middle of the ribs) with the addition of their shoulder blades resting much lower than a humans and protecting the open space in the armpit of their shell (rather than being set on their back under their carapace). Their necks can stretch slightly longer than a humans and have some extra mobility, on account of how they usually sit curved and tucked into their shoulders. Their pelvises and lumbar vertebrae (hips and lower back) are not fused to their shell to enable them to twist their torsos some.

As for how flexible the show depicts their shells to be… suspension of disbelief! I like to keep the idea of their shells being turtle like, so even though they’re all bone, I’ll allow cartoon physics to bend them some.

Additional info on Raph: The spikes on his shell are mostly bone. Also (something I didn’t draw because it was only after I finished this that I was able to find a picture of an alligator snapper shell bone without its scutes) there are small gaps between his pleural bone plates (middle of shell) and his peripheral bone plates (edges of shell). The scar on his shell is probably from a bone deep injury, as broken scutes shed away, but because scars don’t grow with a person, the injury is small enough that it probably happened so long ago that Raph can’t even remember it.

This is all just my speculation, so feel free to disagree or expand upon these ideas!

[General][Donnie][Leo][Mikey][Splinter]

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Finding Yourself - C.SC [Part 1]

🐢Who: Choi Seungcheol (Seventeen) x female reader 🐢What: 18+. Dark themes. Mafia au. Angst. Fluff. Suggestive. Slow burn. Mafia Boss Seungcheol. Single parent Seungcheol. Strangers to friends to lovers. Chan is reader’s little brother. Hansol is Seungcheol’s son. 🐢Word count: 15.5k 🐢Warnings: Characters with autism/ADHD. Selective mutism. Mentions and depictions of being overwhelmed/sensory overload and meltdowns. Off screen gang violence including gun use. Implied intention of non-con in discussion. Mentions of skipping meals/poor diet/nutrition. Mentions of past child abuse/abusive parents. Homelessness due to running away and associated issues; lack of money/food/water etc. Mentions of past forced sex work. 🐢Summary:“In an attempt to protect your little brother, you run away from home and the gang your father forced you into as a teenager.

You truly thought you were done with that life. But months later, when members of the Centaurs gang find you and your brother squatting in their property mid gang-fight, they take you back to their headquarters and force you right back into it.

Suddenly, you find yourself living in the home of the leader of the oldest, most famous gang in the entire country, and you very quickly realise that he isn’t the ruthless monster everyone thinks he is.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Finding Yourself Part 2 – Finding Yourself Part 3

Disclaimer: Okay, so I feel like I need to point out that I do have both autism and ADHD, and I have done a lot of research around both during my own discovery/diagnosis periods; even now I’m constantly learning that more aspects of myself are very common in people with autism/ADHD so there is truth behind how the characters are portrayed in this fic. Yet, with that being said, both autism and ADHD are very vast in that you can have a room full of people with both disabilities and yet every single one of those people are incredibly different, which means that the characters in this story who have autism or ADHD are not accurate portrayals of every single person with either. There are 4 clearly stated autistic people in this fic throughout and they are each different personalities and how their disability affects them. So please don’t leave comments or send rude asks accusing me of misrepresentation or anything like that just because a character you’ve watched in a movie isn’t written the same as these characters, thanks.

Tears. It’s always tears when you need silence. When you’re trying to sleep. When you’re trying to keep you both safe. It’s always tears.

“Shhh, Channie, shhh, it’s okay,” you try to soothe your little brother through a sensory meltdown that was triggered minutes ago by the overwhelming noises of yelling and gunfire echoing deafeningly around the warehouse.

You thought it would be safe here. The place seemed abandoned, yet secure, with no broken windows to let in the breeze, nor any sign of recent human activity, only some stray animals and their leavings. But it was the best shot you had, and for almost a week, it had been a little slice of dirty haven for you and Chan.

Then, less than twenty minutes ago, you heard multiple cars pull up outside of the dusty warehouse and then footsteps entered the building. You had curled up protectively around your brother in the corner of a room, hidden by the shadows as the newcomers swept through the warehouse for any signs of life. Somehow they entirely missed the two of you, and you were so grateful for it, even if you remained in place, holding your brother in the shadows for a little longer, just in case.

But now, whatever meeting is happening has gone awry and the ear-splitting sounds have set off your five-year-old brother. Although you want to curl up into a tiny ball and cry too as the sounds assault your own senses, you can’t; your meltdown will have to wait until you’re both safe again.

Which won’t happen if Chan doesn’t stop screaming and thrashing, kicking out while also trying to burrow himself right into your chest to try and block the noises and gain comfort from the only person who has shown him any in a long time.

Though, there’s only so much you can do, only so much your hands pressed over his own on his ears do to block the sensory overload when you can feel the noise in your own chest, and you know that Chan has always been much more sensitive about such things.

You wish you have a pair of ear defenders for him, but your father never believed in them and Chan’s mother was perhaps even worse where caring about the poor boy was concerned, so he was never given the tools needed to support him. And your limited finances upon running away with your little brother have gone to keeping him fed and as warm as possible. There have been no spare pennies for such things, even with you skipping meals and sacrificing supplies for yourself in order to protect your brother.

All you can do is hope that it will be over soon and the gangsters, who have intruded upon your safe space, will rapidly leave without hearing Chan’s shrieking.

Of course, with your luck today, it doesn’t go how you hope.

Even before the yelling and gunfire has ceased, the door swings open and a couple of men enter with guns raised. It’s easy for them to locate you with Chan still screaming and kicking out at everything he can reach.

“What do we have here?” The slighter shorter of the two men smirks while eyeing you and your brother as the pair stop too close for comfort, yet still far enough away that your brother’s thrashing doesn’t reach them.

“Something pretty, and something pretty fucking annoying,” the other man retorts, making the first guffaw while you continue to try to soothe Chan and keep him still without removing your eyes from the dangerous men. “Think we got time to take turns?”

“Nah, even if we did, I won’t be able to enjoy it with the little shit screaming like that.”

“Knock him out.”

“Don’t even joke about hurting a kid ‘round here,” the shorter man warns, giving his partner a firm look. “Boss would kill you slowly if word got back to him. You know he’s protective of kids.”

“Then what the fuck do we do? We can’t kill the bitch either because he don’t like kids left behind, and I’m pretty sure we’re fucked if they find out we left them here.”

The two men stare at you and Chan in careful consideration for almost a full minute.

The answer only comes when the gunfire finally ceases, even if Chan doesn’t stop screaming yet. “We’ll have to take them with us.”

As much as you’d rather not go along with the two men, or the dozen or so other men with them, you know you don’t have a choice. If it’s only you who you have to worry about, you’d have already risked sneaking out while the showdown was in progress, but with Chan to consider, you can’t risk the gunfire being turned on you.

So, when the pair stalk you out of the safety of the room with Chan still wailing against your chest as you carry him, though luckily he’s now clinging to you and not wildly thrashing, and a gun pressed to your back, you go while mourning the items you’ve lost due to not being able to pack up anything. The men had only hovered long enough to let you pick up Chan and grab your backpacks.

Up until you’re in the car with another man sliding into the seat to your left while looking bewildered, you have no idea who these gangsters are, but this new man has his arms on show despite the cold weather and the centaur tattoo on his right bicep stares at you mockingly.

Today really isn’t your lucky day.

“What’s this?” He demands, almost glaring at the two men in the front of the car while motioning vaguely to you and your little brother.

“Found them in a room, kid was screaming the place down, this is quiet for him,” the driver, the shorter of the pair, replies, tone almost polite now and you can safely guess that this tall, muscled man is a much higher rank than them. “Didn’t know what to do with them considering the rules about kids and everything.”

“So, you decided to completely bypass me and make a decision on your own?” The tall man asks, now closing the car door behind him and reaching for his seatbelt, yet he stops and motions to the space between you two. “Put him there so he can be strapped in,” he says to you, already grabbing the seatbelt for the middle seat ready to pull over.

“What?” You mutter dumbly.

“This car isn’t going anywhere until we’re all strapped in securely and it’s unsafe for a child to be strapped in on your lap. Put him here so he can be safe between us, I’ll keep my arm in front of him so he can’t fall.”

“He can sit next to the door,” you reply and start to move over into the centre yourself, but the man makes a dismissive noise and shakes his head.

“No, if that door gets rammed, he’ll get seriously injured; he should go in the middle, so our bodies protect him.”

“How likely is it that we’ll get rammed?”

“More likely than you realise, especially if the ones we just met have back up waiting down the way.”

“Then just let us go.”

He sighs. “I wish I could, seriously, I don’t want to endanger your son, but those idiots are right in that leaving you is a bad idea, we can’t trust you. So, either you willingly put him down or I move him myself and I think that would just make him more upset.”

For a few seconds, you do nothing but stare at the man, hoping that he’ll suddenly decide to trust a complete stranger and let you go, but he doesn’t, and you reluctantly adjust Chan to sit him at your left side between the two of you.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you whisper as you press down on his legs to stop him from trying to climb onto your lap again. “I’m not leaving, we just need to strap in, okay? We’re going to strap in and go for a drive, okay, Squirt?”

Silently, the man manoeuvres the safety belt across Chan’s body and clicks it into place as you continue to soothe your little brother. Then, the man reaches over even further to plug your seat belt in before finishing with his own and kicking the back of the driver’s seat lightly to prompt him to start the car.

Thankfully, Chan calms down once the car is in motion and you’ve pulled out his comfort turtle plushie for him to squeeze to his chest repeatedly.

You know the man on Chan’s left is watching your brother as he almost hurts himself with the toy, but you don’t care, all you care about is that Chan’s self-soothing is working and isn’t hurting him. The man can think whatever he wants.

The location you’re taken to isn’t one you’ve ever been to before, yet nobody needs to speak the name for you to know that this large, sprawling estate fortified with three sets of tall gates and walls, plus guards, is the base of the Centaurs, the oldest still running gang in the country.

The whereabouts of the estate isn’t a secret, it’s easy information to get, but due to the sheer size of the gang and their legendary skills, especially of the leaders and head family, not even the authorities are brave enough to launch an attack. Though some over-cocky gangs have been dumb enough to try over the years and inevitably failed without making it past even the first wall.

The place truly is one of the most secure places in the entire country. It almost puts military compounds to shame with the levels of security covering the sprawling grounds.

It feels more like a village based on how long you remain in the car once past the first two sets of gates, and all the buildings and people you pass on the gravel roads.

Then, when the final wall is in view, you’re moved into another car, with only the tall man joining you after he’s talked to another man a little shorter than himself. The tall man doesn’t say a word once he’s in the driver’s seat after making sure you and Chan are strapped in, before driving further forward along the gravel roads and through the final gates.

Finally, you see the impressive, impeccably well-kept, grand building that is Choi Manor where it sits pride of place in the very centre of the estate, behind all three walls.

There are nowhere near as many people wandering around now. It seems more like you only see groundsmen maintaining all the greenery and plant life, turning the area within the final wall into something almost out of a fairy tale. It’s truly beautiful.

Chan peers out of the window as best as he can when he can barely see over the edge of the door, with his wide, red rimmed eyes staring at all the colours of the flowers and fruits in awe. He’s never seen so many different plants in one place, in fact, you would even go as far as to say he’s never seen so many plants full stop.

Your own family home was never this natural; your father preferred to do away with nature to save the hassle of having to have people tend to it. The closest was the greenhouse your father let you keep for yourself for a few years before Chan was even born, until your father’s new wife destroyed it in a jealous fit when he didn’t buy her the car she wanted. Never mind the fact that she never learned to drive.

“Okay, so, a few things,” the tall man states when he parks the car beside a handful of other similar cars in front of the extravagant home. He turns off the engine and unplugs his seatbelt so that he can turn around in his seat to face you directly. “The boss isn’t home right now and won’t be until late, and I obviously can’t let you wander around unattended, so you’re going to be locked in one of the guest rooms with someone outside your door until the boss is back and decides what to do next. Understood?” You just nod.

Honestly, it’s a lot better than expected; you assumed you’d be locked up in a storage room or something equally as unwelcoming, not a guest bedroom of the most lavish home you’ve ever seen outside of movies and TV shows.

“Make sure you both shower and dress in clean clothes before the boss is back, you don’t want to meet him dirty. And eat, I guess you haven’t eaten in a while, right? You look skinny. I’ll get some food sent up. Does he like nuggets?” He motions vaguely to Chan.

“Nuggets?”

“Yeah, chicken nuggets. I think there’s some animal shapes, but they may be all gone; we don’t get groceries in until tomorrow.”

“Uh… he’s never had them.”

“What?” The man sputters in disbelief. “What kid has never had animal nuggets?! I’ll send out for some if we don’t have any. It’s a crime you’ve never fed your son animal nuggets, seriously.”

Despite this being the second time that he’s assumed Chan to be your son, you don’t correct him; you’re too caught up on other things to care to put the relationship between you straight. “Why would you assume I have access to things like that when we were sleeping in what I thought was an abandoned warehouse?”

“Oh…right, sorry, wasn’t thinking.” He gives you an awkward, apologetic smile before climbing out of the car.

He leaves you to unplug yourself and Chan at your own pace and climb out of the car to join him on the white gravel. Chan is immediately taken by the sound and shuffles on his feet to hear the clacking and grinding under his boots.

When you look up, you expect to see the man about to urge you on, however, he’s simply watching Chan with his head tilted a little, curious, and with the slight hint of a smile on his lips.

Surprising you further, the man patiently waits until Chan is satisfied and takes your offered hand to quietly and closely toddle alongside you behind the stranger into the huge house.

“Sorry, there’s no kid size guest slippers,” the man apologises as he puts down a pair of adult guest slippers from a section of the unit beside the shoe rack, which you don’t really pay any attention to as you’re too busy trying to remove both yours and Chan’s boots to not dirty the perfectly polished marble flooring.

Though you can’t say either of your socks are in much better condition than the soles of your shoes and embarrassedly shove your feet into the slippers before your filthy, hole-riddled socks can be seen. At least Chan’s socks are new, if dirty. Still, you pick him up quickly and hope the man hasn’t noticed the condition of your brother’s socks.

“This way.”

Quietly, you follow the man down the hall and stand outside of a room when he motions you to, allowing him to step inside alone. You hear him talking to another man in low voices for a moment, then he reappears with a slim man who is barely shorter than him, though you think if the first didn’t slouch so much he’d be even taller.

“Hello, I’m Junhui,” the new man greets you with a friendly smile, entirely throwing you off with his open, welcoming aura. “I’m the house chef so I need to know if you or your son have any allergies or dietary requirements so that I can prepare you something delicious!”

“Uhm, no allergies,” you reply and adjust Chan in your hold; he’s too big for you to easily hold him for prolonged periods now so you need to alter his place against your chest fairly frequently in order to keep supporting his weight.

Some months back, you could’ve carried him for extended lengths of time, and you often used to indulge him whenever he asked, regularly carrying him around on your back as you went about your daily life, so long as it was appropriate. But that was then; so much has changed since. Some days you can barely even hold your own body up, let alone his.

“And requirements? For any reason: belief or preference, I need to know,” the cook continues with genuine interest.

“He’s very particular about his food,” you admit and tilt your head towards Chan a little as if they won’t realise that you’re talking about him. “The plainer the better really.”

“Oh, we have one like that already,” Junhui chuckles and flaps a hand almost dismissively as if it’s nothing. “I can handle that no problem! How old is he? I need to know what portion sizes.”

“Five, almost six, but he’s never had a big appetite.”

“Oh!” Junhui and the tall man both look astonished at the information, with matching raised eyebrows and slightly widened eyes. “Perhaps that’s why he’s so small! I thought he’s more like three going on four! I’ll try to make accordingly, but if he’s still hungry, you get a message to me, and I’ll bring more; we can’t let the kids go hungry! Or mama, what about your diet?”

“Oh, uhm, don’t worry,” you try to dismiss the concern, and both men instantly look at you sternly.

“What do you eat, ma’am?” Junhui repeats firmly. “Do you have allergies?” You shake your head silently in response. “What do you usually eat?”

“Whatever he doesn’t finish,” you answer meekly, embarrassed to admit to your inability to afford to feed yourself.

But it seems as if the kind chef doesn’t quite understand. “Okay, and what else?”

“Jun,” the tall man murmurs, gently tapping the other with the back of his fingers. Junhui looks at him and the pair exchange some barely-there expressions, which you don’t have the mental energy to even try to discern the meanings of, before they both look at you and there’s now something you think must be sympathy in the cook’s eyes.

“Oh, right. Uhm, well, what do you like? I can make almost anything!” He offers, brightening back up out of his slightly awkward understanding.

“It’s okay.”

“Please just tell him what you enjoy eating so I can show you to your room,” the tall man pleads. “He’ll make us stand here all afternoon and night if you don’t.”

“I’m just grateful you’re feeding him,” you assure.

“If you don’t tell me what you enjoy eating, ma’am, I will send dish after dish to your room until one comes back empty,” Junhui warns, and something about this man tells you that he’s being entirely serious.

“J-Just you know…uhm…I uh…” your mind is suddenly blank; you can feel the stress and anxiety of the past few hours building up and threatening to break you right here in front of the strangers. The kind chef and the high-ranking member of the most famous gang in the country. You really don’t want to fall apart in front of them.

“How about you think about it, and we’ll get a message down when you’ve decided?” The tall man offers. You nod quickly in agreement. “Okay, let’s go straight to your room and Jun will send some snacks up while you think, yeah?”

“I can do snacks!” Junhui promises before turning and scuttling further down the hall.

“He really loves feeding people,” the tall man says with a little chuckle before motioning back the way you came, so you back up to let him lead the way to the entrance hall and then up the grand staircase.

The bedroom he takes you is at the back of the house and overlooks the patio with a view out over the gardens and lawn beyond, though you don’t do more than simply glance over at the large windows before focusing on the room itself.

There’s a king-sized bed against the back wall and on the opposite wall, with a fair distance in between, is a flat screen TV sitting before a plush looking loveseat and low table. You can see two doors on the wall opposite to the entrance door and assume they lead to an ensuite and walk in wardrobe, but other than that, it’s all rather empty.

“This room isn’t used that much and it’s further away from the frequently used rooms, plus below is the ballroom and well, that definitely doesn’t get used often so I thought this room would be best, because it’ll be quieter here. I guess your son is noise sensitive?”

“You care about that?” You ask shocked as you look at him and finally put Chan down on the floor to rest your arms, though he stays glued to your side despite being obviously curious as he peers around from the edges of his vision.

“Yeah, kids are important and everyone in this house and inner estate believes in that too. We’ll all do whatever we need to make your time here comfortable.”

“We’re hostages, not guests,” you remind simply.

The man winces a little. “Yeah, I guess so.” He shrugs helplessly. “It is what it is, I guess. I really don’t know what the boss is going to do later; we haven’t had this situation occur before so we’re all kind of clueless, but we don’t want to hurt you or your son.”

“He’s not my son,” you finally correct, not sure what else to say and look down at Chan. “He’s my brother.”

“Oh! Okay. What’s his name?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It’d be nice to have something to call him. What about a nickname then?”

“He won’t talk to you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Right.” There’s a moment of tense silence before the man talks up again. “What about you? Can I at least know a name to call you?”

For a few seconds, you debate not answering him, but then you figure the least you could do is give the man something to refer to you as, even if you refuse to give your real name. “Pearl,” you answer, giving the only name your brother calls you, after a character in his favourite movie.

You don’t know if the man realises it’s just an alias or not, but he smiles at you as if he doesn’t care and is just glad to have a name to call you. “I’m Mingyu, I’ll oversee your care until the boss is back, so if you need anything you can ask whoever is outside the door for me and I’ll come right away. For now, I’ll let you poke about the room while I get fresh bedding and towels and everything. Do you have spare clothes? I’ll get extra anyway for you both. I’ll be right back!” He darts out of the room and closes the door behind him gently, yet securely, before you can even try to answer.

“Where we?” Chan asks seconds later when he looks up at you.

“Where are we,” you correct naturally, trying to prevent his delayed speech getting worse with only you for company. It’s hard when you’re not personally used to talking to people very much, even back when you had people around to talk to. But you’re trying to do the best you can for your little brother and not impede his development further. It’s just hard.

“Where are we?” Chan repeats without hesitation, already long ago used to being corrected, though he has only ever tried to absorb and learn your own words, no-one else’s.

It’s much easier for him to progress now that his sole educator genuinely cares about him and understands his struggles. He’s come in leaps and bounds in some ways the past few months, but you know the life you’ve dragged him into won’t be good for his growth in the long run.

Every day you wish you can do better for him, but there are too many obstacles for you to traverse on your own and half the days you’re stuck in an endless loop of regret from taking him away, and relief from taking him away, with no room left in your mind and soul to do anything but stare off until Chan needs you.

“Just somewhere until we find our next move,” you answer, not sure what to say to the innocent boy because you can’t exactly tell him the truth, though you don’t want to lie to him if you can help it. You hate being lied to so you’ve always made a point of being as honest with Chan as you can. He deserves that much, at the very least.

“Mm, okay,” he replies and lets go of you to start wandering around curiously.

You remain in the middle of the room and watch him for a few minutes until there’s a knock on the door and Chan scrambles back to your side.

“It’s me!” Mingyu calls. “Mingyu!” He adds, and you call for him to come in, so the door opens and the tall man steps inside with his arms full of a bundle of different materials, and another shorter man following him. “This is Seungkwan; he’s really good with kids and bugged me to let him meet your brother. That’s cool, right?”

“I don’t have a choice who you bring here,” you point out while putting your hand on Chan’s head protectively when both men move into the room to step past you in different directions. Mingyu places the bundle of clothing in his arms on the couch while Seungkwan scuttles over to the bed and starts to strip it of the stale sheets.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you two,” Mingyu explains. “I know it’s not your choice to be here and chances are, you’re two very innocent people caught in the wrong place, so you’ve done nothing wrong and there is no issue between us.”

You can’t help but wonder what kind of tune this man would be singing if he saw the brand on your thigh. You know it wouldn’t be a good one.

“Bring the sheets, Gyu,” Seungkwan encourages now that he has the bed entirely bare of any sheets.

Obligingly, Mingyu grabs the clean bedding from the bundle to approach and help Seungkwan set up the bed neatly while you and Chan watch silently, though whenever the pair look over at you, Chan looks away and presses further into your leg.

“So,” Mingyu starts once the bed is ready and he and Seungkwan move closer. Though they keep more than just a polite distance from you both, even if Seungkwan keeps glancing at Chan as if he wants to talk to the little boy yet can see that it’s not a good idea. “Have you thought about what you want to eat?”

“Oh…no,” you reply honestly. “I forgot.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” He tilts his head, curious and a little confused as if he doesn’t understand how you can’t be hungry considering the state of you.

“No,” it’s another completely truthful answer and makes the tall man look even more puzzled, but at least he doesn’t question it.

“Okay, well, maybe some snacks will bring back your appetite. We don’t have any women’s clothes, you’re the only woman in the manor in years so I brought you some of mine, I hope that’s okay.”

“You idiot,” Seungkwan scolds and backhands Mingyu’s closest arm, making the tall man break into a pout, to your complete astonishment. “Those will drown her!” The smaller man looks at you with a kind smile. “I’ll get you some of my own, those will be better suited, and I’ll get something for your brother. We might have some clothes small enough, but they might be too big. But at least they’ll do until his own clothes are cleaned up, right?”

Honestly, you’re still too thrown off by how kind the men in this house have been to you so far to be able to answer in any certain way. It’s very kind, yes, and you truly appreciate it, at least for Chan’s sake so he doesn’t have to suffer more, but you can’t believe they’re doing this out of the goodness of their own hearts. It’s unfathomable to you.

All you do is make a vague sound in response that Seungkwan takes as agreement and smiles, only telling you that he’ll be right back before leaving.

“Did you look at the bathroom?” Mingyu prompts, pointing to the still closed doors. You shake your head. “I’ll show you how the shower and stuff work, they’re stupidly complicated with all the options,” he says as he walks over to the left-hand door and opens it to an all-white bathroom, which is lit brightly despite the overhead light not being turned on, thanks to the large window above the tub against the back wall.

You pick Chan up to carry him into the bathroom and peer around curiously while Mingyu rambles on about how long it took him to get used to the fancy showers here when he first joined, and then they changed them to even fancier ones with more options, so he had to learn it all again.

It’s strange how different the large man seems at the manor compared to when you first met him. Although there had clearly been care in him then, as evident by his insistence on all of you wearing seatbelts and the arm that he had kept in front of Chan the entire drive with enough space to not be close to touching the boy, he had seemed every bit the gangster he must be to be a Centaur. Yet, now at the house, he’s almost a different person; no tense edges and only open expressions.

It must be that thing about people being themselves when they’re at home; feeling safe and able to be honest about who they truly are. You’ve never had that and wonder what it must feel like to experience that genuine ease and comfort, to be free. You doubt you’ll ever know.

“Ah, shit,” Mingyu curses when the water sprays out over him once he turns one of the dials. “I forgot about the multiple heads,” he grumbles and turns the water back off to face you while pulling his sleeveless t-shirt away from his torso where the water is making it start to stick and enhance his muscled chest. “Oh, sorry! I swore in front of him!” He apologises with wide eyes and one hand coming up to cover his mouth guiltily.

“He’s heard worse,” you reply, not at all bothered by the curse as you often drop minor curses in front of Chan, and he hasn’t copied them yet. Nor the more vulgar ones your father prefers.

“Still, I shouldn’t do it.” He glances over your shoulder a second before you hear footsteps approaching, making you move aside and turn so that you have a clear view of everyone.

“Hopefully, these will all be okay,” Seungkwan says as he enters the bathroom with a pile of clothing to place on the counter. “You can keep it all too if you want, none of it gets used anyway so it’d be better if someone who’d make use of it all gets it.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you reply, once again shocked by the kindness of these men but starting to get a little more accustomed to it, enough to show some gratitude at least.

“No problem!” He chirps then moves back to the bedroom to grab the towels from the couch to also put on the bathroom counter. “As far as I’m aware, everything you might want should be in the cupboards; the bathrooms are usually always fully stocked.” To check the validity of his own words, Seungkwan goes over to the unit and opens the doors to reveal more towels, toilet rolls, cleaning products and toiletries. “Ah, I’ll take these ones, they probably smell musty now; they must’ve been in here a while.” He plucks out the stack of towels and sniffs them, immediately pulling a face. “Yeah, I’ll go get you more.” He wanders off before anyone can say anything.

“I’ll let you shower and everything. I imagine snacks will be in the bedroom by the time you’re done,” Mingyu declares. “You can lock the doors too, by the way, this one and the bedroom door if that makes you feel safe. But if you don’t answer when we knock, at least half of us can either pick the lock or break it off, but we will only do that if you don’t answer in a reasonable time. For safety reasons; both yours, and ours.”

“I understand,” you reply simply and nod a little in agreement to his warning.

“Okay, great! Enjoy your showers and I’ll see you in a bit!”

Mingyu leaves and you wait until you watch him also leave the bedroom and shut the door behind him before you put Chan down and close the bathroom door, immediately clicking the lock into place.

“Use the toilet, Squirt,” you encourage, motioning to the toilet and glad that Chan waddles straight over obediently to do his business while you rummage through the cupboard to take out the necessary supplies.

“Hurts,” Chan’s words make you look over to where he’s still sitting on the toilet and frowning at you.

“Your belly?” He shakes his head. “Oh, to pee?” He nods. “Ah, I was worried you haven’t had enough to drink. Okay, well hopefully they’ll have left drinks, and you can drink lots and that will help.”

“Juice?”

“Mm, maybe, I don’t know, bud.”

“I want apple juice.”

“We’ll see what they give us. It might just be water.” Chan pulls a face. “I know you don’t like water but it’s good, remember? We need to make sure we drink enough of it to be healthy. You didn’t drink your water this morning and now it hurts to pee.”

“Lots but not too much,” he repeats the words you’ve said to him many times when convincing him to drink his daily water intake.

It was so much easier when you had access to whatever drinks you wanted, but now you can rarely afford to buy anything other than cheap bottled water or refill empty bottles at public water fountains, which are few and far between these days. So sometimes, it’s truly a struggle to keep you both hydrated.

“Exactly, too much or too little is bad for us.”

“Need to be healthy.”

“We do. And clean, so finish up and let’s get you showered.”

“Water?” Chan gasps excitedly and rushes to get off the toilet and close the lid before flushing it, then speeds over with his trousers still around his knees, but you don’t scold him for it; there’s no point when he’s about to take them off. Also, it makes him waddle like a penguin and it’s rather amusing.

“Yeah, get naked and I’ll get it nice and warm.”

“Water time!” Chan exclaims happily and rapidly starts to throw off his clothes, making you once again glad that you have been able to buy him clothes that are easy for him to handle on his own, without buttons or zips for him to get frustrated with. One less reason for a meltdown.

Although he doesn’t have any water safe toys to play with in the shower, Chan has endless fun jumping under the warm water and splashing around while singing every water themed song he can think of, even making up plenty too, while you sit on the tiles outside of the splash zone and watch fondly.

There will never be anyone who you love and adore more than your little brother. You’d do anything for him, risk everything if it would make him smile like this all the time.

Though after a while, you do have to stop his joyful playing so that you can give him a soapy sponge for him to clean his body while you scrub his shaggy hair clean as he sits on the wet tiles in front of where you kneel, getting your jeans wet but you don’t care.

Once Chan is all clean, you wrap him up in a few towels and sit him on the dry tiles facing the wall so he can play with the few toys from his backpack and remain occupied while you shower. It’s not that often that you can shower properly, usually you just have to wash you both over with baby wipes, or with a damp cloth when you can find a private space big enough for it. Showers have become a luxury over the past months, but even with the little amount you’ve had, Chan knows that he must remain looking away while you shower to give you privacy, and he only complains about it if he doesn’t stay entertained with toys for the duration.

As much as you’d love to stand under the water and let it soothe your aching muscles until your skin is all wrinkly, you know you can’t, so you scrub yourself as quickly as possible while remaining thorough, before getting out and rubbing your body dry so you can pull on the clothes Seungkwan left for you. Of course, there isn’t a bra or underwear, but the sweatpants, t-shirt, socks, and hoodie all fit comfortably enough and smell fresh and clean.

With a towel around your hair, you get Chan up and dressed before towel drying both of your hair quickly and unlocking the bathroom door to let you out into the bedroom.

As Mingyu said, someone has left snacks on the low table, a lot of snacks and various bottles and cans of drinks.

Chan gasps excitedly and rushes over to pick up a little bottle of apple juice. “Juice, Per!”

“Mm, sit down then,” you hum and take the bottle to open it as Chan sits down and plops his turtle plushie at his side in wait. As soon as you’ve handed over the open bottle, your brother starts to gulp the contents down eagerly. “Ah, Channie, slow, you’ll make yourself sick. We must be careful when we eat and drink, remember?”

“But I so thirsty, Per!”

“I know, but it’s not going anywhere. Take it steady, Squirt.”

“Slow and steady wins the race,” he quotes, and you smile softly as you watch him purposely take much smaller sips now, all because of a tortoise in an old fable.

Once he’s consumed half of the bottle, Chan puts it on the table and accepts the packet of mini cookies you’ve opened to offer and happily starts munching away with his feet contently flopping from side to side where they’re stretched out in front of him under the table.

While Chan eats the snacks you’ve set up ready for him, you go back to the bathroom to clean your clothes in the sink with the soaps, even if they’re not designed for this, but you can’t be picky about how you get your clothes clean, you just care that they are.

When Chan scrambles into the bathroom while you’re setting everything up to dry, you become concerned until you hear the knocking on the bedroom door and understand what has spooked your little brother. “It’s okay, you can wait in here,” you assure and pat his head before going to the bedroom to open the door while he does as offered and remains hiding in the bathroom.

On the other side of the bedroom door upon opening it stand Mingyu and Junhui, each with a tray of covered plates in their hands and smiles on their faces.

“Hi, Pearl!” Junhui greets. “Food’s ready!”

“Oh,” you step back to let the men in and rush over to the low table to clean up the crumbs and packets Chan has left behind.

“Here, here, I’ll take them,” Mingyu offers, plucking the rubbish from your hands after he’s put down the tray in his hands. “I need to go out for a bit, but Jun is still around, and Seungkwan is too, so you can ask for either of them until I’m back. It should only be an hour; I’ve just got to deal with some stuff in the middle wall.” You nod in understanding. Mingyu shoots you a smile before he leaves, pulling up the door, yet leaving it open slightly as Junhui is still in the room.

The chef is kneeling beside the table as he sets up all of the plates, uncovering them as he goes and causing various delicious scents to fill the room. You’re not surprised that Chan shuffles over and half hides behind your legs as he eyes the food, drawn in by the smell.

“So!” Junhui starts when he’s done arranging everything and looks up. He jerks back in surprise spotting Chan suddenly at your side, but he just smiles at him brightly, then looks up at you. “I thought I’d play it mostly safe and made some plain, yet still tasty and nutritious, foods; enough for the both of you butttt” he starts pulling out condiment bottles and jars of herbs and spices from the various pockets on his cargo pants and apron. “I brought flavours so you can adjust them as you like! I thought that’d be easier than stressing you out by asking you what you like again; that clearly wasn’t getting anywhere. So here, enjoy, eat as much or as little as you want, and you can ask Soonyoung for me if you need more.”

“Soonyoung?” You repeat confusedly.

“Yeah, the guy outside the room.” He motions to the door over his shoulder. “But be warned if you do open the door to ask for something, you will have to deal with talking to him. He hurt his ankle last week and is only off bed rest now, still not allowed to do patrols or go out so he’s sitting on a chair sulking and constantly complaining that he’s bored. But he’s got great hearing and is dumb enough to still jump around on his bad ankle so he will stop you from leaving and get hurt in the process. And then we’ll have to deal with him sulking even longer, so for our sake, please don’t try to run away or anything.”

“That would be illogical given where we are,” you point out simply.

The cook makes a noise of understanding while nodding his head slowly. “Ah, so you do know where you are and whose roof you’re under.”

“Mingyu’s tattoo gives it away, yes.”

“He’s insane, I tell you,” Junhui states, picking up a child-sized cutlery set to hand over, so you take it and sit down, pulling Chan down next to you and handing him the fork to let him pick what he wants to try. No surprise, he goes straight for the plain noodles. Junhui hands you the adult’s cutlery set, though you just hold it at the edge of the table as he talks. “It’s January and the idiot keeps going out in stupid, thin jackets that inevitably get ripped and destroyed, and I think he does it on purpose just to have an excuse to take them off and get his arms out. He’s very vain that Mingyu; he’s hot and he knows it.” He tuts.

You’re not sure what to say in response. Sure, Mingyu is very attractive, and it had struck you as very odd that he was only in a sleeveless t-shirt in winter, but he hadn’t come across as vain to you, though you’re aware that you really don’t know him at all to have a solid opinion on his vanity level. So, you just make a vague sound in response and hope it’s enough to appease Junhui.

“Well, anyway, I’ll let you eat. If you don’t like any of it, tell Soonyoung to call me and I’ll make something else; all I do around here is cook and dinner isn’t for hours, so I don’t have anything else to do. You’d actually be doing me a favour by giving me something to do other than sit playing games on my phone in the den or trying to convince one of the others to entertain me.”

“Why don’t you sit with Soonyoung, if you’re both bored?” You logically suggest.

“Because…actually, that’s a good point. I’ll get a game, do you like games? We can play monopoly…oh, no, that’s a bad idea. Cluedo? No, Soonyoung never understands those kinds of games.” He frowns in thought.

“I’d rather just focus on my brother.”

“Ah, right, right. You’re a good sister.” Junhui gets to his feet after slapping his own thighs. “I’ll be outside and if we get too loud, just come out and tell us to shut up, we both lack volume control when we get excited. Okay, bye, Pearl. Bye, little man!” Junhui skips out of your room, calling to Soonyoung about playing a game as he goes. You can’t see the other man, but you hear his excited whoop before the door shuts and blessedly closes out their conversation.

“Is it good, Channie?” You ask, brushing Chan’s floppy, almost dry hair back out of his eyes. He hums and nods in agreement as he eats. “Good.”

Only now that you’re alone with your little brother and content that he’s eating well do you pick up your cutlery and start to eat.

Although Mingyu has reappeared and left again multiple times, you and Chan are mostly alone for hours, with the man only popping in to check on you both and ask if you need anything, plus take away all the dishes with Junhui.

It’s almost midnight when there’s a knock on the door and you look over from being curled protectively around your sleeping brother. Something about the knock is different to how Mingyu knocks, it’s firmer, yet still gentle in a strange contradiction that makes your stomach flitter with anxiety.

Silently, as to not disturb Chan, you get off the bed and walk to the door to open it just as the knocking starts up again.

On the other side is a man, who although you’ve never met before, you’ve seen his picture many times in files in your father’s office to be able to recognise his dark gaze and full lips.

Choi Seungcheol, the current leader of Choi’s Centaurs as of ten years ago when his father passed through means that have never been publicly verified. Many even think that Seungcheol himself had a hand in his father’s death just so that he could take over the gang sooner.

You don’t know enough of the man to have an opinion on that matter, but what you do know is that he makes an intimidating figure as he looms over you in riding leathers with his motorbike helmet still in one gloved hand at his side, whereas the other is bare and raised in a fist from knocking on the door.

“Pearl, I assume?” He greets, raising an eyebrow slightly in question while lowering his arm to hang at his side.

You don’t know if the dark look is intentional or not, but you do know the shadows under his eyes aren’t. He looks exhausted and you can’t imagine he’s very happy about having to come to you upon returning home instead of going to bed like he no doubt yearns to.

You nod in confirmation. “Your brother is asleep?” Another nod. “Alright, step out here so we can talk without waking him.”

Silently, you step into the hall when he moves aside, before you pull the door up almost entirely shut, yet cracked open enough that you can hear if Chan needs you.

“So, what I hear is that a couple of my guys found you in the warehouse where it seems as if you’ve been sleeping with your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good, you speak,” he places his helmet on the floor so that he can remove his glove and tuck it into his jacket pocket with the other before unzipping the protective jacket, showing a plain black t-shirt tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “You’re homeless?”

“Yes.”

“Any family to go to? I can’t send you back onto the streets with a kid.”

“Just like that?” You ask, looking at him puzzled. “You’re just sending us out again?”

“What do you expect me to do with you? I know you’re aware I don’t condone violence towards children, nor do I agree with leaving any kid in a position where they don’t have an adult to look after them. I’m not going to hurt your brother, and hurting you would hurt him too, so my only option is to send you off and hope you won’t try to cause me any trouble by saying shit about whatever you saw and heard at the warehouse.”

“And here.”

“What?”

“Your men brought me into your home; as far as I’m aware that’s pretty fucking unheard of.”

He nods slightly in confirmation. “This situation is unheard of, you’re right, Mingyu fucked up by bringing you into the manor when he could’ve left you in one of the empty houses in the outer wall, but I can’t blame him when he did it to make sure he knows you two will be safe and looked after. So tomorrow I’ll personally drive you to the closest family you have, so that I know you arrive safely.”

“No.”

“No?” He frowns at you in astonishment. “The fuck do you mean no? I don’t think you understand what’s going on here, sweetheart. I’m in charge and you’re under my roof, you’re alive because of my rules and you have no fucking place to say no to me.”

“I’ll say no to whoever I need to if it means protecting my brother.”

“I just said I’m not going to let anyone hurt him.”

“Sending us to family will mean him getting hurt.”

“Did you run away?” You nod in confirmation. “Because your parents hurt you?”

“I took him and ran because I knew it would only get worse for him now that… Look, I don’t give a fuck who you are or what you can do to me; I’m not letting you send my brother back there. I won’t do a thing that puts us back on their radar. So just take us back to the warehouse so I can grab the shit I had to leave behind and we can see the last of each other.”

Seungcheol stares at you consideringly for a long moment as his arms cross over his chest before he nods once in understanding and acceptance. “Alright, no family, but I’m not sending you back to the streets. There must be some kind of women’s and children’s refuge that would take you in.”

“Separately. I’m not his parent and as I’m not a kid myself, we’d get separated.”

“Then lie and say he’s your son.”

“I don’t like to lie.”

He scoffs a laugh. “You wouldn’t last a day in my world with that mindset, sweetheart.” You don’t answer and just stare at him silently, well aware of how wrong his assumption is. “Right, so not that. Well, and this is a once in a lifetime offer, but I’ll buy you a house, put it in your name, give you money to cover costs for a few months while you get on your feet, and we never cross paths again. You won’t owe me shit either; I have more money than I know what to do with anyway, I can afford to help someone in need.”

“If I use my name they will find us, Seungcheol,” you plainly state.

He blinks at you a few times dumbly before responding. “Oh, that’s my name.”

You can’t help but look at him in concern for his odd reaction. “Yes.”

“You seriously do know who I am. I didn’t even introduce myself.”

“You’re the head of the most famous gang in the country, of course I know who you are.”

“Mm, many might know me by name, not by face.”

“Mingyu told me the boss will be by to see me once he’s home; you are the only person who has knocked on the door other than him. And you said you’re in charge; I’m under your roof. It’s not hard to put two and two together,” comes your logical rationalisation, easily explaining how you didn’t fail to recognise him despite his lack of introduction.

He’s right in that most people may know his alias, yet have no idea what his first name is, even if they know his family name, or who the name belongs to if they passed him in the street without introduction.

“Huh, guess so. Just threw me hearing my name suddenly, especially as nobody actually calls me that.”

“I don’t like your alias,” you admit bluntly, and to your surprise, the man lets out a laugh. “What?”

“Nobody has ever said that to my face before. Wow, either you have the biggest balls I’ve ever seen, or you’re so sleep deprived that you’ve forgotten how to act.”

Once again, you don’t answer, just silently stare at him. You truly have no idea what category you fit under right now, if either.

“You’re an interesting one, Pearl,” he declares with amusement tilting the edge of his lips up ever so slightly. “Well, I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with this tonight so we’re both going to go the fuck to bed and get some much-needed sleep, then we’ll talk again. And I’ll meet your brother; the guys say he’s adorable and shy, so I’m real curious about him.”

“Right,” you mutter in response, not sure what you’re expected to say right now.

“Alright, well, seeing as you’re not an idiot and know who I am and what you risk if you try to fuck me over, I won’t have anyone outside your room anymore and no-one will bother you until the morning when someone comes and gets you for breakfast.”

“Get us? Like, to join?”

“Yeah, we can talk over breakfast; I’ve got a busy day tomorrow and the sooner we sort this shit out, the better.”

“Right.”

“Go back to your brother and make sure you sleep too. You look like you’re about to pass out any second,” he says as he bends over momentarily to swoop up his helmet into his hold.

“Says you.”

Seungcheol snorts a laugh as he turns and walks off. “Definitely an interesting one.”

You watch him until he turns at the end of the hall and is out of sight before you go back into the bedroom and lock the door so that when you curl up under the covers with your brother, you feel safe enough to close your eyes and sleep in a soft bed for the first time in months.

Maybe today hasn’t been quite as unlucky as you initially thought.

When the knock comes in the morning, you’ve already been up for a few hours.

You’ve already cleaned up the bathroom and bedroom, showered for what may be the last time in a while to take advantage while Chan slept, and dressed back in your own clean clothes; though you’ve neatly folded the ones Seungkwan gave you into your backpack, hoping that he was being honest about allowing you to keep them, you could really do with the spare clothes.

Once Chan woke, you had him drink some juice, then let him splash around in the bath until the water was cold and his skin wrinkly, before drying him and dressing him in clean clothes and folding his new spares into your own backpack as his own is too full of his own spare clothes, toys, and other necessary supplies.

Chan’s playing with his toys on the bed at your side when the knock comes, so you leave him there to get up and answer the door.

“Good morning!” Mingyu greets you brightly once the door is open and you have sight of one another. “I’m glad you’re already up, breakfast is just about ready. Is your brother up too?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, great, let’s go join the others.” You nod slightly in agreement, then turn to get Chan and carry him with you as he clutches his turtle to his chest and hides in your neck.

“Does he have trouble walking?” Mingyu wonders as you follow him down the hall.

“Sometimes.”

“Ah, you just carry him all of the time, so I wondered.”

“It’s just easier, lets me know he’s safe if I’m holding him.”

“That makes sense. But he is safe here, you know. Nobody will hurt him. We all love kids in this house, in the appropriate way.”

“I don’t know you to trust those words.”

“I understand,” he assures and gives you a little smile.

Nothing more is said all the way to the kitchen where you can already hear noise before you enter. It’s not too loud, thankfully, just the general sounds of people being happy and chatting. And to your surprise, you can hear a child’s voice amongst it all.

“They’re here!” Junhui cheers as you enter the kitchen and see him cooking with another man while the large breakfast table is surrounded by a bunch of men, Seungcheol and Seungkwan included, plus a little boy who is in the middle of climbing over a brightly smiling man.

The little boy immediately looks over and grins brightly. “My new friend!” He exclaims.

“No, no, I told you, no,” Seungcheol says with a sigh. “Every child you meet isn’t your friend, Solie.”

“But he will be!” The boy insists and almost climbs up onto the table, though the man who he’s using as a willing climbing frame grabs him and moves him to put on the floor. Undeterred as if it’s a regular occurrence, the boy runs around the table to approach you and stare up at your hiding little brother in awe. “Hi! I’m Hansol, I’m almost seven! What’s your name?”

All the men look over curiously, stopping their conversations to see what happens next.

“I’m sorry, Hansol, but he doesn’t talk to anyone but me,” you say to the young boy gently.

“Oh,” Hansol frowns. “Why?”

“He only feels safe with me.”

“Oh. I don’t have a sister, but I feel safest with my daddy, so I talk his ear off, he says.” To your surprise, he points over at Seungcheol, who is watching his son with fond amusement.

In all you’ve seen and read about Choi Seungcheol over the years, you’ve never even heard a rumour that he has a child, not even a woman claiming to be carrying his child to try and get money from the filthy-rich family. There have even been rumours that the man is gay due to the lack of women seen on his arm over the years. Maybe that’s still true and Hansol isn’t biologically Seungcheol’s, maybe he’s adopted or a surrogate baby; not that it matters when you can see nothing but pure love in the man’s eyes for his son.

At least now you understand why the men had all been so insistent that Seungcheol has strict rules to protect children; as a father he likely has a better appreciation and love for the little humans. Well, a good father should, at least. Something about this man makes you think that he is a good and doting father, despite being a ruthless gang leader.

“Ah, it’s good you feel safe with him,” you decide to say and look at Hansol, who nods enthusiastically in agreement before looking at Chan again.

“Can we still be friends if he doesn’t talk and I talk a lot?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I don’t know if he can handle it, he’s sensitive to noise.”

“Oh, me too, like bangs and stuff; it makes me feel all horrible and gross and sometimes I wear my special headphones, and it makes it all quiet. Does he have special headphones too? They’re really good!”

“Ear defenders?”

“Oh, is that what they’re called?”

You nod. “Defend means to protect and they’re designed to protect your hearing and block out noises.”

“Ooooh, that’s cool! Daddy!” Hansol turns to look at his father. “My special headphones are superheroes for my ears!”

“So I heard,” Seungcheol replies with a chuckle. “Why don’t you come sit down so Pearl can get comfortable with her brother for breakfast, hm?”

“Can I sit with him?”

“I think he’d rather sit with his sister.”

The little boy deflates, whole posture slumping and his lips protruding sadly, “oh.”

“You can sit with me, Solie!” The same man Hansol had earlier been climbing on offers, making Hansol light right back up and run over to clamber up.

“No, no way,” Junhui argues sternly. “You spill enough food as it is without a child on your lap, Kwon Soonyoung.”

The man you now know to be Soonyoung, the man with the injured ankle who had been keeping guard outside of your room yesterday, pouts and crosses his arms over his chest, which Hansol copies when he’s in his own seat on his dad’s right at the head of the table. “You never let us have breakfast cuddles anymore,” Soonyoung complains in a mumble.

“Learn to eat like a grown up and then you’ll be allowed breakfast cuddles,” another man says as Mingyu leads you over to the empty two seats on Seungcheol’s left and motions for you to sit in the one closest to the boss. You sit in the offered chair while continuing to hold Chan chest to chest on your lap, and Mingyu takes the seat on your left.

“You’re younger than me!” Soonyoung exclaims.

“Alright children, at least pretend to know how to behave when we have guests,” Seungcheol chides, though he looks to be so used to the playful bickering that it doesn’t truly bother him.

“Yes, daddy,” Soonyoung agrees, then yelps when the metal chopstick Seungcheol abruptly throws through the air whacks him in the arm. “Ow!”

“I’ve told you not to call me that!”

“You do call them children,” the man at the other end of the table points out with a little, lazily amused smirk. “It’s your own fault, daddy.”

“Yeah, daddy,” multiple of the men chime in sync, then start to cackle when Seungcheol sighs heavily.

Though the man decides to ignore them all and turns his attention to you instead. “So, how’d you two sleep?”

“Good,” you reply, eyes darting around as everyone starts to serve themselves now that Junhui and the man who was cooking with him are seated, a sign that it’s time to eat. You’re shocked that they don’t wait for Seungcheol and Hansol to have their servings first, as the lead family. Though you can see Soonyoung making sure that the child has food on his plate before he gets his own share.

“What do you want to eat? I’ll grab it for you,” Mingyu offers. “Does he eat toast?” You nod in confirmation, so Mingyu grabs a couple of slices of toast. “With butter?” You nod again and he gets to work buttering the toast.

“Will you turn around?” You request Chan softly once you’ve leaned down to talk to him. He shakes his head. “Just halfway, please, Squirt. You can face the wall, but you need to be able to reach your food.”

Chan tenses for a second as he squeezes his turtle tight to his chest, before he relaxes and you know it means he’s ready, so you adjust him until his back is to Mingyu. Although Chan is technically facing Seungcheol now, the wall is more directly in front of him, and he stares at it.

“Anything else on it? We don’t have peanut butter, Hansol’s allergic, but we have probably almost anything else,” Mingyu says once the toast is buttered and on the plate that is sitting in front of you on the table.

“Do you want anything on your toast, Squirt?” You ask. Chan glances over to the plate and instead of verbally answering, he picks up a piece of the warm toast to start eating contently, feet starting to bounce a little as he chews.

“Is his name Squirt?” Hansol speaks up from directly opposite you, causing you to look over and see that he’s already got crumbs around his mouth from his own toast, though his is slathered in jam and he also has a single sausage on his plate.

“It’s a nickname,” you answer.

“Oh, why?”

“Have you seen Finding Nemo?”

“Yeah!” Hansol lights up. “I wanna bounce on the jellyfish, boing, boing!” He bounces in his seat.

“Ah, you shouldn’t bounce when you eat,” you say automatically, worried about the boy choking. “It’s a hazard to move in such a way while you eat.”

Hansol falls still to look at you with intrigue. “What’s hazard mean?”

“Dangerous. A hazard is something that’s dangerous.”

“Oh. So, no bouncing when eating?” You hum and nod in approval. “Okay.”

“What?” Seungcheol baulks in disbelief. “I’ve been telling you to sit still while you eat since you could sit up and you listen to someone you just met?”

“You never told me it’s dangerous, daddy. I don’t want to get hurt, you know.”

“I must’ve told you it’s dangerous,” Seungcheol mutters.

“Nope! You tell me I make a mess.”

“Oh…well, okay, that’s my fault then, I should’ve put the danger warnings first.”

“You should,” Hansol agrees simply, and for the first time in over 24 hours, you almost laugh yet manage to hold it back and instead just smile amusedly. “Will Squirt play with me after breakfast?”

“I thought we’re playing after breakfast,” Seungkwan pouts from Mingyu’s left.

“I always play with you Uncle Kwannie, I need new friends who aren’t old.”

“Wow, Hansol, wow,” Seungkwan deadpans. “You say such lovely things.”

“I am a lovely boy,” Hansol agrees, entirely missing the sarcasm in the man’s voice, making Mingyu giggle as Seungkwan pouts to stop himself from also laughing. “Does Squirt like climbing? I want to play outside after breakfast, and I can show my climbing frame, and we can play fishies too! I bet he’ll like that if he likes Nemo. Does he like playing fishies?”

“I don’t think he’s ever played it,” you answer honestly.

“We just pretend we’re fishies living in the sea, it’s pretty easy to play.” Hansol shrugs.

“Just eat your breakfast, Sol,” Seungcheol says, tapping the edge of Hansol’s plate.

“I am eating, daddy, you’re not and she’s not. We’re all eating but you two.”

“Okay, well focus on your food while we talk about adult stuff, okay?”

“Ugh, boring,” Hansol huffs and turns to start talking to Soonyoung, who happily listens to the little boy as they both eat with crumbs around their mouths and wide eyes on one another.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Seungcheol starts as he finally moves to put food on his own plate, though pauses when he realises that only Chan’s second piece of toast is on the plate in front of you. “You can help yourself; it’s all free game.”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you reply.

“Eat, you need energy to look after your brother,” he declares firmly and as much as you want to argue, he’s got you by bringing Chan into it; you’re pretty sure he said that on purpose. “I’m going to put food on your plate, and you don’t have to eat it all, but eat something, okay?” He doesn’t wait for your agreement before he gets up onto his feet to lean over the table further and serve a little of most of the dishes onto your plate before he serves himself a much heartier portion of everything.

For a few minutes, you eat quietly, feeding Chan from your own cutlery too so that he’s not just eating toast, even if he seems perfectly happy slowly chewing on it while staring off, though he opens his mouth to accept whatever you choose to feed him without complaint.

“Can I ask something?” Seungcheol’s voice makes you look away from Chan and to the man on your right. There’s something in his eyes you can’t place as he watches Chan curiously. “Is he autistic?” Your movements immediately halt and Seungcheol notices, snapping his full attention to your carefully blank expression. “He is, isn’t he?”

“My brother’s business is not yours,” you state firmly.

“I’m not trying to step on your toes or anything, I just see a lot of Hansol in him,” he explains with a shrug. “He’s got autism and ADHD, so I get it, we all get it, if he is autistic. It’s not a dirty word in this house and we all make accommodations where necessary to make sure my son doesn’t ever feel other, you know? He’s just another kid with some differences as far as he’s concerned.”

For a long moment, you just stare at Seungcheol in utter shock at his words. Not necessarily that Hansol has autism and ADHD because that doesn’t exactly surprise you despite having just met the kid, sometimes you just know these things, but what is a surprise is the ease in which Seungcheol says it all and the fact that you truly believe him; that they all accept and love Hansol and do what they can to support him.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted for Chan.

“Oh,” you breathe out, and with that breath, it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. “It’s why I took him away. He got diagnosed in summer, and suddenly…can we stay?” You suddenly request, shocking the man visibly; his eyes go wide, and he straightens up from his casual slouch as he leans on his elbows on the table. “I will work for you; I’ll do whatever you need me to, just please allow my brother to grow up somewhere stable and with love. I’m not asking you to love him in any way, or for any of you to look after him; but for him to see another child like him receiving such love, I hope he’ll know there’s more than just one person on the side of kids like him.”

Seungcheol remains quiet for a second before he lets out a little breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I was actually going to suggest it myself, that you stay, because I really don’t know what else to do. You have nowhere to go, and I had a feeling he’s autistic, so I know it’s even harder for you and I truly don’t want to risk your family finding you, especially now I know why they think it’s acceptable to be cruel to an innocent child. I was just surprised you asked.”

“For his sake I’ll do anything.”

“Can you clean?”

“What?”

“If you stay, you need to work and there’s always stuff to clean in a house this size.”

“Is this because I’m a woman?” You deadpan and suddenly, the men closest to you turn quiet, creating a domino effect of silence along the table as they all turn to look at their flustered leader. “Is that the only job you could think of for a woman to be of use in your gang, Seungcheol?”

“Oooh,” Soonyoung jeers under his breath amusedly.

“What? No!” Seungcheol sputters. “I’m not sexist! I know women have plenty of uses besides cleaning!”

“Then why are there no women other than me in this house? I saw perhaps five on the entire drive through the estate. Those don’t seem like numbers of an equal opportunist.”

“I like her,” one of the men whispers to another, however as no-one else is talking, it’s loud and clear to you all and he doesn’t seem to care at all.

“What’s sexist?” Hansol curiously asks.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not sexist,” Seungcheol reiterates, dismissing Hansol’s question with a wave of his hand, making his son pout sadly at not being answered and catching your attention, which in turn, makes Seungcheol look at his son seeing your gaze focused on the boy, and the man notices Hansol’s frown. “Oh, Solie, I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s just not something a six-year-old needs to worry about.”

“I think if he asks, he’s curious enough to deserve an answer,” you point out. “Wouldn’t it be better to give him the knowledge earlier, so he grows up with it, than risk it not settling properly in his mind and being easy to pull apart when he’s older?”

“Oh, I really like her,” the same whispered voice as last time declares.

Seungcheol sighs then shuffles to face Hansol better. “Okay, Pearl’s right, I should give you an actual answer when you ask about things like this. Sexism is when someone thinks their sex or gender is above another. Like, for example, some idiot men think women belong in the kitchen and have no use other than staying at home to raise kids and look after the house. That’s men being sexist towards women.”

“Oh, like you only giving Pearl a cleaning job,” Hansol says, making Seungcheol wince, while some of the men start to snicker. “That’s really bad, daddy, give her a better job.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a cleaner, all jobs have worth. If nobody cleans, things will be dirty so it’s a perfectly valid job, Hansol.”

“But you’re being sexist so that makes it bad, right?”

“Okay, it would be if that was what I was doing, but I only said cleaner because I have no idea what Pearl’s skills are, and you don’t need qualifications or past job experience to clean.”

“Then ask her. If you don’t know what she’s good at, ask her,” Hansol reasons logically.

“How does it feel when a six-year-old has more logic and common sense than you, Coupsie?” The man at the other end of the table asks with an amused grin, earning an unimpressed expression from Seungcheol as he straightens up and turns towards you.

Seungcheol looks at you with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry for not asking you, that wasn’t right. We’ll have an interview when I’m back later and discuss what your place here will be, does that sound okay to you, Pearl?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you agree simply. He relaxes a little before motioning for everyone to get back to their food, and the conversation is dropped there.

Just as he had said, after breakfast, Hansol enthusiastically leads you and Chan outside once you’re all three of you are in your shoes and coats, to go to the play area that would put a public child’s play park to shame.

There’s a large climbing frame, multiple types of swings, slides of varying heights and styles, trampolines imbedded in the rubber tarmac, spinning seats and roundabouts, seesaws and a huge racetrack painted onto the ground and weaving through all the various apparatus. Plus, there’s even a shelter with go carts, bikes, wagons, and even more toys.

And that’s just this section of the garden. A little further away you can see a large, covered section of ground, which you’d assume is an in-ground pool if there were any sign of ladders or tiles around it instead of more rubber tarmac. You have no idea what it is, but you know it’s another activity for Hansol.

It really is clear that Seungcheol will go above and beyond for the sake of his son.

“What shall we play first, Squirt?” Hansol asks, turning to look at Chan, who is entirely focused on the strange sensation of slightly springy ground under him as he bounces on his toes curiously. “It’s cool, right?! It’s just like in real play parks! Uncle Jihoon says it’s safety playground flooring; it’s got rubber in it so when we fall it isn’t as hard as normal ground and won’t hurt so much or break us as easily.”

Of course, Chan doesn’t respond in any way and honestly, you’re not even sure he’s heard a word that Hansol has said to him, you don’t know if Chan even realises that he’s being spoken to despite the older boy using the nickname so smoothly it’s like he’s always used it.

“Do you like bouncing?” Hansol asks, having no issue with the lack of response and instead rushes over to the trampolines to jump onto. “Look! Look, Squirt! We can touch the clouds!”

“Hey,” you say as you crouch down so you can get Chan’s attention. He glances at you, then looks up when he sees you looking directly at him, signalling that you want his attention. “Hansol wants to play with you, don’t you think that’d be fun? You can make a friend.” You motion over to where Hansol is still happily bouncing away, causing Chan to look over. He pulls an uncertain face. “Want to try?” You offer your hand and to your joy, Chan takes it, silently agreeing to give the trampoline a go. It’s a huge step in Chan making his first friend.

Together, you walk over to the trampolines and Hansol lights up noticing you nearing. He bounces closer and offers his hand to Chan. “I’ll bounce with you, it’s really fun, Squirt!”

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you assure your brother and gently remove your hand from his. He looks at you with rounded eyes of hesitation, yet when you smile and nod reassuringly, he turns and tentatively takes Hansol’s hand.

Your heart swells with joy seeing Chan accept the older boy enough to timidly follow him onto the trampoline, even if he makes slightly distressed sounds as the material bends under his weight.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Squirt,” Hansol soothes in a gentle tone and holds both of Chan’s hands securely so they’re facing one another, though Chan is staring alarmed down at the ground bending beneath their feet. “It’s a trampoline, it’s made to bounce. We can do it gently.”

So, so, so carefully, Hansol starts to bounce. His feet don’t even leave the trampoline and he’s more just bending his legs a little and using the movement to bob them slightly. Chan’s distressed sounds grow, but Hansol makes more soothing noises and holds his hands tighter. He keeps talking to Chan, telling him that it’s okay and “Solie is here, Squirt” and slowly, Chan calms until he’s just making little squeaky types of sounds every handful of seconds.

Once his noises stop being fearful and turn curious, Hansol encourages Chan to try bouncing too. With Hansol’s gentle support, Chan does start to bounce and the utter joy that lights up his face when he lifts his head to look at you with sparkling eyes makes you feel like you could break at any second. You didn’t know he could look so happy with someone else.

Right here, you decide that no matter what Seungcheol asks you to do, you’ll do it. So long as Chan gets to remain here looking so genuinely happy like this, you’ll do anything.

For the first time in months, Chan isn’t right by your side. He’s not far and you can hear Hansol’s voice from the playroom opposite, along with Seungkwan’s, who you have learned is Hansol’s nanny, even if Hansol is often not with the man as the child is both very self-sufficient but also very sneaky at escaping Seungkwan to go play with other people when he gets bored.

It’s probably half of the reason Seungcheol’s home office is right opposite Hansol’s playroom, so Seungcheol can be near if his son wants him when he gets fed up with his nanny.

“Hansol’s always wanted a little brother,” Seungcheol randomly states when you’re both sitting on the leather seating to one side of his office. He’s slouched on the loveseat and you’re sitting in the armchair with a view of the open door, even if you can’t see through to the open door of the playroom. This at least makes you feel better as you’re not turning your back on Chan.

You look at Seungcheol with a slightly raised, questioning eyebrow at his words.

“Just, he’s good with your brother, right?” You nod in confirmation because for all the energy Hansol has in his slight body, he’s so gentle with Chan, so caring, and you can entirely understand what Seungcheol is saying. Hansol is treating Chan like the little brother he’s always wanted. “He’s asked for a little brother for the past two Christmases.” He chuckles and forces himself to sit upright and lean over to pour himself a glass of water from the carafe on the low table in the centre of the seating.

You remain quiet and look back at the door to listen to Hansol’s and Seungkwan’s voices as they play. You can’t hear Chan, and you’re not surprised about it, but it does make you worry that you can’t tell if he’s enjoying the games when he’s so used to either playing alone or with you, even if you’re never as imaginative as either Hansol or Seungkwan.

“You don’t have to worry, Seungkwan knows first aid if they do get hurt,” Seungcheol promises.

“I’m not worried about injury, I’m worried that my brother will suffer in silence, unable to speak up for himself and without me there to talk for him.”

“I don’t mean to overstep or sound like a dick, but have you considered that that doesn’t help?” You look at him with furrowed brows. Seungcheol immediately holds up his hands in defence. “I’m just saying that if you always talk for him, he’s not going to learn to talk for himself.”

“While I agree that can be the case in many circumstances, this is not it. My brother is capable of talking when he feels safe and comfortable with a person, and I’m the only person he has. Even before his diagnosis he didn’t speak to most people because he had delayed speech, and the assholes never gave him the time and understanding to get out what he needed. He’s improved a lot more with just me to talk to these past months than beforehand. So no, I am not making a problem here.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol accepts obligingly. “I believe you, and I apologise for implying that you’re holding him back. Some people just don’t realise they are. They think they’re helping but they’re not. We’ve gotta let our kids figure shit out for themselves sometimes.”

“I know, but some kids and people just aren’t capable of figuring certain things out for themselves, so we have to help them lest they suffer in silence their entire lives.”

“Yeah, I think we know that very well. Raising a kid with disabilities is hard, but I’d never change him.”

“No, I wouldn’t either.”

The two of you share a moment of pure understanding that only breaks when you smile slightly and Seungcheol suddenly looks away while clearing his throat before swallowing down the rest of his water with flushed cheeks.

You can’t help but wonder if he’s ill to suddenly get visibly hot like that. You hope that if he is ill, it’s not contagious; you don’t think you can handle even a common cold right now with the poor condition of your body.

“So,” he says as he puts his glass down on the table perhaps a little too quickly, judging by the loud thunk it makes, which makes him wince. He takes a second to steady the glass then leans back and lays one arm on the back of the couch while he looks at you with even pinker cheeks.

“Are you ill?” You blurt.

“What?” He frowns at you bewilderedly. “No, why? Do I look like shit?” He puts his free hand to his cheek worriedly.

“You’re pink.”

“Oh,” he laughs awkwardly and abruptly gets up to cross the room and open the window. “J-just hot!”

“It’s winter.”

“I’ve just got back from a physically strenuous job,” he explains, and turns so his back is to the open window and his ass is leaning against the windowsill. “Talking of jobs, let’s decide what you can do for me. To work for me, I mean.”

“I don’t know what else that could mean other than work,” you point out and he lets out another strange, awkward laugh. “Are you high?”

“No,” he frowns suddenly, expression abruptly changing. “I don’t do drugs.”

“It would explain your odd behaviour. Either you’re ill, or high.”

“Neither! I’m fine, I’m fine,” he waves his hands dismissively before crossing his arms to tuck his hands under his biceps against his ribs. “So, have you had a job before? I assume so based on the fact you’ve only been homeless for the past months since running away, right? You had a house before then?”

“Family home.”

“Ah, so you didn’t pay rent and stuff.”

“No, I paid rent, it just wasn’t my house.”

“Wait, your parents made you pay rent to live in the family home?” He baulks in disgust.

“Father, my mother died years ago. And my stepmother; my brother’s mother if you want to get specific.”

“Oh, you’re half siblings? I assumed full, you seem very close.”

“As I said, I’m the only person who’s bothered to give him understanding.”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

“Like Hansol is lucky to have you.”

“In some ways, but others, not so much.” He motions around vaguely. “You obviously know what I do, what he’s surrounded by even if he doesn’t realise it yet. At least, I hope he doesn’t; I’m trying to shield him from all that fucked up shit, but I know it’s impossible considering his babysitters are often armed.”

“Is Seungkwan?”

“No, no, he can barely fire a gun. He was just a down-on-his-luck college kid, Hansol befriended him one day and then asked me to make Kwan his babysitter so he could buy new shoes.” He huffs a little laugh. “I have no idea how I raised a kid like that, but I’m glad.”

“It’s probably a lot that’s just him, his soul, if you believe in that.”

“Mm, yeah, probably. Anyway, back to you, you worked?” You nod. “What did you do?”

“Uhm, it’s kind of hard to pinpoint, I did a lot of stuff.” You bite your lip nervously and glance over at the open door before getting up to approach Seungcheol, who shuffles to straighten up. You stop out of arm's reach and lace your fingers together in front of you while staring at his shoulder to not make eye contact. “There is something you should know, and you won’t like it, but you know why I left, and I will always put my brother over anything.”

“What is it?” He asks, voice a little firm, no-nonsense, having sensed that this is serious.

“Who our father is. Who I worked for.”

“You’re a fucking gangster too, aren’t you?” He groans and puts his face in his hands. “I swear if you’re from one of those fucking pissy little gangs always causing me grief, I’m going to be pissed and you’re out on your ass; I’ll keep your brother, and I promise he’ll always be safe with me, but you’re out.”

“I wouldn’t say a pissy little gang,” you reply and glance up at him to see him peering at you in wait over the top of his fingers. “Vultures.”

In the blink of an eye, Seungcheol is directly in front of you and holding your jaw to make you look in his burning gaze. “Say that again, sweetheart. Who did you just say you’re associated with?”

“I left.”

“You’re his fucking child.”

“Did you know he has a child?”

Seungcheol’s anger ebbs a little as he considers your words. “No,” he admits in murmured realisation and slowly loosens his grasp before his fingers slip away from your skin and he takes a half step back. “Why didn’t I know about you? You’re not a kid, you’re what, late twenties?”

“Thirty.”

“Oh, we’re the same age,” he comments and eyes you carefully before stepping back again and crossing his arms over his chest. “I would’ve heard if The Vulture has a fucking thirty-year-old daughter.”

“Not if he never wanted anyone to know.”

“Hiding his golden child to keep her safe, that what you’re going for?”

“No, the opposite. He hid me for my protection when I was little, like I assume you’re doing with Hansol, but then it turned to shame and only the immediate circle knows I’m his daughter, everyone else thinks I’m just another member.”

“Why shame?”

“Is it relevant?”

“Maybe. What did you do?”

“Just exist.”

“Is he sexist?”

You huff a laugh at the reminder of the conversation from breakfast. Seungcheol’s lips twitch up into the start of a smile. “Yes, actually, but that’s not it.”

“Then what?”

You consider your options now; you could lie, but that never sits right with you, you could tell him it’s none of his business and hope he simply accepts that, but you’re not positive he will, not when the safety of his family and integrity of his centuries old gang is on the line.

Which leaves you with telling the truth and hoping that his heart doesn’t bend only for children. “I took my brother away because I know how cruel our father can get; I know what the next steps would be to try and ‘fix’ him because he did the same to me when I was a child.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol murmurs. “You’re autistic too?”

“He blamed my mother, turns out that asshole is the common denominator.”

“I see.” He moves to close the window then leans against the windowsill again as he looks at you thoughtfully. “I won’t lie, this has thrown me a little. I don’t know how to deal with autistic adults, just Hansol.”

“You don’t have to deal with me,” you scoff.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just mean like, what accommodations and stuff to make. How to support you and everything. We’ll have to have a real sit down and talk it out when I have time, and I’ll do research too because obviously I only looked up how autism affects little boys, not women.”

“Research?” He nods. “You don’t have to do that, I’ve had my whole life to figure out how to handle this myself, I don’t need accommodations.”

“Pearl,” he says firmly. “You were raised in a home I can’t believe you ever felt wanted or loved in, based on what you’ve said and what I know of how The Vulture and his gang works. I’m amazed you turned out so understanding and gentle, honestly. But the point is, that environment is not the place someone with autism or other things like that can learn to be true to themself. But that’s going to change, okay? You can be yourself here, you’re safe and no-one will be cruel to you for stimming or needing a break or whatever else you may need, okay?”

It sounds far too good to be true; you’ve never heard those words before, never had anyone tell you that you can just be you without risking getting hit with whatever is to hand. Honestly, at this point, you don’t even know if you know how to be yourself, you’ve been masking for so long.

Instead of trying to put all your thoughts into words you know won’t come out correctly with how jumbled your mind is, you just stare at Seungcheol.

“Alright, let’s circle back to that another day and for now, tell me what you did as a Vulture.”

“Various things.”

“Like what? Finances, tech, streets, driving, meetings, what?” You nod. “What?”

“All of it. I did something in all of it depending on what was needed of me.”

“You didn’t have a speciality?”

“Well…I was often bait, if that’s what you mean.”

“Bait?” He mutters, expression tightening. “What does that mean, Pearl?”

“There weren’t many women other than the whores and dad didn’t trust them to not betray him, so he’d send me to get attention of the men they wanted and take them to a secondary location.”

“Your father used you as sex bait?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“I knew he was fucked up but that’s something else,” he hisses and glares at nothing in particular. “How much do you know about how he works, how the gang is run?”

“Everything.” Seungcheol’s head snaps up to look at you with wide eyes. “I guess when you abuse someone and they still stay, you assume they’re loyal, or at least too scared to be a threat.”

“Are you loyal?”

“No.”

“Are you too scared to be a threat?”

“Never.”

Seungcheol’s mouth turns up into a smirk. “Then I know exactly what your job is, sweetheart; you’re going to help me tear apart the Vultures and dance on their graves.”

“I don’t know how to dance.”

Seungcheol chokes on a laugh. “It’s not literal, it’s a saying.”

“Oh. Why is that a saying? Why would you dance on someone’s grave?”

“Because you’re happy that they’re dead, a celebration.”

“Oh…I guess I should learn to dance.”

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[amoeganism]

gamer!sukuna and fem!reader <3

gamer!sukuna who streams himself playing fps games, building a primarily male audience along the way

gamer!sukuna whom you meet in a random cod lobby while he was live

gamer!sukuna who was caught off guard by your cute, feminine voice in the team voice chat, sending every player and every viewer into a frenzy

gamer!sukuna who rolled his eyes hearing and watching these men go back and forth between demanding you to make them a sandwich and if you want any skins

gamer!sukuna who decided to humiliate you in his own way: obliterating you in his forte

gamer!sukuna who targeted you in every round, wiping you out before you could even get a shot in

gamer!sukuna who relished in and soaked in your cute yet vulgar complaints, lowly chuckling to himself as he savored your anguish

gamer!sukuna who logged off that night feeling awfully proud of himself for destroying a cute girl in call of duty while remembering how his chat gassed him up for it

gamer!sukuna who wakes up next morning to every one of his socials being bombarded with thousands of notifications

gamer!sukuna who logs onto twitch but finds his account to be terminated

gamer!sukuna who checks twitter and finds out someone has posted a viral thread accusing him of running a large-scale drug and weapon operation, with the headquarters being in his meth lab basement

gamer!sukuna who is baffled because one, he doesn't do anything other than drinking and smoking cigarettes when going out, and two, that people were believing it

gamer!sukuna who looks at the account that posted the threat, finding out that it's your account, the girl he repeatedly shot at and made fun of in the cod game

gamer!sukuna who is interrupted while making a thread replying to the accusations because of rapid knocking on his door

gamer!sukuna who doesn't have time to act because his door is immediately broken down

gamer!sukuna who watches armed law enforcement, dressed in full bulletproof gear, storm into his house with full force

gamer!sukuna who is placed into handcuffs while his house gets searched for guns, bombs, meth, weed, cocaine, heroin, human prisoners and any other bullshit you made up

gamer!sukuna who decides once he gets released, he would quit streaming, delete cod, and go outside to smell the flowers

gamer!sukuna who months later, enrolls in a feminist literature course and makes a podcast

[keferon]

*throws at you idk*

——————

“Don’t beat yer’self up if this doesn’t work.”

Prowl ignored the whispered plea, watching as Shockwave, Wheeljack, and Ratchet all argued over how the procedure should work. Transferring an organic soul into a Cybertronian body had never been done before, after all. There were so many (4,768,546,786) ways that it could go wrong and so few (9,457) ways for it to go right. It should have been similar to a cold construct like himself, but Prowl couldn’t get his TacNet to account for the Spark issue. Human’s didn’t have those after all and—

“Prowl,” Jazz whispered again, voice whistling and wheezing, tearing the Praxian from his panicked calculations.

The little human looked broken. His wounds patched as best as Ratchet and Knockout could have done, the machines they had attached to him keeping him just barely conscious and away from the pain. Prowl could feel his doorwings droop in sympathy, his spark aching at seeing the little organic who had crawled into his spark in so much pain. He wanted to hold Jazz close, to cradle him against his spark, to protect him, and to promise him that he’d be fine and all of this was temporary. That their plan would work!

But he couldn’t…

This plan was… wasn’t likely (9%) to work at all. But it was either this or Jazz died. Humans were so fragile, their lives so finite compared to a Cybertronian’s.

“Prowler, s’fine. If it doesn’t work. I knew what I was doin’. Saved you, that’s what matters,” Jazz whistled, that soft pained smile crossing his features, single unwrapped eye glazed over in pain.

Prowl swallowed, voice box stuttering and clicking as it reboot. He could feel coolant threatening to fall from his optics as he reached out with a single servo. Getting as close as he dared to without actually touching Jazz.

“It’ll work.” (8%)

Jazz hummed, tipping his small head into Prowl’s touch gently, not believing, but willing to humor.

“It’ll work, and you’ll get to enjoy annoying me and scaring the spark out of me for eons to come. It’ll work,” Prowl stated, firm, ignoring the way his TacNet glitched out a bit as emotion wracked his spark.

“Yes. Because we are going to make it work. Calibrations are done, Commander,” Shockwave interrupted whatever Jazz had been about to say.

Prowl looked up at the scientist, giving the finished cold constructed frame a glance over before looking up into the cold single eyed stare. The tactician hesitated. Just because Decepticons and Autobots were all aligned, had been for centuries due to the Quintessons, it didn’t mean Prowl trusted all of them. Shockwave was the worst one (98%) in his opinion.

“It’s now or never, Prowl. His vitals are fading fast,” Ratchet said softly from behind Shockwave, face drawn tight in sympathy, optics on the system that had hooked up to Jazz’s being.

Prowl looked back down at Jazz. 8-9% this worked. 65% that if it did work, that Jazz would be hindered immediately. 98% that he lost Jazz if he didn’t do this though, that if they didn’t try.

“Prowler, s’okay. I trust you,” Jazz croaked, smiling up at him.

Prowl ached.

“In theory, the frame not having a spark, should help him. Even if a spark doesn’t form, the frame has enough processing power to hold him. It should work,” Wheeljack offered as a final bit of reassurance.

Prowl closed his optics, feeling coolant leak down onto the medical table harboring his human counterpart. Now or never, huh.

“Do it,” he finally said, looking up at Shockwave, optics focusing in on that single red optic.

Shockwave nodded and pulled a lever. Prowl forced himself to stay calm when Jazz’s human heart immedietly just stopped. He pulled himself away from Jazz’s organic form over to the new Cybertronian one, TacNet racing as time just seemed to crawl on.

“Upload at 87%. Should take only a few moments for him to calibrate,” Shockwave announced, and as if at his very command, pure and blinding white optics opened up on the table.

Prowl’s spark jumped up into his intake as all four mechs watched as Jazz slowly oriented himself and sat up. Prowl’s servos twitched, wanting to reach out and touch, but waiting until he was sure this was Jazz. Silence washed over the room as the new mech looked over his own servos in curiosity, before looking straight up at Prowl.

Prowl’s knees nearly gave out when a cautious and yet hopeful EM field washed over him from the mech.

“How do I look,” Jazz asked, a small and nervous smile crawling across his face to match his new EM field.

Prowl made a rather undignified noise as he reached out and firmly tugged the mech forward, off the medical bunk, and into a tight hug. A hug he could finally provide without fearing he’d hurt Jazz.

“Alive. You look alive.”

JUST RIP MY HEART OUT OF MY CHEST AND EAT IT ALREADY

I. Uh m. F u cc. HAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH IT HURTS SO GOOD HELP

[hai7ani]

Continuation ⚕ Main masterlist | cw bonten universe, smut, prostitution/sex work, murder, mdni

愛的最高境界是心疼

i.

Rindou is gentle with you today.

He always is, though 一 he never goes too far with you even in bed. He never treats you less than a human. He says one thing the night before, make you overwork yourself like the Daddy he is, and the next morning you'll find a few extra digits than what was originally promised sitting pretty in your bank account. Rindou is always gentle and generous with you.

His hands are sweet and sticky as they latch onto your skin, never letting go off your arms while he wipes you down gently in the bath. He rubs your cheek with wet thumbs and combs your hair with so much care in the world. He has never once tugged on them as harshly as the man did; never once hit you for pleasure in his own bed. Never. Maybe a few spanks on your ass here and there as a little foreplay or when you're being a tease, but he never hits you.

Rindou is so gentle with you.

"How's your throat?" He asks. Your bubble pops and you look at him dazed. "Still hurts?" He reaches a hand up to check on your skin. You move your neck away before his hands can reach you 一 almost as if you're scared.

He feels a foreign ache creep up his chest. His heart palpitates weirdly behind his bones. Your pupils dilate and you hide your neck with your arms. You shiver despite the warm water engulfing your body.

You are so frightened.

"I-" You swallow, feeling the sour ache going down your throat and you rub on your neck unconsciously, eyes squinting as you wait for the pain to pass. "I'm fine." Your voice is hoarse, very deep and broken, and he almost didn't hear you.

"The doctor's waiting out front. Want him to check?" He doesn't buy into your white lie at all. It's obvious it still hurts a lot and you won't let him touch you, or even see you. But you nod anyway and his shoulders relaxes a little.

ii.

"You're fucking insane!" Kokonoi is furious when Rindou waltzes into the room. "Blowing off a multi-million dollar deal for a whore, you're fucking nuts, Rindou!"

Mario Ricci is tied up against a wall, mouth stuffed with a bloody rag cloth as he struggles against the tight ropes wrapped around his figure.

"Yet you didn't proceed with it?" He questions in a sarcastic tone, an eyebrow raised and Kokonoi scoffs. "How could I? Gotta let these bastards know Bonten can't be fucked with. If I let him go more people will do it again."

Kakucho clicks his tongue from where he seats, next to Takeomi who is busy rolling up a blunt. "The deal is off the table now. No point arguing. We'll kill this guy and move on to the next. Keep everything quiet."

He stands, calves pushing against the heavy chair and it screeches loudly, sharply, against the concrete floor.

"But what about you?" His voice is low and dark when he addresses Rindou. He stares him dead in the eye.

"You're the reason why we have no deal. What are you going to do about it?"

The air is humid with Kakucho's anger 一 everyone in the room knows that much. For once, Sanzu is silent. He does not mess with his weapons loudly nor does he make a noise to pitch in his idea. Mochi's eyes are bright and sharp from where they burn holes into Rindou's back 一 he can feel the sting already. Ran is leaning against the wall behind Rindou while he plays with his set of keys in his pockets.

But Rindou remains stoic from his position. He is not afraid of Kakucho at all. He eyes the gun on the table next to him and snatches it off, soon realising that it belongs to Kakucho himself.

"I'll kill him, since that's what you want."

He aims for Mario's neck in one swift motion upon loading the gun. He sees the shimmer of desperation in his orbs, and he struggles to escape even further. His voice is muffled against the cloth shoved deep into his mouth but Rindou still hears him clearly.

"Please don't kill me."

"You're a fucking moron." And he pulls the trigger.

iii.

Rindou returns to his quarters very late into the night. You're still up at this hour despite having taken heavy meds a couple of hours ago, when he'd monitor you swallow the pills with an immense amount of pain in your throat.

He finds you in his kitchen scavenging through the cabinets and fridge for a little something to eat, like a sneaky little alley cat. His penthouse is ice cold, the servants have taken their leave long ago, and he dismisses Tsuji, his trusted right-hand, with a wave and an assuring nod.

Your sleeping gown (one that he got for you as a gift) hugs your curves beautifully under the white fluffy cardigan you like to keep yourself warm with.

He watches in silence, hiding behind a wall as you simply be yourself, alone, away from the eyes of just anyone at all. You give up scurrying for seasoning after a while, settling for the bowl of plain white porridge a servant had prepared for you earlier.

Rindou watches as you lean against the countertop and play with your feet, crack your toes out of habit, hum a soft melody, as you slowly eat your food. It's endearing to see you like this. You're quiet, you're calm, but you're alone and you're by yourself 一 and a smile nobody has ever seen him do stretches across his lips when you put down the bowl to do a little twirl. Your humming gets louder and he recognises the tune shortly 一 one that you have always liked playing on the piano sitting in his massive living room.

You're a slut, but you're also just a girl.

iv.

Rindou is still so gentle tonight when he wraps you in a thick blanket and smoothing a warm hand down the back of your head. Your scalp is still sore, so he doesn't run his fingers through your locks this time.

You're almost asleep when he makes a noise. Low, but comforting. His chest vibrates against your cheek.

"Do you want to leave?"

You're confused by his question. "Where?" You move your head away from his chest and look at him 一 eyes clouded with sleep, and you blink twice to see him properly again under the moonlight. The windows are closed but he left the curtains open. He likes doing that a lot.

"Follow another man, pleasure him instead. Or just leave, find something else to do. Pick one. I'm giving you a chance to live."

His voice is stern and this is how he chooses to start the conversation 一 by threatening to kill you if you do not make a choice right now. He is sudden and he is stubborn.

It's not like you want to, anyway. You're not afraid of him.

"No." You frown. "I want to stay here, with you."

He is nonchalant at your response, and you look like you're about to cry.

He does not respond or react.

"Are you giving me away?" You push.

Rindou finally lets out a breath he did not know he was holding in when the first tear finally rolls off your rosy cheek. "Please don't give me away. I'll be good, even more better for you. Today was a mistake. I didn't know anyone would be there. I was waiting for you to come."

He hates that you're blaming yourself for what happened to you earlier.

He hates that you're downplaying your trauma just to amuse him and make himself feel better, a little trick you had learned to use during your time while working in this industry.

He isn't enlightened, not at all 一 because he knows exactly what you're doing.

He'd ended the life of the man who'd put you in pain, but it does not mean that killing Mario Ricci would take the pain away from you.

The foreign ache from earlier has not once subsided from his chest. It remains, sometimes growing even more suffocating and frustrating. Like when he had to sit through the meeting hearing Kokonoi and Kakucho 一 mostly Kokonoi because he was at the scene, and he is still very unsatisfied with Rindou's behaviour 一 going back and forth about getting rid of you like you're just some giveaway slut because they claim he is being distracted from the real job at hand, while his eyes are constantly flickering between the two who are shoving accusing fingers in his face and the leash that Mario Ricci had tied you in sitting at the corner of the room.

You have managed to engrave yourself in all parts of his heart 一 every little nook and cranny, you are there.

The girl he's tried sleeping with earlier to make himself feel a little less bad about having to kill you as an apology to Mikey, doesn't feel the same. He keeps telling himself that you are just like any other girl from the many who are working under Bonten's establishments.

Yet the second he pushes in, he pulls out, away, and he leaves. He throws her a stack of cash anyway and makes his way back immediately.

Because she isn't you. She does not look at him like you do. To her, he is just like any other rich man paying her for quick pleasure. To you, he is everything gentle and soft and warm.

You have managed to capture his attention the first few nights you've spent together 一 two years ago, as a temporary replacement for the girl he had originally booked for that night.

And then he keeps coming back. Again and again for two whole years, and now you're looking at him like he'd just broken your heart. His heart beats wildly in his chest and he ushers for you to come closer to him.

The way you would hold onto him while he drills into you frustrates him. He likes that you always let him have his way in bed, but manages to make him cater to your likes in the end every single time, and he has to remind himself that he is the one paying for your services, but he never cares, because it's you. He puts an extra zero when transferring funds into your account and he handpicks your gifts. Your eyes are always so glossy and full of hearts when they'd gaze into his purples. Your mewls are always so sweet and only for his ears when you'd try to moan quietly even when you're alone in his lonely, freezing penthouse.

And you won’t fucking leave him.

You're a gentle, quiet girl, and you make him want to be gentle and quiet with you too.

You straddle him and pin him to the bed. You want him to take you seriously this time. "I am yours." You try to make yourself sound stern but your lips end up pouty and red and hot tears are dripping on his face.

He tried to, really. He really wants to take you seriously. But the collar of your dress is low and your milky breasts are showing. Your lips are so kissable and he folds.

He presses one hand down your back and guides your upper body closer to him.

"You don't wanna leave?" He asks, rhetorically. His voice is muffled when he buries his face in your mounds to kiss and suck on your tits. He sneaks a hand up under your dress to fondle with them, to grope your soft flesh and listen to you whine like an angel on his lap.

"Don't wanna." You pout.

He reaches under your dress to rub a sweet thumb on your clit 一 messy figure-eights and sticky circles, pressing down just the way you like it 一 through the thin fabric of your panties and watch as you unfold so beautifully before his eyes.

His favourite, pretty girl.

His heart starts beating normally again. It hasn't beaten like this for a very long time 一 not since he was a teen.

Haitani Rindou wonders just when did he ever lose the ability to love.

"You'll be my liability now."

[mintmatcha]

The sun does not crest the sky once today, but the town stays fully alight. The city center is teeming with life: music and food and drinks strong enough to shock your senses and flush your cheeks after one sip. For a calm and conservative culture, the festival is rather wild.

You've perched yourself at the outskirts, on a lounging bed. The dragonborns occasionally glance your way, more curious than anything else.

A bunch of younger girls ask to touch your hair in broken Common before Obi chases them away. The man has been busy catching up with friends and over indulging with his brother, but he often loops around to check on you.

Sorghum comes by where you are sitting and pushes a plate of food into your hands wordlessly. When she returns to her husband, she shrugs away his drunken touch.

Seeing her face leaves a hollow feeling in your chest. You don't eat anything she's brought you.

It's only a bit later that your beloved staggers over to you with open arms. He's dressed in fine, sheer robes, woven in beautiful, bright patterns.

"Oh," he breathes. "I'm mesmerized."

Obsidian kneels beside the fainting couch, resting his chin on the arm. He smiles up at you with a contemplative glee, eyes wet from the liquor. The party swells and moves around you, but Obsidian stays still, regarding you carefully.

"You are utterly radiant," he sighs. He nuzzles his face into his arms like a lovelorn schoolboy. "Like a star plucked from the sky."

Despite yourself. you melt a bit. You reach up and scratch the ridges on his head, tracing over each bump with your nails. "Obi..."

"Eternally, painfully, tragically beautiful. I am so lucky you fell into my life." It's the alcohol talking, you remind yourself, but his voice is so earnest. "So beautiful that you break my heart whenever you look away."

You turn out of bashfulness and the dragonborn whines, flopping harder into the couch. When you look back, he practically purrs.

"Are you warm enough, my fawn?" The dress is intertwined with warming spells, sown in by your lover himself. It's a traditional draconic dress, clearly not built to account for your breasts. It scoops low, low enough that your body threatens to spill over when you move the wrong way. "Are you too warm?"

"It's perfect," you say. "Thank you."

He judges his nose into the air, once, twice, three times, eyes half closed.

"Kiss me?" he asks.

You look around. "People are watching, Obi."

"Let them!" He rises to nudge his snout into your lips, the chastest of human kisses, then goes to rub the side of his face into your cheek. He purrs and clicks and runs his hand down your side, slidingyour dress down ever so slightly.

"Obi!" you giggle. "Obi, my hair!"

His horns are tangled in your braids.

"I will not stop until you kiss me back," he demands. He's being borderline lewd for dragonborn standards, especially since you two are not officially mates yet.

The memory of earlier suddenly rings through your teeth. There is no 'yet'. You two are not mates and will never be. Sadly, you give in, nudging him back. Obsidian's scales are so smooth against the sensitive skin of your face.

"Will you dance with me, my love?" he asks as he pulls away. "I will teach you the steps."

It's a group dance, the kind that has partners switching every couple of moments. You've danced like this before, it's nothing you can't learn on the fly, but you still shake your head.

"Maybe later," you say. He stands and starts backwards towards the dance floor, arm extended towards you the entire time. Truthfully, you want him to stay, but you couldn't ask Obi to stay by your side all night. He deserves fun, he deserves to dance, he deserves-

"My heart will be with you," Obsidian coos.

He deserves more than you can give him.

He slides into the rhythm of the dance without trying. It's beautiful to watch how they all glimmer in the firelight, their scales and jewelry glittery and shined to perfection. Obsidian shines brighter than any of them all, of course; it may be bias, but you swear that he's the prettiest one of them all, with those emerald green eyes.

You're so sweet on him that you almost don't see someone else had joined the dance, but a flash of white snaps you back to reality.

The girl is just as pretty as you had been told, even for human standards. The way she holds her head is regal, with a lifted chin and an upturned smile. Her build is small for a dragonborn, but it seems to be perfectly sized when Obsidian's hand slides around her waist. The two of them step in, step out, then twirl, eyes never leaving each other's as they dance. There's a shared laugh before they separate, moving on to the next partner, but the moment repeats in your mind, over and over again.

His hand on her waist. Black scales against white.

You don't belong here.

.

It's less than an hour later when Obsidian comes back to your chair and finds you gone. He pokes around the festival, expecting to find you pulled away by children or women, but every corner is empty of you.

"Sorghum-" Obsidian is suddenly sober as he approaches his sister in law. "Have you seen my fawn? She's not where I left her."

Sorghum huffs, bothered by the interruption. Her group of friends chitters on without her.

"Humans have legs, Obsidian. Maybe she used them."

That sets Obsidian's teeth on edge. "Malachite is a saint for dealing with your attitude."

There's a retort as he walks away, but he can't focus on that, not when his mind is on the brink of panic. Where could you have gone in this little town?

By the time he makes it to his family home, real, deep worry has started make his hands quiver.

"Fawn," he calls down the hall. "Princess."

He checks his room first, mostly out of muscle memory. He had gotten used to waking up beside you; sleeping alone made his heart ache.

Your room is empty as well. Too empty. It takes him a moment to realize your bag is gone, along with your coats and boots.

On the nightstand is a single earring, his own scales staring back at him like two little black voids.