#one of them was like “’energy is important to me’ like he hasn’t been giving me the evil eye for weeks

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 3)

Summary: You try to be honest and tell your husband about your relationship with Seonghwa, but it doesn't quite go after plan. But you've had enough of playing nice, so you break the rules and give in to your hunger for Seonghwa. But what happens when it all comes crashing down when it's all perfect, and your husband gives you an ultimatum?

Word count: 9.8K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, angst, DRAMA (u might cry), slow burn, smut (YAAAALLLL THIS IS FILTHYYYYY IM SO SORRY MOM AND DAD)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), TEASINGGG omg, DOM Seonghwa, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking, spitting, LOTS of dirtytalk, creampie, aftercare (<3), heartbreak (?), lmk if I missed anything!

PART2

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

The day after the annual company dinner, you're home alone again, waiting for your husband to be home. The quiet pressing in like a weighted blanket. You’ve opened the same text thread with your husband three times, thumb hovering over a message you never send. The words feel too heavy for a screen. Too fragile to survive being read without your voice wrapped around them.

So you wait. He said he’d be home all Sunday, but there’s no sight of him.

You sit on the edge of the couch, elbows on your knees, hands twisted together in your lap. You’re picking at a hangnail, teeth digging into your bottom lip, while the clock on the wall ticks out its judgment in slow, steady seconds. Every imagined version of the conversation plays through your head, ten different openings, twelve different ways to admit you’ve been falling into something deep and real with someone else. With Seonghwa. With his boss.

But every sentence feels like a betrayal. Too guilty. Too selfish. Too bold. And too late to take back.

You don’t even hear the front door open until it bangs shut behind him with the kind of energy that says he’s already somewhere else in his head.

“Babe! Babe, I’m just grabbing a charger, and have you seen my blue striped shirt?” His voice echoes down the hallway, fast and distracted. You hear his shoes hit the floor one after the other, the thud of his bag against the wall.

You blink, your body lurching upright from the couch. “You’re home late.”

“Yeah, had to grab some things, heading over to her place,” he calls back casually, like it’s not a blade between your ribs.

You follow the sound of his voice, your bare feet quiet against the floor. Your pulse is already climbing, fast and hot in your neck. He’s in the bedroom, already yanking open drawers like it’s a routine he’s done a hundred times. Maybe he has.

His shirt’s only half buttoned, hair still damp from a rushed shower, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. He doesn’t even glance at you as he moves.

You stop in the doorway. Hover. “I-, can we talk for a second?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, talk while I pack,” he says, like it’s all so simple. “You always catch me at the last minute, you know that? It’s like your special skill or something.”

You watch him toss a pair of jeans into the bag, roll up a hoodie, cram it in too tight. The sleeves are sticking out. He doesn’t care.

“I have something important to say.”

“Hit me,” he says, not even looking up. “As long as it’s not about the gas bill, I paid it. And hey, guess what? Jen and Caleb broke up. You totally called that, didn’t you?”

You open your mouth, close it. “I-”

“Also,” he goes on, now moving around the room with a momentum you can’t stop, “We’re going to this wine cabin thing next weekend with her friends. Fancy place, hot tub, the works. Kinda insane. You’d hate it.” He laughs, like he hasn’t left you alone for months while you tried to convince yourself this arrangement wasn’t breaking you.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” you say, loud enough that it forces him to pause.

Only for a second. Then he zips the side pocket of his bag and straightens. “Really?” He flashes you a grin over his shoulder. “Finally! Thank God. I was starting to think you were gonna fossilize in front of that dumb dating show you like.”

Your stomach turns. “I-”

“No, seriously, I’m glad,” he says, swinging the bag onto both shoulders like the conversation is a warm-up for something more interesting. “This is the whole point, right? Open and honest. No secrets. No drama. This is growth. Proud of you.” He gives you a joking little salute. “So? Who is he? Mystery man from the supermarket? Did you fall for a barista? Actually-, don’t tell me. Keep it spicy.”

You try again. Your voice is trembling now, no matter how hard you try to sound steady. “I think you should know. It’s-”

He cuts you off, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Babe, I’m happy for you. Really. You needed this. You’ve been so... closed off. Like you forgot how to flirt. It’s good for you to feel wanted again.”

The words land like a slap. He’s still talking, but all you hear is the echo of that condescending tone. Like you’re broken. Like you’re someone he’s left behind without ever saying goodbye.

“It’s Seonghwa,” you say.

But he’s already back to packing, muttering, “Shit, where’s my charger?” as he digs through the mess on the desk. He doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he does and chooses not to react.

Your heart is pounding so loudly you can barely hear yourself breathe.

He finds the charger, tucks it into his bag, and strides over to you. Kiss your cheek like everything’s fine. Like you’re still just his wife waiting around for him to come and go.

“Maybe this means we should keep the open thing going, huh?” he says with a grin. “Not just a year. Could be a lifestyle. You know, modern love and all that.”

You can’t even speak. Your throat’s too tight, your mouth too dry. Everything inside you is screaming, but all you do is stare.

“I gotta go,” he says. “She’s waiting. I’ll be back tomorrow or the day after.”

And then he’s gone. The door closes with a click.

You don’t move.

Not right away.

You just stand there in the hallway, trembling, your chest tight with something worse than hurt, disbelief. He didn’t care. Not even a little. You gave him the opening. You handed him your honesty. And he brushed right past it like it was a grocery list.

You had waited to be fair. Waited to be honest. Made yourself wait. Made Seonghwa wait. Waited until your heart couldn’t hold back anymore. Let the tension simmer, even when it hurt. You held Seonghwa at arm’s length for this?

You don’t even realize you’ve stood there for ten whole minutes until your legs start to ache. The door’s been shut. The apartment is silent. He’s gone. Again. And you’re still holding words that no one wanted to hear.

Something in you snaps.

You tried. You tried to do this the right way. You held yourself back for months, swallowed every urge, every look, every breathless pause between you and Seonghwa. You gave your husband time. Honesty. Respect. And it meant nothing.

Your hands shake as you grab your phone. No texts. No calls. No warning.

You just type in the address and call the cab.

The ride there is a blur. The driver makes small talk; you barely nod. Your knee bounces the whole way, fingers clenching in your lap like you can hold yourself together for just a few more minutes. Your heart is loud. Your mouth dry. Your body humming like it already knows.

You need him.

You need Seonghwa.

The second the cab pulls up to his building, you’re out. You don’t even wait for the receipt. You take the stairs because the elevator’s too slow. Every step feels like shedding.

Guilt, fear, hesitation. Gone. Gone. Gone.

You’re done waiting.

You knock, hard. Then again. You don’t even know if he’s home, don’t care what time it is, don’t care if you’re supposed to be polite.

When the door swings open, he’s there.

Soft shirt, loose belted pants, hair a little messy, like you caught him mid-evening routine. There’s music playing low in the background, some warm jazz tune, and the apartment smells like ginger and something sweet.

He blinks at first, surprised, but the second he sees your face, his expression shifts. 

Gentle. Open.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and careful. “Are you-?”

You don’t let him finish.

You grab the collar of his shirt, pull him down, and kiss him like you’ve been drowning for weeks. It’s messy. Desperate. His lips part with a soft sound of surprise, and then he’s kissing you back just as hard.

Your fingers thread into his hair. His hands find your waist, steadying you, grounding you, but you don’t want to be steady. You want to fall. Into him. Onto him. Through him.

His hands find your waist, but you’re already pressing forward, and your back hits the door with a quiet thud. Your hands slide beneath his sweatshirt, nails dragging across the bare skin of his stomach. His breath shudders.

“Wait,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “Did you-, how did it-”

“Shut up,” you whisper, breathless, half-wild. You drag your mouth along his jaw, nip at his skin until he swallows hard. “Just fuck me. Now.”

His hands tighten at your waist. There’s a beat of stunned silence, like you just shattered whatever calm he had left.

Seonghwa’s smirk is all heat and mischief, but behind it, fire. “Yes ma’am.”

He lifts you in one fluid motion, arms firm beneath your thighs, and your breath catches as your back leaves the door. You wrap your legs around him instantly, clinging to the only thing that feels steady right now, him. His lips find yours again, hungry and claiming, as he carries you down the hall like he’s memorized the way blind.

You’re both breathing hard when the door swings open, when he walks you inside like he can’t afford to stop. And he can’t. He places you on the edge of the bed like you’re breakable, his last moment of gentleness, and your back hits the bed. He hovers over you, eyes devouring every inch of your face, your body, like he doesn’t know where to start because he wants everything at once. 

Seonghwa doesn’t speak right away. His fingers trail up your thighs, slow and rough, like he’s making up for every second he couldn’t have you like this.

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a soft whimper when his fingers curl around your hips, tugging you closer so your thighs frame his waist. He leans in, mouth brushing your jaw as his hand slides up, fingers splaying over your throat, not squeezing, not yet, but letting you feel the pressure. The control.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “You have no idea what you just started.” his fingers wrap around your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. He leans in closer until his mouth brushes your cheek, your jaw, your lips, but doesn’t kiss you. 

Not yet.

“Tell me,” he growls. “Tell me I can have you. Tell me you’re mine tonight.”

You whisper, trembling, “I’m yours. All of me.”

He lets out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but there’s nothing soft about it. It’s dark and aching. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and there’s nothing sweet there now. Just heat. Possession.

His hand slides down your stomach, slow and firm, and your hips arch before he even reaches the edge of your pants.

Your thighs press tighter around him. “Please,” you whisper, already breathless.

He laughs softly, low and cruel and utterly delighted. "That’s cute. But I haven’t even started." He tilts your head back by your throat and presses his mouth to yours, hot and slow, tongue sliding in with a groan like he’s starving.

He doesn’t take you right away.

Not like you expected. Not like you begged for.

He could. God, he wants to. He’s hard already, pulsing against you through his clothes, and every brush of your thighs makes him twitch with the effort it takes to hold back. But he doesn’t move fast. He just watches you for a long moment, thumb brushing the corner of your lips.

“I should make you wait,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “After all the things you’ve done.”

You’re panting, your chest rising with every breath, but you still manage a small, confused sound. “What things?”

He smiles, slow and dark. “Coming to my home in your little dresses, teasing me when you knew I couldn’t do anything. Sitting across from me at dinner like you weren’t soaking wet under the table. You think I didn’t notice?”

You whimper.

He dips his head lower, nose trailing your throat, and inhales. “You wanted me to lose control.”

You try to speak, but his hand slides up your inner thigh and all you can do is gasp.

“You wanted me to break. To forget I’m your husband’s boss. To drag you into a room and fuck you like you were mine already.” His lips brush your ear. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper, almost ashamed, but you shouldn’t be. Not with the way he growls low in his throat at your answer, like your honesty just made him hungrier.

“But I didn’t,” he says. “I was good.” His eyes roam your body, and there’s heat, awe, and vengeance all at once. “Now?” His hands slide to your hips, fingers curling tight. “Now I’m not going to be good.”

His shirt is unbuttoned now, but still on. His belt is still tight around his waist. Your breath catches, lips swollen, thighs pressed together as you chase after his mouth. He chuckles darkly, dragging his eyes over you as if deciding what he’s going to do to you first.

“You’re shaking already,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles slowly along your jaw. “What happened to the girl who liked to tease me until I couldn’t speak?”

His fingers trace the hem of your top, moving so slow it’s maddening. He drags it up, inch by inch, until your skin is on display, but he doesn’t touch. He just looks.

“Take it off for me.”

Your hands shake as you pull it over your head. His eyes never leave yours.

“Good girl.”

You shiver.

He pulls your jeans down slowly, deliberately, like every inch of exposed skin is something he needs to memorize. His fingers trail down the insides of your thighs as he goes, mouth following with kisses that are too soft, too slow, because he knows it drives you crazy.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, almost reverent, almost. Because then he grins. Sharp. Dangerous. “So fucking pretty when you’re desperate.”

You whimper, hips tilting toward him, needing him to do something, anything, and he just tuts like you’re a misbehaving student.

“Nuh-uh.” His palms flatten against your inner thighs, pushing you down, keeping you there. “You don’t get to be greedy. Not tonight. You made me wait, sweetheart. Now it’s your turn.” He leans down slowly, lips ghosting across your skin, from the inside of your knee to your hipbone. Not kissing where you need him, not yet, just tracing. Breathing. Teasing.

And when you try to move your hips again, chasing his mouth, he just pins you harder.

“I said wait.”

The growl in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He kisses up your stomach instead. Licks between your breasts. Sinks back to press one single kiss just above your underwear. And stops there.

He leans in close, lips barely brushing your soaked heat through the fabric.

“Say please.”

You’re wrecked already, panting, trembling. “Please.”

He smiles. “Not yet.”

Then he spits. A slow trail between your legs that soaks into the thin fabric, and finally drags his tongue up the damp center, just once.

You sob.

He grins and pushes your panties to the side. He slides a single, thick finger between your folds, and yes.

You’re soaked.

He moans softly against your skin, lips trailing lower. “Fuck-, listen to that,” he hisses, dragging his finger up and down slowly, gathering the slick. “You’re dripping for me.”

“Seonghwa,” you gasp, back arching.

He pushes the finger in. Slowly. Torturously. “You think one’s enough for you?” he asks, curling it just so. “Or are you gonna be a greedy little thing and ask for more?”

You’re already moaning his name, eyes wet, hands trembling. He adds a second finger without warning, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit in lazy, teasing swipes.

“Every time you begged and bit your lip and walked away like a good girl, this is what I imagined,” he growls. Then his fingers leave you completely. 

His fingers withdraw slowly from your dripping heat, and he chuckles darkly when your hips lift off the bed, chasing him. “No. No, no,” he tuts, dragging his slick fingers up your stomach, up to your lips. “You don’t get to grind up against my hand like some needy little brat.”

He presses those soaked fingers into your mouth, firm and controlling. “Suck.”

You do. You’re eager, moaning around his fingers as your tongue swirls over the taste of yourself, cheeks hollowing like it’s instinct. And it is. Because you’re hungry. Starved. And he’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“God, sweetheart” he groans, his jaw tight as he watches. “You don’t even know how fucking perfect you are like this. You’re gonna ruin me.”

You know he’s teasing you. You know he’s making you wait for him to fill you up but, gosh. Somehow you never want this to end. Him touching you, tasting you, teasing you. It’s all worth it.

“Get back,” he says lowly, voice a dark command as he stands at the foot of the bed. “Hands above your head. Keep them there.”

You obey instantly. He watches you for a moment, clothed from the waist down while you're half-naked and trembling beneath his gaze.

He tosses the belt to the side with a quiet thud, then removes his shirt completely. His chest rises with each breath, toned and golden under the warm lighting, his veins prominent down his arms, jaw tight from restraint.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this?” he mutters, voice rougher now, his control thinning. “Weeks. Weeks of you crawling into my lap, whispering pretty little things, looking up at me with those eyes like you had no idea what you were doing.” He steps back between your legs. “And I didn’t touch you. Because I respected your rules. I waited.”

“But now look at you,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Finally laid out the way I’ve wanted you. Needy, soaking, begging for me.” He starts undoing his jeans, slow and deliberate, making a show of it. 

You whimper his name, thighs instinctively rubbing together for friction.

He sees it. “Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

You freeze. He smirks.

Jeans open, he slides them down his hips, leaving only his black briefs, soaked at the tip, the outline of his cock pressed tight against the fabric. And he takes his time climbing back onto the bed, crawling over your body until he’s hovering over you.

“You want me inside you?” he whispers, voice low like a secret. “You think you’ve earned that?”

You nod quickly, lips parted. “Yes-, yes, please-”

His hand shoots out, wrapping firmly around your throat again, thumb pressing just enough to make your breath catch.

“You ready?” he asks, voice deeper, ruined. “You ready for me to fuck you like I should’ve the first night?”

“Yes, please Seonghwa-”

He cuts you off with a hard kiss, tongue claiming your mouth again. But when he pulls back, he goes to place kisses everywhere he can. Your cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, below your ear, your neck. In the midst of his dominance, he still takes time to worship you, make you feel safe. Feel loved.

“Holy fuck,” he growls. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

He kisses you all the way down your stomach. And then, finally, he slides one hand between your legs again, pushing your panties aside, and spits down on your cunt, slow and filthy, fingers immediately spreading the mess over your clit in deep, slow circles.

You cry out, body jerking, but his free hand slams down on your hip to hold you in place.

You’re a wreck. Sweat slicking your skin. Lips parted. Nails digging into the sheets as if that’s the only thing keeping you on this plane of existence.

“You want me to ruin you, my love?” he whispers, finally dragging his tongue over your clit, once, slow, cruelly gentle. “Want me to fuck you like you’ve always belonged to me?”

“Yes,” you cry, high and broken and wrecked. “Please, Seonghwa-, I’m yours, I’m yours, I swear-, just take me, take me-”

He watches you squirm beneath him, the heel of his palm rolling slow, relentless circles over your clit while his fingers just barely dip between your folds.

“You like this?” he whispers, voice like silk over gravel.

You whimper. It’s not even a yes, it’s just sound now, your body too wound up to form words.

And he knows it. His fingers are relentless but never fast, just deep, slow pressure, teasing you right up to the edge.

And then stopping.

Again.

“Seonghwa-, please-” You’re full-on begging now, thighs shaking.

He grinds his cock slowly against your skin, still clothed, letting you feel how hard he is.

Your moan cracks into a sob as his fingers slip away again, leaving you soaked, trembling, and painfully empty. And Seonghwa just smiles.

“That’s it,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Beg like that. You’ve been making me suffer for so long, baby. Do you know how many nights I lay in bed with your taste still on my lips and my cock in my hand?”

He drags two fingers along your thigh, smearing spit and slick in slow, idle patterns.

“You'd text me goodnight like nothing happened,” he growls, eyes flicking to yours. “Pretending you didn’t grind on me till you came. Acting like I wouldn’t have ripped those panties off if I had half a chance.”

His voice is slipping now. Rougher, lower, needier.

“Look at me.”

You do. Wide-eyed. Drenched.

“Open your legs.”

You obey without thinking, and he grins. 

“Good fucking girl.”

He rises to his knees, finally shoving his briefs down and off. His cock springs free, hard, heavy, flushed at the tip. And your body arches before you even realize it, your thighs shaking at the sheer sight of him.

But still, he pauses.

Gripping his cock at the base, he strokes it slow, dragging his palm up and letting his spit drip onto the head before working it down again.

“You want this?” he says through gritted teeth. “Want me to fuck you till you forget your own name?”

You nod, breathless. “Yes-, God, yes, Seonghwa, please-”

He grabs your hips, drags you down the bed toward him. You feel the head of his cock press between your folds, finally, finally there. He rocks forward, just enough to sink in a little—

And then stops. Not even halfway.

You scream. “Seonghwa-!”

He leans down, mouth by your ear. “You’re mine.”

And then, without warning, he slams the rest of the way in.

Your cry breaks into a choked gasp, back arching hard off the bed. He’s deep, impossibly deep, and already moving, dragging out slowly, then slamming back in, harder. Again. And again.

“Is this what you’ve been teasing me for? Driving me crazy, wearing those tight little jeans, grinding on my lap, acting like you didn’t know what you were doing?”

Your words come out in broken moans. “Yes, yes-please, don’t stop-”

“Oh, baby.” His hand wraps around your throat again. “I’m not stopping.”

And he doesn’t. He fucks you like he owns you, filthy, hard, punishingly slow at times just to make you sob.

But the whole time, he’s in control.

Grinning when you beg.

Groaning when your body clenches down.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of reverence, as if he’s worshipping you even in this moment. He pulls out just enough to make you whine, only to slam back in with a force that makes you see stars. 

“Seonghwa, please… please…” you cry out, desperate for release, your voice breaking with need. “I need you-, please, don’t stop…”

Seonghwa doesn't waste another second. He moves with a kind of urgency, yet his every action is precise, deliberate. He pulls you into him again, lips crashing against yours in a deep, desperate kiss. His hands are everywhere, tracing every curve of your body like he's memorizing it, every touch stoking the flames of your need.

His hand doesn’t leave your throat as he shifts you, rough but careful, guiding you down with an edge of possessiveness that leaves you dizzy. "Turn over," he growls against your ear, voice dark, ragged. “Face down. Now.”

You obey, breath catching, and he helps you onto your stomach. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, dragging your body back to him, not even giving you a second to fully settle before he’s inside you again, thick, hot and unrelenting.

“He might be your husband on paper” Seonghwa murmurs, dragging his palm up your back, nails grazing your skin. “But you’re mine in every other way.”

He grinds his hips slow, purposefully, just to feel your reaction. You let out a needy sound and he chuckles darkly. His hand grabs your wrist and pins it to the mattress. Then the other. His palm presses down between your shoulder blades, holding you there as he places kisses on your back. “You don’t have to do anything. Just lie back and let me worship you like you deserve.”

He pulls out so slowly you want to scream, the stretch of him leaving you hollow, empty, until he slams back in.

“Fuck, Seonghwa-, you’re so good-”

“You like when I fuck you like this, huh? When I can't get enough of you?” he pants, voice right at your ear now, body flush to yours, pinning you down completely. Then his free hand snakes around your throat again, tight and possessive. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, the words ragged, broken, desperate.

“That’s right,” he snarls, pace shifting again, slow, torturous, dragging every inch of himself out before slamming back in. “You fucking are.”

And god, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. The sound of skin meeting skin, the slick, messy wetness of it all, it’s obscene. He’s filthy, ruthless, a man starved, and finally allowed to feast. And yet… through all the roughness, there’s something deeper, rawer.

His pace becomes more erratic, more frantic, as though he can’t hold back any longer. His hands are everywhere now, gripping, squeezing, marking. Each movement is purposeful, designed to make you feel owned, cherished, in the most deliciously painful way.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he grinds out, his voice a low rasp. Your body is trembling beneath him, your breath coming in desperate gasps, and he watches, enraptured by the way you fall apart for him, piece by piece.

You can feel your release building, so close. “Please,” you gasp, barely able to keep your eyes open. “Seonghwa… please… I’m so close.”

He chuckles, dark and low, as if he’s savoring every second of your desperation. “That’s it, that’s my girl. So good for me. Always so good for me.”

He drives into you again, deeper than before, the words setting you off completely. Your body goes rigid with the force of it, your back arching into him, every inch of you trembling.

And that’s when he finally, finally, lets go.

He pulls you into him, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his hand back on your throat, guiding you through your release as his own crashes over him. His grip tightens on your skin, marking you, holding you there, as if he never wants to let you go.

Your body trembles beneath him, legs weak, breath coming in stuttering waves as the final crash of pleasure still echoes through you. Seonghwa is barely holding himself together, buried deep, groaning low and broken against your skin as he spills inside you, gripping your hips like he’s anchoring himself to reality. His whole body is tense, desperate, surrendering.

But the second it’s over, the shift is immediate.

He exhales shakily and gently lowers himself down, his weight easing over you like a warm blanket. His arms come around you instantly, protective, careful, not a single trace of that merciless dominance left in his touch now. He kisses your shoulder, your back, your spine, all soft, slow, reverent. Like you're something sacred.

He eases out of you with utmost care, kissing the center of your spine before whispering, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back, my love.”

The bed shifts as he leaves, and you lie there, boneless, dazed, heart thudding against your ribs, not just from the intensity, but from the weight of the moment. This meant something. It always did.

When Seonghwa returns, his touch is impossibly tender. He kneels beside you and gently rolls you onto your back, using a warm cloth to clean you, every movement slow, soothing, reverent. Not a word is spoken, but his eyes never leave yours, and they say everything.

You reach up to touch his face, but he catches your wrist and presses a kiss to the inside of it, then your palm, then each fingertip.

“I’m sorry I was rough,” he whispers, like the thought alone tortures him.

You shake your head. “You weren’t… not in a bad way. You knew what I needed.”

His arms tighten. “Still… I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you now.”

He finishes cleaning you up and disappears for a moment again. When he returns, he climbs under the covers and pulls you into his arms, your head tucked beneath his chin, your body cradled tight against his chest. He wraps himself around you like he’s trying to protect you from the rest of the world. Like maybe if he holds you tight enough, time will stop.

“I’ll remember this,” he whispers. “All of it. Every second.”

“I will too.”

There’s silence. Soft, heavy, laced with emotion too big for words. His hands roam your back in slow, calming motions. He kisses your hair, your forehead, your cheek.

“I wanted to be good,” he says. “Wanted to respect your boundaries. Your marriage. But every time you looked at me like that... I knew I’d never be the same.”

Your chest aches. You can’t help it, you curl closer.

“I don’t know how to be without you anymore,” you confess.

His arms tighten. “Then don’t be. Even if it’s just like this. Even if we’re pretending the world doesn’t exist.”

You nod, tears stinging your eyes. You don’t let them fall. Not tonight.

Because tonight isn’t for sorrow.

It’s for his hands, gentle as they explore your skin like a prayer. It’s for his voice, low and warm, humming soft nothings into your ear. It’s for his heart, beating steady beneath your cheek, a rhythm you’ll remember long after this ends.

It’s for the way he kisses you like you’re his whole world, even if he can’t keep you.

Even if he never could.

***

It had been a month since you finally caved. A month of living in the quiet space between reality and fantasy. Of pretending that time didn’t matter, that hearts couldn’t break if you just held each other tightly enough.

You and Seonghwa had taken that idea and run with it.

You’d spent almost every free moment in his orbit—lazy mornings tangled in sheets, late-night drives just to hold hands in silence, dinners you cooked together with music playing in the background and wine glasses left forgotten. You found parts of yourself again in his arms. Laughed like you used to. Kissed like you were starving. And Seonghwa, he loved you with the patience of a man who knew he might not get to love you forever.

Neither of you said it out loud. But you both knew.

You were still married, after all. Technically. Legally. Logistically. 

And you found yourself, for the first time in a long time, wanting to go somewhere just to see someone’s face light up when you walked through the door.

That’s what led you here.

Late afternoon, just cool enough to wear a sweater, coffee cups warm in your hands as you step into Seonghwa’s office building. You haven’t told him you’re coming. You don’t want to give him a chance to say no. You just want to see him. To remind him that, even in the middle of his workday, he’s wanted. Missed. Thought about.

Of course you know the risk of seeing your husband here, but he usually leaves work before this time. The messages from your husband has grown sparse. Short check-ins about rent, reminders about trash day or Wi-Fi bills. He doesn’t ask where you were. Doesn’t seem to care. He’s always at her place, anyway.

So you stopped telling him where you were going.

You step into the elevator, heart thudding, watching the floors tick up one by one. You know which office is his.

You reach his office door and hesitate for a second, the smell of roasted beans curling up with the nerves in your chest. In one hand, the folder he forgot, left on the nightstand in the rush of morning kisses and whispered promises not to be late. In the other, two coffees from the little place you always stop at together. His favorite, made just the way he likes it.

The door to his office is cracked just slightly open. You push it gently, peeking your head inside.

He’s standing near the window, phone to his ear, one hand in his pocket as he speaks with that low, composed voice he uses when he is working. His jacket is gone, his tie loose, a few buttons undone. You watch him a second too long, how could you not?

He glances up mid-sentence and freezes when he sees you.

His eyes widen, then softens in that familiar way that always makes your stomach flip. A little stunned, then flooded with something warm and unspoken. He gives a quick, murmured goodbye into the phone, hanging up fast before taking a step toward you.

“You’re here,” he says, surprised, voice breaking into a grin. “What-”

“You forgot these,” you lift the folder. “Found them on the dresser. Figured you’d need them.”

“And I couldn’t resist bringing this,” you add, offering one of the coffees. “Because I’m incredibly generous. And also maybe I missed you.”

His laugh is soft, delighted, boyish. “You spoil me.”

“Only a little.”

Seonghwa steps forward, takes the coffee from your hand, but it’s your wrist he holds onto just a second longer than necessary, eyes lingering on your face like he can’t decide whether to speak or kiss you.

“I thought about you all day,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “Kept thinking about this morning.”

“Me too,” you say, your tone just as soft.

His thumb strokes your wrist gently. “Close the door for me?”

The moment it clicks shut behind you, it’s like gravity pulls you straight into him. You don’t even think, your body moves on instinct, reaching for him just as he steps into you, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other cradling your cheek as his lips find yours.

The kiss is slow, but only for a second. Then it grows deeper. Needy, familiar, warm. His mouth opens against yours like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you all over again, his hand tightening at your waist as you lean into him, letting your coffee press into his chest so your other arm could wrap around his neck.

“You should get back to work.” you whisper against his lips, breathless.

“You know how I feel when you’re playing the boss-card,” he murmurs, chasing your mouth again, lips brushing yours between words. “It’s dangerous territory.”

You giggle softly, tilting your head as he nuzzles into your neck, kissing the skin there like it was his favorite secret. His hands roam gently, still careful even as his mouth betrays just how much he has missed you.

“I shouldn’t stay long,” you whisper, not meaning a word of it.

“Then let me be quick,” he teases, breath hot against your jaw.

“You never are,” you whisper, tugging him closer.

But when he finally pulls back, there’s something lingering in his gaze. A shift. A decision.

“I’m leaving,” Seonghwa says softly.

You blink. “What?”

“I’m done for the day.” He sets his coffee aside, already reaching for his suit jacket. “I’ve been working non-stop. I miss you. Let’s get early dinner.”

Your heart flutters. “Are you sure?”

He shoots you a smile over his shoulder. “I’m the boss, remember?”

You laugh, watching him tidy a few files with one hand while he slips his watch back on with the other. Within minutes, he has everything locked down. Then he comes to you, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s second nature.

“Ready, my love?”

You nod, warmth blooming in your chest as he opens the office door.

You walk down the hall together, hand in hand, every step light and quiet like the world belongs to you both for just a little longer. But when the elevator dings, and you stand waiting for it to arrive, Seonghwa turns toward you again.

His hand slips to your waist, the other brushing your cheek as he leans in. This kiss is different. Slower, deeper, something molten in the way his mouth lingers on yours. It curls your toes, sends a hum through your chest, and leaves you dizzy.

And then…

“Y/N?”

The voice cuts through the air like glass.

You freeze.

Seonghwa’s lips are still brushing yours when your eyes fly open and see your husband standing several feet away.

He’s alone. No colleagues in sight, no buffer. Just him… and the truth he had clearly just walked in on. His gaze flickers between your face and Seonghwa’s. Down to your hands. Back to your lips. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

He clearly didn't expect this.

You step back instinctively, like space might soften the blow. “I-”

“That’s him?” he cuts in, voice sharp. “That’s who you’re seeing?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes. You can’t find your voice. You haven’t prepared for this, this collision of both your lives, here, now, in the open.

His eyes widens, expression laced with disbelief. “You’re dating him?” He asks again. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. My boss? You’re screwing my boss?”

“Watch your tone.” Seonghwa’s voice cut through the tension like steel. He steps forward slightly. Not aggressive, but protective. Firm.

Your husband’s eyes snap to him. “You know she’s married.”

“I do.” Seonghwa’s expression didn’t waver. “I also know she’s in an open marriage. A situation you created.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to speak, but no words come. You can’t do this here, not like this.

Seonghwa turns and sees the way you’re frozen. Hands shaking, eyes glossy, lips parted like they wants to move but can’t.

“We’re leaving,” he says simply, gently tugging your hand.

Your husband looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. Not as Seonghwa leads you into the elevator, wraps you under his arm protectively, and hits the button.

The doors slide shut, and just like that, you’re gone.

The door shuts behind you both with a soft click, muffled by the sheer stillness of the apartment. It should feel safe, it usually does, but now the silence only makes your thoughts louder.

You step in a few paces, drop your bag on the floor, and turn around like you don't know where to go next.

“I messed everything up,” you say in a breath, voice shaky. “I didn’t even say a word, I just stood there,- God, his face, Seonghwa, he knows.”

Your fingers tremble at your sides. You can’t stand still. The panic keeps bubbling up, sharp and sudden, and you drag a hand through your hair like that would slow your racing mind.

Seonghwa says nothing at first. He simply watches you for a moment, letting you unravel, but stays close.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” you whisper. “We were careful. We-, he wasn’t even supposed to be there. What if-, what if he tells someone? What if it-”

He reaches for you before you can spiral further, large hands settling on your shoulders with calm, grounding weight. “Hey,” he says gently. “Look at me.”

You do. Barely. Your eyes are glossy, your chest rising and falling in quick bursts.

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling you into him.

Your hands curl into the fabric of his coat without thinking. His warmth surrounds you, steady and quiet. His touch isn’t desperate, it’s reassuring. Calm.

“I know it’s a lot,” he says into your hair, rubbing a hand down your back. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t do anything wrong. Okay?”

You say nothing, only shake your head into his chest.

“What if he doesn’t approve of this?” you whisper. “Of you. Of you being the one I’m seeing.”

His hand pauses for half a second, then resumes its slow strokes down your spine. “I don’t know.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull back enough to check the screen.

Husband: Can we please talk?

Seonghwa doesn’t ask questions when you read the text aloud to him, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I have to go,” you say, voice cracking slightly. “I need to talk to him.”

He nods once, the motion slow. Measured. “I know.”

You shift your weight, swallowing thickly. “I’m,-” The words tangle in your throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Seonghwa says gently. “This was always something you had to do.”

You step closer, eyes searching his face. “I hate that this is how it’s happening.”

“I know,” he says again, quieter this time. “But you’re not alone.”

He brushes your hair behind your ear with the softest touch, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. His thumb grazes your cheek like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you before he lets you go.

“Do you want me to take you?” he asks, voice low and warm.

You hesitate, then nod.

You want to tell him he’s done enough, that you shouldn’t drag him deeper into this, but you can’t. Because a part of you wants that last moment. Wants to feel him close before you walk back into the house you’ve been slowly drifting away from.

The ride is quiet, headlights casting golden stripes across your face as the city rolls by. You feel like your heart is caged behind your ribs, thrashing to get out.

Seonghwa’s hand rests near the gearshift, close enough to touch. And for a moment, it brushes yours. Not by accident. His pinky hooks lightly with yours, just enough to say I’m here.

You don’t speak the rest of the way. But somehow, you feel everything. When the house comes into view, your breath catches. The porch light is on. His car is in the driveway.

Seonghwa pulls up without a word, letting the engine hum quietly as you sit frozen in place.

“You want me to stay here?” he asks gently, breaking the silence.

You look at him, hesitating for a moment. “I think I’m okay.”

“Good” he says, offering you the faintest smile, soft and sad and full of love he won’t say out loud. “But if you need me, I’ll be back before you can even unlock your phone. Okay?”

Your throat tightens. You can only nod.

Then, without thinking, you lean across the console and press your lips to his. Brief, but full of every unspoken thing between you. It’s not goodbye. It can’t be. Not yet.

You pull back, and he’s still looking at you like you’re the only reason he knows how to breathe.

“Go,” he murmurs, voice tender. “Do what you have to do.”

You step out into the fading light, the front door looming ahead, your heart thudding with every step. As you reach the front door, you look back as Seonghwa one last time before entering your home. The home you’ve shared with your husband of 8 years. The door closes behind you and there he is.

Your husband is standing there. Hands in his pockets. Face unreadable.

But his eyes, his eyes were full of questions.

You stand in the hallway, your fingers still curled around the handle, your heart pounding so hard it almost drowns out the silence.

You don’t know what to expect. An argument, questions, maybe even cold indifference. But what you don’t expect is him suddenly kneeling to the ground, helpless, in the middle of the floor, shoulders slumped, hands clasped like he doesn’t even know how else to hold himself. It’s like he’s unraveling right there, like pride means nothing anymore.

You stare, stunned.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more breath than sound. “For everything.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t know if it’s anger or sadness, or the crushing weight of what this moment might mean.

“I never should’ve asked for an open marriage,” he continues. “It was stupid. So fucking stupid. I-, I thought I wanted space. I thought maybe we could be happier that way, that I was giving us a better chance by letting things feel… open.”

His voice cracks. He lifts his gaze and it guts you.

“When I saw you with him today and I-” His breath shudders. “I didn’t know it would be him,”

He shifts forward slightly on his knees, reaching out like he wants to touch your hand but doesn’t dare.

“Please,” he whispers. “Let me try again. I’ll end things with her. I’ll be the husband I should’ve been. I’ll do anything. Just don’t walk away from me.”

And god, part of you wants to fall into his arms. He’s your husband. The man you’ve loved for 8 years. The one who now looks more broken than you’ve ever seen him.

But another part of you aches for what this means.

Because Seonghwa’s face flashes in your mind. His voice. His touch. The way he looks at you like you hung the stars, like he’s trying to memorize every second you give him because he knows you were never his to keep.

Your husband is still kneeling. Still waiting. Desperate. Tear-streaked.

You bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“I…” you begin, voice trembling. “I need time. Time to think”

A pause. Then a small nod from him, like he’s afraid to ask for anything more.

But in your chest, something stirs. Something terrifying.

Because no matter what you choose… someone’s heart is going to break.

And maybe it’ll be your own.

***

The house feels hollow. The evening's darkness is casting over your house like the feelings inside of you.

Your husband is still asleep on the couch. Or maybe he’s just pretending. You don’t ask.

You didn’t sleep. Not really. Just laid there in your bed, the one that used to be yours and his, but also once, without your permission, became hers too. The silence between you and him was unbearable. He offered the bedroom like it was a gesture of goodwill.

Your chest still feels tight as you stand in the hallway now, jacket in hand, shoes barely laced. You write a note. Nothing dramatic. Just I need some air. I’ll be back later.

You don’t know when “later” is. You just know where you need to be.

Seonghwa opens the door before you even knock. It’s like he knew.

You’re met with the smell of tea, the warmth of his apartment, and his eyes, dark with concern.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice like a balm. “You okay?”

You nod once.

Then your lip trembles.

And he knows.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he murmurs, stepping forward just as your breath hitches.

You try to stay composed. You really do. But then his arms are around you, pulling you into his chest, and the weight of everything presses down so hard it feels like your knees might give out.

You collapse into him, arms locked around his waist, fingers fisting into the back of his shirt. His hand cups the back of your head, the other smoothing down your spine.

“I-I tried to be strong,” you manage, voice thick. “I wanted to be okay, but he-, he was on his knees, Seonghwa. He begged me.”

You feel him tense slightly, but he says nothing. Just holds you tighter.

“He said he’d end things with her. That he made a mistake. That I’m still his wife and he wants me back and-” You pull back just enough to look at Seonghwa, eyes glassy, voice cracking. “And I wanted to feel good hearing it. I did. But all I could think about was you.”

Something flickers in his gaze. Hope, maybe. Pain too. But he doesn’t speak. He just listens.

You sniff, trying to hold yourself together. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair to you. I know I’m hurting you by not knowing what I want and I hate it-”

“Hey,” he cuts in gently, thumb brushing beneath your eye. “Stop. I told you, I don’t want anything from you that hurts you to give.”

“But you-”

“I want you,” he says simply. “In whatever way you can give me. Even if that means just this. Being here, telling me what you’re feeling.”

Your throat tightens again, but this time it’s not just from sadness. It’s because of how safe you feel with him. How seen. How loved, even if he’s never said the words. You press your forehead to his chest and he just sways you gently in his arms, fingers tracing slow patterns along your back.

“I’m so lost, Seonghwa.” you whisper.

He exhales against your hair. “Then stay here. Just for a little while.”

And god, you’re tired of choosing. Tired of being torn.

But as his hand slips into yours and he leads you to the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs, tucking you in close like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held, you know this much:

This man… this love… is real.

You don’t remember when the tears stopped. Or what time it is. Or how long you’ve been sitting here. The two of you sit curled into his couch like you’ve done so many times before. But this time, everything feels sharper. He’s cradling you with a kind of care that’s almost reverent, your legs stretched across his lap, your face tucked beneath his chin. You can hear his heart beneath your ear, slow and steady. He hasn’t moved since you sat down. He doesn't dare to.

His fingers are laced with yours, your thumb tracing a trembling path over the back of his hand. The blanket wrapped around your bodies makes it feel like the world outside has stopped. Like you're suspended in a fragile little moment where time can’t touch you. And yet... you know it will.

It’s you who speaks first. Your voice is hushed, barely more than breath. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Seonghwa sighs gently through his nose, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I know,” he says. Just two words. No judgment. No bitterness. Just a quiet truth, laced with understanding.

You shift slightly so you can see his face, and he’s already looking at you, those dark eyes as warm and soft as ever, even now. You can see it in them: how much he adores you. How much this is killing him.

But you also see something else. A kind of resolve. One that terrifies you.

He brings your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Then another. Then he just lingers there, lips resting against your skin like he’s memorizing the shape of you. Like he knows this might be the last time.

And then, barely above a whisper, he says it.

“You should go back to him.”

The words slice through the quiet like ice water, and you freeze.

“What?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes at first. He’s staring down at your joined hands like it’s the only way he’ll get through this.

“You’re married.” he says slowly. “And he’s... trying. Maybe it’s too late, maybe it’s not. And I see you struggling to choose. I see it all over you.“

You swallow thickly, your chest cracking open.

His hand tightens just slightly around yours. “I don’t want you to look back one day and wonder if you made the wrong choice. If you left too soon. If I was just an escape.” 

Your hearts drops.

“So let me make it for you,” he whispers, finally meeting your eyes. “Let me be the one who walks away. Let me be the bad guy, if that’s what it takes. Because I’d rather be the one who lets go than make you carry the guilt of choosing.”

You pull your hand from his, suddenly feeling cold. “Are you trying to push me away?”

“No.” His voice cracks, and it breaks everything inside you. “I’m trying to let you go before it hurts you more to stay.”

You hate how reasonable he sounds. You hate how selfless he is. You hate that he means it.

You shake your head, desperate. “Seonghwa, please-”

He smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that feels like the beginning of a goodbye.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t supposed to be more than a brief chapter in your life. And I was okay with that. I was. Because even if I couldn’t be forever, I still got you shortly. And I would do it all again, even knowing it would end.”

His voice cracks. But he keeps going.

Your throat burns. Your vision blurs.

“I let myself dream about it, you know,” he says softly, an empty laugh escaping his lips. “About what it would’ve been like if you met me first. If there wasn’t already a ring on your finger. But I know this isn’t about what I want. It never was.”

He brings your hand to his lips again, presses a trembling kiss to your fingers.

“So go back to him,” he murmurs. “You deserve a chance to fix what you had. To see if there’s still love waiting for you there. And if there is… don’t look back. Don’t wonder. Just go.”

You finally whisper, “But why-”

“Because I love you,” he says, cutting through everything.

It’s the first time he’s said it.

The first time you’ve heard it.

His voice wavers, just a little, but he doesn’t look away.

“I love you,” he says again, softer. “And I know I’m being incredibly selfish by saying that to you right now, because I don’t wanna make things harder for you. But I do. I didn't want to confuse you, or make you feel like you owed me anything. But I need you to know.”

His eyes shine, but he’s still holding it together. Just barely.

“I love you,” He leans his forehead gently against yours. “And I would give anything to be the one you stay with. But if I really love you… then I have to do what’s best for you. Even if it breaks me.”

Tears prick at your eyes, sharp and sudden. He gives you a faint smile, and it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Why does this feel like punishment?” your voice cracks.

His eyes soften even more, somehow. “Because loving someone you can’t keep always does.” his thumb drags over your cheek, removing a tear from your eye.

And the silence that follows is unbearable. A crushing, yawning void between your heart and his. You want to scream. You want to run. You want to disappear into his arms and never have to come back to the reality that waits for you outside this room.

You want a world where you don’t have to choose.

But that world doesn’t exist.

Not for you.

Not for him.

“I don’t know if I can say goodbye to you,” you whisper, barely audible.

“Then don’t,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”

His hand lingers on your cheek like it’s memorizing every line. Every softness. Every trace of the life you almost had.

And then, without a word, because words don’t work anymore, you lean in.

And so does he.

Your lips meet in the quietest, saddest kiss of your life.

His lips move like he’s trying to tell you everything one last time. Like he’s writing all his unsaid I love yous into your skin. Like this moment has to hold every second he’ll never get.

You fall into him, legs curled up tighter, arms around his neck like a lifeline. His fingers thread into your hair as if he can anchor you there, just a little longer. Like maybe if he kisses you softly enough, sweetly enough, the universe will change its mind.

But the universe doesn’t.

And he knows it.

And when you finally pull back, just enough to look at him. He’s crying, quietly.

Still holding your face like you’re something precious.

Still loving you as you let him go.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he says, barely audible. “Even when you forget the sound of my voice. Even when he holds your hand. When he gets to fall asleep next to you. When your life goes on…”

Your breath shatters.

You’re sobbing now, silently. Your chest aches. Your whole body aches.

He presses the softest kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your forehead, like he’s saying goodbye to every part of you, one last time.

“I hope he knows,” Seonghwa whispers, voice broken. “I hope he knows he gets to keep the heart I would’ve spent my whole life protecting.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

He just lets you go.

Because he loves you too much to make you choose.

And that’s what real heartbreak sounds like.

Silence.

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[hom3landr]

First I just wanted to say please take your time whether it’s writing the next chapter or dealing with mental health just please take your time. Baby steps! Anyway I had a little baker verse idea! She is teaching Ryan how to make chocolate chip cookies so they get to know each other and hang out meanwhile Homelander comes home from a meeting and walks in on them and is just so happy to see his son and his girlfriend getting along!❤️

Hello! Thank you so much for the request. I did tweak it just a bit but I hope the spirit of the ask remains in the final product.

Gingersnap

Homelander learns the importance of patience as Ryan learns a new recipe

Homelander leans against the entryway to the kitchen, a fond sincere smile lighting up his face. His son and his love are bathed in the golden light of the sun coming in through the kitchen window. The grin on Ryan’s face is just as bright even through the slight shyness that he carries around you. You’re rifling through the cabinets as you set ingredients down on the counter haphazardly.

He’d begun introducing Ryan to you slowly. He was perfectly happy to speed up the process but you’d insisted on being patient. You didn’t want to overwhelm Ryan and you were annoyingly insistent about respecting Becca’s boundaries. He’d snapped at Becca once and the look you gave him was so stormy that he hadn’t dared try again. The shock of it amidst all of your normal sweetness was enough to keep him in line. Mostly at least, you still had to deal with some grumbling. After lots of discussion, a tentative schedule was made and you introduced your presence into their lives. You fit in remarkably well.

“What kind of cookies would you like to make?” You ask breezily as you sweep around the kitchen like a whirlwind. Ryan seems a bit dazed by all the activity, excited but still becoming accustomed to the energy of a new person inside his home.

“I like chocolate chip! My mom makes them for me sometimes.” He looks over to where his mother is sitting at the table. She’s flipping through a magazine and she returns Ryan’s grin softly. She still doesn’t trust the situation fully, but she’s more at ease when you join Homelander for his visits.

“Oh no. I can’t compete with mom’s recipe. I’m a smart woman, I know when I’m beat.” You shoot Becca a wink. She doesn’t return it but she smiles.

Ryan giggles.

Homelander wants to intervene and reveal himself. He hasn’t been noticed by the happy scene yet. He’d only just returned from a quick meeting. But another part of him is happy to observe the peaceful scene. It warms a part of him he’s not sure has ever been warmed before, at least not like this.

His family

“How about some gingersnaps?” You ask Ryan, who looks at you quizzically.

“I’ve never had a gingersnap.” He replies and you clap your hands together with joy. There’s nothing you enjoy more than baking something new with someone. You told him once that there is something so pure about an honest first reaction. It’s a brief glimpse of something elusive, something no one else will be able to see again. You don’t even mind if it isn’t positive. It’s the experience that matters to you. He doesn’t quite understand how you let disappointment roll right off of you. Authenticity doesn’t seem worth the risk of rejection, even if it’s something as small as a baked good.

“Never had a ginger snap?!? Well it is your lucky day!” You reach out to give Ryan’s shoulders a friendly shake before separating out the dry and wet ingredients into little piles. He joins you eagerly and it doesn’t take long before you playfully dust him with a bit of flour. He retaliates by flicking you with sugar but before the two of you can devolve into a full food fight, you remember that it isn’t your kitchen to clean up. Homelander knows from experience that you aren’t afraid to get messy in your own space. He has a cookie dough stained cape to prove it, he keeps it folded up safely in his closet.

Homelander wants to clear his throat. He wants to step in and insert himself, let the domesticity wash over him. But he doesn't, he just watches. For once, he’s content.

[in1-nutshell]

And oh god the reveal.  Maybe Magneto finally got his dates and order and realized “oh shit, that's my kid”.  Maybe Ultra magnus sent a email which sent the entire us government into a panic because how the fuck did this escape notice.  What if when Magneto figured it out he tried to talk to them.  He calls them by their birth name, not the name the government gave them to protect them, or the name their robot family gave them, the name he gave them.  “I go by Fearless now, Eric” (man imagine getting disowned by your own kid).  As far as the X-men are concerned, their favorite telenovela just got better.  As for the lost light, oh boy get ready for headcanons.  Running on the idea that Cybertronians are an asexual species, their whole family units are created through adoption.  To create that bond with someone is a very important and almost sacred choice.  To abandon a child you chose to take in for a selfish reason is borderline unheard of.  Even with IDW Ophelia, Megs left her behind originally to protect her, shitty yes, but still an action born out of the desire to keep her safe, still lining up with the importance of these bonds to cybertronians.  Needless to say, the general opinion of magento went from “eh, whatever, we have megatron on board.” to “fuck this one guy in particular”

Once I get enough energy and patience, I will write a longer piece on this AU.

Hope you enjoy!

AU: Magneto is Fearless's Dad (part 2)

SFW, Angst, Familial, Platonic, Mention of X Men 97, Human reader

MTMTE/ XMEN 97

It had been a couple of days since Fearless’s failed assassination attempt and there were still no leads.

A couple of villains were called into question, even some government officials, but nothing solid.

But that wasn’t the most important thing.

The Fearless and Magneto beef was still raging on strong.

Finally at 1 in the morning, Magneto realizes why Fearless looked so familiar.

He had known their mother… they looked like…

…

Like the child he left behind all those years ago...

…

…

…Oh, this made too much sense it hurt.

The Brick of Parenthood had finally found its target.

He always thought that they would have led a normal life on Earth, not galivanting through space with giant alien robots, one which was a genocidal ex warlord.

Take it for his kid to do something strange and reckless.

Seeing the little kid he knew now all grown up sent a pang of guilt through his chest.

Then came a thought... arguably a terrible idea.

Talking to them.

There was without a doubt in Magneto’s mind that they knew who he was, it explained in the pained look they gave him at times.

He needed to talk to them, now.

Fearless was happily talking with Morph when he came, asking to talk to them in private.

They don’t like the look the older man is giving them.

It looked like pity and… pain?

They warily agree.

The pair makes their way into a room in the mansion. Fearless crosses their arms. Fearless: “So, what did you want to talk about?” Magneto: “… It has been a long time since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?” Fearless stiffened. Fearless: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Magento: “I did not raise a liar.” Fearless’s eyes widened and unconsciously takes a step back. Magneto: “My little Lionheart… it has been a long time.” The name brought flashbacks of a little kid reaching out for a hug to their tall father. They shake their head. Fearless: “I go by Fearless, Eric. That is the name I go by now, the one MY Family gave me. I expect you to at least have the decency to respect that.” Magneto: “… Fine then… Fearless.” Fearless huffs as they tighten their arms around themselves. Fearless: “Was this what you wanted to talk about? Because if it is your wasting your time and mine.” They turn to open the door behind them, but the metal locks lock themselves. Fearless: “…Unlock the doors Magneto.” Magneto: “Not until we talk.” Fearless: “What is there to talk about?” Fearless tries opening the door with no luck. Magneto: “It has been years since I’ve last seen you child.” Fearless: “And who’s fault was that, Eric. Now if you can be so kind as to open the door—” Magneto: “You didn’t have the X gene Fearless. Your birth stood against so many things I stood against at the time. I had to leave you. You must understand that.” Fearless: “I don’t have to understand Jack Magneto! Now let me out!” Fearless tries furiously to open the doors now, only for some metal sheets to block the door. Fearless: “Eric! Open the doors now!” Magneto steps forward as Fearless tries prying the metal themselves. Magneto: “You are going to hurt yourself like that.” Fearless continues to trying to pry the metal with their bare hands. Magneto: “You have to understand that when I left you—” Fearless: “UNDERSTAND WHAT!? That I wasn’t the perfect baby you wanted! That I didn’t fit in your ideal world?! Save me the speech Eric I know! I’VE KNOWN THAT SINCE THE DAY I FOUND OUT WHO EXACTLY MY FATHER WAS!” Tears were streaming down their face, but they stood tall with their fist clenched. A heavy silence filled the room. Fearless: “If you have any ounce of any respect or basic decency… let me go.” Magneto wordlessly let the metal sheets fall to the ground. Fearless wastes no time in bursting out of the room. Magneto sighs sadly from inside the room. Meanwhile in the room next door. Logan and Morph were trying to watch a movie when they overheard the conversation through the wall. Logan and Morph: “…” Morph: “…That was unexpected.” Logan: “…You owe me a 12 pack and 20 buck’s bub.” Morph: “Oh C’mon!”

And apparently those two weren’t the only ones who overheard.

Jean had seen a distraught Fearless running outside and decided to gently look inside their mind to see what could have possibly upset them.

…

It did not take long there after for the rest of the X men to find out about the new family drama.

There was a lot of talk between the team about Fearless and Magneto, but they never guessed something like this.

So many questions yet to be answered!

The drama!

The Angst!

Some members are kind of glad a plot twist happened in their new telenovela, but at the same time are sympathetic to the whole ‘messed up family bloodlines thing’.

Fearless was walking around having calmed down. They spot Magneto exiting the room and walking to their direction. This was at the same time Kurt and Rouge just so happen to be walking by. The pair walked a bit faster to get to Fearless’s side. Kurt: “Fearlezz!” Fearless jumped at the sudden noise but calmed down seeing the blue mutant. Fearless: “Primus Kurt, don’t scare me like that.” Kurt: “Zorry!” Rouge gently placed a hand on their back, guiding them to another direction. Rouge: “There’s a cool thing the boys wanted ta show ya.” Fearless: “Now? I mean sure! Cool, cool, cool.”

The real question now about the bots.

Did THEY know about this?

Only one way to find out!

Morph is sitting by Whirl in his holoform. Morph: “Has Fearless every talked about their family, like before going to space?” Whirl: “Not really. They don’t talk too much on all the Earthy stuff.” He raises an eyebrow. Whirl: “Why you want some information on them?” Morph: “Well, its more like we’ve just gotten some new information on them.” Whirl: “Like what?” Morph: “… Logan won the bet.” Whirl: “Which ones Logan again? Wait is he the gruffy one with the claws that thinks I know some guy name Deadpool?” Morph: “That’s him.” Whirl: “Oh okay then. Wait what did he bet on again? Hang on a second.” Whirl pulls out a list of the bets and goes down before stopping at Logan’s bet. Whirl slowly looks at Morph. Morph: “Turns out Fearless’s dad is Magento.” Whirl: “… Excuse me but WHAT THE—” Magnus, in his holoform, comes in. Magnus: “Whirl! What have we talked about that language!” Whirl: “MAGNETO IS FEARLESS’S EARTH DAD!” Magnus: “WHAT!?” Morph: “I feel like I made a mistake…”

News about Magento being Fearless’s biological father spreads amongst the bots like wildfire.

They go to the X men about more details about this.

They would have asked Fearless… but these past few days the resident human looked ready to drop dead and sob on the spot.

The Lost Light crew is absolutely furious hearing the implication of Magneto Abandoning Fearless at a young age.

It is explained to the mutants about the significant values chosen family had amongst Cybertronian’s.

To abandon one’s sparkling/ youngling/ or mentee at such a tender age was simply unheard of.

The bots and X men hear some yelling from a far. It was Fearless yelling at Magneto to leave them alone. Megatron is the first to move. The Earth shakes as the Ex Warlord now looms over Fearless, casting a long shadow over Magneto. Fearless looks surprised to see the mech. Fearless: “Megatron? What are you doing here in bot mode? Did something happen with your holoform—EEP!” Megatron scoops Fearless up with one servo and holds them firmly to his chassis. He sported a harsh glare at the man on the ground. Megatron: “When my child says to leave them alone. You. Leave. Them. Alone.” Cue gasps from X men in the background. The twists keep getting better and better. Fearless is still very confused. Magneto: “Your child?” Rodimus: “That’s right! His kid. A member of our crew and family.” The other bots soon start lining behind or beside Megatron. Megatron: “Do not let me catch you disrespecting their space again.” With that the bots turn to go to their ship. Megatron looks down to see Fearless trying to stifle a sob. He gently rubs a digit up and down their back. They began to shake like a leaf and curled even smaller against his servo. Megatron: “There, there… I’ve got you… I’ve got you… Your safe now Fearless… Your safe…”

The bots and Fearless were going to need a day to process this before returning back to the big problems at hand.

Especially Fearless…

[bingsuyaa]

LUCKY STRIKE, lee mark ᵎ

profiles. neo divas & a m0rk

masterlist

LEE MARK — "the lead guitarist" ▬ the human embodiment of "i'm just happy to be here". plays guitar like it’s an olympic sport but freezes the second someone calls him talented. lives for awkward handshakes and saying "dude" unironically. constantly in a main character™ crisis. thinks adding a cowboy hat to his wardrobe will fix his imposter syndrome. probably listens to midnights by taylor swift on repeat.

LEE TAEYONG — "the bassist" ▬ the 24/7 stressed mom friend who’s given up trying to control the chaos. spends most of his time stressing over album prep and the remaining goes to cleaning up the band's impeccable digital footprints. once made a powerpoint presentation about why keeping the group chat professional is important—yuta renamed it “big daddy energy” five minutes later. literally just wants to vibe with his bass in peace.

LEE DONGHYUCK / HAECHAN — "the vocalist" ▬ the chaos gremlin of the group. can turn any situation into a meme-worthy disaster. writes lyrics that sound like a fever dream (“moonlight emo pizza,” anyone?). his entire personality is a mix of “let me cook” and “it’s giving.” tells fans he’s the beyoncé of the band—taeyong disagrees. will fake cry during interviews for attention and call it “method acting.”

NAKAMOTO YUTA — "the keyboardist" ▬ gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss—yuta is the reason the band hasn’t been torn apart by the papz yet. can and will get away with murder. probably sold his soul for killer cheekbones. gives off slutty villain energy even while playing the happiest keyboard riff. thinks “he’s kenough” but might actually be the ceo of the band’s drama department. his wardrobe is 80% leather and 20% vibes.

LEE JENO — "the drummer" ▬ the fashionista of the group. smiles through the chaos like he’s in a sitcom. refuses to interfere in drama but secretly loves the tea. will laugh at your joke even if it’s bad because he’s just that wholesome. bangs on drums like it’s therapy and will deadass text “wyd?” to the group chat at 3 am like it’s normal. probably the only one keeping the band semi-functional. is surprisingly very perceptive.

NEO AXIS — "the band" ▬ neo axis is what happens when you take five people with way too much talent and zero self-awareness, throw them into a group, and let them loose. they’re like a bad reality show waiting to happen, but with expensive instruments and questionable life choices. their music is a blend of deep lyrics and total randomness (thank you, haechan), yet somehow they pull it off. every show is an unpredictable rollercoaster, and you’d be a fool to think they know what they’re doing. but that’s what makes them so fun.

[goldielia]

girlfriend?

a part of: call it what you want au

everyone’s kind of distracted today. it’s the day of the hockey east championship game and the locker room is eerily quiet and simultaneously buzzing with energy.

it’s pretty frustrating from allys point of view, nobody answers unless she repeats herself at least once, the boys all seemingly already on the ice with at least half their brain capacity. she doesn’t blame them, it’s an important game after all, but it’s also not exactly easy for her.

when she’s offered every player new equipment at least once, she retreats back into the comfort of her equipment room, busying herself with preparing the blades and sticks she’ll take out to the bench with her.

after she’s hauled everything out rinkside and sorted it the way she likes, ally finds the locker room to be in a much better mood. their usual hype playlist blasts through speakers and slowly but surely the boys look like their usual confident selves again.

“gimme a sec, you can wait for me at the station”, she says to will when she passes by him to her locker and he’s already holding his tape out to her. she doesn’t have a stall but for christmas the boys got her her own little locker and a jersey because they pretty much viewed her as part of the team anyway.

she was at every skate, practice and game, spent her spare time in their little hangout area and went through loss and win with them so a jersey with her lucky number 7 and her last name was the best gift they could give her.

it had become a habit for her to tape will’s stick for games so as soon as she’s unzipped her sweater jacket and thrown it into her locker, leaving her in her wine red v-neck and black suit pants, and thrown her hair up into a messy bun she makes her way to the equipment room, not knowing she leaves behind a confused bunch of hockey players.

“was she wearing a 2 on her necklace?” “i thought i imagined that” “why’s she wearing a 2? eamon, you got somethin’ to say?”

their captan only shakes his head, knowing ally definitely would not wear his number. “it’s not because of me, but i don’t know what else it would be.” nobody notices gabe and ryan exchange an amused look.

the team go back to getting ready for the game quickly, everything too important for gossip right now. when eamon gets up to get himself a gatorade out of the fridge he’s disappointed to see his favourite flavour’s out.

knowing ally keeps spares of most flavours in a mini fridge in the equipment room, being the saint that she is, he stops in the doorframe to call out for her and can hold himself back just in time.

at the station he sees ally sat on the workspace, will leaning his hip on it next to her, head on her shoulder and hand around her waist as she tapes his stick. eamon’s surprised to see will’s eyes closed - he’s usually very particular about his tape job.

then it hits him though, he hasn’t seen will tape his stick himself in weeks, maybe months, and ally looks confident and practised, nails painting blue stripes in his vision with how fast she’s taping, seemingly knowing just how to move without disturbing will on her shoulder.

they’re whispering quietly to each other, his hand resting on the sliver of skin between her pants and shirt. it looks intimate in an almost casual way, and eamon can’t quite bring himself to interrupt or look away, even though he should.

ally finishes up the tape job by writing something on the tape quickly and he watches will open his eyes and stand between her legs, discarding the stick to the side.

it all dawns on him when will softly taps the dainty 2-necklace resting on her neckline, that will wears number 2 originally. and then he remembers that will, gabe and ryan were driven to the rink by ally before the game today. and that he thinks he saw ally and will cuddling on the bus after a loss a few months ago.

and that’s when his self control runs out and he clears his throat, lifting one eyebrow when they both jump like they’ve been caught doing something forbidden.

“jesus, it’s just you” ally breathes, hopping off the workspace and putting the tape away, all back to business withing seconds. “what can i do for you?” she asks eamon. “first of all, why’re you wearing that necklace? boys think ‘s ‘cause of me” he gestures at her necklace.

“’cause she’s my girlfriend” will answers confidently and eamon’s surprised to see ally blush, he’s not used to seeing the usually so nonchalant brunette show much emotion on her face.

“so, who knows about this” he points back and forth between her and the blond boy vaguely, his eyebrow rising even higher when will answers. “gabe, leno and olivia. and you, apparently”.

“not for long, boys saw your necklace” he warns ally. “that’s okay” she smiles, and eamons knees almost weaken with the intensity in her eyes when she looks back at will.

“i was actually looking for some blue gatorade, you got some back here? big fridge is all out” he states his original request. “oh yeah, for sure. one sec” she answers before she squeezes past an unmoving will with her hand on his bicep, handing eamon his bottle moments later. he decides to get back to his game day routine, but he has to chirp at them just once before he leaves: “no funny business in the facility though. i mean it.”

just before he’s out of the room he catches one last glimpse of wills stick, sees the small heart drawn on the bottom stripe of tape there with the tiny A next to it.

he’s barely out the door when ally turns to will. “girlfriend?” she asks shyly. will smiles, not used to seeing her without her confidence, pulls her into his arms. his smile widens when she rests her chin on his sternum so she can look up at him. “well yeah, you’ve been around for some time now and you know me really well, if you wanted to leave you already would’ve so i’m awarding you that title as of today” she grins up at him, presses one last peck to his lips for good luck before she pushes him back out into the locker room.

now that he knows about ally and will, eamon really doesn’t get how he could’ve not known. gabe and ryan are pretty obvious, whispering about them and exchanging glances everytime someone mentions a girlfriend or love or will. olivia’s kinda obvious, too. the social media girl always waiting until ally’s out of shot to take the picture, probably having been told to not show them together on the hockey team’s socials.

the most obvious though are the couple themselves. if any of the boys openend their eyes they’d definitely notice the love there as well. eamon can’t unsee it now.

it’s in the way allys eyes sparkle when will does well on the ice, in the way will sends her a tiny wink at the end of the high five line every time he scores.

it’s in the way he hugs her for a little too long when it’s game and he got his first hatty and they’re hockey east champions. in the way he has olivia take pictures of the two of them with his mvp trophy, in the way he smiles at her in some of them because she looks angelic under the lights, her eyes bright with pride.

it’s in the way they disappear for a little bit during the celebrations, eamon’s not sure if he wants to know where to or what they’re doing.

it’s in the way will convinces ally to come with to some party the upperclassmen are throwing, her having to leave her car at the rink and going to pick it up tomorrow. it’s in the way she can’t help but agree immediately when he flashes his puppy eyes at her.

it’s in the lighthearted competition of who gets more cups during the beer pong game at said party, in the joint cheer when they win and in the way will pulls ally onto the porch to kiss her privately but not secretly anymore.

and it’s in the way will grimaces but takes it when the boys pat (read: hit) him all over his back and shoulders, in the way he pulls ally right back in front of him when they’ve let up, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

it’s even in the way will scrunches his nose up in half-fake-disgust while ally giggles uncontrollably, head thrown back onto his shoulder, when cutter jokes “smitty, no wonder you’ve been playing so well, gettin’ your stick taped by a pretty girl before every game”.

[vampireistic]

chapter 45 nb spoilers（╹◡╹）♡

well this chapter was certainly…special, in some ways. of course we had the “beel eating too much cliché” but despite this chapter sounding like it was supposed to be very “beel centric” (since you know…this was HIS exam), it really ended up just being a showcase of satan, and i kind of enjoyed it that way.

the wording and this entire sequence was very interesting; satan has quite literally done nothing to warrant him going off to cool down apart from maybe some subsequent guilt that he’s putting the one he loves in danger but, once again, that’s not necessarily his fault as it is the sponsor’s who organised this test. the question is why? why does satan feel so sensitive to the point he initiates affection with MC (something that you know, quite rarely ever happens regardless of the character).

then again, it is a dangerous situation so you can just boil it down to mere fear that he could lose MC somehow and be unable to protect them (woo foreshadowing…)

and well…he’s not entirely wrong here? as we’ve seen, past!MC teaches him how to be “gentle” by introducing him to cats and their feisty yet loving nature (once you get them to trust you at least), it’s that reason that helps him become much more tolerable and less destructive especially in regards to his brothers — this is the same case in the original timeline except they didn’t introduce him to cats, just unconditional love and patience.

in a way, that’s keeping him “safe”. safe from his self-destructive tendencies, safe from letting everything bother him till it manifests into him being hyper-violent and aggressive, safe to become what he wants. but regardless of the cute nostalgia, it’s still a rather odd thing to say..? perhaps he’s just reminiscing, but given the context of the situation, this is a little surprising coming from someone who’s a little more reserved.

hey, solmare — why has MC nearly fallen off of something two times in a row now? once again, there’s intent behind every little detail, this clearly isn’t just a way to give diavolo more screen time or to show that he finished first, there’s more to it. this made me think back to this one theory i read that the reason MC keeps repeatedly landing on satan after using. teleportation spell, is because they���re somehow intertwined.

MC is the only one with a connection to lilith, while satan is the only one with a connection lucifer — and perhaps somehow that’s something that makes their fates cross paths, and that’s what this chapter is trying to show.

beside that, the two times we’ve now nearly died is a clear indicator; we fucked up somehow. it may just be coincidence, but it really is highly unlikely this was just a random implement. even if it was, it still does show a very important thing; MC is very vulnerable. almost too vulnerable to the point it’s a little worrying, that time they spent in the past has clearly affected them.

we’ve seen previously that simeon has been struggling a lot more with his recently acclaimed humanity, he feels a little more sluggish and out of place, which is for sure warranted given the fact he’s lost the one thing he’s always had and has been forced into a position of powerlessness, but even so, it does feel like there’s something more happening behind the scenes that would make simeon act in such a way.

it still hasn’t been properly addressed whether simeon is technically classified as a human or just an angel without actual angelic properties, but even so, this change must be costing a lot of physical and mental energy for simeon — and yet he’s choosing to face through it alone.

[staytinyville]

Stay Alive (20)

BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N BETA READER @seoul9711. YALL. No one told me I missed an update! MY BAD! I had the days wrong.

In a matter of minutes, all the boys had gathered in Jungkook’s room in no time at all. The boy had quickly showered to get rid of the bed smell. The others waited for his return inorder to tell you everything fully. However once he had finished and was standing patiently, they all just looked at each other, unsure how to start a conversation with you. 

“Well?” You question, waiting for them to answer you.

“Jungkook is awak-”

“We're all magical creatures.” Yoongi cut Jimin off. 

“Yoongi.” Namjoon groaned, rubbing at his forehead. 

“We were never going to get to it if you all stalled.” The pale man deadpanned. 

Everyone sighed as the truth was finally out. However you looked down, still contemplating everything. They had admitted it from their mouths but for some reason you still couldn’t really believe them. You couldn’t even believe yourself. There just wasn’t any plausible answer to all this. 

“Come here, little one.” Namjoon spoke softly, taking your hand and sitting you down on Jungkook’s bed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You frowned. 

“You sure?” Namjoon raised his eyebrow at you. “We just told you some important information.”

“Doesn't mean I believe you.” You quickly spoke up, looking at the tall man wide eyed. 

“She's denying it.” Yoongi glared. “Hobi, do your thing.” He lightly patted the man on the back.

“Why me?” Hoseok questioned. 

“Because your magic is the only one we can see.” Jin backed up. “Unless, Taehyung wants to do it.”

The boy had a grin on his face; his eyes showed his excitement over using his powers. However when they all suddenly began to feel Taehyung's energy crackle through the air, they quickly looked back to Hobi with wide eyes. 

Taehyung was a good natured boy but he struggled with keeping his energy in tack. Ever since the company has been tampering with his magical essence, he hasn’t been able to get a handle on it. While the boy knew how to use his magic properly when it came to energy manipulation he would have to pass on it. 

“I'll do it.” Hoseok sighed. 

You noticed Taehyung’s pout so you were quick to reach out for him. The boy took your invitation to sit next to you; with a smile on his face at your attention being placed on him. 

You watched as Hobi raised his hands up, fingers moving around like he was weaving something. You gasped out loud and held your breath as purple smoke began to swirl between his fingers. Just as a ball began to form in between his hands, you suddenly got a pain behind your eyes which caused you to wince. 

All the boys noticed, looking at you worried. “It’s nothing.” You spoke up, waving them off. The migraine disappeared the moment Hobi stopped, causing you to frown. “Just a headache.” You added. 

They all looked at each other for a second before you brought their attention back to you. “Your magic is purple.” You gave a wide smile. “What are you?” You asked Hoseok, giving him a soft look.

Hobi began to blush from the attention, laughing softly. “I'm a witch.” He told you. “I'm the only one here.”

“Only one?” Your eyebrows furrowed together. 

“The other patients are also magical creatures.” Namjoon answered. “There's a lot of different ones.”

“What other ones are there?” You turned to him, curiosity within your eyes. 

Namjoon laughed, enjoying the look you had. It reminded him of Taehyung, who seemed to also be intently listening even if he himself already knew the answer to your question. “There's some banshees, orcs, succubi, valkyries, werewolves-”

“Like Jungkook.” You interrupted, looking over at the boy. 

“Yeah!” Jungkook perked up, looking at you confused. “How'd you know?”

You suddenly pressed your lips together, glancing at Jin and Hobi. “I read Hobi's journal.” You quietly answered, looking away.

“I knew it!” Jin spoke up.

“I'm sorry Hobi!” You cried, rushing up to the man. “I know, I wasn't supposed to snoop but I read the page about the sleeping spell and got curious.” You stressed, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“Please forgive me.” You begged.

“We just told you about who we are.” Hoseok sighed, grabbing onto your hands. “It's okay if you read the journal now. However at the time it probably wasn't.” He lightly wiggled his finger in your face. 

“I'm sorry.” You pouted. 

“It's okay Hun.” He brought you into a tight hug. “All is forgiven.” He swayed you from side to side, cheek pressed to your head. 

When you pulled away, the curiosity had returned to your eyes. The boys all secretly cooed at you. “So all of you are actually magical beings. That's so cool.” You exclaimed. 

“We're glad to hear Princess.” Yoongi grinned. 

“I have so many questions.” You told them. 

“We have time.” Taehyung shrugged. 

“I'm assuming Jimin is a siren or mermaid with how much he spends in the pool. He’s also a really good singer.” You rapidly , smiling at Jimin. “Jin you liar, you said your ears were surgically made.” You gave the older boy a pout.

“Yes, I'm a siren Beautiful.” Jimin gave you a small smile, still feeling guilty over almost drowning you. “I would love to show you one day.”

“Would you have believed me if I said I was an elf?” Jin huffed, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Does the light actually hurt you Yoongi?” You turned to the pale man. “Or are you just being picky? Because you said you don't actually combust in the sun; it's dumb of you to wear sunglasses but not cover your skin.” 

Yoongi glared at you. 

“Jungkook, do you actually turn into a wolf? Is it like–halfway like Teen Wolf or full thing like in Twilight?”

“You're talking too much.” Yoongi sighed. 

“I turn into an actual wolf, Tokki.” Jungkook smiled brightly, bounding closer to you. “He would love to meet you one day.”

You giggled, nodding your head at him. “Taehyung!” You gasped, turning to the boy. “Wings!? Like actual wings?” You couldn’t contain your excitement about them. 

“Big ones with feathers.” Taehyung matched your excitement. 

“Are you an angel then?” You chuckled. 

“No, I'm a faerie.'' Taehyung shook his head. 

“Like Maleficent!” You immediately thought of the Disney villain from the live action. 

“Exactly like her.” He nodded along with you. “Not all powerful though.” He quickly added. 

“Namjoon, can you tell me about you?” Your voice lowered as you moved to sit next to the leader of the group. “I honestly couldn't figure out what you are.” You told him. 

“It's alright Little one.” He smiled. “I'm a dragon; the oldest living creature in our world.”

Your head tilted to the side. “Your world?”

“It’s parallel to this one but with all of us in it.” Jin answered you. “Humans don't exist there. It's our earth.” He had a smile on his face, making you think he was probably reminiscing about his home. 

“What are you doing here then?” You questioned. 

“We aren't here for illnesses or diseases.” Namjoon sighed. “We were captured from our world and brought here to be experimented on. HYBE uses our abilities to create their medicine.”

Your eyes suddenly went wide as you took in his words. All you could think about was the boys being trapped in this place for the past 10 years. They were just teenagers; they were kidnapped. And experimented on?

“For 10 years? And no one thought about taking you out!?” You exclaimed. 

“We've come across kind people who would want to help but Hanseol would find out about them before they could. They would never get far.” Hobi told you sadly. 

“What does he do?” You asked. 

“He gets rid of them.” Jimin answers. “Sometimes he fires, other times he goes too far. He can't risk losing us.”

“I want to take you out-” You wanted to say.

“It's too dangerous.” Hobi immediately stopped you. 

“Let us come up with something before you get too rash. We knew you would want to but we have to plan first. We don't want to lose you.” Namjoon took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. 

You weren’t dealing with regular people anymore, you knew that much. If the boys told you to wait for a plan, it meant they knew how Hanseol was. It was clear he was also some kind of magical creature; one of which you had no idea how to handle. They were right to tell you to wait. However that didn’t mean you weren’t feeling scared for them. 

You hadn’t  known them long but ever since you met Jungkook, you had felt as though these boys deserved the world. Each one had their own way of viewing things and it brought a smile to your face to hear about each and everyone of their thoughts. They needed to get out of here. They have so much to give out in the world. 

Be it there’s or yours. 

“Okay.”

Series Masterlist

@h3arteyes4mingi , @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh , @rinkud, @rln-byg , @singukieee , @hoshi-is-ult-bbg , @ldysmfrst , @k-p0p-4ever , @shadowyjellyfishfest , @forestsquirrel , @juju-227592 , @alienchickenpoop , @dreamerwasfound , @afangirl91 , @psiphidragon , @puppyminnnie , @girl-nahh , @shyloh-the-cornsnake , @oemmi2005 , @ollyoxenfrees , @whynotlarene , @beeltsumu , @cryingpages , @milopenne , @girl-nahhtwo

[rewordthis]

Ok! I’m not having the means to participate in The All Ships Ship Week by @ficwip as a writer but I’m playing with the Bingo Card!

So this is the Head Canon option I’m going to fill for the TogaSaku ship! 🐢🌸

Right, so you know how Togame gives off big gramps energy, which is super funny to me because Sakura is the complete opposite, always ready to jump into a fight etc. So, one of the things I like to think Togame teaches Sakura is how to enjoy the slow life. Sitting on a bench at the park and just looking at the people passing by. Feeling the shift in the air as the seasons change… Small things like that. Just sitting makes Sakura impatient, but Togame really rubs off on him eventually and now Sakura wonders how much more is out there in our world that he hasn’t been able to notice until now… 🥺

Another hc I have of them, is how Sakura sometimes wakes up from a nightmare that his life with everyone in Furin is a lie. Togame only happens to stay over one of those nights and when Sakura wakes up, the warmth next to him startles him. Togame wakes up and when noticing Sakura’s erratic breathing, he doesn’t hold back at all so he gives him a hug that nearly crushes Sakura until he’s calmed down enough to breathe again. When Sakura explains to him what happened (he’s too honest to cover for himself!!!) Togame decides on his own to spent more time at Sakura’s place. It doesn’t really register with Sakura until he gets back one evening and while folding the laundry he finds a shirt too big to be his… (does he wear it to make sure? does he not??? 😏)

Another thing I appreciate of them, is how they both faced being alone. Sakura always had backlash for his appearance and was pushed out and Togame as he mentioned himself, just wasn’t good at being in the presence of other people— whatever that may mean. I guess… I like the idea that Togame understands how important it is to show Sakura how appreciated and loved he is because he understands how impactful it is on a personal level. 🥰

That’s it for today, folks! I seriously love them so much~

Manga readers please be kind to lil’ anime-only me! 😅 Do keep any major spoilers a secret, too~

[celinin-archive]

Exclusive, Celestino Vietti: “I want to become like Bagnaia” 

The interview to the Piemontese: “My future? On track, maybe in MotoGP, but no hurry. Valentino Rossi? He gives me the energy to win the Moto2 title” 

“Look at how young Pecco was... I also was so much younger, I remember already looking at him with the desire to be like him”. In front of the pictures of his past, Celestino Vietti Ramus finds himself in front of a photo from 2013, with Bagnaia in the san Carlo Team Italia leathers. 

Near him, two kids, one of them daydreaming of emulating the path of his fellow countryman Pecco: “I won the entrance to the paddock of the Misano GP thanks to a contest: I had to colour the livery of Pecco’s bike. My drawing was terrible...” remembers Celestino today. “I could have never known that a couple of years later I would have joined Bagnaia in the VR46 Riders Academy. He’s always been a model for me, we come from the same province, I took his same route”. 

The goal of the twenty years old, today, is completing the work: Vietti is leader of the same Moto2 that Bagnaia won in 2018, with the same Made in Tavullia team, before getting to MotoGP. The big stage, where “Celin” would be able to find himself at ease, him who finds himself comfortable in his Coassolo – holiday destination for people from Turin – like in Tavullia, away from his family that he hasn’t seen in a couple of months. “Maybe this is the longest period I’ve been away from them, but I feel good here too. Who goes away from home young adapts better to places and situations. And it has also been my choice, I’ve been chasing a dream. But home is always home, and I miss my family”. 

The World Championship makes you grow up fast, but if you add to it being away from home... “Yes, you grow up. You discover a lot of things, you have to make do: i lived the first period with enthusiasm, because everything was new. Now, when I get back from races, the first thing to do is the washing, and then getting everything in order. I’m a bit the “housewife” (laughs)”. 

Are you a tidy person? 

“No, and actually in the team me and Niccolò Antonelli compensate each other... but independence is important: you have your experiences, you learn a bit how to manage yourself, you learn how what seemed taken for granted, actually isn’t. And home is always home”. 

But now you have your own house, in Tavullia. 

“I bought a house, and I know that doing so at twenty isn’t common. I did it thinking and calculating that in the next years I will be here, I will train here. Let’s say, it’s an investment. Moving hasn’t been hard, in the end it’s been just a few meters”. 

How is your typical day? 

“The most difficult ones are those after travelling back from a race: doing the washing, grocery shopping, maybe going to the business consultant or something like that. And you also train a lot” 

Then, how FP results suggest, waking up is always a delicate moment... 

“(laughs) Let’s say that in FPs I find myself in bigger difficulties when I’m not immediately okay: I’m still ‘machine-like’, I’m working on it”. 

You’re a race animal instead. 

“Making a lot of consecutive laps helps me, because lap after lap I can shave a lot of little things working on my riding. During the race you can study your opponents better, that are maybe more explosive during FPs”. 

You started with 70 points won from the 75 available in the first three GPs, then you went down. What happened? 

“Maybe it comes from my ‘little’ explosivity. And in GPs outside of Europe, everybody goes in a bit blind sighted”. 

But emerging when everybody is in blind sighted is a sign of talent. 

“Maybe it is”. 

Did being the rider to beat condition you or is it a pure mediatic suggestion? 

“I don’t feel it a lot, even if I feel more watched and followed. The problem, for me, is dealing with difficult moments knowing I’m leading the Championship. In FPs I often told myself ‘no, I can’t be in this position’. I tend to blame myself when things don’t go well”. 

Does Valentino Rossi’s advice remain the same, “always believe in it a bit more”? 

“Yes, Vale motivates me. And above all else gives good advice. He watched me from the side track in Portimao, he asks a lot of question in general, he inquires. And then he still trains with us, and he’s always fast”. 

Did you imagine being so high up in your second year of Moto2 already? 

“No, I was picturing more difficulties. I was expecting the first podium and the first victory, yes, but not in the first attempt in Qatar” 

Who’s the first rival for the title? 

“Aron Canet, who’s my opposite: he’s super fast from the first lap of the weekend. He hasn’t won yet, but he’s good. Ogura always takes something home. And Chantra surprised me”. 

How do you win a world Championship? 

“Always getting to the finish line. Thing I didn’t do in Austin, where I also tried to manage a bit. Bad mistake”. 

How do you position yourself in from of the new duality between Enea Bastianini and Pecco Bagnaia in MotoGP? 

“it’s nice to see italians in front, in Le Mans we saw an exciting battle, unfortunately in didn’t finish under the chequered flag. I’m a bit on Bagnaia’s side, I’ll admit it” 

What does he represent for you? 

“He’s a great MotoGP rider, I saw him riding and ‘hitting like a blacksmith’ again also on the GP22, and it’s a sight for the eyes. Pecco has always been a model, he brought our territory in the bike world, he won a title, he is in MotoGP on the official Ducati. It’s impossible not to dream about following his steps” 

You had another model-rider, in your family. 

“My big brother Doriano started riding minibikes, and imagine if I, being much more vivacious than him (to not say something else), would settle for watching him. I’m happy for where he is, with Aprilia in the CIV’s superbike, even if the injury before the championship hasn’t helped him”. 

Doriano and Celestino: will you be the third generation in the family business of repairing agricultural machines or will the rider career bring you somewhere else? 

“He already works with dad: me and Doriano went to the same mechanic school in Turin. I also would like to carry on dad’s work, my uncles’, my grandpa’s. I admire Doriano because he works during the day and then he trains. It’s hard, he’s told me so, but he doesn’t want to stop. I think of him when I have some problem, maybe a lot of commitments, or I miss home, because I live a life I like, I’m lucky. And when I leave for a GP, I always do it willing, because I know that transforming a passion in your job is not for everyone”. 

So you see yourself World Champion and then in the family business? 

“That’s the plan, I’d hate to interrupt everything that my family has created”. 

How far is MotoGP? 

“It depends on how much we grow, and I don’t use the plural casually, because this is a grow path we take all together. With the Team Mooney-VR46 we win and we lose as if we were only one person. Saying all this, I wouldn’t want to make a too rushed transition, I’d like to get some satisfaction in Moto2 and to be ready for the moment of the jump”. 

Do the rumours that picture you close to the top class influence you? 

“No, I’m able to stay calm. When I hear people talking about certain possibilities, I think about it a bit, but I doesn’t interest me at races. And above all else I don’t change my way of doing things”. 

2020 was the year of passing the maturità, 2021 accompanied you to buying a house: what is the big goal of 2022? 

“Staying where I am now, until the end”. 

Like Bagnaia did, some time ago, another torinese who left home as a teenager to move to Tavullia and carch a dream. Celestino Vietti Ramus has been ready to receive that baton for almost ten years. Since than picture with his role model... 

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

birthday countdown 2024, day 2: pre-canon with uta snippet

the countdown keeps counting down, the days getting away from me… somehow, there are only two days left until my birthday! 🎉🎉 today, i have for you a bit of buggy pov on the story i’ve been calling the pre-canon uta fic:

“Buggy.  ’S this a dream?” Buggy gives him a flat look.  “You dream about me a lot?” Shanks shrugs, and nearly tips over.  “Now and then.” Sighing, Buggy hoists one of Shanks’ arms over his shoulder and starts marching them along the road back to the port.  “Sure, it’s a dream.  You fucked up, got hurt bad and can’t get back to your ship, and now you’ve gotta rely on the kindness of strangers to keep you and your kid from getting killed or, at the very least, screwed over.  Why not imagine good ol’ Uncle Buggy coming to your rescue?” Shanks snorts, leaning heavily against Buggy.  “Now I know it isn’t a dream.” “Oh?”  Buggy gives Shanks a curious glance out of the corner of his eye. Shanks stays silent for long enough that Buggy wonders if he’s passed out.   Then, quietly, he says, “In my dreams she doesn’t call you ‘Uncle Buggy.’”

(800 words below the cut)

“Hey!” the kid yells at a red-headed figure slumped against the wall of an unimportant alleyway, a hand pressed over one eye.  This must be Daddy Dearest.  “Are you sleeping?!  Look, I found a captain who said he could take us!”  She tugs at Buggy’s arm like she hasn’t seen it pop off, all but dragging him to her dad’s side.

Buggy wriggles free of the kid’s grip.  “Yeah, uh, hey kid, why don’t you scram for a minute, let me and your old man handle the topic of…” The red-head looks up, and fuck Buggy’s entire life, he’s not a red-head, he’s the red-head.

He’s Shanks.

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment, before Buggy remembers to finish his thought. “…payment.”

“Okay…”  The kid doesn’t understand the weird energy here—of course she doesn’t, why the hell would Shanks tell his kid about Buggy—but, looking for something useful to do, she grabs their supplies (Shanks’ sword, Shanks’ coin purse, and a cute little backpack no doubt full of a kid’s idea of important supplies, like toys and candy) and says, “Then I’ll just… take our stuff to your ship, Captain Buggy.”  Frowning at the stare down, she says, “He’s… he’s gonna be okay, right?”

Not looking at her, Buggy says, “Oh, he’d better be.”  She runs off.  Once she’s out of earshot, Buggy mutters, “Fuck’s sake, Shanks, what the hell happened to you?”

Shanks shrugs, feigning nonchalance.  “Oh, you know, got into a fight I wasn’t sure I could win from the start.”

Buggy tsks, peeling back the bundle of cotton Shanks has balled up over his eye.  He gives the three parallel cuts a knowing look, replaces the cotton, and strips his glove to press a bare hand to Shanks’ forehead.  “How many times did I tell you that guy was a monster?  If this isn’t infected already…”

“Not enough times, I guess,” Shanks mumbles, swaying dangerously on his feet.  “Buggy.  ’S this a dream?”

Buggy gives him a flat look.  “You dream about me a lot?”

Shanks shrugs, and nearly tips over.  “Now and then.”

Sighing, Buggy hoists one of Shanks’ arms over his shoulder and starts marching them along the road back to the port.  “Sure, it’s a dream.  You fucked up, got hurt bad and can’t get back to your ship, and now you’ve gotta rely on the kindness of strangers to keep you and your kid from getting killed or, at the very least, screwed over.  Why not imagine good ol’ Uncle Buggy coming to your rescue?”

Shanks snorts, leaning heavily against Buggy.  “Now I know it isn’t a dream.”

“Oh?”  Buggy gives Shanks a curious glance out of the corner of his eye.

Shanks stays silent for long enough that Buggy wonders if he’s passed out.   Then, quietly, he says, “In my dreams she doesn’t call you ‘Uncle Buggy.’”

Buggy stops in his tracks.  “The hell?  Why not?”  Is he not good enough to be family to Shanks’ kin?  The thought hurts unexpectedly, like a haki-infused punch after years of East Blue weaklings.

Shanks laughs and immediately winces.  “Never mind.”  He sighs, and sags against Buggy, hiding his wounded eye from passerby in a way that makes Buggy look like a sailor escorting a drunken crew mate back to their ship.  Perfect.  You’d almost think he planned it that way.

Buggy walks them up to the Big Top to see the kid arguing with Cabaji, both hands wrapped defensively around her father’s sword (which is longer than she is tall, so it’s quite a feat).

“It’s not for sale!” she insists.

“Come on, kid,” Cabaji says, leaning over her and leering.  He’s still pretty green, but he knows a good sword when he sees one.  “You’re the one who said you needed a ride, and passengers have to pay…”

“Leave it, Cabaji,” Buggy snaps.

Cabaji jumps to attention.  “Captain!  I was just—this kid—” He sees the stranger bleeding on Buggy’s shoulder and shuts up.

“This kid and I have already arranged for her and her father to travel with us,” Buggy explains, nudging the kid further up the gangplank with the side of his foot. She sidles around Cabaji, sticking her tongue out at him.  “Hey, none of that, brat!  You’re sailing with me, you respect my officers.”

She scowls, but nods, and gives Cabaji a mumbled apology.  “Sorry.  But he shouldn’t have tried to take the sword!”

Buggy rolls his eyes.  “He’s a pirate, kid, that’s exactly what he should’ve done.”

She holds onto the sword ever tighter, giving Buggy a suspicious look.

He cackles.  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna take it from you.  I know how your dad works, he’s too honor-bound to not pay me what he owes.”  Over his shoulder, he says, “Tell Mohji to find me, and then get us off this island ASAP.  The Marines haven’t spotted us yet, and with these two aboard we really don’t want them to.”  Back to the kid: “Come on, I’ll set you two up in our sick room.”

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #10

previous // next // story index

__________

Yuri

Hello again.

I’ve only got a short entry this time, but I still think it's important to record my thoughts on what's happening at the moment. This morning, Victor and I picked up his mother from the airport. She hasn’t even been with us for a full day yet, and I’m already feeling overwhelmed.

Victor is on cloud nine, and I don’t know if that’s even an adequate way to describe the joy that’s radiating from him right now. It’s like some vital piece of his life had been missing, and now that he’s finally found it, he’s whole and complete once again.

Me? Not so much.

Aside from the fact that she seems to have enough energy for three people and rivals Victor in how much she likes to talk, Dr. Nelson is a hugger. As a matter of fact, she seems to enjoy casual contact of all kinds, as often as possible. She’s constantly touching people when she's having conversations with them, patting a hand or shoulder or back. It makes me uncomfortable when she does that to me, and I know I’ll have to say something about it soon, but I have to think of the best way to do that. I’m positive that she doesn’t mean any harm, and I don’t want to offend her, but I can’t keep trying to keep myself from cringing away from her every time she touches me. It’s too exhausting.

I knew this was going to be a problem as soon as we met her at the airport. The second she spotted us in the arrivals area, she literally started running toward us. Letting her carry-on bag fall to the floor, she flung herself into Victor’s waiting arms, and the two of them hugged and cried like they were in a scene from a movie. They take real-life drama to a whole new level.

After Dr. Nelson finished kissing Victor all over his beaming, tear-streaked face, she turned her attention to me, and I instantly started to feel anxious.

I’ll give Victor full credit. It was obvious what she was about to do, and he attempted to tell her not to hug me.

“Mom, Yuri doesn’t like—“

But halfway through that sentence, it was already too late. Grace Nelson was crushing me in an embrace that I’m sure most people would’ve found warm and loving, if a bit too enthusiastic. Personally, I was panicky. I wanted to break free and run.

Fortunately, she must’ve noticed how tense and stiff I was, because she let go reasonably quickly. When she stepped back from me, her face displayed confusion. She glanced from me to Victor, asking a question without verbalizing it.

“Uh… he doesn’t like to be touched,” Victor said lamely.

Dr. Nelson shifted her gaze from him back to me. “Oh.”

“I tried to say something,” Victor mumbled.

I held my breath, half expecting her to ask for an explanation. If I don’t like to be touched, why did I let Victor touch me? Victor and I had been holding hands when Dr. Nelson came through the arrival gate, and I’m sure she must’ve seen us.

Thankfully, the moment passed. She picked up her small carry-on bag in one hand, and looped her free arm around one of Victor’s arms. “Come along, my sweet boys. Let’s go get my bags,” she said. “And my snowboard.”

Her snowboard. Why am I not surprised? I didn’t know whether to laugh or facepalm. All I could say was that I was grateful both her hands were now occupied for a few minutes.

I guess I should explain this a bit, shouldn’t I?

I’m sure most people don’t even think about it when another person casually brushes a hand over their arm or something, and I imagine the majority of people actually like affectionate gestures such as hugs. I'm not one of those people. I'm very touch-averse and have been since I was a young child.

Now, I know you’re all wondering how I can say that when you see how often and how intimately I let Victor touch me, how much I want him to touch me, but I can tell you it took a long time for me to reach that point with him. When he first moved in with me, it was all I could do to tolerate a quick hug or a squeeze of my hand. I wanted to let him hug and cuddle me, but some part of my brain refused to accept that it was okay.

Naturally, Victor was confused and hurt by that at first because he's an affectionate person who thrives on contact with those he loves. Neither one of us doubted our love for each other, but it was extremely difficult for me to explain to him how physical contact made me feel.

The more time we spent together, however, the easier it was for me to accept physical affection from him. Even though I’m sure he didn’t fully understand what was holding me back, he was patient and gentle with me and always asked permission before he touched me. He still asks sometimes, but now we know each other well enough that we've found ways to communicate consent other than with words.

One day, I realized I didn’t just allow Victor to touch me any more, but that I actually craved it. A barrier between us had been broken, and our relationship grew that day.

The first night I shared his bed was a revelation to me because that was the first time since early childhood that I’d willingly sought any kind of physical contact from anyone. Feverish and unable to sleep, I’d crawled into his bed, wishing for nothing more than a cool hand on my forehead and a sheltering embrace.

In the past, I’d sometimes been able to push my anxiety and repulsion down enough to let certain people get close to me, but with Victor, there’s no anxiety at all any more, no fear or revulsion or discomfort to suppress. That first time I curled up next to him in his bed and let him soothe me was the moment I understood how deeply I’d come to trust him. With that trust came the ability to make an exception for him that I’ve never been able to make for anyone except my mother.

As much as I love and respect Dr. Nelson, I’m not anywhere near that point with her. So, you see my dilemma.

Along with that, there’s the very real fact that I don’t think I have the stamina to keep up with Victor and his mother together. They seem to feed off each other’s energy. It’s tiring just to watch.

Dr. Nelson has decided that we need to start packing straight away, regardless that we haven’t even found a new place to live. Between now and our eventual moving day, we might need to use some of the items she wants to pack, but apparently any appeal to logic and common sense isn't going to slow her down.

With Victor’s help — because the only Japanese word she knows is konnichiwa — she’s already started looking for moving and storage companies that we could rent moving boxes and a truck from. I said we should just hire a company that’ll do all of the packing and moving for us, but she and Victor both said that’d be way too expensive. They want to get something called a U-Haul, which I think is a moving truck that the customer has to drive themselves. I’ve never heard of such a thing, and I’m certain we don’t have it in Japan.

Dr. Nelson seems genuinely confused by the lack of things she’s used to and the unfamiliarity of my country in general.

Oh, and that reminds me of another thing. If Dr. Nelson goes anywhere in town, one of us will always have to be with her to translate. I think she was under the impression that there’d be a lot more people here who can speak English, and maybe that’s my fault a little bit. I may have accidentally created a false expectation for her because I speak English fluently, and I’m probably the only Japanese person she’s had prolonged communication with.

Victor and I speak a combination of both languages at home. I already knew English well when we met, as as I’d started learning it at a very early age from my live-in tutor Jack, who was from the UK. My father says English is the most important language to know, second only to our own. He and Mama are both fluent too, so of course he expected me and my sisters to be as well.

As for Victor, he didn’t know any Japanese at all when we met, but not long after, he threw himself into the study of my first language with as much enthusiasm as he does anything else that’s important to him. Once he was confident enough, he wanted me to practice with him for a few minutes every time we talked on the phone or video chatted. After a while, we were having entire conversations mostly in my language, and by the time he moved here, he was fluent enough in Japanese to get along without needing me to interpret for him. He’s improved exponentially in the past year and a half just from talking to everyone he meets on the mountain or in town.

I’m still touched every time I think about him learning a language for me. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.

Dr. Nelson, on the other hand, can’t quite seem to wrap her head around the idea that English isn’t spoken everywhere. In fact, there’s a lot about my country that’s baffling to her. I can’t even begin to describe her reaction to the absence of forks at lunch today. And she can’t seem to get over how everyone stays silent on public transportation, or how we bow to each other in greeting gratitude, contrition or respect. l feel as if we’re going to be educating her constantly the entire time she’s with us.

I’m grateful for the few hours of peace I’m enjoying right now. It’s nice to be by myself for a bit, with quiet time to read and play my violin. I actually like a little solitude when I know I’m not really alone. Victor’s not home, but he’s not far away and he’ll be back when he gets hungry.

Victor took his mother up the mountain this afternoon so she could check out the trails. According to Victor, his mom can shred, which is high praise coming from him. In case you don’t know, that means she’s amazing at snowboarding.

I would’ve liked to go too since I was feeling better today, but I’m not sure I would’ve enjoyed it as much as I typically do. I declined, telling Victor I was tired. It wasn’t exactly true, but at least it was credible. He looked disappointed, but then his mother mentioned something about freeriding, and I think he got distracted from whatever concerns he might’ve had for me.

I’m hoping they’ll spend time on the mountain often, if only for me to get a break from their constant motion and find some time to rest. I don’t know how long Dr. Nelson is planning to stay with us but I get the sense that it’s not going to be a short visit, and I also anticipate that no matter how long it turns out to be, it’s going to feel a lot longer to me than it really is.

Please wish me luck. Strength and patience too. I think I’m going to need them.

[wereoz]

rewatching s1&2 and seeing the spencelle interactions has made me believe new things about their relationship. bear in mind i think a lot of things surrounding romance are very ambiguous so it’s hard to define the stages in a relationship but i think it mostly goes like this:

i think while neither had any strong feelings before ‘derailed’, all their interactions built the foundation and there was chemistry, like elle trying to get everyone to not talk about reid failing his firearms qualification and them hanging out in garcia’s office that ep.

then in ‘derailed’, while the stakes are high, their feelings come to the surface and are tested: so while reid hasn’t initiated much with elle, he says ‘it’s alright, elle’ in a tone i can’t really describe - tender? reassuring? and after, he’s the one sitting close to her, joking with her, rubbing her knee (such a cute interaction).

elle during this ep is the same, she has already shown interest (in my opinion) but it increases to me as she’s quite timid saying he saved her life, and is concerned for him, trying to ask about him saying he ‘knows what it’s like’ being delusional.

so: feelings have developed on both sides.

however, i think afterwards the course of those feelings is different for elle and reid. i noticed that elle, in the next ep, gives reid a look that is very affectionate (and very gif-ed on tumblr), and she is the one who was quite jealous while reid was with lilah for that ep, which makes me believe that elle had become aware of her feelings, and they were closer to her because of that. of course, her job is very important to her so she can’t date a coworker -remember the fraternisation rules?- and i feel like her being older means she can control and hide her feelings better than when reid realises

wheras reid is continuing on as normal, even …. well not ‘pursuing’ lilah he was the one being pursued 😭 but? open to it? so i think that being so young, a character who finds accessing his emotions to be difficult, and having become self sufficient at a young age, his feelings aren’t intruding and he can continue on without thinking he likes elle romantically. just to say: i don’t think this means he doesn’t care about elle, i just think he’s a 24 year old who needs… room? he’s barely had any romantic experience yet, and he’s been isolated from his peers which makes social connections difficult; he needed time anyway.

(also: reid -similarly to elle- needs this job, i feel like dating a coworker feels veeeery off limits for him)

then the fisher king……. dear god…..

HOWEVER post fisher king, in s2 the theme is ‘develop spencelle right before they breakdown so it hurts more’: upon reid and elle interacting for the first time in 4 months, they seem utterly besotted. they say ‘if it isn’t dr reid’ and ‘wow… elle’ so nervously, followed up by them awkwardly and sincerely complimenting each other’s hair, while reid is nervous elle doesn’t like it….. wow.

i take reid’s behaviour as: during those 4 months without elle, it set in how much danger elle was really in, and that he almost lost her, which he didn’t have energy to confront after being more concerned about his mother in the fisher king eps (understandable). and, similarly to how ‘derailed’ shifted his feelings, he changes again to more concerned about elle, and conscious of her.

reid and elle are forced to be in proximity as he has been assigned to watch over her……. i love this for many reasons because reid has no control over her at all so she’s really taking him for a ride, they have really cute interactions (‘no i didn’t!’ ‘yes you did!’) and i think it was a great way to develop them by giving an obvious reason for spending more time together. (also they just look so cute together…..<33)

AND NOW for a moment that brings me great fucking emotion (it’s sweet & romantic but heartbreaking :(( <//3) the hotel scene!!

what stands out to me first is the few seconds before the hotel scene, when reid is alone in his room and fidgeting nervously. it was shown after everyone else working on the case, so the implication is that was what worried him until he dashes out of the room to see elle - he was so worried about her!!! he was also one of the only ones and the first one who went to her about her being attacked, so once again: he’s really changed the dynamic, and he’s very involved here.

so heartbreaking that what made him realise he likes elle is the reason they couldn’t be together…. <///3

[cosmiccrushes]

Not Part Of The Crew

Law x OC || 3.2k ch || 36.3k total

read it all on ao3

notes: i swear i was on such a good posting schedule and then BAM sickness hits. took me out this cold and flu season. i hope everyone's taking care of themselves and each other. it has been a year. and i really hope this chapter was worth the wait :)

CH 15: Law

Law’s hand splays between Rue’s shoulder blades, pressing gently so she’ll straighten her posture. She hums with aggravation and Law feels the vibrations through his hand. His mind flashes to the way she’d hummed into his ear– not in annoyance then, but with a devilishly haunting melody. He lifts his hand, circling back in front of her. 

“You need to pay more attention to your posture. It will make all the difference between holding a solid guard or taking a fist to the face.” 

Rue drops her hands, glowering at him. “If you say the word ‘posture’ or ‘form’ one more time, I’m going to scream.”  

Law smirks. “Then don’t give me a reason to say it.” 

Her hands go to her hips. “When do we get to spar for real anyway?”

He considers. His medical care and devil fruit abilities have greatly sped up the healing of her injuries over these many weeks together. By all accounts, as her doctor, he can clear her for sparring. Still he hesitates. The thought of fighting her churning up some unnameable emotion in his stomach. She’s staring expectantly at him though. “We can start in a few days. It is important to give you a chance to apply these skills.” He feels like he’s convincing himself of this, perturbed by his own avoidance. 

“Excellent!” Rue claps her hands, rubbing them together in a sinister fashion. 

“You’re quite excited about this.” 

“Well you did promise me I’d get a chance to kick your ass.” 

“I don’t remember phrasing it that way. And want makes you think I won’t kick your ass.” 

Rue shrugs. “Oh, I’m sure you will, but I’m not worried about that.”   

Law tilts his head. That is a significant change from the woman who was plotting her murder at his hands with her every breath. “Why not?” 

Rue is distracted, practicing the movements he’s been teaching her. “You’re not going to actually hurt me.”

She says it so offhandedly– as if it’s inconsequential. But it snuffs the breath out of Law. She shakes out her hand before curling it back into a raised fist, paying him no mind. It’s as if she sunk that raised fist right into his stomach. Maybe she doesn’t mean it the way Law wants. But what else could it mean, other than she trusted him? Perhaps not holistically, but at the very least with her immediate safety. Trafalgar Law would not take that lightly. 

***

Several days later, Rue bounces into his office, unceremoniously. Since that day she’d startled him from sleep, she’s come and gone at her own whim. It doesn’t bother Law. In fact, he finds it amusing, the way she seems to test limits with him. It’s also reassuring. This was a clear way Law could earn trust with her. He’d give her whatever power he could in this situation that she hadn’t asked to be in– that he sometimes felt a twinge of guilt for having brought her back into, after she’d made the choice to leave this ship.

Rue stops in front of his desk. “Are you ready? Let’s go.” There’s a frenetic energy about her. Her curls are piled atop her head and bound in a way Law hasn’t seen her wear them before. He forces down a smile. 

“You’re eager.” He makes a show of slowly closing his medical text and walking over to a bookshelf to put it away.

“Law!”

“Yes?” He asks innocently. 

She points at him. “You’re doing this on purpose!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns back to the shelf, under the pretense of looking for the book’s place amongst the others. 

Rue stalks towards him. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, curious as to what she plans to do. He finds himself like that a lot these days– curiously waiting to see what Rue would do next.

She snatches the book out of his hands and jams it into an empty slot. “There. Can we go now?” 

She’s in his space and the faintest waft of citrus settles over him, probably from her breakfast this morning. His eyes flick down to her lips. “All right. Let’s go.” 

He leads them to the space dedicated to the Heart Pirates training. He instructed the crew not to disturb them during their practice sessions. 

“Okay, so what do I do?” Rue bounces on the balls of her feet. 

Law tosses his hat onto a low bench against the wall before turning to face her in the center of the room. “Attack me.” 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he confirms. 

“Fine.” She snaps before charging him. 

Law easily steps aside, lightly grabbing her wrist to use her own momentum against her and send her sprawling to the floor. 

She lands hard, looking up at him with animosity. “Ow.” 

“Remember your lessons. You need to use your opponent’s body weight against them, not the other way around.” He smirks. 

Rue rolls her eyes at him, then rolls back to her feet. “Again.” Determination flares in her eyes, sending sparks through Law.

They continue like this. With satisfaction, Law sees Rue’s skills steadily improve with each passing day. At times, Rue seems to see it too. At others, she is overcome with frustration. Today, it is the latter.

Rue ducks under an elbow he throws but her balance is off, slowing her. She attempts to land a hit on his ribs, but, because she’s off kilter, Law easily wraps a hand around her forearm. He spins her until her back is pressed against his front. His arm, an iron bar across her. She releases an irate, garbled exclamation at having been trapped.

“Don’t panic. Think.” Law says against her temple. “What would you do to get free?” 

“What I would like to do is bite you.” She cranes her neck to look back at him, teeth bared in a threatening grin. “Shall I?” 

Law doesn’t react. She’s so close, her warmth seeps into his chest. He thinks he should probably let her go, but that isn’t what a real combatant would do. So he issues a challenge of his own. “If that’s what it will take.” 

Rue glares at him. “I am not going to bite you.” 

Law leans the slightest bit towards her. “Then I guess we’re going to be here for a while.” 

“Trafalgar Law! You are being ridiculous.” 

Law just shrugs and holds up his other hand. “I’m not even using both hands.” He knows he’s pushing her buttons. “Can you really not escape?”

She practically snarls at him. “Okay, then. You’re the doctor. So you’ll know what to do when I draw blood.”

And then she well and truly bites him. Not as hard as she actually could, but the shock of it has him loosening his hold. Rue immediately seizes on her advantage. She grips his arm, and shifts her hips– just like he’d taught her– to throw him over her shoulder. She follows him to the ground, pressing her weight into him. Her arm shoves against his throat and her smile is wicked. 

“Satisfied?”

Law’s heart is racing. He can’t string together a coherent thought. Her legs bracket his stomach– maybe that’s why he feels he can’t draw a full breath, while her own skates over his skin, her lips inches away from his. “Good work,” Law finally manages to choke out. 

The malice drops away from Rue and she beams. “Thanks!” She shoves against his chest to rise to her feet. She holds out her hand to help him up and he takes it. 

Law shakes his head as Rue resumes a fighting stance. “That’s enough for today.” 

“What? Scared I’ll win again?” 

Law sighs. “You are determined to be antagonistic.” 

Rue seems to take this as a complement. “The day I am anything less towards you will be a cold day in hell.” She wears her signature venomous smile, but her tone is far more teasing than the vitriol it had dripped with when they first met. 

Law smiles. “Then I will hold out for a winter’s day.” 

Rue laughs, like icicles tinkling against each other. 

***

A shadow falls over Law’s desk. He looks up to find Rue trying to read the text in front of him upside down.

“What is this?” Her nose scrunches like she’s already decided it’s distasteful to her. 

“It’s a book on cardiology.” 

She taps her lip. “That’s heart stuff, right? Wait-” She points to the tattoos peeking from under his shirtsleeves. “Is that why you have those? They’re hearts right? Is it because the heart is, like, your speciality or something?”

Law freezes. Corazon’s name lodged in his throat, his blood splashed across his vision. Rue is waiting for an answer and Law agreed to answer her questions honestly. But this… he didn’t know if he could share this. 

The silence stretches on long enough to be uncomfortable, and Rue breaks it. “Law,” she says slowly. “You don’t have to tell me about your tattoos.” 

There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t tell if it’s filled with grief or gratitude. “It’s not that I don’t want you to know… exactly.” He swallows. “It’s… not something I talk about.” 

Rue casts her eyes towards his closed bedroom door. “It’s about the books.” She proves to be as perceptive as always. “I understand that to speak some things…” A slow shake of her head. “...hurts.” Rue says nothing else. She doesn’t push or prod and it makes Law want to tell her more. 

He rubs a hand against the ink on his shoulder. “They’re a… symbol, for the person who gave me those books.” It feels strange, admitting this. Though not unpleasant. “He was murdered.” Law decides he will explain no more than this. This is as much as he can give her. 

“I’m sorry, Law.” 

The ocean tides in her eyes reveal just how deeply she means this. “Thank you, Rue.” 

***

“No!” Rue exclaims, startling Law. She sits up straight on the couch, brandishing the book she’s reading at him. “How is Margaret the killer!? This is an outrage!” 

“I told you that one would make you mad.” He feels satisfied with himself for his accurate assessment of Rue’s reaction to the plot twist. 

She slams the book on the coffee table. “I don’t even want to finish it now.” 

“There are only two chapters left,” he tells her. She crosses her arms, eyeing the book and Law suspects her threat is largely empty. 

Sure enough she picks the book back up and continues reading. She snaps it angrily shut a while later and begins pacing back and forth. “Terrible book,” she grumbles under her breath and Law stifles a laugh. 

Law heads to a shelf and pulls out another book. “Here. This one will be good to help you recover.” 

She sighs, trading him volumes. “Well, if the doctor prescribes it.” 

He sneaks glances at her as she settles back in to read, watching as her features soften and the distress drains away. Pleased to have been right again, he returns to his medical text. He’s deep into his studying when soft notes break his concentration. His blood burns lava hot, then solidifies to stone as he holds himself rigorously still. For Cerulean Blake is humming a quiet melody.

Law has thought incessantly about hearing her sing, ever since she’d leveraged it against him in that exhilarating moment of combat. He’d said that move wouldn’t work on every opponent but as her voice had rebounded in his head for days after, he wasn’t so sure. Irritation simmered through him that he had such a burning curiosity he could not douse. Would not douse. Maddening that those damn Fang Pirates got the unearned privilege of hearing her sing. But this was precisely why he would not ask it of her. He wasn’t entitled to her voice. It made him furious that Malax Fangle had heard her and forced her into his servitude. He thought of the man he hunted and the strings he pulled against others. Law would never be like that. If that meant he never got to hear Rue sing, he’d live with it. 

He was certain Rue would claim she wasn’t singing now. That humming under her breath didn’t count. It certainly counts as something to Trafalgar Law. The song scorches over him as it flows from her lips. He carefully raises his head to look at her. She sits with her back against the couch’s armrest, facing towards him. Her head is bowed over her book, curls falling forward. Her lips, curved with a subtle bliss, an internal world he’s not privy to. 

As if she senses him watching her, the tune cuts off and her head shoots up. She locks eyes with him, looking horrified. Law can feel his own ears redden with embarrassment at being caught staring. Neither of them say anything for a moment. Then, Rue speaks a question that’s like a volcano erupting inside of him. 

“Would you like to hear a song?” 

Law answers calmly and steadily. “If you are offering, I would be honored.” 

She takes a deep breath, “Okay.” She stands up, moving to the center of the room. A quick, nervous glance up at him before her eyes rove to the middle distance. And then she opens her mouth and she sings. And it doesn’t just count, it conquers.  

The most sinfully seductive voice fills his office. Darkly, Trafalgar Law understands exactly what could drive a man to obsession. He hates himself for having the thought. He hates Malax Fangle more for acting on it. 

She’s ethereal as her sultry voice weaves a tale of a widow whose lover was lost at sea. Mesmerizing as her hips sway to the rhythm she sets. No wonder she didn’t carry an instrument to use like some bards, she hardly needed any. Her vocals alone were the only music required. 

Her voice casts a spell over him and Law’s mind wanders to what it might sound like singing his name, the syllables vibrating against his neck…humming through his chest. He breaks off the thought abruptly. What is he thinking? Why had he thought that? His mind reels as he scrabbles to find a foothold in the barrage of emotions burning through him. But her song envelopes him and he can’t escape what he's feeling when he’s cocooned like this. 

He’d never expect her to sing for him again. He’d promised her no ulterior motives for his help. So what if he’d been attracted to her from the moment he set eyes on her? Drawn towards her the second she opened her mouth to hurl insults at him? That is not why he’d offered to help. True, that he’d felt an immediate kinship with her. He’d been honest enough that this is why he’d sought to provide her aid. That’s all there is, nothing more. Right? 

She’s standing in front of him and there is no denying that she is gorgeous. Her sharp wit, her snappy humor, her resiliency, her passion– present when she fought with him, when she read, when she spoke of being a bard. All of it culminating in a crescendo that crests over him in a catastrophic realization. 

Oh gods, Law thinks, as her voice blankets him. He has feelings for her. How had he missed that? Why had he ignored this growing care for her and what it meant? What has he done? 

She finishes her song and looks at him expectantly, almost shyly. Law swims up through the crushing weight of this new awareness, drowns in her big, blue eyes. And tells her the only thing he can- the truth.

“Beautiful.”  

*** 

Trafalgar Law is selfish. He’s always known this. He has only one goal with his life and he did not expect to require any beyond that. Selfishly, he did not share this with his crew. Selfishly, he’d let himself be drawn in by the mystery of Cerulean Blake. Selfishly, he’d entertained his dark desire to orbit within her sphere of rage– to assist her with a revenge that almost felt like a prelude to getting his own. And then, most selfishly of all, he’d ignored when he’d started to care. Ignored when his curiosity was no longer about solving a puzzle, he just wanted to know her. Ignored that when he agreed to teach her to fight it was because he hated the thought of her being hurt. 

Rue has no idea that hearing her sing has unlocked this revelation inside of him. Or maybe she does and it just doesn’t matter. She continues as usual, but with a noticeable lightness about her. And she sings. All the time now. Soft melodies under her breath. His office becomes a tavern stage and he is the lone patron. Law doesn’t want her to stop but he also feels like he will descend into madness at this rate.

Which is why, one day, he asks her, “Would you like to have lunch in the galley?” 

She cuts off mid-note, alarmed eyes snapping to his. “With the rest of the crew?”

Law nods. “They’ll probably be there still, yes. Is that a problem?” 

Rue bites her lip, but shakes her head. “No… I guess not.” 

“It’s fine if you don’t want to.” 

She ducks her head. “It’s just that… I’m- I’m nervous.” She smiles sheepishly. “I don’t do a lot of socializing.”

“There’s no pressure, if you don’t want to.” Maybe Law could find some bits of cotton from the medical bay to plug his ears with so her voice wouldn’t cost him his sanity. 

Rue seems to think hard. Law can practically see some unknown-to-him calculation running through her head. At last she says, “Okay, let’s go.” 

The sounds of clanking silverware and merry voices cut off at the sight of Law and Rue in the doorway. Law wills his crew to be normal about this. 

Penguin breaks the silence. “Well, well, our little stowaway has come out of hiding!” A massive grin is plastered on his face and his tone is playful. “Come on in!” He waves a hand at the empty seat next to him. 

This sets Bepo in motion. “Oh my, you must be hungry.” He springs to his feet and hurriedly prepares a plate for Rue. Bepo deposits the food at the empty seat. 

Rue glances up at Law and he offers her a reassuring nod. She straightens her shoulders, then makes her way to the table, dropping into the empty seat. Tension eases out of Law as conversation resumes. He prepares his own plate before taking the seat next to Rue. 

He watches her out of the corner of his eye. She takes slow, cautious bites, keeping her head down. He breathes a sigh of relief when his crew doesn’t bombard her with questions- or accusations, for that matter. As the meal continues and threats do not come, he can see her relax as well. Bepo, sitting across from her, makes polite conversation. How do you like the meal, does your room need anything? Rue’s answers are short, but courteous.  

Maybe this was a bad idea, Law thinks as images flash through his mind of Rue taking all of her meals with the crew, joining in their cheerful banter. Not for the first time, but with a distinct drum of displeasure, Trafalgar Law must remind himself that Cerulean Blake is not part of his crew. 

[freakshowtwopointoh]

All Falls Down - Cross the Line Part 13

But I'm a voice among the crowd, that's questioning your cause

And now I'll spread my doubt among the rest

< prev | next >

Jordan felt itchy all the time now - an anxious energy permeating everything they did. It wasn’t just their dance anymore. They were drifting off in class, forgetting important meetings, and they even accidentally shifted in public. It was only for a second - just a glitch - but that hasn’t happened since they bombed that presentation in the 8th grade.They couldn’t shake the feeling that they were at the mercy of that fucking freshman. She knows their secrets, she’s their partner in this year’s recital... and she makes them feel things they thought were impossible. And they hated it. They needed to do something - anything - to gain control again. Which is how they ended up trailing after Lynne again, like a repeat of the beginning of the semester. 

“I know you know what you’re doing, but Jackson and I are having a lot of issues and I really just want a more experienced partner. You know the kinds of recruiters that are going to be at these recitals.” Even they could hear the desperation in their own voice, the need to have everything under their control. 

“Nothing you say will change my mind, Mx. Li. Like I said before your callback, I paired you together for a reason. Don’t doubt my judgement. Miss Jackson is experienced, and it’s clear to me that both of you have improved since you started working together.” Somehow, even though she was barely looking away from her clipboard, it was obvious she was dismissing them. They nodded stiffly before storming off to their dressing room, forcing themself not to slam the cheap wooden door shut.

Improved? They know they have not been improving, not at all, and there’s no way she doesn’t know that. Ella’s improved because she was raw when she arrived. Ready to be molded into a prima donna. They have been faltering, slipping, and they know it’s because of her. But they’ve been sidelined, again, because this pretty blonde girl is taking their advice, and stealing their spotlight. They can’t help but think of when they were a freshman and cordial with the fucking Golden Boy of Godolkin, Luke, naively giving him pointers that would be his ticket to success. Exhale as you turn. Lean into the music. Relax. And then they had to watch when he soared through the ranks, getting lead after lead, while they were forced to second place. Forced to watch from the sidelines as their chance to shine is taken from them. Why does this always happen to them? Why can’t they keep their fucking mouth shut? 

It was this stream of angry, spiraling thoughts that took them all the way to their apartment, followed them to the gym, to the library, and back home again. It wasn’t until they were laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, where they let the other questions bubble to the surface. The questions they were too afraid to try to answer.

What would happen if they kept dancing together? 

What were they so afraid of?

What could they become if they let go?

Ella’s POV

She never tried to spy on Jordan - they occupied enough of her thoughts as is, she didn’t need to stalk them. But it felt like some fucked up version of fate that she would be running late on the one day that she would be forced to over hear Jordan and Lynne talking. 

“... Jackson and I are having a lot of issues... a more experienced partner.... The kinds of recruiters .... at these recitals...” It felt like her heart stopped as she ducked back into a dressing room, a pressure on her chest that made it hard to breathe. She could still hear Lynne’s response, driving the dagger deeper into her heart.

“... Like I said before, I paired you together for a reason. Don’t doubt my judgement.”

Before. They had tried to get rid of her once before already, and now they were trying again. And she had thought that there was something more there. The last few times they danced together, there was a fire that seemed to catch both of them, lighting up their souls in a way she had never experienced before. She thought Jordan felt it too. She thought she had seen it in their eyes, a deeper passion that was usually cloaked by their bravado. But apparently, they are a far better actor than she’d realized. How naive and cliche could she be, falling for the mysterious leather clad baddie who’s dancing opposite her in the big recital?

“Um, excuse me?” A smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. Cate. A blonde girl who always wore gloves, she had this presence about her that always set Ella’s teeth on edge. They’d never spoken more than a few words to each other - she was surprised the older girl even knew her name.

“Sorry, Cate, I- Sorry. I’m on my way.” She mumbled, turning to leave before she was a full half hour late to work.

“Wait.” Her gloved hand snagged Ella’s arm tightly. “Did you hear Jordan and Lynne?” There was something else in her voice, something bordering on sinister that was lost on Ella as she tilted her head, taking in Cate’s impassive expression.

“Um, yeah, but it’s not -” She wasn’t sure why she was defending Jordan, why she was trying to rationalize their behavior. Maybe it was just to appease the part of her that still hoped that she had been right about Jordan.

“It was a dick move. The first lead they’ve gotten in years, and this is how they repay you?” Cate's voice was matter-of-fact, even.

“That’s a bit -” The younger girl's voice was considerably weaker at this point - she’d been thinking the same thing, hadn’t she? She’d tried to ignore that angry voice, tried to stay positive. But she had the thought.

“Don’t. This is what they’re like, ok? I wanted to warn you before callbacks but I didn’t want you to think I was sabotaging you. But now...” Now that you won the part was the unspoken end to her sentence. Now that we aren’t directly competing. “Just watch your back, Ella. Jordan’s got claws.” She said softly, squeezing her arm before leaving Ella alone in the dressing room, more confused than ever.

< prev | next >

[cripplepunkbarbarian]

Forgot to give my CloHo class guesses so here I go!

Going into it I will say it is genuinely pretty hard to pin these down. It’s a steampunk season so everyone’s decked out in gears which is giving artificer and is packing at least one gun which is obviously giving gunslinger fighter lmao.

Anyways. Here we go!

Marya: Rogue. Her character has a lot of fun dangly bits and accessories which made me think maybe Artificer. But as stated above every character is a little bit giving artificer on account of the setting. So the MOST important bit I clocked was the little potential thieves tools on her belt. Could definitely still be artificers tools but I’m leaning more towards them being lil lock picks… We have seen Emily as a rogue on an IH season before. However. It was a relatively quick class change for that specific character which TOTALLY made sense for her overall arc so I would 100% get it if she wanted to take a second try with a different pc lol.

Olethra: Sorcerer? Honestly maybe a controversial pick. Her design is kind of simplistic, not at all in a bad way, so all we really have to go off of is the whip. I doubt that’s her primary means of fighting. And honestly? As someone with a Clockwork Soul Sorcerer PC. They have major steampunk energy I think Ally could nail. Have they already played a Sorcerer? Yes. Would I be one million percent on board with them doing it again? Also yes. Allys never played anything other than a full or half caster on an IH season and I’m not at all against it. Find what you love and do it <3

Maxwell: Monk? He is not depicted with any weaponry in his official character art but his physical prowess is acknowledged verbally in the trailer. Him being one of two characters without a visible weapon is what’s making me lean monk. Murph tends to stick with partial caster even when going melee on 5e (switching to arcane trickster for Riz and being eldritch knight for Theo) so it’d be fun to see him return to the good ole days of full melee which we could argue was last seen with Bary but if not (since it was a different system), hasn’t been seen in an IH season since freshman year Riz.

Daisuke: Fighter or Rogue. Honestly I think if Marya is in fact a Rogue he’s pretty much guaranteed gunslinger fighter. Again almost all of these characters have a gun so a lot of them are giving me gunslinger vibes. However! Daisuke has TWO guns. So he’s the most gunslinger of all lmao. We have also already seen Zac as a rogue (Pib) as well as a rogue-equivalent (Skip) in IH seasons so that could arguably be another point leaning towards fighter over rogue. Zac likes his melee classes and I respect it.

Vanellope: Artificer. For the last time. Yes. Like ALL of these characters are radiating artificer aesthetic because they’re all steampunk aesthetic. But I think, like Daisuke, she simply has the MOST artificer aesthetics. On account of the sick steampunk prosthetic. Also whatever it is on that necklace could be a spell focus? Otherwise for visible weaponry all we’ve really got is the gun. I think even in the old picture of the younger crew she gives the most second/third in command vibes being between the grandparents which in my mind is another tick on the box of ‘the MOST artificer’. Siobhan does tend to lean full or half caster class during IH seasons, in fact I think she’s actually done all of them EXCEPT cleric, artificer, and paladin. We have one whole IH season artificer (Gorgug) and one whole IH season artificer-equivalent (Gunnie) so it’d be nice to see her take a crack at it alongside checking off one of the last of the half caster classes in general lol.

Montgomery: Wizard or Druid! Official character art depicts him with a book and vials holstered as well as a book in hand which is what’s making me think Wizard. The animal patch on the coat, horn necklace, and flora beneath his feet is what’s making me think Druid. We haven’t seen Lou play either class in an IH season yet! We have, however, seen him play a WIS caster (Kingston) and two CHA casters (Fabian, Pinnochio) so I think it’d be nice to see him check off the box for INT caster since the closest he’s gotten was Gunnie. Which, as mentioned before, different system. However, if the class guesses above are all correct somehow, having a Druid certainly wouldn’t hurt the part comp since I’m guessing they don’t have a cleric and iirc druids get like. Way more options for healing than Wizards lol.

[noa-de-cajou]

CW for mention of war crimes and fantasy fascism

I don't wanna be here. It hasn’t even started yet and I already want out. Unfortunately, I’d rather be in this small room that reeks of sweat than at home. It may stink but it also smells like fresh paint. They must have rebuilt the place recently.

I’m still not comfortable. Looks like I'm one of the youngest here, too. This place is filled with people chatting. I don’t want to join them, so I stay in my corner. I want the damn instructors to stop being late so I can just get this over with.

“You're new here, aren’t you?”

Ugh. I thought people would get the message if I just gave them my worst glare, but apparently the old naelikorn man sitting next to me didn’t. Of course it’s always the men.

“Yeah. I mean, I have nothing better to do.”

He smiles. Just gives him more wrinkles. Waste of muscles too.

“Nothing better to do than fight? That sounds quite sad, miss.”

“Mind your damn business,” I bite back.

I’m tired of being polite. If I'm gonna spend the two hours here, I'd rather spend them alone. At least he doesn’t open his mouth again.

“Hello there, everybody!”

I extend my neck a little, to see a dwarven woman energetically strut to a stepstool in the center of the room. Her black hair and beard are both carefully braided, and her grey eyes glint as they oversee the crowd in front of her. A tall, lean elf follows her, pointy ears poking through his dreadlocks, a placid look on his scarred face. Both are wearing sweatpants and tank tops showing off their muscles. Both ripped in different ways. I pinch mechanically the soft skin on my bony forearm.

“Well well, would you look at that, looks like we’re getting some success! I recognize some people from last week’s class..”

Her eyes fall upon me. She smiles wider. I want to disappear into myself.

“And some new friends joined us too! Amazing. Welcome to your first self-defense class.”

Yeah. Right. Hopefully it'll be the last. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Anghao and his insistance. At least it means he’s gonna be off my case for as long as I'm here.

“I’m Chaldéné Faceran, and this is my husband Haldir. We’ll be your instructors for today, and hopefully the following weeks.”

… Husband? A dwarf married to an elf? Can’t say I saw that one before, but well. It’s whatever, I guess.

“Okay ! Now I'd like everybody on the floor mats, please. If your shoes are too dirty, please take them off.”

I take off mine but keep my socks on. Try to pull them as high as I can.

“New friends, please try to pair up with someone that's already been to one of those classes! Raise your hand if that’s the case, so the newbies can find you!”

Well isn’t that just great. I go towards the closest girl with her hand raised, a human with short hair. She smiles politely.

“Hi there, I’m Liz. And you are…?”

“Nobody important,” I reply dryly. “Let’s just get on with it.”

She looks a little thrown off guard, shifts awkwardly.

“Uh… Okay.”

What? I’m here to get some hits in, not to make friends. Pretty sure she's the kind of chick who would have called me names in middle school. They all pretend to be nice at first.

Chaldéné claps her hands once everyone is paired up. Her energy is ticking me off. What even is there to be so cheerful about.

“Alright. Let’s start with some basics and warmups. Newbies, let's say someone grabbed you by the arm to drag you somewhere you don't wanna be dragged.”

As if on cue, everyone in the room grabs their partner’s wrist. Liz does the same to me, with one hand. I try not to flinch, but she grimaces.

“Sorry, did that hurt? It’s just for practice. I won't harm you.”

“I’m not made of sugar, thanks.”

She looks a little annoyed, but keeps her mouth shut. Good. Chaldéné and Haldir walk around to see if everyone’s in position.

“You can try to break free now! Let’s see how you fare.”

I try to pull away. Liz doesn't budge. She doesn't look much, but her grip is strong.

It’s always too strong.

I pull harder. Still not letting go.

There's only one thing left to do if you can't escape.

So I swing my fist at her face.

She blinks, blocks it with her palm at the last second, eyes wide. Tsk.

“Are you crazy?!”

She’s surprised. I have the advantage. So I lunge at her with my free hand on her shoulder and we fall on the mattress, her under me as I go for another hit. Even though I don’t feel her grip on my arm anymore. She parries every single one, but there’s fear in her eyes.

“Hey! Hey, stop! Stop!”

Stop? Stop?

You think saying stop will do? They won't listen to you when it happens. Life isn’t a fucking self-defense class. It doesn't work like that.

So I go for it again. And again. And again. None of my punches can land on her face.

“I said stop, godsdammit!”

You think they’ll stop if you beg?

You think they stopped when I begged them?

“Alright, that's enough,” someone says in the distance.

When is it enough? When will enough ever be enough? They don’t give a shit.

“I said, enough.”

A hand lands on my shoulder, I'm flipped over, my back hits the ground, my breath is knocked out of my lungs. I barely had the time to blink. Chaldéné is crouching next to me, firmly pinning me to the floor mat.

The room is dead silent. I can only see the ceiling but I feel their stares on me.

“Done with your little stunt, missy?”

… Don't fucking speak to me like that.

“Isn’t this a self-defense class?” I groan after finally catching my breath. “I’m just defending myself.”

The dwarf shakes her head.

“Liz, sweetheart, partner up with someone else, will you? Me and Haldir will personally take care of this little one.”

There it is again. Always the problematic one everywhere I fucking go, huh? I’m in for a lecture from Anghao after this.

Liz gets up and glares at me before going to the other side of the room. Chaldéné pulls me up on my feet despite being two heads smaller than me, and drags me to a less crowded corner, her husband silently trailing behind her. Then she lets go of me, crosses her arm, and looks up.

“Okay. Do you realize what you did wrong here?”

I roll my eyes. Great. I'm already getting that lecture I was talking about.

“Just spare your saliva and kick me out of here already.”

“Oh, I'm definitely not kicking you out after this, girl. At least not until you answer my question properly.”

Okay, she's starting to really piss me off with that self-righteous tone.

“I just defended myself. And it worked, no? She let go.”

“Yes, because this is just practice. I know your kind, young lady. You think this is all useless because in real life, no one waits until you get the gesture right. That’s the whole point. Teaching you the right reflexes in a safe place so you can use them later.”

I scoff.

“Yeah, well I broke free, didn’t I? I don't need your teachings.”

“You broke free because you took her by surprise, and she was smaller. But since you’re so intent on real life, know that if this wasn't practice, you'd already be fucked.”

“I don’t-”

“Did you land a single blow?”

…

“No,” I mutter.

“Thought so. As soon as you started trying to punch her, it wasn’t self-defense anymore.”

She shoots me a severe look.

“This ain’t a school playground, darling.”

“I know.”

“No, you don't. How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

She bursts into laughter. An amused smile appears on her husband's face.

“And I'm the empress of Shabbathai-Qianfu. How old are you, really?”

“... Fourteen.”

“That’s better. Okay, then, kid. Let’s start from scratch. If you take the exercise seriously, I'll teach you how to throw a punch. Deal?”

Guess I can't sass my way out of this one. This really isn’t my day.

“Sure. Deal.”

“Great. Now get your scrawny ass over here.”

I reluctantly oblige, and Haldir gets in front of me.

“I’m going to grab your arm now,” he says, softly.

And he does, and I fucking flinch again, but he doesn't say anything. Chaldéné comes to stand next to us.

“Okay. What's your first reflex in this situation?”

I shrug, then try to pull away. Unsuccessful, again, and Haldir’s grip is much stronger than Liz’. Chaldéné laughs. Haha. Very funny.

“It’s normal. You're going to try and put some distance between you and the assailant, but they'll expect you to do that, so they’ll oppose their weight to yours and you’ll be back to the start.”

She gets closer, lays a palm on Haldir’s hand.

“What do you think is the weakness here? In his hand?”

I hesitate, look at his fingers for a while.

“Huh… I’d say the thumb? Maybe?”

“Bingo. Here, he's grabbing the inner side of your wrist, so try to flex your forearm, rotate your wrist in towards his thumb, rotate out, and then get away.”

… Okay. Arm flex, rotate in towards the thumb and then out–

And his grip loosens and I can take a few steps back. Chaldéné grins happily.

“Well? That wasn't so hard, was it?”

“... And then? What do I do after pulling away?”

“You run, obviously.”

I blink. Several times.

“I run? No hitting back? No neutralisation techniques?”

Her smile fades and she sighs deeply, like I've just said the stupidest thing in the history of ever.

“You still don't get it, do you? I don’t teach people how to fight, girl. Anyone can be a fighter. I teach people to save themselves.”

She points to the old naelikorn, who seems to be congratulating a young half-elf boy.

“See Khaern over here? What did you think of him earlier?”

I shrug.

“Creepy and nosy old geezer. Why?”

“Well that creepy nosy old geezer saw his grandkids be dragged away, and had to watch his daughter’s antlers get broken by policemen while another held him down. Then he was left for dead.”

My throat suddenly tightens on itself. Chaldéné’s finger goes to a group of three small, giggly girls with long pointy ears.

“Pescennia, Junia and Almathea. They were barely your age when their wings were ripped off. Each from different fairy families, and each the sole survivors. They even didn't know each other before the war, and now they come here together every week.”

An orc man, probably in his fifties, face sallow, eyes tired.

“Yambul. His siblings and kids all died during the war and he didn’t go because of an injury. His wife sent him to me because he'd started doing hard drugs.”

Then Liz, wiping the sweat off the back of her neck.

“Alizée. She lives with her depressed younger sister who some bastard got pregnant at the liberation. She intends to teach some stuff she learns here to her nephew later, since he ain't going to have an easy life.”

She lowers her hand, turns back to me.

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? There's thousands of people in this country with the same old stories. But you know what all the people in this room really have in common? What they all said to me or Haldir at some point?”

I shake my head. My mouth feels like it’s coated in coal and metal. My cheeks are burning.

“Well, then I'll teach you how to punch correctly so you can understand. But remember, kid, no matter how unique your sob story is, your pain isn’t.”

She doesn’t give me time to reply, instead she drags out a punching bag and some bandages that she wraps around my hands.

“Okay. Now try to punch it.”

I do. It hurts, and I almost get the bag right back in my face. This time, Chaldéné doesn’t laugh.

“You got the strenght, but your stance is wrong. Bend your knees for balance.”

She goes up to my knees and move them while talking. I just follow her lead at this point.

“Raise your fists to protect your face and vitals. A little higher… Exactly like that. Now you step into the punch with the fist opposed to your supporting leg. Like this.”

She goes into the exact stance she just described and punches the air with such strenght that I'm suddenly very happy I’m not her opponent.

“Now you try.”

Okay. Can't be that hard. I lift my arms. Then I put down my left foot and my right fist meets the bag. It feels… better than the first time.

“Not bad! Now do it again but turn your fist so you don't hurt yourself. And go straight for it. No swinging your arm around.”

So I hit again. It’s better.

“Good. Again.”

I hit. It lands. With a very satisfying thump.

“Again.”

I hit. My arm hurts.

“Again.”

I hit. And I hit again. And again, and again, and again, until my whole body’s sweaty and burning and my lungs beg me to stop so I can suck in more air. Chaldéné looks at me with a smile.

“So, how do you feel?”

“Good,” I croak before wiping the sweat off my forehead with my bandaged hand. “And kinda pissed.”

“Why?”

“If only I had known this sooner…”

My voice dies in my throat.

Oh.

Chaldéné gives me a joyless smile.

“You get it now?”

Haldir looks at the other people in the room, his eyes far away.

“If only I had known this sooner...”

Maybe I could have gotten up and protected my daughter.

Maybe we could have stopped them from ripping our dignity off our backs or landed a hit before them.

Maybe I could have done something else than sitting down and wait for more tragic news to come my way.

Maybe I wouldn’t have been paralyzed by fear and my sister wouldn’t be in this state, unable to even look at her son.

If only I had known this sooner.

If only I had known this sooner…

Maybe I wouldn’t have those hideous marks around my ankles.

Maybe I could have done something to bring him along and hide somewhere safe. Instead of waiting for strangers to tell me if my best friend was alive or not.

Maybe I could have done something.

Anything.

If only.

If only…

A hand slowly pats my back.

“It’s so awful to convince yourself that you’re alone in your own pain when you could share that burden with others.”

Chaldéné helps me sit down on the floor mats. Then wraps an arm around my shoulders. And I know she can see my ankles.

“Especially so young. You poor thing.”

That’s all it takes. I can't stop the tears from running down my cheeks. Or the sobs to wreck my throat. Pathetic, pitiful idiot.

“There, there. It’s okay, kid.”

“I-I don't know if… I can still… save myself.”

“You can try. We certainly won’t do it for you, but you don't have to be alone in this, darling.”

Haldir sits down to my other side. Still not looking at me. In a way, it's comforting.

“Will you come back next week?”

I look around at the others. Really look. For the first time. And I see Khaern play pretend fighting with Junia as Pescennia and Almathea cheer them on, Yambul offering his water bottle to Liz, a felicis teen asking advice from a middle aged elf, and so many more.

“... Yeah. Maybe. Don't get your hopes up.”

Chaldéné laughs again. Pats me on the back.

“We won't. Want to go back at it?”

Yeah. Sounds like a plan.

I’d like to practice those punches some more. Y’know, for the next time I see Toshiki.

Can't I make him think I was dilly-dallying this whole time.