#the encouragement we all need.................

[clareguilty]

There should be a way to borrow the motivation and confidence authors get from fanfic comments before they actually post the fic why hasn't science figured this one out yet

[lighting-and-shadow]

Ikigai, Part 9

Summary: You’re desperately in love with a man who already belongs to another.

Ikigai (n.) (Japanese): "A reason for being," the thing that gets you up in the morning.

Trigger Warnings: brief mentions of suicide, romanticization of suicide, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of murder

Part 8

“Have fun.”

His voice is light, teasing like it usually is. But you can tell there's something more underneath that facade. Even as Sylus hands you his black card, you know there's more there.

He’s unsatisfied with something. He wants something.

It's the way he looks at you. Like he's craving. Hungry. You don't see this side of him often, but it usually comes out during when you need to dress fancy for some party or gathering.

Don't dwell on it. You have work to do.

You snatch his card from him, careful to not even graze his skin. His touch has a way of distracting you. And those kinds of distractions are the last thing you need.

“We shall.”

Sylus gives you a strange look. You just stare on forward, beckoning him to give you the card. Then he chuckles and his eyes soften to that special gaze that makes your heart melt before he hands it over. God are you glad things are at least semi-normal between the two of you.

You lean into Miss Hunter, loop your arms through hers, and begin to walk away.

“Me and Miss Hunter are off. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she isn’t too good of bait.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Miss Hunter mutters.

“And I am hardly a babysitter,” you smile at her. “I’m merely looking out for my new friend because she’s clearly a trouble magnet.”

Miss Hunter scoffs at you. Sylus just watches the two of you with a smile that speaks to something deeper in you.

“And you? Who will keep an eye on you, sweetie?”

“Everyone,” you reply with a smirk. “Because that’s my job.”

That’s why he called you Gamayun, after all. Because you bewitch and charm people with the words from your mouth. Sometimes you told truths, hidden prophecies and tales of the past. Sometimes you told lies, dark exaggerated whispers and catatraphizing things from the smallest details.

Gamayun wasn’t just an empty promise of Sylus’ love. It's more than that. It’s your story. It’s you. And that’s why you love the nickname so much despite the pain it causes.

You exchange a look with Sylus before he leaves to deal with the traitor. His carmine eyes and heartfelt expression draw you in. For a moment, he’s the siren between the two of you.

But than the god of death that he is, and the origin of your own nickname for him, claws its way to overlap that beautiful face of his. That part of him is struggling to come out right now. He doesn’t want to become that fearsome person, and just remain in his other state.

He stays loyal to his duty, though. Much like you do. You wish you both didn't have to.

You focus on Miss Hunter in order to drown out those thoughts. Watching her go wild with Sylus’ card, after you encouraged her multiple times to do so, brings a smile to your face.

But, at the same time, you can’t help but mentally check out. Your mind drifts to simpler times. Times before you were in love with a taken man and the two of you were just boss and employee.

The hostess of the gala stands out in her intricate blue dress. Crushed seashells along her trim dazzle like diamonds. Her deep blue makeup perfectly complements her pale skin.

Just her getup alone reminds you of the mermaids you've seen in books as a kid. Her flickers make the semblance all the more obvious.

Flashes of tattoos on her face and a scaly tail where her legs should be. They bring with them a hum in the air, and the scent of salt. But they vanish just as quickly as they come.

She's beautiful in both states. Beautiful and deceptively fragile.

Because if someone was just looking at her for the first time with no context, they couldn't imagine the sheer amount of blood on her hands.

Kai is a delicate woman, small and unassuming. But you know better from the stories you’ve dug up and the ones your boss has told you.

”A woman with an ice-cold heart,” all the rumors said. Sylus just said she’s a ruthless cockroach unwilling to die, which he could respect.

She seems so untouchable. You and Sylus make your entrance to her gala, you in his colors and arms locked, yet she doesn’t even spare a glance. She just talks. Talks and ignores all gazes that turn to the new people in the room.

She may ignore your presence, but you can’t ignore hers. Not with that color that bleeds into her thread. Not with the stain of death that hangs upon it.

A dead soulmate, her thread reads. One that took his own life.

It’s the rarest of threads for you to see. Because most tended to follow their soulmates. A soulmate’s love is the most treasured love, after all. And to live without that love isn’t a life worth living in the eyes of most.

Maybe that’s why she has such a vicious repetition? Maybe that’s why she’s known for having such a dead heart? Because people sensed there was something fundamentally wrong with her, much like they do with you.

You chase those cursed thoughts away as soon as they come. They only bring misfortune, and tonight, you need anything but that. You need Kai’s fortune.

”This place is rather stuffy,” you comment loudly enough for the hostess to hear once you’re close.

Kai’s expression doesn’t change, but the look in her eyes do. They shift to one of curiosity and inquiry.

Most people wouldn’t dare to insult a party to straight to the hostess’ face. Especially when said party is being thrown by her. So as you've hopedd, she's drawn to you, even if she's unaware of that.

From what you've researched about her, she is a woman who values honesty. So while it may pain you to be so blunt, being forthcoming is the best way to sway her. That, and if you can find her single weak point.

Because someone like Kai doesn’t do all this without reason. You need to find that reason.

Of course, there were rumors. Secret children. Dying parents. But, seeing her in person confirms only one: a spouse.

Kai doesn’t wear a ring on her finger. She doesn’t even have a tan-line to indicate that she wears one outside of work. It’s her thread that tells you of another. You don't get the details. But this person, this mystery spouse, is kind. With a heart so warm it thawed even Kai's.

That’s who you need to find.

”Apologies, Mrs. Kerr,” you plaster on a genuine smile. “Didn’t know you were so close. I may look like a dragon at the moment, but I assure you, I do not possess the eyes of one.”

You fiddle with the fake, but realistic, horns on your head as you say this.

”Seems you got my gift,” Kai’s voice is smooth, but absent of any emotion.

”Gift, you say? That’s what you’d call this?” Sylus gestures to you and him.

For whatever reason, Kai decided to make her gala themed. Non-humans, to be exact. And you and Sylus are dragons, fiends, according to what she sent you alongside the two invites. Said invite had clear instructions on how you wouldn’t be let in if you weren’t wearing your designated outfit.

You knew from the second you saw the outfits (after getting over you initial shock that she had your measurements for some reason, and knew of your employment under Sylus so quickly) that Sylus wouldn’t be in a good mood during this gathering.

He’s already glaring daggers at anyone who dares to gaze at him for too long. And he’s touched his horns so many times, you’re surprised they don’t have handprints in them.

However, he still manages to keep that same arrogant smirk and carefree attitude. Or, at least, he manages to fake it enough to make it seem that way. You know better due to your power.

Kai seems to know better as well. She keeps her eyes locked onto Sylus as she briefly greets and waves off other guests. Her face remains blank, but her eyes and thread tell of amusement. She notices your boss’ discomfort just like you do.

”Of course it’s a gift, Sylus,” she casually says his first name when others would say it in fear or would just use his last name. “What else would you call this?”

”You don’t want to know what I would call this, Kai,” he spits out her name like it’s an insult.

”You’re right, I don’t. Maybe your new employee can tell me what she thinks of her outfit? Everyone else has just given me the best of compliments, so I’d like to hear something honest for a change.”

The two most dangerous people in the room give you their full attention. You take it in stride, relying on years and years of practice not to shrink under their judging gazes.

Starting to feel like we’re not on the same side, you think as Sylus’ eyes in particular bare into you.

”I find them quite telling, Mrs. Kerr.”

”Telling of what?”

”Telling of your relationship to my boss, and why he decided to drag me here of all place for our first outing,” you give your full attention to Sylus before you continue. “Speaking of which, said boss needs to make himself scarce if he wants this to work properly.”

Sylus tilts his head at you, leaning to whisper in your ear, “What do you think you’re doing?”

”Setting you up for success. Now shoo,” you whisper back into his ear.

”How demanding you are, Miss Negotiator. And here I thought I was your boss.”

Sylus’ tone is the same as ever, but the glint in his eyes tells a different story. One of how he doesn’t appreciate you ordering him around and disrupting your dynamic. One of danger and cautioning you not to cross a line.

You soldier on, “You brought me here to work. So mind your ego, and let me, because she and you clearly have bad blood and I’d rather not have to navigate that all night.”

Rather than taking offense by your blunt words like a normal person, Sylus just gets more amused.

”What makes you think we have bad blood? This could just be our way communicating.”

You scoff, glancing quickly to see if Kai noticed, but she's already back to greeting guests.

”Don’t insult me, boss. Even a blind and deaf person could notice how much you two want to rip into each other.”

A thought suddenly pops up in your head after you say this.

”Why in the world do you want to do business with a woman you clearly despise, and who hates you in return?”

”Ever heard of keeping your friends close, but keeping your enemies closer, sweetie?”

You jab him in the arm for the stupid nickname, one you’ve told him repeatedly not use on you because that sort of nonsense should only be used with his soulmate. He’s ignored you every time, too entertained by your flustered reactions.

”Business requires mutual trust, does it not?”

He laughs. “Not here, sweetie. Here, business can come about merely because two people want to spite someone else.”

He looks you dead in the eye with a sinister smirk, “Or because the desperation to live is just that powerful.”

Sylus finally walks away once he says that. Shivers run down your spine. His words are a reminder of why you’re really here, on why Sylus decided you persuading one of his enemies to work with him was your first task.

He’s measuring your worth. He’s seeing if he should keep you around.

For all that you two joke and banter, there’s always a voice in the back of your head that wonders if he’ll change his mind about sparing you. You may not have known what your old auction house was doing precisely, but there may have been others that died there that were the same.

You’re here to prove that you were different than those buried in the rubble. And prove it you would.

Kai turns back to you, “Finished?”

”Of course, Mrs. Kerr. Apologies for my boss’ behavior. Listening to reason isn’t his strong suit.”

You feel a bit guilty about insulting Sylus, but than you remember his numerous threats during your first week at his base and immediately brush that off.

”I get the feeling you and I know that better than anyone.”

”Tell me about it,” you roll your eyes before schooling your expression to a more serious one. “And now that he’s gone, how about we talk business?”

”Bold one, aren’t we?”

”I was under the impression you valued honesty, Mrs. Kerr. I’d rather not insult your intelligence, and instead would like to negotiate in good faith than deceit.”

”Good faith? From Sylus?” She sneers, the most emotion she’s shown thus far.

”Not Sylus. Me.”

”You work for him. Isn’t that the same thing?”

”If we were remotely the same, I highly doubt you’d give me the time of day.”

”Maybe I’m giving you the time of day because you’re similar,” Kai takes a sip of a drink someone had offered her, frowns, and than says, “Because at least Sylus is never boring. Two of him equals twice the fun, right?”

You laugh, “Two of that man would drive me insane. And I'd imagine that would be the same for you, no?”

Kai shakes her head in humor, face still as blank as ever.

”No, you’re right. Just the image in my head of that is nightmare fuel enough. Two of him means twice the explosions every time we meet, and I don’t think my people would want to deal with that anymore than I do.”

Her words give you pause for concern.

”Explosions? That’s a theme with him?”

Kai gives you a questioning look for you to continue.

”The first time we met he blew up my old workplace. Granted, my old boss deserved it, but still… didn’t think that was an every day occurrence for him.”

”I don’t know about every day, but he tends to explode something every time I meet him. Usually me. Granted, this is usually after we’ve had another… disagreement.”

She sounds proud of herself. That pride is wiped away in a second, and she levels you with a harsh gaze.

”He knows we aren’t friends. Or allies in any capacity. And that we’ll turn a gun on one another for the right price. So why has he sent you to me?”

That ice cold gaze of her beautiful eyes would freeze anyone else. Years of customer service and dealing with others far more trigger happy than her allows you not to waver.

”Because he’s testing me,” you decide not to beat around the bush. “Getting you of all people to work with him will prove my worth.”

Kai isn’t fazed by your words.

”And you think you can do that?”

You shrug. “Why not? You’re a woman of extreme intelligence, and you’ve worked with him in the past for the right price. I just need to find out what price will make you stay and what it entails.”

Silence falls between the two of you. And you almost believe you see the ghost of a small fall on her lips. But her face is back to its usual blank expression before you can even blink.

”Ya know,” there’s a drawl in her tone, an accent leaking out that wasn’t there before. “Most people are never this upfront. Even when being honest or acting in "good faith" like you claim."

”I worked at an auction house before Sylus hired me. Trust me, I’m well aware. But I find such conversation to be desperately dull. Much like most parties.”

”I hope you’re not including mine.”

”We shall see,” you glance around, looking for a certain something for a moment, but you spot your destination easily. “Aw! There’s something to spice things up.”

You gesture to her open bar.

”I wonder who suggested that? It stands out from the usual things at these gatherings.”

”My spouse,” you’re a bit surprised at Kai’s admittance; it isn’t public knowledge that she’s married, after all. “Sylus knows I’m married. And even he didn’t, you’d of all people would’ve figured it out.”

”You flatter me.”

The two of walk to the bar. Many eyes follow you, but no one dares to approach Kai.

You see Sylus in your peripheral vision, sipping on some expensive drink you’ve seen your old boss drink occasionally, and surrounded by people who talk at him. Sylus just looks at them bored out of his mind. His signature smirk is plastered on for appearance's sake.

There’s desperation in those people. For his attention. For his cooperation. For his money. And he just stands there with that familiar, arrogant, expression.

His eyes flicker over to you. You put on an award-winning smile, and that smirk of his deepens to a real one. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand upright.

Because he’s judging you, studying you in ways you didn’t think possible. This is the first job where you had any danger from your own boss; the others hired you under different circumstances.

You brush him off as soon as you get to the bar. You had a plan to enact, after all.

When the woman behind the counter turns to you and Kai, you give her a sweet smile.

”Why not take a break, honey?”

The woman gives you a look. Kai doesn’t react.

”I’ll take over. I was a mixologist not long ago, and I believe your employer wants a drink more to her tastes. You seem tired, and I’d hate to put any pressure on you when I’m the one being so nosy.”

Kai tilts her head at you before she addresses the woman, “Do as she says.”

The woman thanks you profusely, and practically sprints out of the ballroom. You walk yourself to behind the counter, scanning the spread of high quality ingredients with a keen eye.

My old place was never this decked out, you think to yourself as you search for just the right things.

You get to work pretty quickly, Kai watching as you fly around from shelf to shelf. But you avoid any alcohol like the plague. From what you dug up on Kai, and your observations of her thread, she hates alcohol.

Her father drank so much to the point where she had to raise herself and her brother alone. On his rare days of coherance, he'd throw bottles at the siblings, screaming how Kai's brother murdered their mother.

Her soulmate used to use it on their bad days before their death. Alcohol is symbol of dread to Kai, a painful wound that will probably never properly heal.

You can relate to that somewhat, with you aversion to romance. Not on the same level, but that’s what empathy’s for; you don’t need to have the same experience to have an idea of what she’s been through. That, and you can read her soul.

There’s turmoil as she watches you work, curiosity and a bit of fear mixing together to make a cocktail of emotions in her heart. Outwardly, she doesn’t show any of this. Her inner world is locked away.

Another thing you two have in common. You’ve been burned by the world far too many times to trust it with your fragile heart.

And it’s why you’ve been so truthful with her so far. Kai and you’ve been lied to and lying your entire lives. Shedding that skin and becoming someone that isn’t like that for her, someone she can trust… that will do far more good than any savvy business proposal or story.

So you work to give her a flavorful drink she’ll love, reading her thread and working in your experience to create the perfect blend. The second she takes a sip of it once you slide it towards her makes all the effort worth it.

”Not bad, Miss Negotiator,” it’s as much of a compliment you’ll ever get from the woman, and you'll take it gladly.

”Why thank you for the kind words, Mrs. Kerr.”

You give a little bow as begin your next drink. No one’s ordered yet, but some of Kai’s guests are curious and look at you.

The waiters obey your orders, delivering each personalized drink to correct person. An arms dealer here, and a jewel thief there. Each have varying reactions from mirth to shock to almost a little bit of fear over the strange woman who entered with Sylus knowing them so well.

Speaking of your boss, you save his drink for last. Both for the drama and because than that puts him into the spotlight once more. The mysterious bartender and her boss… eyes will turn to the both of you.

But, eyes are apparently already on your boss. And not for anything good. You watch the last waiter go with his drink and spot the towering man in a scuffle. He stands with his arms crossed, clearly having the time of his life. You can barely see him, but that much is obvious.

Now the woman that stands in front of him is anything but that. Her face is scrunched up in ways you didn’t think possible. And judging by how she looks, she’s screaming at him. Her getup suggests a rich heiress, and there’s only one of that here from what you remember of the guest list.

Miss Andrea Crimson, the only child and heir of one of the many gangs in the N109 zone. But the Crimsons were different; they’ve been here the longest, have one of the farthest reaches, and are infamously ruthless to the point where even Sylus and you cringe.

People have died by that girl’s command for the smallest infractions. Her father gives into her every whim. And there were rumors of there being a second child that was pushed out of the family because of her jealousy.

She also has a history with your boss. Once in love him, now full of a hatred you can almost admire for how deep it runs. To Sylus, she’s a nuisance he can’t get rid of; to you, she’s yet another obstacle for you to conquer.

You politely excuse yourself to Kai, who waves you off while sipping her drink. She watches you go, though. From interest in what you’re doing, or the commotion you’re going to, you don’t know. Either way, that little bit of attention she’s paying to you will work out in your favor.

Once you arrive at Sylus’ side, you’re not given much of an opportunity to speak.

”What?” Andrea spits at you. “You his new toy, now?”

That pisses you off. Originally, you were going approach this woman with kindness, respect. A little firmness, but nothing too crazy.

That goes out the expensive, decorated window to moment she addresses you as a toy. Maybe because of that phase you had as a late teen, throwing yourself at anyone as some poor way of getting the love you crave? Maybe because you’ve worked in several places that saw you as a mere decoration?

Or maybe it’s because of what she said says about Sylus? Your new boss is harsh, but fair. Terrifying, yet reliable. And hearing her say that, imply that he treats lives and people so cheap, chips at your very soul.

Moments like these make you wonder if your lack of soulmate makes you care so much, or you were stripped of one because you’d care for others more than them.

”Oh, get a hold of yourself, Andrea. I and many others do not have the time for to interrupting important business because this man would not fuck you.”

That shuts her up quickly. But you’re not finished.

”I get that you’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted in life until he said no to you. The drugs. The money that keeps coming despite all your failed businesses. The multiple affairs, some of which whose spouses are here. Even the murder of your own sibling was covered up for you." 

You speak these words with certainty and authority as you get closer to Andrea. Her expression drops, and the blood drains from her face. Her dark skin doesn’t blush, but you can practically feel the warmth from her body.

”How did you…”

”I know more, Andrea,” you speak quieter, in her ear. “I know that you’ve stolen every little accomplishment from them. I know you framed them as the problem child while you were the perfect daughter. I know you stole their voice from them. And I know why you’ve really come here.”

”Why…”

”Do you really want me to spell it out for you? Surely there’s enough of a brain in that head of yours to not want to hear it?"

She trembles, and you relish in it.

”What do you want?”

”Leave my boss and me alone, and I’ll consider keeping my mouth shut. Because you have a treasure trove of secrets that I’ll be happy to spill if you don’t.”

Andrea shuffles away, head still hung up high despite her embarrassment. You can respect her for that much.

A slow clap from behind you causes you to drag your eyes away from her.

”Nicely done, Miss Diplomat,” Sylus’ ever present grin both amuses and frustrates you.

”I wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d have learned to keep that mouth of yours shut.”

”What would be the fun in that, sweetie?”

You internally roll your eyes at the foolish man before you. But, you plaster on your best customer service smile on the outside.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re far too aggressive?” Your tone is sickly sweet.

“Any suggestions I don’t consider are filed under “never heard of it”. Besides, you handled yourself quite well.” 

“Only because I must in order to keep your organization from collapsing and from you being constantly on everyone’s most wanted list. And if anything I tell you to do is in that “never heard of it” file, I will being killing you myself.” 

Maybe your conversations with Kai have made you stupidly bold. You mentally scold yourself for being so… insolent. But Sylus just seems to find the whole thing hilarious, so you relax.

At least you can have fun with your new boss. Even if he does tend to like threatening you. A lot.

“After all that effort you went through not only to get me to let you work with me, but also today?” 

“It’s all a part of my elaborate scheme.” 

“What scheme?”

“One filed under “Sylus is not privy to this.” Deal with it.”

He chuckles at you. Then, his tone takes on a more serious one.

”How do things with Kai fare?”

”Swimmingly, all things considered.”

”And what things are you considering?”

”You,” you say before leaving. You can hear Sylus laughing again as you do.

The journey back to Kai is a quick one, with people already back to their normal business as if nothing had happened. Perhaps because most of them see drama like this every other day.

”Apologies,” you say to Kai as soon as you get behind the bar again. “But I simply could not let such a woman make a scene at your gala. And my boss certainly wasn’t doing anything to stop her.”

”It’s fine. I invited Sylus because he attracts drama and entertainment like that. For some reason, people are too afraid to say things like that to my face."

Because you’re far more dangerous than even Sylus, you think.

Kai’s reputation is even more brutal than Sylus’. Drowning entire companies in deserts. Creating jewelry from the bones of those she’s killed. Driving people to suicide with her voice alone. Even rumors of cannabalism.

The woman is deadly, terrifying. But, for good reason.

”Well… no matter how entertaining he is, there’s a limit to how much I’m willing to stand being thrown at him. He may not be swayed by anyone’s opinion of him, but I sure am.”

Your words are flowery, targeting what you know of what Kai feels towards her spouse. There’s tinges of worry in her thread. There’s brief flashes of her mystery spouse being a doormat, and the fear that incites. Time after time, the person she loves lets their family walk over them.

Your words strike that cold heart of hers. Strike at the very core of who she is, and honestly, who you are: a protector. Because those flowery words weren’t just that. They were the honest truth.

You’re grateful to Sylus. You’ll never say that to his face, but you are. For this new job. For the freedom he allows you. For the bits of kindness he shows like ordering things you like to eat to the base or giving you the latest tools for jewelry making or giving you a rare gem or entertaining your drink mixing hobby.

Because despite how he threatens you, he still manages to treat you well. Which is far more than any of your previous bosses did.

”You care an awful lot for a man you haven’t worked with for long.”

You don’t ask how she knows this. Kai probably has an extensive information network, and she’s not stupid. With her history with Sylus, if you weren’t new, she would’ve met you sooner.

So you don’t ask that. No need to insult a woman who would, without hesitation, smash the glass in her hand to slit your throat and stain her pale skin a deep red. She’s killed over less.

”Do I need a reason to care for another? It’d be a lonely existence without it.”

”Yes it would,” she mumbles with the most emotion you’ve heard from her all night.

Once again, you tap into Kai’s deeper feelings. There’s a sense of loneliness that permeates her thread. An aching, festering, loneliness not unlike your own.

There’s a weight to that loneliness. One of responsibility. One of duty. And one of longing. Again, so similar to you, yet so different.

Part of you thinks that this why your boss and her don’t get along. Because they feel like they’re staring into a mirror.

You, on the other hand, take that similarity in stride. It’s another way for you to connect to your target.

”Why’re ya taking such an indirect approach to getting what you want from me? After all, ya clearly know ye way around getting to know people and their secrets. Why not use mine against me?"

Kai’s voice is back to her usual flat tone. Her body language is lax, but blank. She gives nothing away to normal people.

But you aren’t normal people. You see her thread, a piece of her soul leaking into your field of vision. And it tells you the real story.

It tells of wariness, of woman scorned and burned by kindness in the past. It tells of broke promises and what that did to her family. 

It tells of hopefulness, of her praying that maybe you’ll be different from the rest. It tells of how the logical side of her wants to squash that hope and snuff it out before it can see the light of day.

You appeal to that part of her, “Such methods aren’t needed here.”

”Why?”

”Because a deal made with you that’s not in good faith isn’t a deal at all. And as I said before, I'd rather our deal come out of one of good faith than deceit. That, and because both parties already have bad blood, and you deserve more than some silly scare tactics.”

”Besides,” you laugh a bit. “I doubt such a thing would work on someone like you. Andrea has nothing real in her life, nothing for her to hold on to, hence why I scared her. You do, Mrs. Kerr. And that makes you all the more fierce and all the more respectable.”

”Still on with te flattery, ya?"

She hides it well, but you can tell she has a storm of emotions at how well you read her. Fear for her spouse. A bit of awe at you and your continued boldness. Skepticism.

”It’s my greatest weapon,” you smile. “And it’ll work on you, I’m sure.”

Kai swirls the rim of her drink with her fingertip.

”And why do you believe that?”

”Because you and Sylus ultimately want the same thing: change to the N109 zone.”

Kai finally finishes her drink and turns her full attention to you.

”Why do you think that of someone like me? Surely you’ve heard the rumors?”

You almost laugh at her words. Because despite her coldness, her endless cruelty, and the way Kai carries herself... you know what she really wants.

You know her type well. You know how scarred her heart is. You know how much the child in her cries with every person she protects.

Because why was there no one like her when she was a child? Why did no one protect the little girl who grew up too fast?

”Simple. Because you’re capable of love.”

Kai has nothing to say after that. Her face is still cold. Her body is still relaxed and not giving anything away. But you know you’ve struck a chord with her.

She keeps her eyes away from yours. Perhaps because they’re so expressive despite the icy chill she tries to keep in them?

You follow her eyes. You follow her eyes as they follow someone in the gala, one that walks not too far from where the two of you sit..

They flicker. They flicker like Kai did earlier that night, and the night you first met Sylus. But they don’t show draconic traits like your boss did, nor the scales or tattoos the woman before you did.

No. This person flickers with machines. Armor and mechanical wiring crawling across their skin. Black, deep black, twined with silver. A destructive weapon in their hand.

A voice calls out from them.

”Run X-02,” it calls. “Run.”

You blink, and it’s all gone. Vanishing in a flash, but still so disturbing that it makes you feel nauseous. Because while Kai and Sylus flickers were shocking, they weren’t so… empty.

Devoid of any feeling. A machine. A weapon. A being whose parts were carved out time and time again until nothing remained but the single order to obey.

You could feel your heart pound despite your effort to calm down. You focus on the current details of the person: dark skin, black hair with streaks of silver that remind you of the stars.

No calm comes from looking at them. Because Kai has decided to make them a cyborg for their themed outfit. That, coupled with you and Sylus’ own get up, made you wonder if she knew. If she knew of the shapes certain people's souls once held. If she knew that person was an android once, just like Sylus was once a fiend.

”You seem awfully distracted.”

”Apologies.”

”No, it’s fine,” Kai waves you off, tilting her head before the whisper of a smile appears on her lips. “You’ve had to deal with a lot for your first outing with Sylus. Why not visit the gardens? My spouse takes great care of maintaining it.”

You want to take her up on the offer. To escape into nature and just settle down your thoughts and racing heart. But you can’t. You have a job to do.

”As much as I appreciate your offer, I—“

”I insist. You wouldn’t want to disobey an order from your host, now would you."

”No. No I would not, Mrs. Kerr.”

”Good.” 

She gives you the directions to the gardens. And you memorize them easily.

As you leave your station to go where she commands, you notice her glide her way to Sylus and other guests. And judging how their threads behave, you figure Kai’s in a good mood.

You think about her as you meander around her mansion. Priceless artworks are casually on display in the hallway, all of the same artist. Rafayel. You recognize his style from your auction days.

The second you see the garden, you let out a huge sigh. It’s gorgeous. Sprawling rows upon rows of flowers that you were sure were extinct. 

Towering trees that reach to the sky, their branches home to many birds. You swear you see Mephisto among them.

Whinding pathways that are easy to follow, but you can get lost because of the sheer beauty that surrounds it.

You’re in awe that such a place can exist in the N109 Zone. There’s no sunlight for these plants to gain nutrients from. So how are they growing?

Placing a hand on one of the trees, you dig into them. Plants don’t have souls, or at least, not in the way that humans and Wanderers do. They have no threads of fate. They have no real desires, fears, or secrets.

But you can speak to them on occasion. If they’re old enough.

You’re drawn to one tree, and it’s the one you place a hand on. All you get is the flashing image of the person you saw earlier, the one Kai was staring at and the one whose past emanated such emptiness.

You see them and another tending to this garden. The only thing you can make out from the other is they’re a man and he feels like sunshine. He and the person from the party are what made the plants grows.

You wander further into the garden. Birds chirp. Foxes scatter about. Gentle winds sway. And, eventually, you run into another person. It’s the one from the tree’s memory, and from the party. It’s the former android. They’re crouched on the ground, grass and dirt crawling up their fancy clothes.

The moment you see them up close, you feel bad about your early assumptions and how you let their past life cloud your judgement. Because this person has one of the most beautiful souls you’ve ever seen.

They feel like nature itself. Like all the plants, animals, and maybe even planets themselves have been meshed together to create one person. They’re thread glows with a kind of compassion and gentleness you’ve never seen from another.

Their thread is weaved together by sorrow, love, and hope. And in that love lies someone familiar: Kai. This is her spouse. This is the person she’s willing to do anything for.

Every plan you had for this meeting goes out the window. They stare at you with their tender blue eyes for a moment before they reach into their pocket for something. 

A pen and notepad comes out. You’re left there, just watching this person write something down before they rip off the slip and hand it to you.

”I’m sorry if I frightened you,” it reads. “I’m Alex, and this is my garden.”

Alex stays on the ground. You introduce yourself with your own name, and they nod.

”Can I help you? You seem in need of some assistance.”

Alex blinks at you. You offer a shaky smile. They think for a moment before standing, and you’re able to see into the bushes they were previously sheilding.

A wolf cub, hardly old enough to be away from its mother, trembles in the bushes. Clearly injured—one of its ribs is poking out of its side—,malnourished, and dripping wet. In short, its condition is horrible.

Alex is writing again. You let your palm out from them to give it to you once you see they’ve finished this time.

”I found her a few hours ago on a trip outside the zone. Poor thing was on her own and stuck under the corpuses of her slaughtered family, probably for days. She was unconscious, and her rib ripped through her skin when she woke up in a strange place. I’ve tried calming her down, but nothing seems to work.”

The sorrow in Alex’s words is evident, even if they aren’t using their voice. Their expression falls, eyes downcast and fists clenched in frustration. They’re so open with their emotions. It’s a sharp contrast to their wife’s way of doing things.

”How about I try? You’d have to relay my intentions, but I’d like to think of myself as quite good at persuading others.”

Treating a wolf cub like any other customer or dealer wasn’t something you thought you’d ever do in your life. But, the poor baby needs help. And it’ll make Alex happy.

Already attached to them within 30 seconds of meeting them.

Another paper is put into your hands, "Why?"

”Because I’d hate to see her suffer more. She deserves some kindness after what she’s been through.”

Part of you wonders if you’re still speaking about the wolf cub. And judging by their reaction, Alex thinks the same.

Deep down, you believe the same about Kai. A girl forced to step up at a young age and raise her little brother.

A woman who became a monster to protect those she loves and what remains of her people.

A woman who time and time again has forced herself to carry insurmountable burdens.

And maybe, you too, can relate to this. Maybe you also deserve some kindness after all you’ve been through. And maybe, just maybe… that’s the real reason you got this job.

To distract yourself, you do what you do best: you talk. You talk and Alex relays and repeat. Until, finally, the little cub walks out and into Alex’s arms.

They get to work immediately. You use the little one’s soul to soothe her, guiding the pup to sleep while Alex mends her fur and resets her bones.

They also summon a large falcon to perch on one of their arms. In its beak it carries a milk bottle that Alex lets the little one drink from when you coax her out of a deep sleep.

You two stand in silence for a bit. The falcon occasionally squawks.

It takes the notepad into its beak, and Alex writes, “Would you like to stay longer? I’m sorry, but I really should be heading back.”

”As should I. My foolish boss might be making a mess again.”

Alex smiles, and you both begin your walk back. They still cradle the wold cub in their arms. The falcon flies just slightly overhead. The trees and plants seem to lean and reach out to Alex as the two of you walk by.

More animals begin to join. A white tiger follows closely on their heels. A polar bear walks beside you (and it takes everything in you to remain calm). Both a crocodile and an alligator walk in front of you.

As a result of this, your re-entrance to the party turns many heads. Some afraid. Some in shock. And one enraged: Andrea. She says nothing. She just glares at Alex while they look down in embarrassment.

You reach your boss and Kai quickly. The falcon swoops down again with the notepad, Alex writes, and hands it to Kai. She reads it quickly.

She taps a fork on her glass, "Alright. I'm calling an end to tonight’s gathering. Get the fuck out before I feed you to one of these fine creatures."

Kai pets the head of the tiger and polar bear as she speaks. People hurry out. But the gaze that Kai and Alex give you and Sylus roots the two of you in place.

Kai turns to Sylus, “I’ll work with you.”

He immediately turns to you and whispers. “Seems your first job went well.”

”I told you my method would work,” you grin.

”Aww, but mine’s more effective and time-saving, sweetie. We’ve been here for far too long.”

”It hasn’t even been an hour, you big baby.”

His eyes widen at the insult, "You've become quite bold."

”I just talked to a supposed cannibal who also happens to be someone with a body count many times higher than yours and who’s been killing since she was mostly likely around the age of 5. I’m allowed to have a little bit of attitude.”

”Whatever you say.”

”And about your “method”… mine’s clearly superior to it. And better in the long run. Evidenced by how a woman who hates you is now working with you.”

”And how exactly did you do that?”

”Through her spouse. A spouse you didn’t tell me about,” you lightly gesture to Alex. Kai and them are too busy chatting to notice you do so.

”Forgot to mention them."

"No you didn't," your whisper becomes harsher with annoyance at his obvious lie. "And you did that on purpose."

Sylus' grin widens, "And why do you think that?"

Your own smile mirrors his, “It’s written all over your face.”

Sylus just laughs.

”You finished?” Kai calls out, eyebrow raised.

You two turn your full attention to her again.

”Good,” she continues. “Now, we have one condition for our business deal to go forward.”

Sylus crosses his arms. “And that would be?"

”She will be our communication. Our liaison, so to speak,” and she points at you. You snap back to the present when a hand touches your forearm. It’s Miss Hunter, and her haul of protocores.

“For someone who was so hesitant not so long ago, you’ve spent quite a lot.”

Miss Hunter ignores your words, worry lining her expression. “You okay? You were spacing out…”

Her eyes look you up and down.

“I’m not going to collapse again, sweetie. I’m quite alright.”

You give her a smile to sell the whole thing, your little act. Because what else could you tell her? That you were drowning in memories of a simpler time?

I’m fine, Miss Hunter. Just thinking about the past, before I fell in love with your soulmate and I was just an employee under him.

You couldn’t say that. For so many reasons.

Due to those reasons, you try to focus on the world around you, and anchor yourself in the present. People dancing around you, minding their own business and lost in their own worlds.

You have half the mind to join them. That is until some men start badgering Miss Hunter. And, strangely, you’re thankful for it. They’re a welcome distraction.

You quickly place yourself between the men and Miss Hunter, shielding her from their eyes and their grabby hands. However, you don’t get even a word out of your mouth before a familiar voice interrupts.

“Her schedule’s full.”

Sylus comes up behind the men. They scatter upon his arrival. Their departure allows you to get a good look at your boss. He looks pissed.

Arms crossed tightly against his chest and scowl evident on his face, he watches the men leave you all in disgust. He looks like an animal ready to pounce. The dragon in him is bubbling to the surface, appalled and enraged someone dared to get so close to his treasure.

Will he be that way with me in future? Or is he already that way, raging at the mere idea of me being near his soulmate?

You speak because any more thoughts like that, and you might begin to cry.

“That was quick."

Sylus' expression relaxes upon hearing your voice, “You know how I detest wasting my time on boring things. The meeting was predictably that, so I wanted to speed things up.”

“You sure that’s not because you were worried?”

You say the words in jest, but part of you truly hopes he was worried. Not for you, but for her. For his soulmate. For his destined love. For his sorceress and the only woman worthy of him. Because if that’s the case, well… you have all the more reason to leave.

You can justify that voice in your head that screams at you to run if he cares for her. If he cares for her more than you, that is.

“Worried about what, sweetie? You can handle yourself just fine. And I know a little extra baggage won’t hinder you.”

Miss Hunter, for some odd reason, doesn’t comment on his obvious dig. You give her a look. She looks away, almost like she’s embarrassed.

There’s something going on between them again.

You brush it off. Last time you got involved in their drama, it didn’t end well for you. No use in you sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.

Because of how lost in your thoughts you are, you almost don’t hear Sylus’ next words, “Care to dance?”

You don’t look at him because you expect his hand to be stretched out to Miss Hunter. You do look at her again because she’d need someone to hold her bunch of protocores. But she just gestures her head at Sylus, and you turn to him in confusion.

Sylus hand extends to you . Not his soulmate that carries a mound of protocores.

You hesitate. But something in his eyes compels you to take his hand, so you do so in the next moment. Sylus gives you a precious look as he whisks you away. Miss Hunter gives you a small thumbs up, and you don’t know how you feel about that.

Sylus and you easily fall into a rhythm with one another. Years and years of familiarity shadows all your earlier turmoil. You can just embrace his touch, his scent, and his care with no reservations. Each step to the music, choreographed but comforting.

Sylus leans in to whisper in your ear, “Sherman has been taken care of, Gamayun.”

That brings a smile to your face. A sick, twisted, and evil smile that you tend not to show. But Sherman had it coming.

He betrayed you. He hurt Miss Hunter and took her family from her. He got himself into this mess. And you only wished you’ve could’ve been there to rip out his soulmate thread, one attached to a woman who was long gone.

“Good. You better not have been quick about his punishment. Otherwise, I’m going to have to drag him out of his grave.”

Sylus spins you, and pulls you close for a moment.

“So aggressive.”

“I’m taking your advice: anything I don’t consider is filed under “never heard of it”, and I definitely don’t consider myself aggressive.”

He releases you and you step back.

“Then what do you consider this?”

“My bleeding heart acting up again.”

The two of you step into the back and forth dance again, box steps and making circles around the dance floor.

“Your bleeding heart gets you into far too much trouble.”

“Better than the trouble your loose lips gets us both in.”

“And what trouble are you referring to, exactly?”

“Kai,” you begin to list off. “That old records dealer in Siberia. That one arms dealer in Canada. James.”

Sylus’ face makes a strange expression at James’ name.

“Still hung up on that man?”

“That man,” you tease, speaking directly into Sylus’ ear when you get closer. “Would’ve been quite a help to our business.”

“You sure your interest in him isn’t personal?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded jealous. But a quick glance behind him at Miss Hunter, protocores taken away by some of Onychinus men, gets you to give up that idea.

Why would he be jealous when he has her?

“Guess we’ll never know,” is all you can get out.

You and Sylus dance in silence for a bit longer, a beautiful display of your synergy. You keep looking for Miss Hunter at any given opportunity. Her presence reminds you of your place. She reminds you that despite the inherent intimacy of this dance, you will never get more.

You’ll never get what you truly want.

“You see, this is why I worry whenever your bleeding heart acts up,” Sylus suddenly says.

“Why?”

Your voice sounds airy. You cringe at the sound, hoping Sylus doesn't notice how it wavers.

What is wrong with me?

“Because despite me being right in front of you, your eyes are focused on her.”

You feel so hot. Your head is in such a fog.

“And you care about that because…”

Sylus pulls you in close, closer than any other previous time. You two no longer dance, and his arm is tightly wound around your waist.

When he begins to lean in, your heart pounds and your stomach flutters. It's a thumping bass that drowns out all other conversations and music around you. All you can hear is your heart. All you can smell is his cologne.

All you can see is him.

Warmth flutters and circulates through your body. A warm that whispers comfort and safety. A warmth that draws you into Sylus just as he draws into you.

This warmth calls to you. Beckons you. It smuthers all the guilt, denial, and determination to stay the course.

It says, kiss him, kis him.

“Don’t you know by now that I adore you?” He mutters into your ear.

The two of you just stare at one another. The world stops dead in its tracks. Because did he really just say that? With his sultry voice that glides over your ears and sends shivers down your spine and makes your legs tremble and causes you to be so very weak? With a softness in his eyes you’ve never before in your life?

No. I’ve seen it somewhere.

It’s how Kai looked at Alex and vice versa. It’s how James would look when he talked about his lost love. It’s how so many soulmates would look at their other half.

But, that couldn’t be true, could it?

Your eyes are deceiving you. Because Sylus is leaning in closer to you. His scent becomes stronger and your body become warmer. You don’t care about anything else around you. All that matters is him and you and your pounding heart.

It’s like you’re waiting for something, studying him to be prepared for what it is. You’re still, as if any movement will scare him off or make him change his mind about whatever he's about to do.

And, for a moment, you swear you see him glance at your lips. You stop yourself from breathing. You, stupidly, lean into him.

Your brain screams at you to stop. Your heart sings for you to move faster, to get what you've wanted for so long. You listen to your heart.

You cup Sylus' cheeks. You tilt your head to the side. And that heart of yours—that foolish, foolish muscle—is so very loud that it consumes all your senses.

All you feel is your heart. All you see is your heart. All you taste is your heart.

What would Sylus taste like?

The thought is indecent. It's a fantasy. It's a trap. It's something you should never want, never think about, never wonder about.

But it's the siren song that pulls you in. It's what makes you tenderly glide your tongue against your lips as Sylus draws you closer.

That seems to break Sylus out of whatever trance he’s in, and his hand leaves your waist. You drop your hands from his cheeks when he does.

And just like that, the warmth in you is sucked away, as if his hands were the supplier of it. Your heart still envelopes you, consumes you. But no longer do you think about the taste of Sylus.

You perse your lips together, your mind conjuring the image of something else pressing against them. You blink several times, still in awe at all that did—and didn't—happen.

Am I… disappointed?

That’s ridiculous. You knew from the moment you fell for Sylus nothing would ever happen between the two you. You knew that, and you told yourself that everyday when your urge to kiss him or cuddle him especially close or flirt with him became too much.

To distract yourself, you ask, “How long until the bombs go off?”

Sylus doesn't seem affected by the strange atmosphere that was between you two. He gives you that familiar arrogant and confident smile.

But there's a glimmer in his eye. A glimmer that tells you so much and so little. You don't dare look at his thread in case there's more confusion there.

“Why do you assume I’m doing that, Gamayun?”

Because, unfortunately, I know you all too well.

“Because it’s you, Sylus. Now, when do they go off? I need to warn Miss Hunter.”

A sudden explosion is the last thing she needs. You couldn't bare to see her buckle under the weight of such panic, of such grief and pain.

Miss Hunter hides her grief well. But, it peaks out occasionally. Sometimes when she laughs just a bit too much. Other times when she looks at Sylus, for some reason.

Her suffering is palpable to everyone at the base. You've all collectively decided to pretend you don't see it and let her shield her fragile heart.

Because, otherwise... she'll shatter. She'll shatter and break and fall apart into so many pieces that not even expert crafters like you and Sylus could put her back together.

And no matter how her existence breaks your heart, you could never—will never—wish such a thing on her. No for any reason. Not even if she begins to hate you. Not even if she turns you in to the Hunter's Association.

And certainly not even when she ineviably takes away the man you love for good.

Sylus' response brings you out of your spiral, “I’ll come tell you when it’s time.”

He brings you close one last time, pressing a kiss on your forehead and murmuring, “I do love that heart of yours.”

You speed walk away. Body and mind in turmoil. Frustration. Embarrasment. Hope.

You can't control yourself. It feels odd, considering how composed you normally are. Control is everything to you. Control is literally your job and your life.

Right now, you're anything but that. You're flustered from head to toe, still feeling the ghost of Sylus' lips on your ear and forehead. You have to actively stop yourself from touching those places.

His lips were so soft. Softer than you ever imagined on those rare days you let yourself indulge in the fantasy of a future with him. How much softer would they have been against your own? Would he kiss you gently with those lips?

Or would he be rough, possessive? Like he's trying to claim your lips as your own?

You feel hot all over again just imagining it: his arm on your waist becoming tighter, his other hand gripping the back of your head, his hot breath against your lips when he dives in for more...

You want to scream at your own vivid fantacies. Thoughts and images so vivid, you can almost feel them.

His arm around you, muscles tensing on your hips as he tries to pull you impossibly closer to him.

His hand on your back, fingers spread wide and holding you in place, but featherlight as to not hurt you.

His other hand on the back of your head, making sure he's getting the perfect angle to kiss you.

His lips on yours, trying to mold them to his. Tongue in your mouth, eyes with blown pupils on you when he backs up for air, and whispered sweet nothings that only you can hear that spill out for a moment before he dives in for more.

For more of you.

What the devil is wrong with me?

Your walk to Miss Hunter feels like an eternity with the company of your delusions.

The moment you’re by Miss Hunter’s side, your embarrassment multiples. You were just fantisizing about her soulmate, her other half, and the man she will one day marry.

She wears a shit-eating grin.

“Sooo, what was that about?”

“What was what about?” You attempt to deflect.

“Don’t give me that,” she rolls her eyes at you. “I may not be as smart as you, but I do have eyes.”

“Don’t insult yourself like that,” your defense of her comes out before you can really think about it.

“You’re dodging the issue.”

She turns to face the dance floor. Or, rather, where Sylus stands near it. Just the sight of him makes you feel all warm and fuzzy again.

”Don’t you know by now that I adore you?”

”I do love that heart of yours.”

And just like that, you’re flustered again.

“Dance with me,” you blurt out, escaping from Sylus’ line of sight and dragging Miss Hunter behind you.

Miss Hunter giggles, grin still on her face. You can practically hear the teasing questions and words that beg to fall off her lips.

Is this what it’s like to have friends?

Your social life took a dive years ago, far before you met Sylus. After your best friends in high school ditched you for each and their new love, reaching out for companionship was… hard, to say the least.

Kai and Alex filled that void for some time. The three of you stopped talking about a year ago for some reason. Kai’s been very quiet in the “business” world since then. And Alex has always preferred to stay out of the spotlight, so you didn’t worry much when they dropped off the grid.

They were, and still are, probably two of your closest friends. People who get not only the lighter side of you—the one with a bleeding heart—but the dark side, the lonely one with a cynical out look on love.

But, as much as you love them, they are anything except normal. Kai’s killed more people than anyone you’ve ever met. Alex prefers the call of nature to the voices of humans. They both carry pains you couldn’t even begin to understand.

You love them. You love Sylus. You love the twins. But, you need some reprieve from your bloodstained world.

Miss Hunter appears to be the key to that. Someone who reminds you of the good in the world, rather than the bad parts you’re determined to destroy. Someone who reminds you of that innocent little girl you once were before you got your powers (ironic, given that she’s more or less a symbol of everything your powers have taken from you).

She’s a kind and gentle soul, one who hasn’t been stained by the world and still believes in good. She reminds you of Alex.

But unlike Alex, Miss Hunter is fierce. Unwavering. And because of that, you couldn’t ask for a better soulmate for the love of your life.

Imagining her and Sylus together still hurts. It still claws into your heart and shreds it without mercy. But, in a little corner of your heart, there’s joy. There’s happiness for your new friend and the man you love.

Because no one else could make each other as happy as the other will. You’ve seen it time and time again.

As for her other soulmates… well, they aren’t your problem. You’ll deal with that problem too once you come to it.

“Still thinking about your boss?” Miss Hunter pipes up, her tone teasing and lighter than you’ve ever heard it.

Yes.

You still feel his touch, phantom imprints. You still want more of his touch, the ghost of his taste still on your tongue. You want more and more and more.

But you will never have it. You need to remember that. All you'll ever have is the dreams and nightmares of that with Sylus.

And your dreams are meant to be crushed. They're meant to be broken beyond repair. Why should someone deemed by the universe unfit for love be able to dream?

Why should they be able to wish, to wonder?

Why am I allowed to live?

“What ever are you talking about?”

Stepping into your usual role is all you can do to make the thoughts stop.

“Seriously? You’re pretending not to know again?”

No. I just don't want to know. I don't want to remember my mistakes and my errors and my stupidity, and my—

“Why don’t just spit it out?” You quip back with a smile.

“Fine,” she huffs as you twirl her. “You and Sylus—well, mostly Sylus—it’s obvious you're in love.”

“You’re still on about that?”

You thought you cleared this up earlier. Your stomach twists at the thought. Having Sylus’ soulmate believe the two of you are in love, and not just extremely close is a problem. A huge problem.

“And you’re still in denial about that? I mean, come on! He looked like he was going to kiss you. I had my imaginary popcorn out and everything!”

“You’re ridiculous,” she giggles as you pull her close. “Preposterous. Delusional.”

“I know what you are, but what am I?” You roll your eyes at her.

“His friend and employee. Not his soulmate.”

The word “soulmate” causes a shadow to fall over her eyes.

“How… are you so sure?”

You want to laugh.

Because I can see it. I see how your souls are tied together. I see how he’ll love you and only you through every lifetime. I see how I’m merely a footnote in your love story.

You, of course say none of that, and can only say, “I just do.”

The cheery and playful atmosphere dissipates between the two of you. You stop dancing and you guide her away from the dance floor to somewhere more hidden. You don’t know what to say.

The airy and warm feeling you had early is gone, sapped away by your own stupid words and your own stupid love. Why, oh why, did you have to do this to yourself?

Maybe part of you loves the pain of a broke heart?

The tap on your shoulder comes as a welcomed distraction.

“60 seconds,” is all his whispers in your ear before he goes off to talk to other people.

For once, you’re grateful for Sylus’ tendency to do big shows of power. The ensuing chaos and combat will keep your mind occupied.

“What was that?” Miss Hunter inquires, tilting her head at you.

“A heads up I requested,” her expression pushes you to answer further. “Sylus has a flare for dramatics. And those dramatics tend to involve explosions.”

You continue in a much gentler tone, “I know an explosion took your family. Springing one on you isn’t very polite, so I asked Sylus to give me a heads up.”

Miss Hunter trembles. You hold her close.

“Thank you,” she whispers, trying to sound brave.

“No need,” you check your phone for the time. “We have about 30 seconds. Ready?”

“Does it matter if I’m not?”

You sigh. “I suppose not.”

The seconds tick down. Miss Hunter’s breath is shaky. You feel her heart pound in her chest. You squeeze her even closer to you. You count each breath, and remind her to stay calm.

Then, it comes. Multiple explosions rock the building. People scream. Some are crushed, while others die in a blaze. Others still are picked off by the twins or Sylus himself.

You don’t focus on them. You focus on keeping Miss Hunter shielded and calm. Her heartbeat is out of control, so you mess with her threads a bit. Just small nudges to keep her tranquil, to remind of her of better times.

The whole thing is done in an instant. Sylus casually walks over to check on her.

“You alright, sweetie?”

“She will be. Give her time,” you snap.

Sylus laughs, sticking his thumbs into his pockets, “I meant you, silly.”

He takes a hand out to flick your forehead when he says the stupid nickname.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You brush him off because today has been just a bit too much. Your hear has always been weak to Sylus, but you've never had such real... material in your mind.

You've never thought of how he would kiss you. You've never thought about how he would touch you in throes of such intimacy. You've never let your thoughts get so far.

But that look in his eyes when you two danced. That look he gave you before you went to Miss Hunter... it gives you ideas. Foolish, unrealistic, and dangerous ideas.

“Because I seem to recall you prioritizing helping our guest over your own safety.”

He leans over Miss Hunter who was still buried in your arms, and tilts your head so that he could get a better look.

“Look, your face is bleeding.”

His touch makes you feel hot all over again. It gets worse when you remember how it made your imagination run wild.

You can almost pretend you're somewhere else. Somewhere private. Somewhere where this simple touch on the chin to look at your cuts and bruises could become something else.

Your knees almost buckle. But you hold it together.

“Minor cuts, you fool. I’ve had worse.”

“And that makes that better because…?”

“…Shut your mouth.”

“Or else what? You’ll shut it for me?”

You flush at the implications. Sylus’ smirk tells you that he meant it in the way you’re thinking of. Your heart rate picks up again. You’re warm all over. And there’s this sense of… anticipation and hunger as you stare at one another.

That warmth is back. It begs to take a chance, a leap of faith. It screams at you to just grab his neck and finally have what you've craved for so long.

“Could you please not flirt so close to me?” Miss Hunter mumbles.

You almost scream. But the crushing guilt keeps you silent. Her words remind you of your place, of the line you've been treading far too close to.

You step back from Sylus. Miss Hunter is no longer buried in you, so she doesn't follow.

You ignore her question because you have no way of really responding, “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Let’s finish this.”

You guide her to the rooftop, glancing at Sylus to be sure he follows. He shakes his head.

“I’ll clean up here. You go.”

“I seem to recall that she’s your guest.”

He shrugs, “she likes you more.”

You splutter. Then, you let yourself hug him and whisper in his ear, "Be safe, Morana."

You follow Miss Hunter up to the rooftop as quick as you can. The sharp winds in your face make the burn of emotions dampen down. That, and the giant Wanderer that roars above.

“Stay back!” She yells over the racket, shooting at the foe. “You don’t have an Evol, right?! It’s dangerous!”

“Ever the diligent Hunter, protecting civilian, eh?”

“Now’s not the time for jokes!”

“The only joke here is that you think me,, of all people, need protection!”

The fight against the Wanderer is short. After all, Wanderers were once people. They had souls and threads for you to mess with. So you help her, weaving threads and shooting after she handed you one of her guns.

You hand it back as you walk to the pedestal that held the Aether Core, beckoning her to that the power that belongs to her. And you watch her threads react.

You never really paid attention to Miss Hunter’s Aether Core, not when they were more pressing issues at hand. None of this issues exist now in this moment.

Now, you can. Her glitching threads that emerge from it. The strange energy that flows from it, an energy that seems to call to you. It tries to drag you in, to swallow you.

You don’t know why.

And when the energy from the new core begins to leak out into her, the very universe shifts around you.

You hear her heartbeats, and your own heart seems to sync with it. Thump. Thump. Thump. A resonate of sounds that are so familiar yet so foreign.

And underneath those thumps, there’s a hum. A song. A whisper of melody you’ve never heard before and can’t describe despite how it echoes in your brain.

It’s beautiful.

The sound is like home. Like a gentle kiss from your mother or the safe embrace of your father. Like the boisterous laugh of the twins or the comfortable touch of Sylus.

It brings a tear to your eye. With that tear comes visuals. Planets. Stars. Galaxies. They all lay over your eyes and block the vision of Miss Hunter taking the power of the new Aether Core.

So, so beautiful.

You think you can stay here forever, basking in that wonderful melody and the sights that it brings. But the moment the energy flow into Miss Hunter stops, it ends. A blip in time. A small moment of absolute peace.

Quickly wiping your face before she turns around, you snap out your trance. There’s things to be done, after all.

You do all the things needed to be done: help Sylus and the twins clean up, settle Miss Hunter, and escort her out of the N109 Zone.

“You should come visit me,” she says, bright smile on her face.

“Maybe I will…”

After all, what better fresh start is there than the city of the woman who drove me out? You take my place at Sylus’ side… maybe I’ll take yours in the Hunter Association.

It’ll be a sick, twisted, heartbroken exchange. One not equivalent in the slightest. For how can you compare a woman loved by many to one loved by none?

Author's Note: Also, please go to the original blurb to ask to be added to the taglist (it's impossible for me to keep checking every part every time I update).

2nd Author's Note: How long is too long for a chapter?

Taglist: @eolivy, @rafayelridesfisheatsfish, @animegamerfox, @jasperjokester, @schrodingerskimdokja, @just--crys, @snowdynasty, @shi-thats-kiera, @mansonofmadness, @dwuclvr, @ameilli, @katiedoesstuff101, @everythingistaken00, @napa-the-yappa, @hanaluxx, @lovesick-sylus, @tenaciouszombiewombat, @ladyparamount, @applepi405, @midnight-reverie, @69-gojos-wife-69, @bellagrayson-wayne, @phisen, @idkmanimjusthorny, @munchychuusy, @autumn2534, @poptrim, @sillyfreakfanparty, @zaynesfirefly, @flamedancer13, @thissmartdumbass, @mrsllawliet, @jeondyy, @ssetsuka, @dels-page, @that-lost-one, @johnnysactualgf, @mariquitas-en-verano, @toelady, @sinnamon-bunn, @yesbiaswrecked, @doggyteam2028, @little-rays-of-darkness, @albatrossblue, @vyntheria, @silverianni, @browneyedgirl22, @tiklestar, @beaconsxd, @pepperushia

[beargyu313]

cliffside

Love is so blind, it feel’s right when it’s wrong

˚.🎀༘⋆ Summary: what was supposed to be a quiet retreat turns into an unforgettable romance with a man almost twice your age (or the story of how your boyfriend’s dad seduces you). ྀ. 𐙚 ̊ Word count: 17.5k

ᵎ!ᵎ⭑.ᐟᵎ!cw: cheating !!! don’t read if uncomfortable !!!! mentions of food throughout the whole thing (they will nawt be hungry), also I do not encourage big age gap relationship irl, this is a fictional and heavily ROMANTICIZED story (ladies don’t let older guys take advantage of you !!)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

⋆˚࿔ Tags: MDNI – smut (it’s basically pwp), soft power dynamics, forced proximity, boyfriend’s dad (meaning cheating – don’t read if u don’t like it), age gap (OC is 27, Sunghoon is in very late 30’s!), one bed trope, doting and dom!Sunghoon,, 𓆝

⋆smut tags: corruption kink, undertones of ddlg (no use of daddy), heavy petting, groping, spanking, possessive and obsessive Sunghoon !! (but he’s not acting like a freak), choking, brat-tamer!Sunghoon, praise kink

⋆˙♪ Playlist: LDR – norman fucking rockwell + Baekhyun – delight

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ A/N: was this plot just an excuse to write 17k Sunghoon smut? YES lmfaoo. My reqs are currently OPEN for Niki, Sunghoon and Jake, pleeeease request something (I don’t mind detailed reqs, because I’m not writing anything atm and would love a new project) 𓆝 also I’m opening an AO3 account by the end of the month 🦭ིྀ

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

You’re holding onto your seatbelt as your boyfriend Jihoon speeds over the winding road up the hill.

“Slow down,” you tell him, knowing it’s in vain.

You’d only been together for six months, and this was supposed to be your first real couple’s retreat. The plan had sounded romantic— staying at his dad’s remote cabin, no cell service, time to unwind, just the two of you—but right now, you’re gripping the handle on the door and trying to bite your tongue as the car takes another sharp curve.

He exhales sharply, like your voice is a burden. “We’re literally ten minutes away.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh my god,” he mutters. “What is the point, then? That I’m not driving the way you like?”

You glance at him. He hasn’t looked at you once since you got in the car.

“I’m trying to talk to you,” you say quietly. “You’ve been on edge since we left.”

“I’ve been on edge?” he laughs, humorless. “You’re the one who quit your job and suddenly needed a ‘healing escape.’”

You go still. The words hit harder than they should.

“I told you why I left.”

“Right. Because it was ‘toxic.’” He throws air quotes around the word with one hand while the other grips the wheel. “Or maybe you just couldn’t the real world.”

Silence drops like a rock between you.

You stare out the window, jaw tight. Trees blur by—dark pines, broken sunlight. The air feels heavier than it should.

He sighs again. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying, not everything is a crisis.”

“I didn’t ask for a crisis,” you murmur. “I asked for support.”

He doesn’t respond.

Not when the road evens out. Not when the trees thin and the sea appears in the distance, glittering like glass. Not even when the outline of the cliffside cabin comes into view—tucked into green and shadow like it was built to disappear.

Jihoon pulls into the gravel clearing with a crunch of tires. The cabin stands just ahead—smaller than you imagined, all warm wood and deep shadows, the ocean visible just beyond the slope. It’s stupidly beautiful here. It almost makes you more angry.

He doesn’t bother to put the car in park before saying, “Well. We made it.”

You sit still. The air between you is thick with things unsaid.

“I guess we did,” you say.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing at the rearview mirror like he's already thinking about leaving. “Do you want help bringing your stuff in or…”

“No,” you cut in. “I’ve got it.”

That finally gets his attention. He turns toward you, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “It means I think we need space. A break. Just a few days.”

His mouth pulls into that condescending half-smile you’ve grown to hate. “So what, you’re kicking me out?”

“I’m asking you to give me time to think,” you say, voice calm but tight. “I came here to breathe. You don’t want to be here anyway.”

He scoffs. “Wow. Alright then.”

You open the door and step out before he can say anything else. The gravel shifts beneath your shoes as you head to the trunk. He doesn’t move to help you—not a step.

You drag your suitcase out, the wheels catching on rock and dirt.

When you turn back, Jihoon’s already behind the wheel again. Sunglasses on. Expression unreadable.

You pause. Half of you expects him to get out anyway. To walk over. Say something. Fight for this.

But he doesn’t.

He raises one hand in a lazy wave. “Enjoy your break, I guess.”

And then he hits the gas.

The car kicks up dust and pebbles as it speeds off, tires whining slightly on the curve. You watch the taillights shrink and vanish down the hill. Just like that, he’s gone.

Melancholy creeps into you like a shadow, sighing you can’t help but judge yourself. Really, what were you thinking going for a younger guy. And yeah, maybe 5 years wasn’t that much but as your 27th birthday approaches you somehow wish Jihoon could be more mature, less selfish. You shake the thought away and tightly grip your suitcase.

The wind rises a little, brushing your hair into your face. There’s no one around. No sound but the gulls and the faint hush of waves crashing far below.

The sound of your steps crunching down on the gravel is loud compared to the quiet hush of the nature around you.

You look at the cabin again. And someone is standing in the doorway.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. White shirt sleeves pushed to the elbows.

You squint against the sun. Then recognize him.

Mr. Park. Jihoon’s father.

He steps out onto the porch, bootsteps slow and deliberate. You’ve met him once before, at a dinner—Jihoon had barely let you talk, but Mr. Park had been polite, distant. Watchful.

Now, he looks at your suitcase. Then at you. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen.

“Did Jihoon just leave you here alone?” he asks and you can tell he’s angry at his son.

You exhale through your nose. “Apparently I needed a break.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then so quietly you think you imagined it, “He’s more like his mother than I thought.”

You blink. You don’t know how to answer that.

Mr. Park glances at the suitcase again, then back to your face.

“You staying the week?”

You nod. “That was the plan.”

He tilts his head toward the open door.

“Then come inside. Wind’s picking up,” he states, as he bends ever so slightly and reaches for your suitcase. His fingers brush against yours as he grabs hold of the suitcase. You let him. But you’re still hesitating, stuck to the same spot on the driveway.

He notices.

“I don’t bite,” he says, and the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. Not quite a smile. Not quite a joke.

Then he turns and walks back into the cabin—like he knows you’ll follow.

And you do, eyes lingering on the subtle shift of his shoulders beneath his shirt.

If that dinner months ago was any indication, he’s a man of few words. Quiet, intense. Unreadable.

It didn’t help that you also thought he was very good looking. Long, black hair tucked behind one ear, a few strands falling across sharp cheekbones. Thin silver glasses framing his eyes, drawing attention to the thick brows that make his expression look serious—even when he’s relaxed.

He looks like someone who doesn’t speak unless it matters. Someone who sees more than he lets on.

And now you’re stuck in a cabin with him.

A cabin you thought would be empty. Jihoon never mentioned his dad was here.

Kicking off your shoes on the porch, you follow Mr. Park inside.

The inside of the cabin is warmer than you expected. Not just in temperature, but in tone—like someone curated comfort instead of just decorating it.

The floor is rich in dark wood and worn slightly in the center like it's been walked barefoot a hundred times. A plush sofa stretches across one side of the open-plan living area, upholstered in a deep jade green that catches the light from the tall windows. A few burnt orange cushions are scattered along its length—just enough color to feel intentional.

The kitchen is minimalist but modern. Clean black stone countertops. Matte brown cabinetry. Pans hanging above the stove, catching glints of sunlight through the trees outside. There’s a teapot already out on the burner—old but polished, like it gets used daily.

A single spiral staircase in wrought iron and wood winds upward to the lofted bedroom, perched just above the living space. It has no door—just a wooden railing and a clean sightline to the floor below.

You can see the bed from where you’re standing. It’s large, maybe a queen, with a low frame and linen sheets in soft earth tones. Moss green. Warm gray. A single burnt orange throw draped carelessly across the foot.

There’s no real privacy, not with the open layout. You can already imagine the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, the creak of bedsprings, even the breath of someone turning over in the night.

The whole place smells faintly of cedar, citrus, and coffee.

It’s domestic. Intimate. A little too intimate, maybe.

“Um-“

“So,” you two start speaking at the same time.

You glance at each other. You offer a tight laugh.

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

He shakes his head. “Ladies first.”

You shift your bag higher on your shoulder. “I was just going to ask… would I be, um, in your way? I mean, I didn’t know anyone else would be here.”

His gaze flicks toward your suitcase. “You’re not in my way.”

A beat. You’re not sure what to do with your hands. “Jihoon didn’t mention you’d be staying here.”

He gives the faintest shrug. “I didn’t know he was planning on coming either.”

You nod slowly, not sure how to respond.

“I usually come up for a few weeks every summer,” he adds. “To work, it’s nice and quiet here, no buzz of the city.”

“It is nice,” you say as you glance around again, avoiding looking in Mr. Park’s eyes. But you can feel his gaze on you. It’s making you squirm and you start overthinking everything. From your clothes, to your hair and down to your makeup.

“It grows on you,” he says, finally tearing his eyes off you.

Another pause. You try to find something to say. Something neutral.

“I like the colors,” you say finally. “All the… green. And wood. It feels… warm.”

He almost smiles. “That was my doing. The decorator wanted everything to be white and steel.”

You blink. “Wait. You picked the throw pillows?”

His eyes crinkle just slightly. “I’m not a savage.”

That makes you laugh, even though you try to stifle it. His gaze lingers on the sound. It softens something in his face.

Then he nods toward your bag. “You want tea? Or coffee?”

“Tea would be nice,” you say.

“I’ll get your things upstairs.”

You protest, “Oh, it’s fine, really—”

But he’s already moving.

“I’ll set it by the railing,” he says over his shoulder. “You’ll be able to see everything from up there.”

Including him, you think—but you don’t say it.

He disappears up the steps, feet thudding lightly against the polished wood. You hear the creak of the loft floor above you, and then silence.

You glance around the living room again, unsure what to do with yourself. The couch is a soft, worn leather. A stack of books sits on the coffee table. Nature. Photography. One novel with a cracked spine.

The kettle whistles from the kitchen, sharp and sudden.

You reach for it, but Mr. Park is already coming back down the stairs.

“I’ve got it,” he says.

You step back instinctively. He moves past you, not touching you, but close enough that you feel his presence, his warmth.

You silently move into the kitchen with him and watch him as he pours the hot water, slides the mug towards you and then fixes his own tea as well.

Chamomile tea with no sugar, just the way you like it.

“Oh, thank you,” you softly say as you wrap both of your hands around the cup and bring it up to your lips, blowing gently.

Mr. Park doesn’t reply, just continues moving around the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Pulls out vegetables, eggs, a small bundle of herbs wrapped in twine.

You hover for a moment. Then, ask uncertain.

“Do you want help?”

He glances back, his dark locks falling onto his cheekbones. You almost want to fix the bothersome strands, but suppress the itch to have an excuse to touch him. He is your boyfriend’s dad for god’s sake!

“No need. You’ve had a long trip.”

You offer a faint smile, trying to make it casual. “Not exactly the couple’s retreat I imagined.”

That earns you a low, dry sound. Almost a laugh. And against yourself you’re pleased.

He turns back to the cutting board. Begins to chop in precise, even strokes. Everything about him is deliberate. Controlled.

Then, without looking up he asks. “He left you up here alone?” only it wasn’t really a question.

You pause. “…He was upset. We argued.”

Sunghoon hums, neutral, but not quite, “He’s always been impulsive.”

A brief glance your way.

“Didn’t inherit that from me.” The words are clipped. Measured. Sharper than the knife he’s holding.

You hesitate. “You two aren’t close?”

He shrugs.

“Not the way I’d like. He doesn’t… think before he acts.” His voice is calm, but there’s weight behind it. History.

You tuck your hands under your thighs. “I guess I was hoping this trip would… reset things.”

He finally looks at you—really looks.

“You deserve more than hoping.”

Sunghoon continues cooking and you continue drinking tea as you try not to stare at him. You tell yourself to look away. Instead, your eyes trace the flex of his forearms as he works. The slow rhythm of the blade. The subtle tilt of his head as he concentrates.

You’re still staring when he speaks.

“See something you like?”

Your stomach drops.

He doesn’t look at you. Just slides chopped zucchini into a pan like he didn’t say anything at all.

You blink. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“Vegetables,” he says smoothly, mouth quirking. “I meant the vegetables.”

You let out a short laugh. Your cheeks are too warm. You take a sip of tea to mask it.

He finally meets your gaze. His expression is unreadable—but something in it lingers, like a touch you weren’t expecting.

“I’m making it for us,” he says. “Hope you’re hungry.”

The food is comforting. Warm rice, sautéed vegetables, the kind of seasoning that makes you pause for just a second, surprised it’s this good. You’re halfway through your bowl when the quiet between you stretches too long, and you feel the need to fill it.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “This is... really good.”

Mr. Park nods once. “Simple’s best up here. No delivery. No distractions.”

You glance at the windows, where the sun’s started to dip lower behind the trees. The silence out here feels different. Like it listens.

You clear your throat. “So… about the sleeping arrangements.”

He looks up at you, expression unreadable.

You add quickly, “I mean, I know you said I could take the bed, but I don’t want to—”

“You won’t, the couch isn’t suitable for sleeping anyway,” he interrupts gently. “Doesn’t stretch out.”

You blink. “Oh. Right. Of course. I didn’t know.”

His gaze lingers. “It’s not a problem. The bed fits two.”

You hesitate. “Mr. Park, I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“Sunghoon,” he says, voice low but firm. “Call me Sunghoon.”

You look at him. That subtle edge of command in his tone—not aggressive, not inappropriate. Just... sure. Your stomach flips.

“Okay. Sunghoon,” you softly say, his name heavy on your tongue. Like you’re saying a bad word. Forbidden.

His eyes stay on you a moment too long as if he can feel it too. Feel your unspoken desire. You fidget in your chair, his eyes piercing.

Then, just like that, he stands, collecting the dishes with easy efficiency. You rise to help, but he waves you off.

“I’ve got it. But…” He pauses at the fridge. “Do you want dessert?”

You blink. “You have dessert?”

“Kind of.” He opens the freezer. “One popsicle left.”

You let out a soft laugh. “We can split it.”

He tears the wrapper and hands you the stick. You take it, a bit taken aback that he unwrapped it for you. So far Sunghoon was being really caring towards you and you couldn’t tell if he’s being like this because he’s so much older than you and instinctively wants to take care of you specifically or if he’s always like this and it doesn’t mean anything.

Your lips wrap around the cold stick, the cold sharp and sweet on your tongue. You hear Sunghoon open the tap as he starts washing up. By the time he’s done you’re halfway done with the popsicle.

Sunghoon sits down on the sofa, right next to you as he watches the way your cheeks dip as you suckle and bite on the stick. Eyes dark, lids heavy and legs spread. But you don’t notice as you absent mindedly scroll through TV channels.

“Would you like some?” you innocently ask, “thought we said we’d split it?” only to almost drop the cold stick when you turn to look at him. Heat spreads through you like wildfire.

Sunghoon is sitting down on the couch looking like pure sex. Glasses sliding down his nose, hair a bit messy from brushing it back and heavy-lidded. Without hesitation, he slowly leans in and wraps his lips around the same spot your lips had just touched.

His mouth is slow as he softly bites down on what’s left of the popsicle. Hand wrapped around the same stick you’re holding. Deliberate. The wet sound of his tongue and the quiet sucking goes straight down to your core.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he says, dark eyes on you.

When he pulls back, he licks a faint drip from the corner of his mouth. The slow drag of his tongue as he pulls away makes you forget what you were about to say.

You stare at him. You can’t help it.

The air feels heavier now. Warmer. Intimate in a different way. He takes one last bite, then tosses the stick into the trash like nothing happened.

“You should get some rest,” he murmurs. “You can unpack tomorrow.”

You nod, fingers still cold from holding the popsicle. Mouth still warm from watching him.

And when you finally climb the stairs to the open loft, you know exactly what you’ll be thinking about when you try to sleep.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟

You wake up sweaty and sticky. Annoyed, you try to shake the duvet off but freeze as you feel the warmth behind you. Sunghoon is sprawled out next to you, his glasses on the bedside table. He’s not touching you, but with how closely he’s snuggled to you he might as well be.

You chuck the duvet off yourself, but do your best so it stays as it was on Sunghoon and let yourself fall back asleep.

The next time you wake to a steady rhythmic beat under you. You cuddle into the it, the sound calming you further into a daze. But then you register strong arms draped over you, hugging you protectively. And you realize you’re literally laying down on Sunghoon’s chest.

His arms tighten around you when he feels you waking up.

“Finally up, huh,” he mumbles, but his voice is kind. Sleep still seeping into it.

“Didn’t want to move and wake you, sorry,” he tells you and lets you roll off him.

“Sorry,” you squeal, face turning red, “hope I didn’t droll, I’m not usually the cuddling type.”

“No? S’kay, I didn’t mind it,” Sunghoon tells you as if it was nothing and starts getting ready for the day.

You’re still hiding your face behind the duvet as you listen to his quiet shuffle around the small loft. It is only when you hear the front door shut that you force yourself to get up too.

The morning is spent in quiet solitude that you invite with open arms, enjoying the scenery. You prepare yourself a simple breakfast and a tea to go along with it. As you sip on it you see Sunghoon outside, taking photos. And that’s when you remember Jihoon telling you his dad did photography.

You go back upstairs to unpack and change out of your pajamas. It’s true that it was summer, but the mountain air was a bit chillier so you decide on an oversized sweater, shorts and knee socks.

As you go out, you look around for Sunghoon, slightly jogging up to him when you spot him just off the trail. Near the forest. The sun is high up in the sky and Sunghoon has his camera raised, gaze narrowed like he’s tracking something invisible. A gull wheels overhead. His finger clicks the shutter.

"You're out early," you say, a little breathless from jogging. You brush your hair out of your face.

He turns at the sound of your voice. His eyes take you in—sweater hanging off one shoulder, the soft skin of your thighs above those socks—and there’s a flicker of something there. But just as quick as you notice it, it’s gone.

"Best light doesn’t wait. You want to try?" he asks.

"Really?" you ask, already shuffling closer to him.

Sunghoon watches you as he gruffly tells you, "come here."

He pauses when you leave some polite space between the two of you.

"Closer," he tells you, opening his chest as he indicates he wants you to come directly against his chest. You gulp as you move, his broad stature engulfing you as he put his arms around you and holds the camera in front of you.

"I’ve never held one like this before," you tell him, your heart racing at the proximity.

Sunghoon quietly chuckles, "that much is obvious. Relax your grip—you’re choking it," his hand over your, softly fixing your fingers.

"Sorry—"

"No need to apologize. Just let me guide you," and you do, his fingers guide you, as his breath caresses your neck. And you have to suppress a shiver when he quietly speaks next, his voice right next to your ear, breath tickling your neck.

"Tilt your wrists like this... yeah. Just like that. Feel better?"

"A little," you rasp and you swear his voice sounds deeper than before. You feel a warm buzzing seep from your inner thighs and try your best to will the thoughts away.

"Don’t overthink it. Let the camera rest in your hands. Let it want to be touched," he speaks, his hands moving from your wrists up your arms and settling on your shoulders as he watches you click away.

You softly chuckle in hopes of dissipating tension"you’re making it sound... kind of dirty."

"Is that how you’re hearing it?" he asks, not bothered in the slightest, but his hands on your shoulders start applying pressure – almost in warning.

"I didn’t mean—" you fumble for words, panic shooting through you. How was he always so calm?

"Mm. Focus here. Look through the viewfinder. Keep your hands steady," he cuts you off. His face is right next to your as he looks into the viewfinder.

"Breathe in," he proffers.

A beat passes as you breathe in and you swear heat builds between you. But only his hands touch you, their weight a constant reminder of how close he is.

"Now exhale slowly. Feel that? How everything sharpens when you stop fighting it?"

"Yeah..." you say, your voice coming out in a quiet breath. You shuffle in your spot, your shorts rubbing against your lower lips.

"Good girl," says Sunghoon, his voice like honey to your ears. But still – you momentarily falter, his voice bringing you back to reality.

"Mr. Park..." you hope your voice is at least a little serious, turning slightly to look at him through your lashes.

"If you keep calling me that, I’m going to start thinking you like it," Sunghoon easily replies, his gaze dropping to your lips. It’s back on your eyes just as quickly, so much so that you start to think you imagined it.

"Is that a problem?" flustered, you laugh and take a step forward. His hands drop from your shoulder as he continues watching you. A lip caught between his teeth.

"Not at all. But if we’re going to keep doing this... it’s Sunghoon. Say it."

"Sunghoon," you say, turning to look back at him.

"Better," he smirks and your gaze falls to the grass.

Sunghoon takes over the camera then, and you end up spending the entire day with him. Mostly just listening, letting his quiet confidence settle into the spaces where your thoughts usually race. He explains this and that—aperture, lighting, texture—and you try your best to keep up, even though you mostly just enjoy the sound of his voice. Low and calm, like the tide pulling in.

For lunch, you make sandwiches for the both of you, slicing the bread carefully while he’s still reviewing the shots on his camera. You place the plate beside him with a soft, "Here."

He glances up, genuinely surprised. Then, that soft flicker of something like warmth passes through his eyes.

"You didn’t have to, sweet girl," he says.

Just like that. Casual. Almost lazy. But your face burns for the next hour.

By the time the sun dips behind the trees, painting the cabin in golden light, he mentions putting on a movie in the living room—and you stupidly agree before even thinking to ask which movie.

You only realize your mistake when he dims the lights and presses play on Hereditary.

The couch is wide but low, sunken from use. You curl into yourself immediately, legs folded up beneath you, oversized sweater sleeves covering your hands. You retreat into your corner like a cat anticipating a thunderstorm.

Sunghoon claims the other side—sprawled out, knees wide, one arm draped over the backrest. He doesn’t look at you, but his presence takes up all the space anyway. Calm. Heavy.

You’re not touching. But you can feel him.

At first the movie is fine. Almost boring. You’ve seen horror films before, and for a while Hereditary just feels like another cliché movie. A family unraveling. A creeping unease.

But as the minutes tick by, your body starts to betray you. The way the music swells without warning. The shadows that linger a little too long in the corners of the screen. The sudden cuts to faces that shouldn't be there.

Your fingers curl into the blanket. You try to laugh once—force it out like it’s no big deal—but it dies in your throat.

Beside you, Sunghoon doesn’t move. He watches with the same intense stillness he brings to everything. Like he already knows exactly what’s coming.

When the first real scare lands—a sharp cut, a scream, something unnatural jerking into frame—you jump.

Not dramatically. Not even enough to make a sound, but enough that your knee brushes his thigh.

You freeze.

So does he.

Then, slowly, you start to pull away—

“Scared?” His voice is low. Barely a whisper. Almost amused.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, only to find that he's already watching you. Not the screen.

“It’s just a movie,” you say, trying to play it off.

But your voice isn’t steady. Not enough to fool either of you.

He doesn’t call you on it. Just leans a little closer, arm still draped behind you on the couch.

“Come here,” he says simply. Not a question. Not a suggestion.

Just… an offer.

And somehow, that’s even more dangerous.

“It’s fine, really,” you tell him but as the climax of the movie approaches you’re getting progressively more and more scared. Your eyes shifting in paranoia to look outside the windows to make sure no one is looking in, you almost scream when a big hand wraps around your wrist.

But you relax, when you realize it’s just Sunghoon. He pulls you right against himself, his arm falling protectively against your body. He moves your legs so they’re resting in his lap, his other arm placed on your naked thighs.

“You’re too stubborn,” he tells you, but his arms tighten around you whenever you jump.

Once the movie ends, the room is too quiet.

You don’t move at first, staring blankly at the credits. There’s still a weight in your chest—your heartbeat quick, your breath shallow. That last scene… you wish you hadn’t watched it.

Sunghoon stretches, slow and deliberate, his body radiating calm. He looks down at you—really looks—and sees it.

“Too much for you, sweetheart?”

His voice is low. Gentle. Like he’s talking to someone much smaller, like he’s already tucking you into safety without moving an inch.

You glance at him, face warming. You nod, just barely.

“It got really scary at the end,” you admit softly, voice small.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t laugh. Instead he softly asks, “Want me to put something else on?”

You nod again, biting your lip. “Can we… watch a cartoon? Something stupid. With animals, or magic. Just something nice.”

That earns the smallest smirk. Not mocking—fond.

“Of course you want animals.”

He reaches for the remote, his hand trailing down your thighs. He pulls your sliding sock back over your knee, smoothing over the goosebumps that appear on your thigh where he touches.

“Any favorites, baby girl?”

The nickname makes your stomach flip, but you don’t correct him. You just sink a little deeper into the couch and mumble something about whatever’s cute.

Sunghoon scrolls quietly until something soft and colorful starts playing. You don’t even register what it is—just the bright lights and silly voices, the kind of show you used to watch on Sunday mornings with cereal in your lap.

He glances at you again.

“Better?”

You scoot deeper into him “mhm,” you whisper. “Thanks… Sunghoonie.”

There’s a pause, and then you feel his hand move, caressing your thigh.

After some time you shuffle against him again – your back hurt after laying sideways. Your legs spread as you sit on Sunghoon’s lap, now chest to chest with him as you let your head rest on his broad shoulder.

You don’t seem to realize you’re straddling him, Sunghoon’s even breathing lulling you into a sleepy haze. You just knew the TV light was starting to bother you and Sunghoon was warm. So you snuggle further into him.

He doesn’t say anything, instead he brings his legs closer and angles his hips upwards, so your core is pressed directly against his. You squirm around a bit, trying to find a comfy position when you feel it.

Something is poking right against your butt, just as you sit fully down and begin to nod off. Bothered by the prodding you subconsciously roll and press your hips against Sunghoon’s warm body.  You quietly groan, as pleasure starts replacing discomfort.

You continue dragging your hips up and down and Sunghoon groans underneath you. You moan, nuzzling your head into his neck as you push your front into his chest. Sunghoon’s hands travel from your thighs to your waist and it’s getting harder to breathe.

You pick up the pace, grinding with more intent when his hands grip your hips, the strength forcing you to stop. You whine at the loss of friction.

“You’re sleepy baby, let me take you upstairs,” Sunghoon groans, his voice hoarse as if he’s holding himself back from saying too much.

You let him lift you up in bridal position and carry you upstairs. He softly lays you down on your side of the bed. You don’t hear him, as he quietly goes into the bathroom. Trying to hold back any sounds as he grips his hard and leaking cock. And maybe that night he furiously tugs at his cock like a teenager, cumming embarrassingly fast before he’s able to come and sleep next to you. But you don’t know that, already asleep.

When you wake the next day you’re tangled with Sunghoon again. You’re calmer this morning compared to the previous one, and that’s when his hand twitches – shifting the mood. You’re spooning, only Sunghoon’s hand isn’t around your waist. No, it’s resting directly on your boob. Almost fondling it. You feel twitching as he starts waking up, the hand on your boob momentarily tightens into a grope, and you feel your nipples stifling, poking up. You mewl, subconsciously pushing your chest further into his hand.

You don’t move more than that, pretending you’re still sleeping as Sunghoon carefully continues touching you.

His fingers pinch your nipple, hips pressing into you. You feel how hard he is, and memories of last night fill your mind. Afarid he will pull away again you continue pretending to sleep. Sunghoon quietly groans into your ear, his hips rutting against your ass. The hand covering your tit less gentle as he roughly massages your boob.

You try really hard not to make any noise, not to push back, even though the ache building between your thighs has you nearly shaking in want. A moan escapes you when his thrusts get more irregular, less controlled and his dick twitches right against your lips.

Not being able to take it anymore you jut your ass out, shifting your thighs so you feel more pressure on your pussy. You quietly moan when Sunghoon’s other hand sneaks underneath your laying figure, resting on your navel.

“My sweet little thing, so good to me,” he breathes, pulling you into a back hug as he lets you feel his hard cock.

He breathes in your hair and you mewl when his hips move, thrusting upwards. Your pussy clenching around nothing and you feel your panties start sticking to you.

You’re a whining mess as Sunghoon lets you rub yourself on his cock and he continues playing with your nipple, pinching and pulling at it. Noting what makes you whine and moan the loudest. Hit other hand drawing comforting circles on your navel and you wish he’d let it slip under your shorts.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks you, nose grazing your neck, hips gently thrusting into yours, “you like when da-“ he coughs, “when I play with you, hm pretty?” he asks, before leaving a soft kiss right where your ear meets your neck.

“You poor thing, can’t even properly do it by yourself” he pouts at you, mocking you. But you don’t realize it, instead pouting as you nod.

“Yeah Hoonie,” you whine “need your help.”

Just then a loud smack ruins the moment, Sunghoon’s hand coming down your thigh in stinging pleasure. You hiss and blink at him, dazed and still needy. But the way he’s looking at you now—stern, jaw tight—makes your stomach knot.

“That’s enough,” he says, voice low and sharp.

You blink again, still catching up. He left you empty, just when you were getting there.

“Wha—?”

“You have a boyfriend,” he says flatly, standing up fully. He adjusts himself in his boxers, then runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to wipe the heat off. “What the hell are we doing?”

The words sting more than you want them to.

“You started it,” you shoot back, voice soft but defiant. “You didn’t seem to mind a second ago.”

His head tilts. Slowly.

“And I’m ending it,” he says, firmer now, like you’re testing him. “Before either of us does something we’ll regret.”

You scoff, crossing your arms as you look away. “Maybe you’ll regret it. I won’t.”

He’s quiet for a beat.

“Take a walk.”

You glance up at him, pout deepening as your eyebrows furrow.

“Make me.”

That gets him.

He steps forward, just a little too close—his shadow long over your legs.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Go cool off. Before I stop caring that you’re someone else’s problem.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, still warm and buzzing from the way he pulled away. Your thighs press together instinctively, but you refuse to let it show.

“Whatever,” you mumble to yourself, standing to rummage through your suitcase.

You start peeling off yesterday’s clothes—tossing the rumpled sweater and socks into a corner—and Sunghoon pushes past you, down the stairs.

You pull on something softer: a little camisole, barely opaque, and matching shorts that reach barely over your butt. You add a loose cardigan over it, just in case. Not like you're dressing for anyone.

As you start to turn away, something on the nightstand catches your eye.

A book.

You pick it up and see it’s Dracula. Of course, you loudly exhale through your nose in a quiet chuckle. Leather-bound, dog-eared, marked with a single worn slip of paper. You flip through a few pages, thumbing the edge. It smells like cedar and time. Somehow, that feels like him, too.

Curling onto the bed, you prop a pillow behind you and let yourself sink into it. Reading helps. Sort of. The frustration doesn’t really fade—but it settles, coiled and waiting.

Downstairs, you hear the front door open and shut. A car engine stirs to life. Sunghoon’s going somewhere.

Good.

You need space.

By the time the sun has risen higher and warmed the back patio, you’re already downstairs, water bottle in hand. You tug a towel out from the closet, find your sunglasses, and step out into the golden light. The air is warmer today. Still crisp from the mountain wind, but hot enough to sunbathe.

You stretch out on the lounging, sighing as the sun warms your skin. You don’t even hear the car pull back in—until the crunch of gravel in the driveway makes you glance up.

The door shuts.

And then you hear it. The steady, familiar steps rounding toward the back of the house.

Sunghoon. Butterflies erupt in your tummy even though you’re still mad at him.

He stops in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up on his head, one hand full of grocery bags, the other holding something vaguely bottled—wine, maybe. You don’t watch, but you hear him putting groceries away inside the kitchen.

He’s back out after five minutes. You take note of his clothes despite yourself – a tight black tee, accentuating his muscular frame and broad shoulders paired with light washed jorts.

His eyes find you.

“Need help with sunscreen?” he says, voice deceptively casual as his eyes drink you up. Clad in a flimsy pink bikini set that barely covered anything.

You peek at him over your sunglasses, not bothering to sit up.

“I’ve got hands, don’t I?” you say, all mock-innocence. “Pretty sure I can manage rubbing lotion on myself.”

Sunghoon doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. Just arches a brow like he’s heard this kind of sass before—and knows exactly what to do with it.

“Mm,” he hums, stepping fully onto the patio. “Thought maybe your hands needed a break, since they were so busy earlier.”

Your stomach dips. You shoot him a glare—half mortified, half flustered—and throw an arm over your face dramatically.

“You said we weren’t talking about that.”

“I said we were done,” he corrects. He walks towards you pushing his hair out of his face. “Didn’t say anything about keeping my mouth shut.”

You snort despite yourself, still hiding under your arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re burning,” he says coolly, pointing at the tops of your thighs with the little bottle of sunscreen he grabbed on his way out. “Flip over or sit up, brat. You choose.”

That gets your attention.

You peek up again, pout forming instantly. “You’re so bossy when you don’t get what you want.”

He steps closer, crouching down beside your lounger now, one big hand coming to rest casually on the side of the chair near your hip.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dipping dangerously low, “if I were getting what I want, you wouldn’t be able to lie still right now.”

You blink, heat rising all the way to your ears.

He twists the cap off the sunscreen and holds it up between two fingers. “Well?”

You make a show of sighing. “Fine,” you grumble, rolling onto your stomach with an exaggerated huff, the curve of your ass now fully on display. “But you better not make it weird.”

“Oh, baby,” he says, smoothing lotion into his palms, “I think we’re way past that.”

And then his hands are on you. He starts with your calves, wrapping his big arm around your plush skin, hot after being warmed by the sun now high up in the sky.

You force your breathing to stay even as Sunghoon rubs the sunscreen on your skin. Even though his touch was on your legs, the way his fingers knew where to apply pressure and massage made your skin tingle with raw want.

But Sunghoon smoothly continues, his hands traveling past your knee and on the back of your thighs. Once he reaches your sensitive spot you unknowingly spread your legs slightly and Sunghoon smirks, squeezing the sunscreen directly onto your skin, straight from the bottle.

You shriek, “that’s cold.”

“Serves you right for being a brat,” he lightly scolds. His hands rub the cold cream on the spot right where your thighs meet your butt, eyes glued to the spot between your thighs. He licks his lips, his fingers continuing working on your inner thighs. High. His long digits reach your bikini, grazing your lower lips and you twitch. He smirks, not saying anything.

Your breath is shallow as as his hands grasp your thighs, nails softly digging into your skin as he drags circles into your skin – spreading the sunscreen all over your legs. Sunghoon, ever the detail oriented man, doesn’t miss a single spot.

You butt starts lifting, against your best tries to just lay there and take it.

Sunghoon’s breathing is heavier when he squirts the cream on his hands again and starts spreading the creamy substance over your butt. Your bikini bottoms start to wedge into your ass, turning it more into a thong the longer he plays with you.

You sigh, melting into your chair as Sunghoon’s hand slips under your bottoms.

“Gotta make sure you don’t get burned anywhere,” he explains, his voice dropping an octave and you clench around nothing.

You just hope he doesn’t feel how wet you’ve gotten and scold you again. Sunghoon squeeze your butt and jiggles it, watching the shine from the cream reflect from it. It made your butt look so inviting and he has to bite his lip so an inappropriate comment doesn’t slip past his lips.

You on the other hand are holding your breath in quiet anticipation, but Sunghoon’s hands are already on your back. Hands sticky from the sun block as he carefully finishes his application. Grazing your lower back, then your waist and moving onto your shoulder blades.

“You’re trembling, sweetheart. You want more and you don’t even realize it yet, do you?” Sunghoon quietly murmurs by your ear, his voice telling you everything he isn’t saying.

Your body’s humming. You’re dizzy. You’re about to turn around and do something reckless—

But then he’s telling you to turn around so he can do your front side as well.

You listen, moving the sunglasses so they cover your eyes. But Sunghoon doesn’t miss your blushing cheeks and the bead of sweat right in the middle of your boobs.

“Good girl, see how well we get along when you listen to me?” he teases as he rubs on your stomach. His fingers touching your underboob, pushing your top up and revealing the softness underneath.

You moan a small ‘mhm,’ putty in his hands. You don’t dare to glance at him when he is this close. But his shadow looming over your laying figure and his scent all around you is enough to make you dizzy, all your senses filled with him. Sunghoon. Sunghoon. Sunghoon. Everywhere around you.

The moment is broken by the shrill of your phone. Sunghoon flinches away from you, as if he was caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t be.

You re-adjust your bathing suit as you reach for your phone.

You check the screen: Jihoon.

You hesitate, and Sunghoon notices. In a low, unreadable voice he matter of fact asks you. “Don’t let it go to voicemail. He’s still your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

You answer. Jihoon’s tone is annoyed and distracted right off the bat. “Hey. You alive or what? I texted you yesterday.”

“I’ve been fine. It’s… it’s peaceful up here,” you reply, lowkey already exhausted from this conversation.

“That’s the whole point. You needed to chill out. You were being weird lately,” he tells you in a clipped voice.

Your stomach twists. Your words feel small.

“Did you know your dad was going to be here?” you ask instead of giving into the fight he was starting.

“So what if he is? He’s never even home, I figured he’d be working like always,” he defensively nags.

“Well, he’s not. He saw everything, Jihoon. When you dropped me off.”

At this point, you hear the rustle of movement—Sunghoon, standing just behind you now.

“Let me talk to him,” he tells you, reaching his hand towards the phone. You’re caught off guard but hand the phone over without thinking. He takes it with fingers still faintly warm from your skin.

“Jihoon,” Sunghoon interrupts him.

A long pause is heard before he speaks again. “You left her alone, without food, without checking in. You didn’t even tell her I’d be here. What exactly were you thinking?”

You don’t hear Jihoon’s reply, but Sunghoon’s answers has you assuming what must’ve been said anyway.

“She said she wanted space, so you dumped her at the edge of a mountain?” “Grow up,” he tells him, visibly annoyed.

“That’s enough, Jihoon.” He pauses, listening before speaking again. “You lost the right to have an opinion the moment you left her here.”

He hands the phone back to you like it burns and goes inside the house, giving you privacy to finish the call.

You hold the phone to your ear and Jihoon’s voice is furious now “what the fuck was that? You seriously told my dad on me?”

“He saw everything, Jihoon. He’s the one who took care of me,” you firmly tell him, refusing to be the bad guy here.

“So now you’re what, flirting with him? Jesus, no wonder you’re acting weird,” he childishly jabs.

“I’m not the one who drove off like a child,” you tell him, trying to keep your tone steady. No matter how much Jihoon wanted to have this fight with you, you wouldn’t let him ruin this vacation for you.

“You really think he cares about you? My dad doesn’t get involved. He watches people fall and doesn’t say a word,” he quickly speaks, his voice panicked.

You pause. The words cut—because Sunghoon has cared. In ways Jihoon never has.

“That’s funny. He’s the only one who has,” you reply and then hang up, fuming.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

You don’t see Sunghoon for hours after the call. The house is too quiet and you assume he went out to take photos, since one of his cameras was absent too.                You try to nap, to read, to scroll aimlessly on your phone, but your thoughts keep circling to the way Jihoon’s voice rang out loud enough for Sunghoon to flinch. The way Sunghoon's jaw clenched so tightly after, like he was grinding back words he didn’t trust himself to say.

When the sun begins to fall behind the ridge, casting the inside of the cabin in deep, amber shadows, you finally venture out of the bedroom.

You find Sunghoon in the kitchen.

His back is to you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, knife in hand as he slices into something soft and green on the cutting board. The overhead light cuts a sharp halo over his shoulders, casting half his face in shadow when he finally turns to glance at you.

Not a word passes for a long second.

You cross your arms loosely, staying near the doorway. “I didn’t know if I should come downstairs.”

He looks back down at what he’s doing. “Didn’t want you to go hungry.” There’s warmth in that sentence, but no softness. It’s clipped. Guarded.

You both sit at the kitchen island. The meal is simple—roasted vegetables, grilled tofu, rice. You push food around your plate. The silence between you is heavy. Borderline unbearable.

And then, finally Sunghoon softly speaks “don’t mistake silence for regret.”

His voice is quiet, but deliberate, “I just don’t trust myself to say something I won’t take back later.”

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He sets down his chopsticks, leans back against the chair. His jaw is tight, but his eyes are impossibly clear as they settle on you.

“I knew I shouldn’t have touched you.” A pause. He swallows. “But you looked so small when he drove off. And I guess, I just wanted to protect you, show you the love Jihoon wasn’t giving to you.”

Your chest clenches. The hurt spills before you can reel it back.

“Then why are you treating me like I did something wrong?”

His gaze sharpens.

“You didn’t. But I did. You’re not mine… yet.”

The word clings in the air between you like the taste of smoke. It makes you sit a little straighter. Makes your breath catch.

He watches you intently, but not indulgently. His expression isn’t soft. It’s honest. Bruisingly so.

“You said I’m not yours. Like I’m someone’s. I’m not.”

“It’s not that simple,” Now he looks at you.

“It could be.”

“You still have him.”

“I don’t want him,” you cross your arms, jaw tightening.

He doesn’t speak. You take a step closer, looking down at him as he still sits behind the table.

“I want you.” There it is. You said it plainly.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, like the weight of it hits somewhere deep. Then back to you.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

You pause, softer now. “You want me too.”

He exhales once, slowly. Runs a hand through his hair. That veneer of control, cracking.

His eyes flick to yours. “Of course I do,” he says. “Don’t think for a second I haven’t tried to push it down.”

You don’t speak. Just hold his gaze.

He threads your fingers together like it’s something he’s done a hundred times. And when he steps in close, the heat between you rises. The air shifts.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, low. “Not unless you mean it.”

You swallow, heart pounding.

“And don’t say my name like it matters,” he adds, “if you’re still planning to go back to him.”

Your voice comes out steadier than you expect. “I’m not going back.”

A beat. “I’m right here.”

His jaw flexes. His thumb brushes the back of your hand, almost unconsciously.

“…Say it again,” he murmurs. Not commanding. Just needing to hear it.

You step closer. Tip your chin up.

“I’m right here, Sunghoon.”

And then he kisses you. His mouth claims yours with a purpose that makes your knees lock. It's not hesitant, not testing. It’s decisive. Like a line is being crossed, and he’s the one drawing it.

You gasp against him, and he swallows it whole.

The kiss is deep, slow, deliberate — not the fumbling of someone new, but the kind of kiss that knows exactly where to linger, how to make your pulse stutter. He tilts your chin just enough to control the angle, to taste you properly. Like he’s waited long enough.

It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel like relief. But it does. Because this is wrong. Because this is forbidden. And because that only makes it worse. Better, sweeter.

You feel the age between you in the way he moves — in the steadiness of his hands, in the quiet control he keeps even as he presses closer. There’s no rush, the kiss is slow, intimate. And his hold on you is firm, possessive, holding you close to him as if he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go.  

By the time he pulls back — lips parted, breathing uneven — you’re flushed down to your chest. His thumb drags over your bottom lip, slow, like he’s memorizing the shape of it now that he’s finally tasted it.

His voice is low, warm, and just a little bit patronizing — the kind of tone that curls around your spine and makes you want to misbehave just to hear it again.

“You kissed me back, babygirl,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t look away.

He tilts your chin up further, just enough to make you feel small beneath his gaze.

“Want me to stop?” he asks, voice velvet-dark. “Or do you want Mr. Park to take care of you properly this time?”

Your breath catches.

It’s not the words exactly—it’s the way he says them.

Mr. Park.

Your lashes flutter. That word settles somewhere low and hot in your belly, like it had been waiting to be spoken all along.

You chew your lip, looking up at him through your lashes, voice barely above a whisper.

You pause, eyes flickering across his face—testing, teasing. “You wanna take care of me, Mr. Park?” you purr, face close to his. Sunghoon traces your whole face, eyes sparkling and lips curling into an almost proud smile.

“So now you get it,” he says, voice low and rich, eyes scanning your face. “Took you long enough, baby.”

He lifts a hand, fingers brushing under your chin, tilting it up like he’s studying you, admiring his own effect.

“You like being looked after, don’t you?” His thumb grazes your bottom lip, and he hums when you part your mouth, pliant for him.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispers, hot and slow. “You’ve got me now.”

And then, quietly, firmly, sure of himself “and Mr. Park is gonna take real good care of his sweet girl.”

And then his lips are on you again, he back walks you into the living room and you let him lead, lips not parting. This kiss is messier, loud squelching sound fills the room and you can’t hold back the little whines escaping past your lips.

Sunghoon doesn’t mind, his hands now unashamedly groping everywhere. Your thighs, your butt, your waist, your boobs and it’s dizzying.

You gasp when your legs hit the sofa, falling back on it. You lay there, breathing uneven and Sunghoon just stands over you. Studying you, his eyes dark and focused, tracing every inch of your body.

He unbuckles his belt, “take your shirt off baby, let Mr. Park see you,” and you comply. The bossy tone turns you on. Your hands pull the fabric off your body.

“Mr. Park,” you breathe, pupils blown as you watch Sunghoon. You need him now, immediately. Your pussy is practically pulsating as you continue watching, waiting. But Sunghoon doesn’t seem to be in a rush. He spreads his belt on the table, carefully.

You whine, “do something already.”

He crouches next to your laying figure on the sofa, your legs dangling over the tiny thing. Caressing your neck in a dark velvety voice, almost as if he’s enjoying seeing you beg he tells you mockingly, “you’ve been whining about this all day and now you can’t even wait five seconds?”

You whimper, softly blowing a raspberry as you move out of his hold. You pull the shorts down your legs, done with the waiting.

“Fine, I’ll just take care of it myself,” you fuss, hand starting to slide down towards your core.

But Sunghoon swiftly grabs your wrist, tightly. His body is on you in a flash and it only excites you more. You moan when he speaks.

“Keep acting like this and you won’t be leaving this room today,” he is breathing hard, eyes softening when he sees the raw desire in yours.

You push your hips up, rubbing your pussy on him as he holds your forearms next to your shoulders, your left side pressing into the sofa cushion. His legs trap yours and you’re completely at his mercy, your strength no match compared to his.

“You’re cute when you’re mouthy, but don’t push it” he warns, voice husky, “now say please. Properly”

You almost want to cry, the ache so visceral you can’t even think. His words don’t even properly register before you’re’ already blabbering.

“Please please please, Mr. Park, please,” you beg, unsuccessfully trashing underneath his iron hold.

“I promise I’ll behave, just please touch me, I won’t be impatient anymore,” you whine, tears building behind your eyes out of sheer frustration.

“There she is. That’s better. My good girl knows how to behave,” he murmurs, allowing you to grind your pussy against his muscular thigh, as he caresses your face, a smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough to say it,” a dangerous lilt in his smile. He lowers down, biting in your neck in what should be pain but is instead making you mewl. Your pussy gushing at this point.

“Mr. Park, Hoonie,” you breathe, “f-fuck” you gasp, stumbling over your words as Sunghoon continues biting you, now moving onto your tits, littering small marks, “fuck me please, need you so bad” you whine, legs wrapping around his hips and pulling his lower body into you.

He’s aching you can tell, he pulls his lips from your body with a pop, a string of saliva connecting him to you, his lips red and swollen. And suddenly you’re licking your lips, desperate for just another taste of this older man.

“You love when I make the rules. Don’t pretend you don’t,” he teases, as he finally, finally pulls his cock out. He pumps it two times, licking his hand before bringing it to your face.

“Spit,” he instructs and you comply. You watch as he wraps his fingers around his long and fat cock again, droll pooling in your mouth as you watch, mesmerized.

He notices your gaze, “ah, wanted to taste my sweet girl, see if you taste as good as you look, but” he groans, lining his cockhead to your entrance, “my little one is just too impatient,” he gruffs.

He pushes his dick into you, slowly deliberately. Torturing you once again, and you’re utterly helpless. Whining, moaning, groaning, squeezing your walls together but Sunghoon doesn’t give in to your whining.

He’s barely pushed his cock in halfway when you test his patience once again.

“Hoonie just push it in already,” you whine, “need you so bad, stop teasing.” You pout. His dick twitches and that’s when it clicks. He likes seeing you this needy for him.

You look at him through your lashes, pushing yourself into the sofa, making yourself small under his larger frame, “feels so good, Hoonie,” you quietly moan, “you’re so big,” you mewl and Sunghoon finally sheaths himself fully inside of you, groaning as he does.

He stays like that for a moment, allowing both of you to adjust, his eyes are squeezed shut. Your thighs around his waist twitch, impatient once again.

You bite your lip, just watching him. You know he feels your walls pulsating, purring just for him. begging him to fucking move. You needed it fast, rough but Sunghoon was hellbent on having you slowly. Devouring you whole as you cry for him.

“Now you can wait your turn,” he breathes, almost as if he can read your thoughts. His hand wraps around your throat, his gaze dark and your walls clasp tightly around his dick. Sunghoon smirks as he draws his hips out, slowly, before pushing back into you hard.

You can’t stifle the loud moan that leaves you and that only spurs Sunghoon on. He continues fucking you like this, pace incredibly slow and powerful – as if he had all the time in the world to get lost in your pussy. He watches your every breath, every move, gaze heavy – too heavy. You shut your eyes the intensity overwhelming you.

Your smaller hand cups his bigger one, still on your throat and his voice is husky when he speaks again.

“Look at me,” his voice like honey, the thumb on your neck drawing comforting circles as he continues fucking you, “No hiding. I want to see exactly what I’m doing to you.”

He tells you and when you look you can feel it. The control, the power he has over you, how he could ruin you if he decided to. And how you would probably let him.

Your mouth opens, gasping as he picks up the pace, fast and irregular and you can tell he is close.

You try to claw at his hand that was clasping around your throat. You gasp for air and Sunghoon continues watching you, groaning as his hips work an incredible pace.

His hips stutter, eyes shutting and arm leaving your throat. And you can finally breathe again. Sughoon sheaths his hips into you and he grinds them into you.

Your orgasm starts hitting you in powerful waves, when he starts humping his dick into you, barely pushing out. Your walls tightening impossibly, and Sunghoon can’t do anything else but just take it. Let your pussy squeeze the orgasm out of him, as he stills and spills inside of you.

And you whine, you fucking whine, he flops onto you, carefully not to hurt you as he rides out his orgasm, softly thrusting in you.

You feel incredibly full, can tell that he came so much it’s overflowing out of you while he’s still inside. You two just breathe for a moment, catching you breaths and you swear your soul left you for a moment.

“Hoonie,” you mumble, “feel so full.”

“I know baby, I know,” he wraps his arms around you, turning you two so you’re laying down on him instead.

“Hoonie’s got you,” he tells you, patting down your hair and kissing you on your forehead.

Your breath slows. His doesn’t.

You’re still curled into him, skin sticky and trembling, but there’s a tension still-

“You okay?” you whisper.

Sunghoon chuckles softly, low and wrecked. “You have no idea what you just started.”

And he kisses you again. Slowly and deeply, holding you close. You moan softly as his tongue explores your mouth. You’re squirming, needy again and you can tell Sunghoon is starting to get hard again.

"That wasn’t enough," he tells you, lips not leaving yours, "you’ve been driving me crazy for days. Thought one time would fix it?”

His fingers close around your thigh, hard enough to ground you, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this,” he tells you and then he’s manhandling you, your torso rests on the backrest as you kneel on the couch. Sunghoon’s hands are on your hips, pressing your front over the backrest, your chest pressing into it. Ass up.

He has you bent over the couch and he reaches towards the table. You turn, watching as he picks off his belt and you tremble. Excited. You bit your lip to stop the smile from spreading across your face as you instinctively cross your arms behind your back.

“You’re gonna let me have you like this pretty girl?” Sunghoon asks, almost panting as he fondles your ass.

“Y-yes Hoonie,” you say, voice shaky.

He slaps you, watching in satisfaction as your pussy clenches around nothing. Then he wraps his belt around your wrist – not tight, just enough to stop you from moving. He hums once he’s satisfied.

This time when he lines his dick to your entrance he doesn’t wait. He stretches your walls again and you push your face down, biting on the sofa in hope of silencing any noises from escaping you.

But Sunghoon doesn’t like that, his fingers grip your hair and he gently yanks you by the hair. Your spine against his chest as he continues fucking into you hard.

“Nu-uh princess,” he moans, right next to your ear and you shiver, “let me hear you.”

You’re choked on air, pleasure overwhelming, but still you comply, “you make me feel so full, Hoon… I can’t help it.”

You mewl, rutting yourself back, as Sunghoon continues with the hard and rapid pace, his hips pushing into your ass anytime he fucks into you. Head lulls back, putty in his hands you completely relax, letting him use your body to chase his own pleasure.

“Tell me you feel it too. Tell me it’s not just me going insane over you,” he breathes right by your ear, hands holding you by your waist in position.

“I think about you all the time… even when I shouldn’t,” you confess, drunk on his cock.

“No one else gets to see you like this, you’re mine,” Sunghoon continues, his hold on you tight. Possessive.

“Then don’t let anyone else touch me. Keep me,” you rasp, moaning when he brings his digits to your clit. You shake, from the pleasure and pressure as Sunghoon rubs your clit expertly, as if he had done it a thousand times before.

“Doing so well for Mr. Park,” comes his husky voice, he softly bites down on your ear, “that’s it baby, cream my cock, make a mess little one,” he groans when he feels you clenching down on him.

Your pussy convulses, clenching around him in waves and Sunghoon stutters, pushing his dick impossibly deeper into you and you feel him twitching, filling you up for the second time.

After a moment, after you have both came down you speak, softly. “You make me feel so safe like this…” you murmur, your voice quiet, breathy. Barely there.

Sunghoon gently undoes the belt still loosely hanging around your wrists. His fingers are slow and unhurried, tracing the curve of your hips like he’s calming you through touch alone.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs against your temple, lips brushing soft and warm. He kisses your cheek next, and you lean into it instinctively, your body boneless, spent.

You don’t fight him as he lifts you—your legs too sore, your mind fogged with the aftermath of everything. He carries you upstairs like you weigh nothing, one hand splayed over your thigh, his chest warm where your cheek rests against him.

He sets you gently on the closed lid of the toilet, crouching beside you to check the tender insides of your thighs with a light touch. His gaze flicks up to your face, searching, but you’re already watching him, lids heavy, lips parted.

“I didn’t mean to…” he starts to say, almost more to himself.

“I liked it,” you whisper, interrupting. Honest.

He exhales slowly, something fierce and protective shadowing his face—but it softens when he turns back to the tub, running the water, checking the temperature with his wrist. You watch the rise of steam, the pour of oil — something herbal and grounding.

He doesn’t speak, but the care in his movements says enough. When he returns to you, he sinks to his knees. His hands are warm on your waist as he coaxes you to stand.

“You okay?” he asks softly, eyes searching yours.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat. “Mhm. Just… floaty.”

He touches your face. “I’ve got you.”

You step into the water, and he follows behind, settling with you between his legs. The heat wraps around you both, and his arms immediately encircle you, pulling you into his chest.

He starts to wash you slowly — his hands gliding over your skin in steady, calming passes. The silence stretches between you, but it’s not heavy. It’s safe.

“Everything’s warm,” you whisper, eyes half-lidded. “You’re warm.”

“So are you,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “Still glowing, baby.”

Your lips curve into a lazy smile. You hum, nuzzling against his chest. “I don’t want to think. Just stay here.”

“Then we’ll stay,” he replies, wrapping you tighter in his arms. His voice dips low — protective, anchoring. “You don’t have to do anything now. Just let me take care of it.”

You nod again, your breath softening, your heartbeat slow. The water laps around you both as you sink deeper into him.

And just before your eyes fall shut, you hear him say it—quiet, more to himself than to you “so small, so mine.”

You wake up slow. Limbs heavy, thighs sore, skin warm. His hand is already curled around your hip under the blanket, thumb brushing your waist lazily, like he never stopped touching you even in his sleep.

You shift with a sleepy noise, nuzzling into his chest. He murmurs something low.

“Mm. Thought you’d run away,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

“I can’t feel my legs,” you softly whine, curling into him even more.

He huffs a laugh, hand tightening around your hip, “that’s not a complaint, is it?”

You pinch his side, and he groans dramatically.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Only when I’m right,” he laughs, “come downstairs when you’re ready, I’m making pancakes,” he taps you butt as he stands up, leaving you to lounge on the bed a bit longer.

You emerge from the bedroom wrapped in one of his shirts—oversized and hanging low on your thighs. He’s barefoot, shirtless like he does this every day. Your hair melts as you note how fluffy his black hair looked.

He glances over his shoulder. The look he gives you is unfair—equal parts pleased and hungry.

“That mine huh?” he nods towards the shirt, amused. “Didn’t even ask.”

“I think I’ve earned the right to at least one shirt last night” you grin.

He chuckles, plate in hand as he slides it in front of you on the counter.

“Careful. You’re getting spoiled.”

You hop up onto the counter, tugging his shirt down on your thighs.

“I don’t mind.”

He stands between your knees without needing to ask, fork in hand. He feeds you the first bite himself, watching your mouth.

“My sweet girl.”

“You’re feeding me like I’m five,” you playfully complain, deflecting.

“Didn’t I tell you, pretty? I plan to spoil you rotten, besidesI like seeing you soft,” Sunghoon says, his eyes sparkling and a soft grin on his lips.

Your eyes flick up to his. “What does that mean?”

“That you let me take care of you,” he easily replies, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You’re breathless as you reply, “you’re not playing fair…”

But Sunghoon just chuckles, “I’m not playing at all.”

His fingers linger a second too long, grazing your cheek before slipping down your jaw. You blink at the weight of his gaze like he’s memorizing you. His thumb taps your bottom lip once, absently.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he murmurs. Not teasing. Just quiet, like a truth too heavy for the air.

Your pulse kicks, and when you look away, flustered, he lets you. Doesn’t push just rests his palm on your thigh, warm and grounding.

A moment passes like that. And as you reach for your juice, he tugs the hem of his shirt on you a little lower, eyes scanning your bare thighs.

“Don’t go outside in this.”

“Why? Afraid someone’ll see?” you tease.

“No. I just don’t like sharing,” he firmly replies, voice stern.

Your breath catches.

“Go finish eating. We’ve got all day.” He kisses your forehead.

The sun climbs higher. Warm light spills through the big windows, turning everything golden. You're curled up on the sofa, still wearing his shirt and nothing underneath but cotton panties, your legs stretched across the cushions.

“You look too pretty to waste the light,” Sunghoon says from across the room, holding his camera.

You blink up at him, amused. “Are you seriously about to make this a photoshoot?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t call it that.”

You tilt your head. “Then what would you call it?”

He lifts the camera halfway, gaze steady over the top of it. “Mine.”

Your throat tightens, pulse kicking up. You sit up slowly, legs tucking under you. “Tell me where you want me.”

He gestures toward the floor near the window where the light cuts in strong and clean. “There. Knees up. Just lean back on your hands.”

You settle into the pose, feeling a little silly, a little shy. But then he steps closer, lowering the camera for a moment.

“No, not like that,” he murmurs. “Chin up. That’s it. Now relax your mouth—yeah, like that.”

His fingers brush along your jaw to adjust the angle. Then lower, tracing a line from your throat to your collarbone.

He clicks the shutter.

You try to hide your shiver. “You’re not even looking at the pictures.”

“I’m looking at you,” he says, voice low.

Another shutter click.

He crouches down in front of you now, so close you can feel his breath. The lens barely a foot from your face. “This one’s just for me,” he says. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily.

“Sunghoon…”

He looks over the lens at you again, heat simmering in his gaze. “You like this. Knowing I’m the only one who’ll ever have this version of you.”

You swallow hard, voice quieter. “I do.”

He lowers the camera entirely now. “Good.”

You're still seated where he posed you, but your breathing has shifted — shallow, anticipatory.

Sunghoon sets the camera down on the nearby chair, but doesn’t move away. His fingers skim your jaw again, softer this time, trailing along the column of your throat.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Flushed everywhere.”

You feel it too — the heat that’s crawled up your chest, painted across your cheeks.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, trying to sound annoyed. It comes out breathless.

“Can’t,” he says simply. “You let me have this. You don’t get to complain now.”

Your stomach tightens at the word have.

He brushes your hair back over your shoulder, exposing your collarbone, your bare leg tucked under you. His eyes never stray far from your face — as if every shift of your expression matters.

“Why are you looking at me like I’m going to vanish?” you murmur.

His jaw ticks. “Because you might.”

You blink, thrown by the admission.

He cups your face with both hands now, firm but gentle, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Do you even understand what you’re doing to me?” His voice is velvet-wrapped steel. “You let me take care of you. Let me see you like this. I don’t just want you anymore, sweetheart. I need you.”

Your lips part but you don’t know what to say. The gravity in his voice, in his touch—it hits you low, deep. And the wildest part?

You love it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you murmur, but lean into his hands anyway.

“Why not?” he asks, brushing his nose along yours. “You want gentle? I can be gentle. You want rough, you just have to say the word. But don’t ask me to be casual.”

He shifts to sit behind you, legs bracketing your body as he draws you against his chest, palms slowly smoothing over your bare thighs.

“I’m not sharing,” he says quietly against your ear. “Not your body. Not your time. Not your smile.”

You tilt your head back against him, eyes fluttering closed.

“You’re getting worse,” you whisper, teasing, but there’s no real fight in it.

“I know,” he says, dragging his mouth along your shoulder. “And you love it.”

And you do.

God, you do.

You feel him smile against your skin — slow and smug — before he lifts the camera again, his fingers adjusting the lens like it’s second nature.

“Let’s try something,” he murmurs, tone deceptively casual. “Lean forward for me a little. Just rest on your hands.”

You obey, your palms flattening on the hardwood floor in front of you, back arching slightly. He hums in approval behind you, one large hand gliding up your spine to encourage the motion further.

“Good girl. Now—eyes here.”

You glance over your shoulder, and the click of the shutter follows instantly.

“Perfect,” he praises, the warmth in his voice making your stomach flutter. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me like this.”

“You’re the one making me do it,” you mumble, flushed.

“Correction,” he says, lowering the camera slightly. “I’m just helping you play.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips out — breathless, soft. “Play, huh?”

He shifts behind you, one hand pressing lightly to the small of your back. “Mm. Sit up again. Just like before. Keep your knees bent, feet tucked close.”

You adjust, trying not to overthink it — but then his hands slide along your inner thighs to reposition them just slightly wider. Your breath catches.

“Yeah, like that,” he says lowly. “That’s the shot.”

You swallow, your skin prickling with awareness as you feel how close he is, how warm his breath is at your neck again.

“Smile for me,” he murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You try — you really do — but it comes out more like a shy smirk.

Click.

He lowers the camera, lips ghosting near your ear. “Now lose the shirt.”

Your head turns sharply, eyes wide.

His voice is gentle, coaxing. “Just turn your back to me. Let me see your skin. Nothing I haven’t already memorized.”

The way he says it makes your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to,” he adds, though his fingers are already curling at the hem of the shirt.

You pause for a second, then slowly unbutton it, letting it fall down your shoulders, your back remaining to him as he asked.

He draws in a slow, audible breath. “You’re so good like this,” he says. “Soft. Obedient. Trusting.”

Your whole body hums.

He sets the camera down now, forgotten. His hands trail up your sides, slow and reverent. You lean back into him without thinking, and he wraps his arms around your middle, drawing you flush against his chest again.

“You really like taking pictures of me,” you whisper, dazed.

“No,” he says into your hair. “I like proof that you’re mine.”

You bite your lip, a warm ache blooming in your chest at the quiet, possessive honesty in his tone.

“Now,” he murmurs, lips brushing the edge of your jaw, “let’s play a little more.”

Then his phone buzzes. Sunghoon frowns as he checks the screen “it’s Jihoon.”

You freeze. Sunghoon answers. His tone shifts, cool and calm. You hear Jihoon’s muffled apologies to his dad through the phone, “I shouldn't have blown up like that… I can pick her up Sunday, give you both some space.”

You watch Sunghoon, waiting for the guilt to hit you. It never does. You watch the serious look on Sunghoon’s face, the way his jaw clenches. You bring a hand between your thighs, shifting your weight on it for just a second. Just to relieve a bit pressure.

Then you drop on all fours, waiting for him to look at you. When he does you crawl to him, sitting yourself in his lap. Sunghoon wraps an arm around you, thinking you want to cuddle because you feel bad.

But instead you pull his shirt up, hands exploring the strong and toned frame. You shift closer, crotch directly on his half hard dick.

Sunghoon shoots you a look. A warning.

But you continue, pressing your lips on his jaw. Sunghoon hisses when your finger traces his nipple, the hold around you tightens. And you can tell he is getting hard. And mad.

 “You said we had all day,” you seductively whisper in his free ear.

He clears his throat. Tries to keep talking to Jihoon, but his voice shakes slightly. You don’t listen to their conversation until your name is mentioned again.

“Anyway. You’ll bring her back, right?” you hear Jihoon ask Sunghoon. You tentatively roll your hips, pressing your pussy on him.

Sunghoon is deadly calm, as he speaks in a strained voice, his hand griping the phone, knuckles white.

“Yeah. I’ll handle her, I mean I’ll see she comes to the city safely.”

Then he hangs up mid-sentence, tosses the phone onto the sofa, as he grabs your jaw, clearly mad.

“You really don’t care about playing nice, do you?” he scolds, pushing you back and forth on his lap, fully hard now.

“You started it,” you whisper, shameless as you moan. “Please Hoonie, I want more,” you beg, fisting his shirt.

“Yeah? You like it when Mr. Park lets you play?” he asks, voice deep. He lets you hump yourself against him just watching you, gaze serious, brows furrowed slightly. But you don’t notice.  

“Mhm,” you say blissfully. Hugging him to you, your tits press against his chest and he twitches.

Sunghoon sneaks his hands between the two of you, pulling his cock out.

“But you haven’t been playing nice, doll” he tells you and lands a smack against your ass.

You cling to him, position yourself so your clothed pussy is touching his dick. Mewls turn into whimpers as pushes you off of him.

“Come here,” he tells you, seating himself on the sofa, legs spread. His hand is on his dick, lids heavy as he watches you.

“No, not like that” he scolds, “crawl like you did before.”

You clench around nothing as you go on all fours, padding towards him. Eyes on his dick, when he sees your gaze he teases you. Gripping his cock, lip caught between his teeth as he strokes himself.

You stop at his feet and Sunghoon pulls you up by your upper arms, bending you over his lap. He roughly pulls your panties off and you clench when the cold air hits your wet pussy.

“You think it’s funny? Grinding on me while I’m talking to him?” Sunghoon asks, voice low as he rubs your exposed ass, touch deceptively soft.

He spanks you again, a sharp clap of sound that makes you whimper.

“Do you know what you sounded like? Panting into my neck while I’m trying to keep my voice steady?” he continues, fondling your ass as he speaks before he lands another spank on your pink ass. This one harder, the sting makes you hiss upon impact.

“Princess. That wasn’t cute. That was reckless,” he scolds you, hand resting on your lower back.

You wriggle, needy for his touch and he lets out a laughs. He grabs your hips, stilling you.

“Don’t squirm like that unless you want more,” he says, breathing hard. And you feel his dick poking you, can feel the precum leaking onto you where his dick presses into your plush skin.

He runs his hand over the curve of your ass in a brief caress, before another sharp slap lands.

“Making me hard while I’m talking to your boyfriend. Is that what you wanted?” he asks, breathless. Then in three quick succession slap, slap, slap.

But you liked being punished, so you test his patience, teasing “you were already hard before I moved.”

“And now look what you’ve earned. Mr. Park can’t even take one call without his little one acting up,” he growls, spanking you once again and your ass is starting to hurt. But you invite the pain, lean into the sting as your thighs rub together.

He leans close to you, lips brushing your ear, “you think I won’t punish you just because you’re cute? Think again, baby,” he slowly speaks, possessively.

He pulls you up and you cringe, your ass sensitive from the spanking. It hurts to sit down on him and you lift on your feet hovering over him in a crouching position.

Sunghoon just watches you amused, but then. He rubs his dick against your pussy. You sigh, looking down and watch as he wedges it between your lips.

“Such a pretty thing, just for me, for your Hoonie,” he breathes in a daze.

You nod, clenching down around nothing as you watch Sunghoon rub his dick on your pussy, spreading your wetness all over himself.

You softly moan when he pushes past your tight entrance, “want more,” you grind. Pushing down you sit yourself on him and Sunghoon brings you close to him by your hips.

His lips find yours in a surprisingly soft kiss, as you start to grind. Pushing up and down, slowly in an uneven rhythm.

You’re already a whining mess, your eyes shut as you let Sunghoon kiss you. He slips his tongue in your mouth and you’re like putty in his hands.

He plays with you, hands over your boobs, pinching and scratching lightly. You’re numb with pleasure, cock drunk as your Hoonie starts thrusting upwards.

You come undone at the same time, orgasm crashing into you in strong waves. Sunghoon watches you, and you don’t notice when he reaches for his phone, snapping another photo of you looking so small and so sexy on him as you come undone.

You collapse against his chest, body boneless, breath hitching as the aftershocks ripple through you. He’s still buried deep, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s anchoring you to earth.

You’re only just coming back to yourself when you hear the shutter click.

Your head jerks up, eyes wide. “Did you just—?”

He smirks, absolutely unapologetic as he shows you the photo: you, flushed and undone, mouth parted, nails dug into his forearm. “Couldn’t help myself. Look at you,” he murmurs. “You don’t even know how good you look when you fall apart.”

You swat weakly at his shoulder, more flustered than angry. “You’re insane.”

“Mm,” he hums, kissing your temple. “over you.”

He pulls out slowly, groaning at the mess you’ve both made, and then scoops you up like it’s nothing. You squeak in protest.

“Put me down!”

“No,” he says simply. “You can barely stand. That was the point.”

You hide your face in his neck, skin still burning. He takes you upstairs.

Once inside the bedroom, he lays you gently on your stomach, palms trailing down the backs of your thighs before he pulls away. The bed shifts with his weight, and then you hear him rummaging softly through a drawer.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Just stay right there.”

You glance over your shoulder, lids heavy, and catch the glint of a container in his hand. Vaseline.

Your stomach flips.

You flinch slightly as the cold ointment hits your skin. “Ah—” “I know,” he says softly, stroking it in with care. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

His fingers massage it in slowly, deliberately. Tender, as though undoing the sting of every sharp smack from earlier. “You’re red,” he mutters under his breath, thumb brushing a particularly sore patch. “Should’ve gone easier.”

“No,” you mumble. “You were perfect.”

A beat. His hand pauses.

“You always say the filthiest things, and then turn around and say shit like that.” He leans in, pressing a long kiss to the base of your spine. “Gonna ruin me.”

You hum in response, half asleep already.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟

A Bit Later… You wake to the soft crinkle of blankets on the living room floor.

Sunghoon’s back from the kitchen, a tray in hand — cut fruit, chocolate, a bottle of wine, and a heating pad that he doesn’t say anything about, just plugs in and tucks gently under your thighs when you sit down with a tiny wince.

You’re wrapped in one of his hoodies now. No underwear. He let you keep it.

The music playing is soft and dreamy. Something instrumental. The air smells like strawberries and lavender soap.

Sunghoon sits beside you, legs spread lazily, shirt halfway buttoned and sleeves rolled to the elbow. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but sharp — always watching.

You curl up beside him again. He opens his arm and pulls you in without asking.

“You good, baby?” he asks, brushing a knuckle under your jaw. “Mhm,” you whisper, nuzzling into his chest. “Warm.”

He presses a kiss to your hairline. “You did so well today. My good girl.”

Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt. The compliment sinks deep — deeper than it should.

“I like it when you take care of me,” you murmur.

He exhales through his nose, tipping his head back. “Yeah. I know you do.”

A few moments pass in comfortable silence.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” you ask, quieter. “Me being like this?”

Sunghoon shifts to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. His expression is unreadable at first — then softens.

“No,” he says. “I think it’s perfect.”

You hold his gaze for a beat too long.

Then you speak, even softer.

“You’ll spoil me.”

He smirks faintly. “That’s the plan.”

And spoil you, he does.

You spend the day camped out on the living room floor, a makeshift indoor picnic laid over the throw blankets and couch cushions Sunghoon pulled down with quiet intention. There’s a soft jazz record playing in the background and between bites of fruit and chocolate, he feeds you with his fingers, eyes never straying far from your mouth.

At some point you curl up in his lap with a glass of wine, and he reads to you from whatever book you pulled off his shelf, voice smooth and low in your ear. The sunlight drifts lazily across the floorboards. You don’t notice how much time passes — just that it feels suspended. Like nothing outside this cabin exists.

He’s good at that — creating small, perfect worlds for you to collapse into.

Sunghoon’s fingers stroke idle lines across your lower back. You feel him breathe. Slow. Anchored.

Neither of you says much. There’s no need.

Eventually, he murmurs, “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.”

You nod against his neck, already half-asleep, letting him guide you. You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You wake in his bed again, the morning sunlight streaming in.

Sunghoon’s already dressed, sitting behind you with his legs spread, guiding a comb gently through your hair. You’re settled between his thighs, back to his chest, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“You always wake up first,” you mumble.

“I like watching you sleep,” he says, not missing a beat.

The comb glides through another section. “It’s calming,” he adds. “You look like you trust me.”

“I do.”

He pauses at that — just a beat — then keeps combing, slower now.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the hush of the room, the smell of his cologne clinging to the shirt you still haven’t given back, the lazy warmth of early sun.

Then he speaks again, voice low beside your ear. “Finish waking up, sweetheart. We’ve got a place to be.”

You shift slightly, eyes cracking open. “Where are you taking me?”

“The lake.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “We’re leaving in an hour. I packed wine. Fruit. Towels. Blanket.”

You turn in his lap to face him, grinning now, suddenly wide awake. “You planned a date?”

His smile matches yours. “You deserve one. A real one. No interruptions. No guilt. Just you and me.”

You stretch your arms up, still nestled between his thighs. “Guess I better get ready, Mr. Park.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty,” he says, but doesn’t let go just yet — he pulls you in for a slow, warm kiss first.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

Sunlight sparkles off the water. A breeze rolls across the dock. Everything is golden and quiet and slow.

You’re both barefoot on the wooden planks, dripping after a swim, wrapped in towels and each other. Sunghoon hands you a slice of peach. You feed him the next one.

For a while, you just lie there on the blanket, the world held at bay.

Then you speak. “It’s weird to think this ends tomorrow.”

Sunghoon’s quiet for a second, “it doesn’t have to.”

You blink over at him.

“We go back,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean we go back to how things were. I don’t want to.”

You trace a finger over his forearm. “Me either.”

He watches you. “This wasn’t a fling for me. You know that, right?”

“I know.” You sit up, eyes on the water now. “It wasn’t for me either. And... I want more.”

There’s a stretch of silence that isn’t uncomfortable — just real.

Then Sunghoon speaks, voice gentle but unwavering. “Jihoon didn’t just leave you here. He left you alone for a long time before that.”

You inhale through your nose. It hurts — but it’s true.

“He didn’t protect you. He didn’t see you,” Sunghoon adds. “But I do.”

You turn to him. “And I see you, too. I don’t want to sneak around or feel guilty. I want to be with you.”

His hand slides around your thigh. “Then be with me.”

You nod. “Okay.”

It’s said so simply. Like it was always going to happen this way.

The air is warm, the late morning sun painting everything golden. You’re both still sticky with fruit juice and the tipsiness of wine-soft smiles when Sunghoon eyes you sideways.

“You’ve got that look,” you say warily.

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re about to do something stupid.”

He grins. “I’m hurt. This is going to be very dignified.”

“You’re literally crouching like a cartoon villain.”

“Princess, I’m just trying to bring balance to the universe.”

“What does that even mean—Sunghoon—!”

But he’s already lunging.

You shriek and take off across the dock, laughing so hard your legs barely move straight. He’s right behind you, water splashing around your ankles as you try to dodge.

“You’re gonna pay for this!”

“For what?! Being charming?!”

“For splattering me with peach juice!”

He grabs you around the waist, and the two of you topple into the lake in a messy, dramatic splash. The water is cold but refreshing, and when you surface, hair plastered to your face, you’re both wheezing with laughter.

“You look like a drowned kitten,” he says, absolutely delighted.

“Rude. And you look like you just lost a shampoo commercial.”

You splash him in the face before he can respond.

“Oh, it’s on now.”

You flail as he comes after you, hands trying to grab your ankles underwater. There’s shrieking. More splashing. You push his head under once — a bold move — and he resurfaces with water dripping down his lashes, mock-offended.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“You love me,” you say smugly, swimming just out of reach.

He lunges. “Not if you keep talking like that—!”

Eventually you give in, breathless, letting him pull you close in the center of the lake. His arms wind around your waist, and you float there together, the water gently rocking your bodies.

Your laughter fades into warm quiet, cheek resting against his damp shoulder.

“I haven’t laughed like that in forever,” you murmur.

Sunghoon presses a kiss to your hair. “Same.”

Later, you walk back to the cabin hand in hand, skin sun-warmed and soft from the lake. He carries the towels; you carry the last of the fruit. Everything about it feels easy. Shared.

The next morning, the day of going back home, you pull your suitcase out from under the bed, still in one of his shirts.

Sunghoon’s already halfway through folding your clothes for you, methodical and quiet, each movement precise. You watch him for a moment—brows furrowed, fingers smoothing fabric—and grin sleepily.

“You always like playing house this much?”

He looks up. “What?”

“You fold clothes like a husband,” you tease, nudging his foot with yours.

He chuckles but doesn’t stop. “And you wear my shirts like my wife.”

You hum, walking over and leaning your head on his shoulder. His hand reaches for your waist, grounding. A soft forehead kiss follows, like it’s instinct now.

As you zip your duffel shut, you notice something nestled inside: his hoodie, a polaroid, and a paperback novel you’d been eyeing on the cabin shelf.

You blink. “You packed these?”

Sunghoon shrugs, brushing your arm as he walks by. “Now you have to come back.”

You look up at him. “Don’t worry,” you say, voice light but sure. “I’m not going anywhere.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

In the car, the playlist is a mix of both your tastes. It’s playing low as the trees blur past outside. You’re curled in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, humming to the music. You catch him looking at you at a red light, when you’ve reached the civilization again.

“What?” you ask.

“Just wondering if you’re gonna pretend you’re too cool to be seen with me after I drop you off.”

You scoff. “We literally live twenty minutes apart.”

He smirks. “Fifteen if I drive like a crazy person, which I am for you,” he says, hand resting on your thigh as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building, turning the ignition off.

You share a deep kiss, your hands cupping his jaw, his on the back of your neck. He pulls away first, flushed cheeks and breathing heavy.

He taps your thigh gently. “Come on, let me carry your suitcase up.”

You roll your eyes but smile, as he unlocks the car door. “You just want an excuse to come upstairs.”

“Maybe I just want to make sure you get inside safe,” he says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase with one hand and slinging your tote bag over his shoulder with the other. “Can’t help it. I’m responsible.”

You snort. “Husband behavior.”

Sunghoon smirks. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

“You better not be serious,” you deadpan, nudging him with your shoulder as you both head inside.

Once inside your apartment, you toe off your shoes and flick on the lights while Sunghoon sets your suitcase neatly by the couch. Everything looks a little dustier than you remembered. Like your old life is already softening around the edges.

“Wanna eat something before you go?” you ask as you scroll for the takeout app.

“I already ordered,” he says, smug, showing you his phone. “It’s on the way.”

You blink. “You ordered for both of us?”

He shrugs, casually leaning against your counter. “Figured you’d be too tired to cook after all the swimming... and making out.”

“Wow.” You press a hand to your chest, feigning shock. “Romantic and cocky.”

He winks.

The food arrives, and the two of you eat cross-legged on the floor, a movie playing low in the background. It’s peaceful. Cozy. But there’s something pressing in the air, unspoken but understood. When the containers are empty and the credits start to roll, Sunghoon doesn’t make a move to linger.

He leans in to kiss your cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Call me after.”

You nod, eyes soft.

“I mean it,” he says, gaze holding yours. “Even if it’s late.”

You stand at the door, still barefoot, as he walks out. You watch until the elevator closes.

The apartment feels quieter now. Still carrying the scent of him.

You don’t hesitate as you find his contact in your phone and press call.

The knock at your door comes later than expected. You open it to find Jihoon standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hood pulled up despite the heat. His eyes flick over your body—still wearing one of Sunghoon’s shirts—and narrow.

“Nice shirt,” he mutters, already walking past you into the apartment without being invited. “You two playing house now, or what?”

You don’t react. “There’s a box with your stuff in the hall closet.”

That stops him mid-step.

“What?”

You don’t flinch. “Take it. We’re done.”

He laughs. Sharp, disbelieving. “You’re breaking up with me now? After going off-grid for nearly a week? With my dad?”

“Jihoon.”

“No, seriously,” he says, throwing his arms out. “You disappear, don’t answer your phone, and when I do call, you’re suddenly all buddy-buddy with him? You think I’m an idiot?”

“I’m not doing this with you,” you say, voice still calm but harder now. “You made your choices when you left me there without a second thought. And now I’m making mine.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “You’re seriously choosing him? You couldn’t keep it in your pants for five days?”

“I think we both know you stopped loving me long before I ever looked twice at him.”

That hits. His jaw tightens.

“I waited,” you say quietly. “I tried. But you kept treating me like an inconvenience. Like I was always too much or not enough, depending on your mood.”

He doesn’t answer. Just stands there, breathing uneven.

You point toward the closet. “Your stuff’s in there. Take it and go.”

“You’re not even gonna pretend to be sorry about any of this?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m not.”

Jihoon exhales hard, scoffing again, then yanks open the closet door. Grabs the box. He pauses at the threshold, glaring at you like it’ll change something.

“You’ll regret this,” he mutters. “When he gets bored of you.”

You meet his eyes, steady. “I won’t.”

And then—finally—he leaves.

The door closes with a quiet finality.

This time, it stays closed. You go into your bedroom and sit on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, heart still beating steady and slow — not from nerves, but from clarity.

It’s done.

The apartment is quiet now. His box is gone. The door’s locked. You’re still wearing Sunghoon’s shirt.

You thumb open your messages first, but after a moment’s hesitation, you press call instead. He picks up before the first full ring.

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, voice low and warm.

You let out a soft breath. “It’s done.”

A pause. Then, “You okay?”

You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah. I think I’ve been okay for a while, actually.”

Another beat of quiet, and then you hear his exhale — relieved, grounding.

“I wanted to do it face-to-face,” you add. “…didn’t go too well, I might have been too honest.”

“You didn’t owe him anything past your truth,” Sunghoon murmurs. “I’m proud of you.”

Your lips curve into a smile. “You always say the right thing.”

“I try,” he teases gently.

There’s a beat. You hear movement on his end. Maybe he’s in bed. Maybe pacing.

“I can come over,” he offers. “If you want.”

“I do,” you say, no hesitation. “But… no rush. Just knowing you’re there is enough.”

He hums, and you can almost feel his smile through the line.

“You were never too much, you know,” he says. “You’re just the right amount for me.”

That gets you. You blink hard. “Sunghoon…”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get cocky just because you’re my boyfriend now.”

He chuckles. “Not cocky. Just… grateful.”

You both fall quiet again, but it’s the good kind. The safe kind.

“Call me if you need anything,” he says.

“I might just fall asleep on the phone with you.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed, sweetheart.”

You breathe in slow, gaze drifting to the camera polaroid he left in your bag — the one of you in his shirt, bare-legged, smiling like you already knew this was how it would end.

Or maybe, how it would begin.

“Goodnight, Mr. Park.”

You hear his smile in the dark.

“Goodnight, babygirl.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆝

🦭ིྀA/N: thank you for reading !!! I struggled so much with the first scene because it’s literally the two things I hate most: fighting and describing interior lmaoo but once I was past that it was super fun, hope everyone enjoyed reading (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

[beastyeastfreak]

Please Write Beast Headcanons about there reaction to reader getting hit on/flirted with by another cookie!!!! I will pay your child support to the anon you had a kid with!!!

THATS NOT MY KID IM NOT THE FATHER/MOTHER

Cw and tags: possessiveness, implied murder, romantic, GN! Reader, reader is referred to as pretty/beautiful/etc i use these words in a gender neutral way or am trying to, the beasts love to spoil you, mention of cheating, reader does not gaf about the beasts behaviour/encourages it

Written pre silent salt update

Mystic flour

🌾 - You dont leave the ivory pagoda much, if you do she does not linger far. You’re given a reputation pretty quick, your title will proceed you soon. “Her second set of ears” or “one who cannot be spoken too”. You lose a few friends, you get the memo likely before anything romantic happens she doesn’t want anything happening to you or anyone speaking to you. You were her wish, her one desire, her exception. She would be apathetic but not for you, you were her blessing. Someone she had unknowingly yearned for for thousands of years. You were someone she wouldn’t tolerate leaving, witches know what would happen if someone took you from her.

🌾 - Some cookies don’t think very well, Mystic flour know that well, one day the two of you head to a kingdom together to pick some items up. It got boring in the pagoda with little to do, she understood that and often brought you out to find things that would interest you and keep you with her, not that you needed material possession to spend time with her. It was a quiet day there which was the only reason she would let you go, she hated crowds. Your attention had diverted to a different stand, the stand owner watched you as you looked at their wares.

🌾 - “Whats a pretty cookie like you doing in this part of town?” You tense up, not at the flirt but because you knew what she’d do if she heard. “Um.. you really shouldn’t be talking to me like that,” you warned, your stance stiffened and you leaned away from the items. But they persisted in spite of the warning, “what? Scared of me? I don’t bite, unless you..” they’re cut off as the beast joins you. As she enters, all the perishable items on the desk seem to wilt and die. Her presence is strong, it shifts the air. You fluster as she enters the conversation. Making who you belong to crystal clear with her hand placement. One hand on your hip the other on your shoulder, also showing off her sharp nails unintentionally, as she speaks in an almost eerie way.

🌾 - “I found what we are looking for,” she opens her eyes and side glances at the stand owner now in shock. “It was not here,” she says quietly anf you swear you see her sharp fangs poking out. She then turns back, taking your arm and walking away. This is tame for her, this experience is the tamest of the others you endure beforehand. Many cookies have been turned to flour on a dime for speaking to you wrong, you were the one who convinced her to show mercy.

🌾 - When you return she will say nothing of the experience but if you praise her for ‘saving’ you she wont deny you. She’ll definitely keep you closer next time you both go out in public.

Burning Spice

🏜️ - Ive said this in previous headcannons, Burning spice sees any threat towards you as disrespectful towards him. You are apart of his temple, you were the gods lover, you were his. Anyone who so much as looks at you wrong, doesn’t greet you with the same reverence as him is ensured they understand or crumbled. Hell, he’d probably fight another beast or powerful being for you. Feel honoured, try to ignore the potential jamshed, make yourself a walking warning if you’re concerned with someones life.

🏜️ - Burning Spice is confident in his abilities and your loyalty to him. He allows you to go pretty far on your own or accompanied by one of his trusted spice soldiers. If you ever run away, trust that you will be hunted down, thats the second reason he’s so lax with you.

🏜️ - Warnings are as easily regarded as they are taken, you experienced this first hand one time. He decides to spoil you, he takes you on some lavish trip in a far away land. Adorning you in smooth fabrics, eating the sweetest fruits and jellys, napping on the beach in the sun. You head back towards the nearby building with the food at some point while he sunbathes. He’s too sleepy to tell you to ask a servant to fetch it for you.

🏜️ - You head in, another guest seems to be ensnared by you, or rather all the expensive metals, jewels and robes you were bestowed with. You probably looked like royalty, or (ironically enough) someone fresh out of Golden Cheese’s vault. So while you were picking out what you wanted and what you think he’d like at a somewhat leisurely pace the stranger approached. “Ah, what amazing handiwork on your garments, befitting of a beauty such as yourself,” that stranger purrs. You squint then look away, “um, thanks.” You try to seem as extremely disinterested as you were, maybe try to make some part of your attire bearing his symbol more visible.

🏜️ - Your attempts were in vain, even saying “Im from the Spice Kingdom, i live in The Great Destroyers temple in fact,” did not make them go away. They just thought you more interesting, you even warned them. “My husband is with me, he wont like you acting like this.” You say on the way back, to your dismay they follow. “Oh please, dont we all need to have a little away time? Besides you don’t need him, i am the…” followed by a long list of stupid titles you doubted actually impressed anyone. You then get back, where Burning spice was stretching, he locks eyes with you from afar, then the cookie trying to woo you and his face contorts to anger. Then the cookie looks a little nervous.

🏜️ - “Who is that..?” The cookie murmurs, nearly stammering. “My husband, The Great Destroyer?” You roll your eyes, “well go on, you said you could take him so go fight for my love.“ You say, Burning Spice is already walking over, weaponless yet still menacing, you look back at the cookie and they’re running. You catch Burning Spice, stopping him. “Don’t get jam and crumbs on your nice clothes.” You say and let him loose. He comes back later, laughing and all washed off. Whatever happened after that is chalked up to “some cookies just cant keep their eyes off whats mine!” He’ll say while pulling you impossibly close chugging the umpteenth glass of juice.

Eternal Sugar

🌷 - She was your happiness and you were hers, never would you part with her and always would she be beside you… even if you didn’t realise it. You were made off limits the second her eyes had caught a glimpse of you. When you became hers, she flaunts you, spoils you, adores you and you do the same. Your time is no longer spent working or stressing, you’re mostly at her side or in her lap. You could say you haven’t left her side for weeks and that’d be an understatement. No one in the garden would ever question nor attempt to get in between you too, lest they face the possibility of being entrapped in a jar or a statue.

🌷 - The only catch is you’ll never leave, any time you ask to go with her somewhere or you hear about something interesting going on. She’ll gently guide you elsewhere, “oh, but sweetness, the population there is so unpredictable. You’re like a thin string of sugar floss~, how about we do this instead?” She’d say if you tried to go, she’s good at it too because how can you say no to those eyes?

🌷 - Well, one time you were adamant about leaving, except you wanted her to come with you. There was some festival and you had been raving about it all week. It made you happy, and you wanted her to be happy with you, so she silently left, both of you in disguise, but told no one. It was as great as what you were told and even better with her! Your excitement was infectious and distracted her from wanting to go back to the garden.

🌷 - You separate only for a moment and unfortunately it all goes off the rails. You’re standing waiting for Eternal Sugar to return with drinks listening to the nearby festivities when a cookie comes up to you. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” This cookie grins says referring to the small wings tucked against your back. Appalled, you cringe. “Um…” you barely speak before arms slither around your waist and you’re pulled close. “There you are, my beloved,” Eternal Sugar says. You doubt her eyes ever left you. She was keeping you close in a way you knew you wouldn’t be staying at the festival much longer.

🌷 - “I got our food and.. oh! Who’s your friend?” She says in a way that drips jealousy, leaning her head against yours. One of her massive wings coming behind you, the other cookie is now looking around, giving an excuse about their friends and leaving. She watches them go then kisses your cheek. “I told you this would happen, what if it was someone worse who wanted to take you?~” she’ll tilt your head towards her, “can we go back to the garden? I’m feeling tired..” she’ll lie.

🌷 - You’ll notice that she’ll somehow be more affectionate with you for the time afterwards, don’t expect to leave for a very long time after that encounter.

Shadow Milk

🃏 - You were many things thanks to Shadow Milk, above every title he’s given you and every role he’s put you in, you were his lover. His lover. Though he would never show it, he kept you more protected than you know. You don’t see it but at all times there are puppet strings wound around you, if you’re about to step in a place you shouldn’t be those strings tighten and you walk away, except it feels more like “oh i don’t want to do this actually” and not “why did i just do that?” You don’t question it too thoroughly, you just encounter less issues now and thank the witches.

🃏 - You think you spend a healthy of time away from him, you don’t. In actuality you actually spent most of your time with him indirectly. He gives you many gifts, each one extends his omnipresence, so when you’re wearing something from him he is absolutely listening most of the time. If you ask him he’d tell you “Knowledge is a curse, wouldn’t you rather enjoy a white lie?” A little intimidated, you agree.

🃏 - His eaves dropping came in handy one time. He’d be lounging around mid air reading a book (and rewriting it) while listening to you in the background, a mug floating beside him. You were doing your own thing somewhere in the kingdoms, going through your daily rituals. What really made his ears open was when he heard someone he hadn’t recognised begin to speak to you all friendly. His eyes didn’t avert from the paper but if his ears could prick thats exactly what they’d be doing. “So, you doing anything this weekend? You’re cute,” He spit out his coffee, who did this guy think he was talking to you like that!

🃏 - He perked up, snapped his fingers so he wasn’t wearing his comfortable bed clothes and now in his usual jester attire. He jumped through a portal wasting no time. He watched from afar for a moment, you were clearly disinterested. “Im actually waiting for my partner,” you said. It always made his heart beat when you lied, especially about him! He might as well help you out! (And scare off whoever this was)

🃏 - He floated in, “Oh, my star~!” He sung out coming from around the corner, you whip around clearly happy to see him. He practically throws himself on you, and smothers you in exaggerated kisses, arms wrapped around your neck and one leg up behind him in a cartoonish way before harshly placing his lips against yours in a way that screamed territorial. Your face heats up from embarrassment, he then turns to the other cookie who didn’t seem to believe you but now, unfortunately, did. “Oh sorry, do you mind? I need a minute with my dearest, loveliest most adored actor” he says while holding your chin feigning innocence in his voice. But while you were hiding your face his shifted, he loved dropping the mask, putting on a face as scary as he was. The other got the memo, nervously escaping his wrath.

🃏 - You wont ever determine why he was truly near you, he’ll say that he wanted to see you but you know its a lie. Surprisingly, that cookie lives but at the expense of their reputation. Black sapphire is allowed to go ham with rumours about them, they end up moving towns. You, of course, have to endure lots of teasing from him. “If i knew you were so attractive to other cookies, i would have made you the main character!” He says while poking you.

[whisperofaflame]

Chapter 15b: Interlude [Part 2] WandaNat x [innocent, femme] Reader

Collision Course – Masterlist Link to full fic (so far) on AO3

Chapter Summary: While you wait in the garden, Natasha and Wanda have a conversation about you upstairs, in which their feelings come to the fore.

Word count: 3.7k

Featuring: Sapphic women yearning and second-guessing their actions (basically the theme of the entire fic tbh). Mention of sub-drop and domme-drop.

A/N: This follows on directly from Chapter 15 of Collision Course and Part 1 of Chapter 15b. It's dialogue-heavy and I've been fairly consumed by doubt about it this week, but the writing is now a lot cleaner after the wonderful assistance of @bishovapls , who very kindly beta-read this for me. Her encouragement and corrections have been invaluable in getting me to the position of feeling comfortable to post this ♡ (If you're not already following her you need to do that now; she writes the most incredible WandaNat and Bishova content).

When Natasha heard the click of the front door opening, her first instinct was to move to the window and check on you. But there was no sign of you nor Mayakovsky anymore when she looked out to the garden. Most likely, you were beneath the balcony, sitting on one of the patio chairs as she had instructed. If not, you’d be hiding out in the living room downstairs.

“Hey,” Wanda called out, her cheerful voice ringing through the house. 

“Through here, dorogaya moya,” Natasha replied, prying her eyes from the window and moving to the sink to wash her hands. She could hear Wanda’s footsteps approaching, even through the sound of the flowing water.

“Hello, my love,” Wanda murmured close to her ear, as she propped her chin on Natasha’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around her wife’s waist from behind. Natasha turned off the faucet and twisted round in Wanda’s hold to capture her lips in a kiss.

“Good day?” Natasha enquired, fumbling with her left hand behind her back to try and locate the hand towel which hung beneath the sink.

“Mm. It was okay. How was yours? How is myšička?”

Natasha turned round to dry her hands, and Wanda let her go. Only once her hands were dry and the towel was replaced did she answer.

“It was… interesting. She’s been a bit all over the place, emotionally.” Natasha paused. She knew that she would probably regret voicing the thought which was burning at the tip of her tongue, but she threw caution to the wind and said it anyway. “I think she missed you.”

Wanda’s face wasn’t hard to read. Natasha knew her wife well, and noticed the concerned quirk of her eyebrows, as well as the slightest scrunching of her nose, which was only ever evident when Wanda was truly delighted by something. 

“Where is she?” Wanda asked, obviously eager to reunite and shower you with affection.

“Out on the patio,” Natasha replied, “but we need to talk first, Wanda.”

“Okay. What do we need to talk about?” Wanda queried, looking a little fraught. Natasha nodded towards the dining table, and followed Wanda over once she caught on to the suggestion. Wanda sat down at the end of the table, and Natasha took the seat alongside, turning the chair to face her wife.

“She’s had a difficult day,” Natasha admitted, with a sigh. “I knew it would be, really; she obviously didn’t sleep well last night, but also it was the longest time she’s been without you since the accident. I think that hasn’t helped. I mean, of course I tried, but I’m not the same. She’s attached to you, Wanda.”

Wanda nodded, with a slightly sad smile. 

“Yes, I suppose she is.”

“You know how I feel about that,” Natasha said plainly, leaning to the side slightly to rest her elbow on the table. 

“I do,” Wanda agreed. 

There was a pause then, as they both contemplated the impasse. 

Eventually, Natasha broke the silence with a sigh.

“She came to find me this morning,” Natasha began, feeling it was important to be frank about what had happened that day. Their household had always operated on honesty; there was no need for this to change just because you were currently residing there too. “And she told me she was about to go out for a run.”

Wanda frowned at this, her cheeks paling slightly.

“You didn’t let her, did you?”

“Of course not,” Natasha protested, only just managing to contain a sigh of indignation. She might not be as all-in with affection as her wife, but that didn’t mean she was apathetic about you, or your safety. “No; I highlighted the risks, and when that didn’t put her off, I made her consider how you would feel if you came home and found out that I’d let her go for a run.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at Wanda, unable to restrain a small smirk that tugged at her lips. “It was a little too effective, honestly.”

“How did she react?” Wanda asked, leaning in with concerned curiosity. 

“Well, she sort of surrendered at that point, but she wasn’t happy. I tried to suggest we go for a walk, but she wasn’t having it; she just said she needed to go for a run. I managed to get her to explain a little, though. She said she needs to exercise, Wanda. I think she’s used to doing a lot, and she’s going a little crazy being so stationary.”

“But she has to rest,” Wanda fretted, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “It’s not even been a week and… it was so bad.” She whispered the last part, her voice cracking as she recalled the accident.

“I know,” Natasha soothed, reaching out and stroking Wanda’s forearm. “But she’s a strong little thing, really. And she told me today that it’s not her first broken bone — turns out she’s always been a bit of a liability!” She turned her tone playful at the end, grinning at Wanda until she elicited the desired little huff of laughter that meant she was breaking through the worry. "I think we need to be more careful of her mental health, rather than the physical, lyubov moya. She opened up to me when I asked her about it. Just a little, just enough for me to know that it’s how she copes with things.” Natasha paused, knowing the next part may elicit some dissent. “So we compromised. I let her use the spin bike in the gym, just for half an hour, with my supervision.” She could see Wanda opening her mouth to quibble, but she ploughed on. “And I said I’ll continue to let her, when she needs. But only if she asks, and only if I’m there.”

Wanda closed her mouth again, and Natasha wondered whether her extra detail had quelled some of the arguments in her mind. She was silent for a while, still spinning the rings, but the revolutions were slower now. More contemplative than ruminative in nature. 

“Did it help?” Wanda asked finally, her voice rather small, like it pained her to consider it. 

“It did,” Natasha admitted. “She was a lot brighter after. For a bit, at least. We ate lunch, and she seemed relaxed while eating. And then we went for a walk to get some buns, and she was really chirpy on the way there. That’s when I learned about all her injuries. She was happy, talkative.”

Wanda seemed saddened by this, more than anything. But Natasha understood. Wanda’s protective instincts prioritised rest, and keeping you safe at home. The success of Natasha’s tactics seemed to directly contradict her own approach, making her efforts and affections appear futile in comparison. Natasha kept one hand on Wanda’s forearm, but moved her other to rest upon Wanda’s hand. The next part she needed to share may come as a blow. But it was necessary to explain it all. Wanda needed to understand.

“She was fine until we came out of the bakery, and our discussion moved to college. I asked if she wanted to start going in, and she panicked then. Because she seems to think that you wouldn’t want her to.”

Wanda looked up from her hands, meeting Natasha’s gaze with a rather startled expression. 

“We haven’t even talked about it… I - I don’t know why she would think that.”

“Well… Would you want her to go, if she asked to go in tomorrow?” Natasha asked, trying to keep her tone gentle rather than accusing. Wanda swallowed, then released a small admission.

“No — I’d say it’s too soon.”

“And she knows that, lyubov moya, because she’s practically joined at your hip, and absolutely desperate for your approval.” Natasha’s heart clenched as she saw her wife’s eyes begin to glisten with tears. This was why it was necessary to have this conversation now, just the two of them, before having a discussion with you too. Wanda wasn’t much more enlightened than you were about the nature of your relationship together. Sure, she had her hopes and a history of wanting something specific, but at the same time Natasha was sure that a lot of her behaviour was being enacted on pure instinct. Wanda didn’t even seem to know what she was doing, half the time. She was just feeling, being. And it was up to Natasha to see, to understand on behalf of both of you. 

“Did something happen between the two of you this morning?” Natasha asked, needing to know what she had missed. Something seemed to register and flicker in Wanda’s eyes, and Natasha knew then that her instincts were correct. There had been something.

“I might have got a bit carried away,” Wanda whispered, her face flushing with colour. “Maybe I was too dominant… I don’t know. I just instructed her to tell you if she needed anything, and then I… I asked her to be good for me, while I was away.”

Natasha suspected that some details might be being omitted, but she didn’t press for them. She could assume how it must have happened, how Wanda slipped into her dominance and soothed you into submission. There would no doubt have been copious pet names and physical touch involved too, all of which would have intensified the experience for you. And, inconveniently, this all transpired right before Wanda left for the day. 

“She mentioned that,” Natasha shared. “She’s pretty cut-up about it actually, scared that she’s not been good for you, and that you’ll be disappointed in her.”

“I’m not,” Wanda murmured. “I’m worried.”

“Me too,” Natasha said simply. “I’m worried for the both of you. This whole thing… it seems to be spinning out of control rather quickly.”

“We can make it work,” Wanda asserted, rather desperately. “I know we can. I’m sure about this, about her, Natasha.”

Natasha took a deep breath. She needed to be honest, the voice of reason.

“I know you’re sure, lyubov moya, but I’m not. And I don’t think she’s capable of being sure of anything, at the moment.” She watched as a single tear trickled down Wanda’s cheek. Not able to bear it passing untouched, unrecognised, Natasha reached out and brushed it away with a careful stroke of her finger. 

“Wanda, I love you to the moon and back many times over, but I think you’re losing yourself a little. You can’t just push the poor girl into subspace whenever it takes your fancy. She’s not ours; she’s just our guest. And she’s vulnerable. Even if you do think it could work, we can’t introduce it now — she’d probably freak out and run away, and even if she did agree to it, we couldn’t really characterise it as free consent, could we?”

“I know,” Wanda agreed quietly. “I just… It’s hard to know where the line is. I keep losing sight of it, I suppose.”

“Me too,” Natasha admitted, prompting Wanda to look up in surprise. Natasha gave her a small, rueful smile. “You’re not the only one who’s struggling there. I think I’ve crossed the line a few times too. It is hard.”

They sat in silence for a while then, with Natasha contemplating her mistakes, and Wanda no doubt doing the same. It was so complex, the situation they’d ended up in. A good deed, somewhat corrupted by increasingly complicating feelings.

“I think — and I may be wrong; it’s just a suspicion — but I think she’s been experiencing sub-drop, at times, over the last few days.” Natasha posed her theory lightly, interested to hear Wanda’s take on it. When there was no immediate response, she elaborated. “I mean, it certainly seemed like it this afternoon. She missed you, and she was worried about what you thought of her, and what you had said. And the only thing that seemed to help was just being with her, and holding her, and reassuring her a lot.” Natasha chewed at the inside of her mouth, remembering the times she hugged you, and the way it had felt. That detail was unnecessary, however. She had to keep her own feelings detached, to protect the both of you. She had to remain objective.

“She likes you a lot, you know,” Wanda breathed, looking up into Natasha’s eyes with tearful sincerity. “I see the way she looks to you: always checking how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking about her. And you must see how she relaxes when you smile, and when you’re silly with her. She’s attached to you too, Nat. Just differently.”

Natasha swallowed, trying to contain the emotion that swelled inside her, a rising tide of euphoria that Wanda’s words provoked. Her defences were slightly delayed, but they sprung up then, providing an alternative, protecting her from the feelings.

“It’s just because I’m the gatekeeper to you, really. I think she knows — even if it’s just subconsciously — that I’m the one who will call this, in the end. So she wants to know that I’m still happy with her being here, and happy with the two of you becoming so close. I think she’s scared I’ll put a stop to things, all of a sudden, based on something she has done.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Wanda rejected, very quietly. “Because if that were the case, that she only cared about my affection and your permission, then she wouldn’t have admitted any of that to you, today. She’d be holding it inside, scared it would make you end this.” Wanda paused, then leaned forwards and gave Natasha a gentle kiss. “She trusts you, Talia. You just don’t trust yourself.”

Natasha stilled in her seat, letting Wanda’s words seep into her very soul. That nickname — from the real name — had a sacred place in their relationship. Wanda knew the power it held over her, and she used it sparingly, respectfully. She only pulled it out to highlight moments and mark meaning. So her use of it now gave every word extra weight, making them settle heavy inside Natasha’s body, burying the arguments that may otherwise have clawed up through her chest. The name had a way of stripping her down, chipping away her armour and revealing what lay beneath. And today, her armour seemed thin. It simply melted away like salt in the rain, sharp crystals dissolving to nothingness. Without it, her shoulders seemed to narrow and droop — like she had lost her exoskeleton, and now had to face the world more feeble.

“What’s going on with you, my love?” Wanda asked, moving her hands to interlock fingers with Natasha’s own. When Natasha made no move to answer, Wanda gave a further prompt. “I already know what you think, Talia. Right now I want to know how you feel.”

The question tugged at Natasha’s composure, unpicking her at the seams. At some point in this conversation, the power had shifted. She had thought she was in control, but now she felt on the back foot, spinning without direction. She clung to Wanda’s hands, trying to anchor herself, and return to shore.

“Talk to me, láska moja,” Wanda encouraged, “just one word will do.”

And she found it: the feeling sinking deep inside her. 

“I just feel… guilty,” Natasha breathed, and it seemed like the words cut through her last defences like a knife. Wanda was watching her avidly, reading her like a book, and Natasha couldn’t help but continue turning the pages for her, showing her every piece of what she was feeling. “I’ve been trying all this time to find the balance — but if I hold back while you are being soft with her, I feel like I’m being cold. And if I let myself be soft with her too, it feels wrong… like we’re manipulating her somehow. It makes me feel dirty.” The words were spilling out without a plan, tumbling unvetted from her lips. “But then, when I asked you to pull back, it clearly hurt her. And I don’t want that. I care about her too. It’s just… I’m scared. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Wanda seemed to inflate then, taking account of the slight wobble in Natasha’s voice and seeming to come fully back to herself to address it.

“We do what you’re doing right now,” Wanda said fervently. “We communicate. To each other, and to her.”

Natasha nodded wordlessly, swallowing down the lump in her throat. She hated feeling like this. Unsure. Afraid. It wasn’t like her, and she didn’t want it. She was used to comforting, not being comforted. She was used to being in control.

Wanda slid out a hand and cupped Natasha’s cheek, continuing her soft assurances.

“And I think we just try our best. Not too much, not too little. We can find the sweet spot together, and we can ask her too.” Wanda’s hands moved to capture each of Natasha’s, and she entwined their fingers together. “We’ll figure this out, hm?”

Natasha took a long, shuddering breath in through her nose. And then she released it, in a slow exhale through her mouth, her lips parted into a small O.

“Yes. We will.”

Wanda smiled at her then, her eyes still a little shiny but holding warmth rather than sadness now. It never ceased to amaze Natasha, how her wife could be buoyed by the opportunity to soothe another. She came alive when people were upset, and not in a malevolent way. Wanda just truly lived for others, lived for the chance to help and to heal. 

Sometimes Natasha felt guilty for rarely needing that kind of help from her wife. It felt like something she couldn’t provide, a failure on her part. Your arrival had placed that fact into stark relief. You provided something which Natasha could never give, something which Wanda craved with the deepest part of her soul. And Natasha desperately wanted her wife to have it. But she was scared that it wouldn’t work, scared that Wanda would invest too much, only for her dream to fall apart. Natasha would give Wanda the moon, if she could. But she couldn’t give her you. That decision was yours alone, a choice that couldn’t be meddled with, if it were to be true and free. 

They remained quiet for a while, which was just what Natasha needed. When she felt this way she just needed two things. Time and touch; just enough to decompress. 

“You know,” Wanda said quietly, stroking Natasha’s cheek with her thumb and gazing into her eyes with a steady kind of certainty, “myšička may not be the only one having a drop today.”

Natasha let out a small breath of mirth, half-defensive, half-surrendered. Perhaps Wanda was right. Perhaps it could explain this strange concoction of emotions she was feeling — guilt, confusion, and a little panic too. 

“Maybe,” she admitted, though she didn’t want to linger on this. So she summoned her intentions again, fumbling for the thread of the task at hand. “We really do need to talk to her.”

“Yes,” Wanda agreed, dropping her hand from Natasha’s cheek, and settling it on her lap instead. “What do you propose, my love?”

Natasha was grateful for the way Wanda handed back the reins, grateful for the way her wife knew when to pause, and when to progress. 

“I think you ought to get her, and give her some reassurance first,” Natasha directed, feeling her body recharge with resolve as the emotional discomfort ebbed away to the background. “I told her she’s not in trouble, but I think she needs to hear it from you, too.”

“Okay, I can do that. And then shall I bring her up here?”

Natasha considered the suggestion, then shook her head. 

“The table will feel too formal. Perhaps the sofa downstairs?”

“That sounds good. I’ll chat to her outside, and then bring her in.” Wanda tilted her head then, obviously preparing a new question. “How do we go about this?”

“I think we just have to keep it simple. Reassure her that we want her here, and she can stay until she’s better. Then ask her what she needs from us — college, exercise… we can prompt her, if need be. Whatever it is, we can figure out compromises, together.”

“And what about… everything else?” Wanda asked, and Natasha knew what she was referring to. “Do we explain, even just a little?”

Natasha sighed, overwhelmed by the impossibility of employing perfect ethics in this situation. To be completely honest would mean accosting you with a rather intense premise, at a time when you had no clear alternative. And to withhold it would mean deceiving you, entrapping you in a situation you hadn’t been able to consent to. 

“We tell as much of the truth as we can,” she determined, speaking her decision slowly, checking each word as it came. “Like the truth that we like having her here, and we want her to stay until she’s better. And the truth that we need her to communicate with us if she’s uncomfortable.”

Wanda nodded along, taking it in with a fervent expression. 

“I’ll let you take the lead, my love.” She frowned a little then, obviously considering something else. Natasha gave her a little nod of encouragement to continue. “I know you want me to be careful, to hold back a bit more… but I think she’ll need me tonight. And you too. She’ll need us to be gentle.”

“I know,” Natasha assured her. “And for tonight, I think we give that to her. But don’t lose yourself, lyubov moya. Just be Wanda, with her. Please.”

“Sľubujem,” Wanda committed, her promise quiet but steady, intent. 

They kissed then, long and slow, exchanging breaths, regrets and resolve. When they broke apart, Wanda leaned her forehead to rest against Natasha’s own. They stayed like that a moment, skin touching, Natasha’s eyes dipped and Wanda’s closed. 

“Go now,” Natasha whispered gently, giving her wife a final peck of the lips. “Our little mouse will be growing cold.”

Wanda leaned back, her smile radiant in the slightly fading light of the early evening. And in the warm glow of her wife’s joy, Natasha couldn’t even summon any regret at the slip of her words, at the possessive pronoun that had snuck past her reticence and settled into the secret space between them.

A/N: Thank you for reading, and sorry again that this took so long!! It was a bit scary taking a step back from Tumblr/writing for the last week, but I do feel a lot better now and ready to write and share more. I hope you all have a lovely weekend ♡

Taglist: (comment below if you'd like to be added to this) @nessheartnat , @valerie-lexi , @bishovapls , @redheadsinmybed , @electric-guillotines , @naominanuq

[sofstiltskin]

11th house and our social circle ✨

Wee gonna talk about friends,why and how we can benefit from our social circle :)) . DIsclaimer : take what resonates, leave the rest.

For starters let's go thru all signs and what "vibe" we give off as a friend (or our friends give that vibe) ★ Aries 11th house -> encouraging friend, let's go and do some crazy crazy stuff, bold af, likes to playfully fight a friend, competetive, let's wrestle our hands, i will always be your warrior ★ Taurus 11th house -> an friend who always has a money, will make you something to eat or take away your food, takes responsibility for your behaviour, a stubborn friend, friend who never lets you down ★ Gemini 11th house -> never ever shuts up, may like to gossip with you, mental stimuli convo and a lot of sarcasm, the funny friend ★ Cancer 11th house -> the mom friend of the group, take care and nurture everyone, makes you feel all your emotions, a shoulder to cry on, sensitive friend ★ Leo 11th house -> life of the party friend, a fashion diva friend, adores to be center of attention, will bravely stand up for you, shows you off, is always positive and encourages your confidence ★ Virgo 11th house -> can be picky about friends, the judgemental friend, friend who always grounds you down, the geek friend of the group, let's play a monopoly or jenga ★ Libra 11th house -> the friend who always wants shopping, let's drink matcha tea, the liberate friend, always a judge to friends when conflict arises, a friend you can always trust ★ Scorpio 11th house -> friend with whom you almostly did not end up in a jail, brings random topics to conversation, let's do tarot, could be prone to smoking, a vulgar friend lol, knows your soul very well ★ Sagittarius 11th house -> a friend who likes to crack a jokes and do funny things just to make you smile, never bored and make the best hang outs, social butterly, adventurous and into travelling ★ Capricorn 11th house -> the most reliable friend, also likes to ground you and give you the most reality check, reserved while yapping about their work, friend who always take responsibilty ★ Aquarius 11th house -> friend who always plays a video games, always scrolls on Tik Tok or Instagram, brainrots, will always help you about your problems, the innovative and weirdo friend, likes to tease their friends ★ Pisces 11th house -> a friend who always daydreams, artistic friend, let's go and watch movies at cinema, always sing a songs, jokes about how will smoke marihuana, gives best love advice

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── PLANETS IN 11TH HOUSE ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Sun in 11th house ┈➤ feel the most confident and themselves around friends, always positive and prolly is popular among friends due to their extroverted personality! Attracts friends who are also fun,extroverted,ambitious and into a center of attention. Could be prone to being insecure about their status in friendship group

Moon in 11th house ┈➤ again mom friend of the group, they tune their emotions with friends, always empathetic and forgives fast. Will always put friend's needs first than their own, attracts sometimes friend who are also highly emotional or opposite of that. Need to learn to set emotional boundaries

Mercury in 11th house ┈➤ people with this placement know how to talk and deal with difficult converations, especially solving effectively fights among their friends, always know random facts and attract intelligent and nerdy type of friends, they hate small talk

Venus in 11th house ┈➤ most likely to once in their life fall in love with their friend/best friend, communities with innovative ideas,fashion,charities fascinates 'em, attract people with anusual aesthetics

Mars in 11th house ┈➤ friend full of energy, will challenge you on everything like wrestling, friendly fight, adores to go out and do sports with you, will teach you how to defend yourself, a friend you will never forget

Jupiter in 11th house ┈➤ friends bring us luck, could be lucky with finding friends, a large group of friends, travel buddies, an optimistic and always look on the bright side friend, the wise and mature friend

Saturn in 11th house ┈➤ friends might have stabbed them in the back or betrayed in any way, a lot of lessons learned because of friendships, shy at first meeting, may have a long age gap friends, mature friend

Uranus in 11th house ┈➤ having alot online friends,friends from other culture, rebellious and freedom type of friend, quirky friend, “i believe in aliens” friend, always want to try new things

Neptune in 11th house ┈➤ daydreams with friends, could get high with friends, always in some euphoria with friends, an artistic and poetic friend, may see good in all people.

Pluto in 11th house ┈➤ haven’t had many friends in life, friends being a big part of their transformation, maybe friends held some secrets or in generally being secretive; a unique friend

─────────── ୨୧ ────────────

Also look at what your : Venus sign is ; you might attract that sign or opposite of it ! ( my Venus sign is in Aquarius and I attract lot of them or Leos )

That’s it for today 🫶🏻

-Sof

[dresshistorynerd]

Roughly 10 More Cool Historical Queer Figures More People Should Know About

Part 2 - Modern Era

Part 1

Last year I made a post of roughly 10 (emphasis on roughly) earlier historical queer figures, and promised a list of another (roughly) 10 figures. So again in spirit of pride month, I'm delivering you roughly 10 (technically there's 12 or more however you want to count them) more cool historical queer figures.

In the first list I had fucked up the splitting of my list and there were only 8 figures. I had somehow misplaced the first entry here on this list even though time-period-wise it should have been on the first one, but alas it will go here.

The same disclaimers apply here too. This list is centered around western history (but not exclusively) because that's the history I'm most familiar with, though it's definitely not all white, since western history is not all white. I will be avoiding using modern labels, since they are rarely exactly applicable to history, rather I will present whatever we know about these figures' gender, sexuality and relationships. If there's information about what language they used about themselves, I will use that. Often we don't know their own thoughts, so I will need to do some educated guess work, but I will lean towards ambiguity whenever evidence is particularly unclear. If you are the type of person who gets angry with the mere suggestion there's a possibility that a historical gnc person might not have been cis, I encourage you to read my answers to related asks (here and here) first before sending me another identical ask. Try to at least bring some new arguments if you decide to waste my time with your trans erasure.

9. Romaine-la-Prophétesse (c. 1750 - at least 1792)

Romaine-la-Prophétesse, or Romaine the Prophetess, was a Haitian revolutionary and religious leader. It's unclear what pronounce they would have used for themself, so I'll refer to them as they/them. They were assigned male at birth and were born around 1750 in the Spanish controlled Hispaniola as Romaine Rivière to free black parents, possibly of Kongolese origin. By 1772 they had migrated to the French part of the island and become a small coffee plantation owner. By that point they had also met Marie Roze Adam a mulatto woman, who was enslaved in another plantation, where they were likely an employer. Between 1772 and 1777 she gave birth to their three children, who were born into slavery. After meeting their future wife, Romaine spent 12 years working to free her and their children from slavery. They purchased Marie Roze and their children and immediately married her, exploiting a law, according to which marrying her master freed her and any of her children owned by the same master. Romaine became very respected in the area's free black community and they and their wife became godparents to multiple children. Still even after freeing their wife and children from bondage they did own at least two slaves, as did many wealthy free black and mulatto people.

After the French Revolution many of the free black Haitians were radicalized. The French revolutionaries had promised freedom and equality, but while all whites, even the poor ones, gained citizenship, the citizen status of free people of colour was tenuous and black slaves remained slaves. This led to a lot of tensions and fighting, which in 1791 erupted into several uprisings, the uprising of the free people of colour against their discrimination and the slave rebellion. Romaine joined the slave rebellion after a powerful white plantation owner near their plantation gathered troops threatening them and their community. They called upon free black and poor white people in their community outnumbering the white troops, attacked the plantation, burned it down and freed it's slaves. It's a little unclear when exactly, but at least by the revolution, Romaine started to be known as Romaine the Prophetess. They dressed in women's clothing and spoke about being possessed by a female spirit. They became known as both a healer and a prophet. With a saber in hand they preached that God was black - their religious practice and revolutionary politics were very intertwined. Vodou was not yet a formalized belief system, but this was the time when it was taking form as Catholic and Indigenous African and Caribbean beliefs mingled together among Caribbean people of colour. Romaine's religious beliefs seem to also be a mix of Kongolese Catholicism (Catholicism has been a major religion in Kongo since early 16th century) and indigenous West-African religions. This was quite common among Haitian revolutionaries, but there was still a lot of variety.

After capturing and burning the first plantation, Romaine and their growing army of freed slaves, burned multiple other plantations in the area of Southern Hispaniola and freed thousands of slaves. There were excesses of violence as an inevitable consequence of the extreme brutality the slaves had been subjected to (how the Caribbean slaves and Maroons were treated by the Europeans is one of the most nauseating things I have ever read and after that it's impossible for me to condemn anything they did afterward to their oppressors). Eventually most of the wealthy free black people turned against Romaine and the slave revolt and pressured them to go into peace treaty with the French. By that point they had enough of the upper hand that they managed to keep control over large parts of the province. However, the peace would not last and eventually Romaine and their troops were defeated by the French in 1792. Romaine's family was capture, but they apparently managed to escape and was said to have continued preaching, however there's no other record of them after that. Haitian Revolution was eventually after a decade successful and made Haiti the first state to entirely abolish slavery.

10. We'Wha (1849–1896)

We'Wha was a Zuni, Indigenous American Pueblo people from Zuni River Valley, a potter, a weaver and a cultural ambassador. They were a lhamana, a third gender category in Zuni culture. The lhamana are usually amab people, who take both masculine and feminine characteristics and perform both feminine and masculine roles in the community. It's unclear what pronouns We'Wha would have used in the English language, so I will use they/them. At the time of We'Wha's birth the Zuni had managed to stay away from colonizers and continued their traditional livelihoods and religious practices. But the Zunis had their first interactions with the colonizers, who brought smallpox, which killed many of the villagers, including We'Wha's parents, after which they and their brother were adopted by an aunt. US tried to gain control of New Mexico - in 1877 they established Zuni Reservation and begun a policy to assimilate Indigenous People to the industrial American society by converting them to Christianity. Which is why in 1878 missionaries arrive to We'Wha's village. They became the missionaries' domestic servant and learned English. The missionaries left from the village in 1881, without managing to force their culture and morals on the villagers.

During the missionaries' stay at the village, We'Wha befriended Matilda Coxe Stevenson, an ethnologist, who recorded a lot of Zuni culture with the help of We'Wha. Matilda and her husband invited them to visit Washington D.C. with them. We'Wha used the opportunity to meet with president and form good relationship with the US government in order to protect the independence of their tribe. 6 years after their visit to Washington D.C., they were arrested. US soldiers had tried to interfere with the internal community trial of the Zuni and arrest their elders. We'Wha had resisted the soldiers and ended up in jail for a month.

Today Zuni people are surviving centuries of genocide as well as one can. Halona Idiwan’a, or Pueblo of Zuni, the Zuni reservation and homeland, has a sizable Zuni population. There's 9 500 speakers of Zuni language, most of who live in Halona Idiwan’a. The traditional religion is also still practiced by the Zuni. In early 2000s Zuni people successfully opposed a coal mine, which was planned near Zuni Salt Lake, a sacred site in Zuni lands. To this day they are still opposing colonial intervention.

11. Edward Carpenter (1844-1929)

Edward Carpenter was from a wealthy English family. He was a writer, poet, philosopher, socialist, early gay rights activist, prison reformist and animal rights activist. He wrote much about Uranians, term for queer men, which he used as a term for all queer people. He argued for non-medicalized view of queerness, and didn't just argue that it should be tolerated, but that it was a natural human trait beneficial to humanity. He had multiple relationships with men thorough his life, and had a particular preference for gruff working class men. As a 58 years old he met 36 year old George Merrill, a working class man, and the two fell in love. George moved in with Edward and they lived together for almost 40 years, until George died suddenly. Edward was devastated and shortly after suffered a stroke and died as well.

12. May Morris (1862-1938)

May Morris was English Arts and Crafts artist, designer artisan and socialist. Her father was William Morris himself, the father of the Arts and Crafts movement, and her mother was Jane Morris, muse and model of Pre-Raphaelite art. May was a very influential embroiderer. She was active in the movement and founded Women's Guild of Art when Art Workers' Guild did not admit women. She was married to a man, the secretary of the Socialist League, for 8 year, despite her mother's disapproval of him, but eventually divorced him. In 1917 her life long relationship with Mary Lobb begun. Mary cross-dressed but used feminine terms. She loved dogs. She moved into May's countryside Arts and Crafts cottage with the guise of being May's gardener, but eventually they were openly a couple. They traveled together for hiking trips, for example to Iceland many times.

13. Renée Vivien (1877-1909)

Renée Vivien was a mentally ill lesbian poet, Sappho enjoyer (a woman of culture) and a cat lover. She had a profound homoromantic childhood friendship, mommy issues and was melodramatic about women. She would have done numbers on Tumblr dot com. She was English, but lived most of her life in France with the money she inherited from her rich father at a young age. All her relationships were quite dramatic. She left the homoromantic friendship with Violet Shillito for a hot American actress Natalie Barney, after which the friend died of typhoid fever and Renée separated with Natalie because she was sure she had killed Violet with a broken heart. Next year in 1902 she started an affair with a married Jewish Baroness Héléne von Zuylen. They had to keep their relationship discreet because of Héléne's position, but it continued for years and Renée considered them to be married. Still when she got a letter from a secret admirer, wife of a Turkish diplomat, French-educated Muslim woman, Kérimé Turkhan Pasha, she started a secret affair with her too. They had only brief encounters, but exchanged a lot of passionate correspondence. Renée was not willing to leave Héléne, but eventually in 1907 Héléne left her for another woman. Next year Kérimé ended their relationship, as she relocated to St. Petersburg with her husband. Renée took all that as well as the average poet. She abused alcohol and drugs more than she had before and attempted suicide in a way I can only describe as on brand. She overdosed on opium, stretched on her divan and placed a bouquet of violets over her heart. Her commitment to the symbolism was real. In all seriousness she was not well. Her substance abuse and disordered eating had deteriorated her health and tragically complications of her mental illnesses would claim her life only a year later.

14. Lucy Hicks Anderson (1886–1954)

Lucy was Black American born in Kentucky to a working class family and assigned male at birth. From a young age she insisted that she was a girl and wanted to wear dresses. Her mother took her to a physician, who suggested that she should allow Lucy to present as a girl and raise her as such, which she did. Lucy left school at age 15 to support herself by working as a domestic servant. As an adult she would move around and work in the service sector and as a chefs, get married and move to Oxnard, California. After divorcing her husband in 1929 she bought a boarding house with her savings, and used is as a front to operate a brothel and illegal liquor business during the prohibition. She became a local socialite and hostess with a lot of influence in the high society. She was on that grindset. Her influential connections got her out of jail, when her brothel was exposed. After that she married a her second husband in New York in 1944, Reuben Anderson, a soldier. They returned to Oxnard, where she resumed her brothel operation. In 1946 a sailor claimed to have caught a venereal disease from her brothel, so even she was forced to undergo a medical examination, during which her masculine sex characteristics were discovered and she was accused of fraud for "lying" about her sex in her marriage license. In the court she said:

"I defy any doctor in the world to prove that I am not a woman. [...] I have lived, dressed, acted just what I am, a woman."

She and her husband were convicted and both put in men's prison. To add to the cruelty, she was forbidden to wear women's clothing. She survived the ordeal and was freed in 1950, after which she moved with her husband to Los Angeles and they lived quietly together until her death.

15. Amelio Robles Ávila (1889-1984)

Amelio Robles Ávila was a Mexican revolutionary colonel and decorated war hero. He was born to a middle class farmer, who owned 42 hectares of land, and afab in Xochipala, Guerrero. He was sent to girl's Catholic school, but showed interest in masculine pursuits from an early age, becoming very proficient in running of a ranch. Even before adopting a male presentation or becoming a soldier, he was known as an excellent marksman and rider. He joined the revolutionary Zapatista army between 1911 and 1912, still presenting as a woman. The Zapatistas were formed as a response to the military dictatorship under general Porfirio Díaz, who ruled from late 19th to early 20th century. Prior to the Porfiriato there was still significant Indigineus Nahua population in Central Mexico, where people lived largely in Nahua villages and worked communally owned land. During the dictatorship though communal landownership was undermined and land was centralized to haciendas, which were a type of grand estate used broadly in Latin America as brutal colonial enterprises. This sparked a revolution, led by the Zapatistas, who sought land reform and fought the military dictatorship with guerilla warfare.

Two years after joining the Zapatistas, Amelio started to present as a man and demanded to be respected as such. And mostly he was, by his family as well. He was accomplished in the army and eventually gained his own command of over 300 men. He fought till the end of revolutionary period in 1920, and returned to put down a counter-revolutionary rebellion in 1923. After his army career he settled down, and in 1930s he married Ángela Torres, with whom he adopted a daughter, Regula Robles Torres. He was a widely known to be trans and so when his birth certificate was falsified so he could legally adopt his daughter, it was probably a favour from the government. At some point after the revolution, a group of men tried to do a hate crime on him and "expose" his anatomy, but he killed two of them in self-defense, as he should. In 1948 he received a medical certificate, where it was confirmed he had 6 (six) bullet wounds, to officially enter the Confederation of Veterans of the Revolution. And finally in 1970 he was officially recognized by the state as a male veteran (veterano) of the Revolution and received several awards for his distinguished military service. He died as a 95-year-old revolutionary hero and certified chad. There is a story that in his deathbed he asked to be dressed in women's clothing when he was buried to face God's judgement, but this is likely a baseless rumor, since he also apparently asked in the same breath honours for his military service (which he had already received) and according to his death certificate he had lost the ability to speak before his death.

16. Alan L. Hart (1890-1962)

Alan L. Hart was an American physician, radiologist and novelist, who made significant advancements to tuberculosis treatment and was the first transman to medically transition in US. He was afab and was born in 1890, but very early on expressed a strong desire to be a boy, which was largely accepted by her parents and grandparents, who let him present as a boy and referred to him in masculine ways. However, when he attended school he was required to dress as a girl, though outside it he continued to presenting as a boy. In medical collage he was still forced to present as a woman. He was very unhappy that his female name was used in his medical degree when he graduated, since it meant he had to continued presenting as a woman for jobs or be outed as a "sexual invert". Right after his graduation though in 1917 (when he was still presenting on his first job as a woman, but outside it as a man) he sought medical transition. His doctor agreed that "from a sociological and psychological standpoint he is a man" and his surgery was completed during the next year after which he legally changed his name and married his first wife Inez Stark. Later, when hormone theraphy became available, he started using testosterone as well. Unfortunately in the same year he was outed by a former classmate and was forced to move with his wife to remote Montana, which was very traumatic for him. Financial troubles and secrecy caused by this outing and relocation put a strain on his marriage and they separated in 1923. Two years later he married his second wife, Edna Ruddick, which would last till his death.

During the same year Alan moved to work in Trudeau School of Tuberculosis in New York to do his postgraduate work, then worked for two years in a sanatorium in Illinois and finally in 1928 received his master's degree in radiology from the University of Pennsylvania. After that he did his career working with and researching tuberculosis, which was the most common cause of death in America still at the time. He developed an x-ray screening method for spotting tuberculosis early on and preventing it from spreading. Using his screening method he led a mass campaign to screen for tuberculosis in Connecticut for 16 years, and similar screening campaigns were then used all over US and the world. This was crucial in ending the tuberculosis epidemics, which had been going on for decades across the world. His method is still the standard used today. During his career he also wrote medical drama fiction and published four novels.

In his will he had directed for his personal photographs and letters to be destroyed, which was his last act of controlling the narrative of his own life, which had been briefly stolen from him, when he had been outed. This was carried out, but even then, a decade after his death, he was reclaimed by anti-trans lesbian groups as a historical lesbian figure. During 1980s and 1990s though trans people and some lesbians, like the Lesbian Avengers, valiantly defended his legacy, protested these lesbian groups and eventually forced them to back down.

17. Willem Arondeus (1894-1943)

Willem Arondeus was a Dutch artist, writer and poet and an openly gay man. Quickly after Neatherlands was occupied by Nazi Germany in 1940, he joined the Dutch resistance. He used his skills as an artist to become a very successful forger. He forged documents for Dutch Jews so they could avoid Nazi detection and escape the occupation with a lesbian resistant Frieda Belingfante. Their efforts were hindered by Population Registration, where the Nazis could verify the documents to be false. So in 1943 they attacked the record archives and managed to blow up the building and destroy 15% of the identity cards. Later though someone betrayed them and Willem was caught by the Nazis. He refused to identify his companions, but the Nazis found his notebook and were able to catch everyone except Frieda. Willem took all the blame for the attack, which is possibly why two of his comrades were given clemency, but the rest 13 and him were sentenced to death. Before his execution he made sure it was known he and two others in the group were gay and said either to a friend or a lawyer:

"Tell people that homosexuals are not cowards."

18. Sister Rosetta Tharpe (1915-1973)

Rosetta Tharpe was born in Cotton Plantation, Arkansas, USA, to black cotton pickers, who were also gospel musicians. She was a young prodigy and started touring as a gospel singer and player at a young age. She is often called the Godmother of Rock 'n' Roll, because of her immense influence to the genre. She was a pioneer of electric guitar technique that would have a massive influence to the development of electric blues and the sound of rock 'n' roll. Her act was provocative, as she combined spiritual gospel lyrics with embrace of sexuality and appearances in nightclubs. She had relationships with men and women and was married several times. One of her more famous sapphic relationships was with another black artist, Marie Knight. Their relationship lasted for five years during which they made music and performed together. They remained friends for the rest of Rosetta's life, and years after her death at age 82 Marie recorded a tribute album for Rosetta.

19 & 20. Tove Jansson (1914-2001) and Tuulikki Pietilä (1917-2009)

Tove Jansson was the creator of Moomins, an artist and a writer. She was born in Helsinki, Finland, to an upper class Swedish-Finnish artist family. She had relationships with both men and women. Her early serious relationship was with Atos Wirtanen, a socialist politician, who inspired Snufkin's character. Her first relationship with a woman was with a married theater director, Vivica Bandler. Tutsik and Lipsik were based on herself and Vivica. In 1956 she started relationship with her life partner, Tuulikki Pietilä, which lasted till the end of her life. Tuulikki was an influential Finnish graphic artist and sister to Reima Pietilä (one half of Pietilä architect pair, my favorite Finnish architects). Tuutikki was based on her. They traveled all over the world and spend their summers on a small rocky island in Pellinki. In 1992 they attended together the presidential independence day party (a big event every year in Finland) as probably the first sapphic couple.

[blue-cyber-dreams]

Baby I'm Yours

Reformed!Megatron x human!reader

I think reader is GN? Def racially ambiguous

It's kinda left up to the reader what version of Megatron this is, but I was thinking of/inspired by @revelboo's version of MTMTE/Lost Light's Megatron 🩷

SFW and fluffy with bits of angst

-----------------------------------------------

You swayed slowly as you hummed an old tune, right arm stretched out with your hand clasped in Megatron's left servo, his other gently resting on your ribcage.

While sitting on his desk, you had been humming a song to yourself and gently moving to the beat, when he asked about human dancing. So after he mass-shifted, you had introduced him to the simplest form of human dancing you knew. You guided him in how to place his hands and encouraged him to relax enough to move with the music. The dance style was intimate, but you tried to maintain some distance between your bodies, if only for the sake of your nerves. Now you were alternating between humming and softly singing lyrics to that sweet song you remembered from Earth as you rocked from side to side.

"...And I'll be yours, 'til the mountains crumble to the sea..." the words fell from your mouth as you stepped away to twirl, right hand still in his, only to return to his hold.

You looked up to offer a small smile, hoping this was entertaining the mech. He was already looking at you, a wistful expression on his face.

"You humans have much more complex optics when viewed up close," he said lowly.

You tipped your head to the side and smiled. "We call them 'eyes,'" you responded, playfulness dappling your tone.

You continued to hum before he spoke again. "Your eyes look deep, like I could leap inside. They seem like portals to another world."

You stilled at his words, and he leaned closer to you. The eye contact and proximity made it hard for you to breathe and you became aware of a whole new level of intimacy.

Then, he looked down. At your lips? Surely not. But then he released your hand and brought the servo which had been holding it to your side, and he inched closer. And closer...

You realised you were unconsciously leaning in as well. Then eyes and optics both fluttered shut as lips and dermas met softly.

His servos and arms moved to encircle you, drifting slightly lower, and his grip became firmer. For a moment, all your thoughts halted, and your palms rested on the metal of his chest.

Then, you became catastrophically self-aware again. With a spark of panic, you broke off the kiss to hide your face against his chest.

His hold on you loosened, as if to allow you room to escape, but you didn't want to move away. His embrace felt safe and soothing; you just needed to pause for a moment.

"Little one?" he murmured, a hint of concern in his tone.

You felt embarrassed. You had pulled away without thinking, and you felt you definitely owed him an explanation.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that," you said softly into his chest plates. You decided to just be out with it.

"I've never done that before." And if you didn't before, you definitely felt a wave of heat at your face now.

His tone was mild. "What? Kissed someone?"

You pulled away slightly to look up at the big mech. You were met with optics which held a flicker of... Uncertainty?

You averted your eyes before responding. "No, I haven't..." you said, fingers fidgeting with the edges of his armor plating to relieve the akwardness you felt.

His servos shifted up, now loosely resting near you shoulder blades, higher than they had been even during the slow dancing. You looked back up to see a whisper of pain and sadness on his face.

"You are too innocent for me," he murmured.

"I'm not that innocent!" A note of incredulity slipped into your voice.

He looked down at you again. His response came out smoothly at first, then slipped into a near-growl by the end.

"I mean no offense. But you do not know who I am, or what I've done."

"I know what I've seen. I know my own experiences. You saved my life!"

You had been abducted from Earth by another Cybertronian, and kept as a pet. Or a plaything, more like. They had no idea how to care for you and clearly took you on a whim, just wanting a defenseless creature to mess with. Megatron had found you by chance. "Humans are not fit to be kept as pets. They are intelligent, sentient," he had growled to your inept keeper. You hadn't been sure why at the time, but they had clearly regarded him with fear and intimidation, so they easily handed you over when he extended his servo to take you. You remembered what he had said when he departed from them. "Do not worry, little one. You are safe now." And you were.

You brought your mind back to the present, and Megatron's brow was furrowed, his optics screwed shut. A low sigh escaped him.

"They may not have taken you if I had not encouraged disdain for organic life in my followers."

"But it was still their choice. And you're different now," you responded firmly.

You continued in a softer tone. "You are always kind to me, and gentle." His optics opened again slowly.

"I do not deserve you," he murmured, voice rumbling.

You pursed your lips. "That word - 'deserve' - I don't like it. It's so subjective."

He looked at you intently, like he was trying to understand, so you went on.

"By some philosophical metrics, none of us deserve anything good that happens to us." You reached up to stroke the bridge of his nose, and despite his previous protests, he shuttered his optics and slightly leaned down into your touch.

"I prefer to aim for maximising the good things in the universe. Sometimes, or even often, that means pursuing justice, and trying to determine just what it is that someone deserves... But not always."

Your finger came down from his nose and traced his dermas, and they parted when you made contact with them. His optics opened again and met your eyes.

"You are far too compassionate towards me," he rumbled.

"I'm just a big believer in people having the capacity to change. It doesn't always happen, but I admire it when it does. It takes more strength to admit you were wrong and change course than it does to have the correct course from the beginning."

Megatron took your hand in his servo and pressed a kiss to it.

"Could I be allowed this?" He seemed to be asking no one at all, and yet also the entire universe. Any being who might be listening, or perhaps the eternal sparks and souls of those whose deaths he had brought about.

You reached to pull him down for another kiss. "That's up to me. And I say yes."

[thydungeongal]

its wild to see the rebid defence of IP from the tabletop space, like sorry to use your ask box as a bit of a rant but if I said this in view of the friends in question theyd flip.

A group of them are cheering on disney fighting the ai guys or whatever when yesterday they were printing a whole bunch of warhammer proxies and its like guys do these people not realise theyre cheering on for corps like gw to kneecap everyone whos every sold a space marines shoulder on cults? For wotc to send their boys the pinkertons on anyone making githyanki minis or spicy fanart of laezel?

Examples chosen deliberately and all because gw are notorious for taking a grab bag of other series to build their IP, and githyanki were a creation of Some Guy who won a magazine competition but its not like IP laws will ever protect Some Guy over the corpos with money to burn

Yeah wasn't there literally a case of GW trying to argue that sales of third party miniatures were somehow like. Infringing on their profits? Which I think got thrown out of court thankfully but like we don't need to encourage companies to be any more shitty with intellectual property laws. Like heck, wasn't it only like two years ago when WotC tried to effectively take back the OGL?

Anyway I'm not sure if I have a wider point to this response but anyway these big companies are also kind of incentivized to act like this under things as they stand but like we don't need to encourage them

[sugar-petals]

a taemin-appreciating loveletter on XLOV going viral with “1&only” right now as a genderless concept group which i absolutely love! have you seen how incredible they are? at a first glance i could already feel that they can shake things up, make a difference and enter a new, exciting cultural trajectory. and that was just the first watch. it gets even better from there! XLOV just leaves you wanting more immediately: the outfits, the dance, the sets, the beat, and so many killing choreo parts it’s ridiculous. what - or who - led to this beautiful culmination of art, kpop history-wise? i think we all know. 

i wish i could thank taemin and shinee every day as due to their pervasive influence, kpop (think hyunjin, jimin, chungha, kai, haechan and more mentioning taemin’s impact on them) is so ahead of the curve and a female or neutral gaze on things is pretty much established, breaking the mold is celebrated, both a rarity. a group like this, then, is long overdue. to me, someone as courageous as XLOV (as a group comprised of otherwise often conflicting nations on top of that, uniting japanese, chinese, korean and taiwanese members as a statement) is what we’ve been waiting for. XLOV says, why not, what’s stopping everyone else? utopia is possible! they simply came to drop jaws without any compromise and delivered.

XLOV doesn’t have a “shinee” signature nor do they need it (nor can shinee be truly, fully copied ever), nevertheless i see what inspired them to go all out. taemin has never tried to pander to an existing status quo, much less emulating a stereotype-laden ‘straight’ or ‘gay’ pre-made mainstream formula, which i think is astounding at his scale of impact, in this politically challenging age. i think that art directors showcase an increasing feel for it, and we can slowly create a safe space where idols can come out or break free from oppressive standards like XLOV, even against the escalating odds of korean society and whatever backlash is there. taemin shows: you can prevail. 

he has always taken an androgynous, bi-friendly, fluid, whatever you want to call it aesthetic for granted. that’s how ‘idols from the future’ like seonghwa, g-dragon or felix are created and i love it - it proves how the radicalizing shift in masculine norms over the last decade is not a thing of absolutes (think about CL vice versa, who has always had a successful alpha woman concept) and encourages everyone to do their thing outright. so i was giddily happy to see ppl discussing and protecting XLOV everywhere with their amazing sensual visuals and THAT incredible choreo. it’s a must-watch for pride month and beyond if you love unisex as a concept in kpop.

[cynireth-thorne]

『Gravitational pull』

❀⊱ Pairing: Caleb x Reader (afab)

❀⊱ Summary: Midnight during Caleb's birthday, aka your first time together.

❀⊱ Tags: Smut, Porn with feelings, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Use of pet names (Princess), Cursing.

[NSFW Under the cut minors do not interact please]

₊˚ ︵‿︵‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Caleb kissed you hungrily, his hand held tightly against yours as he used his other hand to gently hold your chin, seeking to deepen the kiss he runs his tongue on your lower lip, and you happily oblige, letting your tongue meet his, still tasting the sourness of the candy you had fed him moments ago.

He lays on top of you between your legs and you can already feel his growing erection through his clothes as he slightly rocks himself above you allowing you to feel his hardening cock. You wrap your arms around Caleb's neck as you continue to kiss him passionately while his hands roam your body softly, as if he were afraid you'd disappear or push him away at any wrong turn.

Breathless, Caleb breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours. "Tell me... If it's too much" Caleb rests his hand on your knee, slightly pushing your legs open before he slowly moves it up your leg "We can stop if you... Don't want this" his hand reaches the edge of your underwear and he traces it with the tip of his fingers following the fabric from your hip to your core.

"Please say it, I need to hear you say it" Caleb purple eyes search yours for an answer as his hands still "Caleb I... Want this, I want you" his lips find yours as soon as your words reach him, his fingers finally moving your underwear to the side to touch your cunt, your wetness eliciting a groan deep in Caleb's chest.

"Shit I... Want you too" Caleb nearly whispers to you, his lips leaving yours as he kisses everywhere, your cheeks, jawline and neck as his fingers rub your cunt experimentally, finding out which spots make you gasp and moan, only separating himself momentarily from you to get rid of his jacket and vest before bringing his middle and ring finger into his mouth moaning at your taste in them.

"Mmmm... I knew you'd taste so good" you blush deeply at Caleb's words but any reply you had for him dies on your throat as Caleb brings his now wet fingers between your legs and slowly pushes them inside you. The stretch of his two fingers feels nothing how your own feel, especially with the way he reaches deeper inside you and how he uses his thumb to rub your clit each time he pumps his fingers into you.

Your hands quickly move to remove his tie before working on the buttons of his shirt as he fingers you, pleasure building up on your core threatening to snap at any moment, the soft sighs and whimpers that leave your lips are all the encouragement he needs to keep going, curling his fingers inside you searching for that spot that will be your undoing.

Caleb keeps his eyes on your face, amazed at how you look now, he knows you like the back of his hand, and yet, the expressions and noises you're making right then are all new to him, and he can't help to become addicted to this side of you. He needs to hear every cute sound you can make, he needs to see every expression your face can twist in pleasure, all because of him.

Caleb adds another finger to your cunt and uses his free hand to completely lift the skirt of your dress to see how his fingers move in and out of you "Fuck, Princess. Look at you takin' my fingers so well" your core throbs at the pet name, his fingers finally hitting that sweet spot inside you and you screw your eyes shut as you feel closer to your climax.

"You like that? Is this pretty pussy gonna cum on my fingers?" you quickly nod at him, unable to trust your words right now "Look at me, Princess. I want you to look at me when I make you cum" you don't last long after opening your eyes for him, your orgasm hits you hard and you could swear you see stars at the edge of your vision from the intensity of it. Caleb helps you ride out your climax until your moans die down, giving you a moment to catch your breath. He removes his slick-covered fingers from you to unbuckle his pants and quickly get rid of them, leaving him with only his boxers, shirt, and necklace on.

Caleb offers his hand to you, which you take with a soft smile as he helps you sit up on the floor. Caleb kisses you softly then, his hands now reaching out to unzip your dress, you only break the kiss to lift the fabric off you, as you throw the garment on the couch Caleb removes his shirt and places it on the floor behind you as a makeshift blanket before gently pushing you back down, his big frame covering yours.

He takes a moment to admire the way you look with your cheeks flushed and your hair framing your face, half-naked before him. He seems lost in thought and so you take the opportunity to pull him down on you by the necklace you gifted him so long ago into a searing kiss. You wrap your legs around him to keep him closer to you, feeling his painfully hard erection barely contained by his boxers.

Caleb rubs his length against your soaked core, his hands palm your still clothed chest "Caleb... Please" you moan out and Caleb freezes above you "Shit, you can't... say it like that, I won't be able to hold back" he replies breathlessly, his dilated pupils looking directly into yours.

"But I don't want you to hold back anymore..." you move your hand to your back to unclasp your bra before discarding it to the side letting your tits spill out, Caleb lets a small gasp escape at the sight of your uncovered breasts, a deep blush spreading on his face and neck "...Because I am done holding back".

His mouth dives into your neck hungrily, leaving wet kisses on your neck and collarbones as Caleb moves lower and lower on you finally latching his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking and licking your peak as his shaky hands busy themselves removing your soaked underwear. He moves to your other nipple, giving it the same treatment as his hands move through your now naked body.

Caleb breaks away from you, his eyes taking in every curve and every centimeter of exposed skin before him, as he finally pulls down his boxers. You knew he'd be big; the bulge on his pants was hard not to notice sometimes, but you weren't prepared for it to be so thick, too.

He gives himself a few pumps before aligning himself with your entrance as he slowly buries himself into you, the stretch of his girth is pleasurably painful as you take him. "Shh, it's ok... Relax, Princess. You're doing so well." Caleb soothes you, gently using his thumb to catch the tears you didn't notice running down your face.

You do as he says and focus on relaxing around him. He gently rocks into you, each time pushing more of him inside you until you are finally able to take his full length. "Ah... You feel so good, shit" Caleb halts his movements, his cock fully buried deep inside your pussy making you feel incredibly full. "Caleb... Start moving, I can take it." Caleb leans down closer to you, still unmoving, he leans his forehead against yours. "I know, just... give me a second or I'll embarrass myself".

You chuckle softly at his reply as you wrap your arms around him. After a few steadying breaths, Caleb pulls nearly all the way out before slowly pushing back in. He sets up a slow pace, moaning every time his tip kisses your cervix. Caleb holds himself on his elbows on each side of you and buries his face in the crook of your neck as his pace speeds up.

"Fuuck, you feel amazing", Caleb mumbles against your skin, barely able to contain the whimpers that escape his lips as he thrusts his hips faster and faster, his thick cock reaching impossibly deep inside you, pulling a myriad of soft moans and sighs from you.

Caleb lifts himself up, holding his weight with his palms to look at you. His eyes travel from your blushing face to take in the way your tits bounce every time he bottoms out and over your soft belly, lastly looking down on where you two are connected and he's instantly obsessed with the way your poor cunt stretches to take him fully. "Perfect... fuck, you're perfect" he whispers just loud enough for you to catch his words.

His hand reaches between your legs to flick your swollen clit with his fingers, earning a moan from you in response as his pace stutters, the sounds of skin slapping skin and your combined moans filling the dim room as you feel the tension in your belly build while your climax approaches.

"Please cum, Princess. I need to hear you cum like this... Please, please..." Caleb's thrusts become relentless, hitting in all the right places at once and pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm hits you like a cool wave of pleasure spreading all over your body from your core as his hips snap against yours time and time again while you moan his name, your nails unconsciously leaving angry red marks on his back.

Caleb follows you soon after, he crashes his lips to yours, his pace erratic as he chases his climax, and when he finally reaches his orgasm, he quickly pulls out from you pumping his cock with his hand and spilling his heavy load on your belly as he moans and whimpers into your mouth.

He continues to kiss you passionately, basking in the feeling of you as he comes down from his high. You barely have time to catch your breath when his hands move to your tits and Caleb softly rubs circles with his thumbs on your nipples, his still hard cock rubbing against your pussy, his length rubbing your overstimulated clit.

"Caleb... Wha-" your words are cut off by a moan as he fully enters you again. "Shit... One more, Princess", he slowly starts rocking into your cunt again "Let me make you feel good again". You had a feeling it wouldn't be just one more, and yet, you didn't really care because he was finally yours, just as you were his.

₊˚ ︵‿︵‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

°˖➴ 「Masterlist」 ₊ ⊹

[caitlinclarksbiceps]

The Alchemy

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 : Mom! Caitlin x Mom! Reader

𝗪𝗖 : 0.6k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 : None

a/n : This story is pretty short, so I'm thinking of creating a longer one for Kate. Feel free to send me any suggestions you might have! (This is based on this request)

The atmosphere is electric as the clock ticks down in the 4th quarter of the nail-biting basketball showdown between the Valkyries and the Mystics. The game has been a rollercoaster of emotions, with the score practically neck-and-neck, and each second feels like an eternity. The crowd is on the edge of their seats, their cheers and gasps filling the air as everyone desperately hopes for their team to pull off a win before the buzzer sounds.

In the thick of the action, we find Kate, a fierce player with determination etched on her face, deftly dribbling the ball like it's an extension of her hand. She can feel the pressure mounting, and her mind is racing as she weighs her options. Should she take the risky shot from beyond the arc? A three-pointer could either be the glory moment they need or a gamble that could lead to disaster if the opposing team swoops in and steals the ball away. The tension is visible, and Kate’s thoughts are jumbled with adrenaline and strategy.

Just then, from the sidelines, a tiny, cheerful voice cuts through the chaos. It’s Kate’s little daughter, decked out in an adorable mini version of her mom's jersey, bouncing with excitement. She’s clutching a glittery banner that she made all by herself—it's a jumbled masterpiece of colorful sparkles and bright letters spelling out “Go Mama Kate!” The sheer enthusiasm radiating from the toddler is infectious, and despite the intense atmosphere of the game, her small voice—though tiny—pierces through the noise like a captivating melody. “You can do it, mama!” she squeals, her eyes wide with admiration as she lifts the banner high above her head, showing off all the love and effort she poured into making it.

In that fleeting moment, Kate looks over and locks eyes with her daughter. A wave of warmth washes over her as the innocence and pure encouragement from that little cheerleader gives her the boost she needs. It’s as if time momentarily stands still while her heart swells with pride and motivation. The uncertainty that clouded her mind disappeared, replaced with a surge of confidence fueled by her daughter's unwavering support.

Taking a deep breath, Kate channels that newfound courage, focuses, and releases the ball. The moment feels epic, and everything around her fades away as she watches the ball soar through the air, glistening under the gym lights. The crowd holds its collective breath—will it go in? And just like magic, the ball swishes through the net, and the place erupts in cheers! Kate’s heart races as she realizes she not only took the shot but made it count. The smile on her daughter’s face is priceless as she celebrates, both in a world of her own and as part of this thrilling victory.

And without wasting a single second, she sprinted straight toward her little family. You and your daughter stood there, completely engulfed in the joy of the victory, celebrating together.

Kate scooped up your daughter and brought her into an exuberant embrace, showering both of you with enthusiastic kisses, laughter erupting like confetti around you. “You did it, mama!” your daughter squealed, her eyes sparkling with boundless pride as she wrapped her tiny arms around Kate’s neck, squeezing with all the strength her little body could muster. It was a heart-melting hug, the kind that makes you forget about everything else.

In that beautiful moment, Kate was bubbling with joy, feeling a warmth in her heart that no trophy could match. She looked at the two of you—her most cherished moments captured in the smiles and laughter that filled the air. There was a sense of pure contentment radiating from her; she wouldn’t have traded it for the world. Just being there with you and your daughter, immersed in love and celebration, felt like the ultimate victory. Honestly, in that blissful chaos, she realized that having you both by her side was truly all she could ever wish for.

[yuurivoice]

Hey gang.

This is Haru, he's my tummy ache survivor who has been through hell over his two and a half years of life. For over the past few months we've been dealing with vomiting, sometimes a tweak of food or eating schedule would fix it. Sometimes not, but he was keeping enough down and was still his usual playful self, so we kept playing tetris with his food and powered through.

His stomach has always been sensitive, so a flare up of tummy stuff was not exactly unusual.

Things recently got worse, and even more consistent. Daily, multiple times. We'd done all the preliminary work (food type, meal size/frequency, etc) so we got to skip a few trial and errors with the vet and got an ultrasound and bloodwork.

Unfortunately, it was bad news. He's got what is likely a cancerous growth right where stomach meets intestine, and its blocking his food from getting down consistently. At two years old, my vet was pretty shook. But Haru don't know any better, he's been a fighter since he was a little constipated baby.

As we get ready to tackle whatever is on the horizon as quickly as possible, I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has purchased their Finn plushie(s)! We hit 200 sold and he is officially being made! The funds from the plushie will be going directly towards surgery and treatment as we figure out what the future looks like for Haru.

If you'd like to contribute and get a plushie of your own, you can order here!

And of course, I have to thank everyone who has flooded the tag with kind words and encouragement and a ton of things that I have not yet read, because the moment I found out about it I had just gotten the news from my Vet and was in the process of selling off some Pokemon cards because I was preemptively trying to cover my ass for veterinary costs......surprise! Haha...haa.......

It's a shitty time for many people right now, and I don't want to add to the doom and gloom. Me and my cats are gonna be okay, no matter what the future holds for us and Haru. If you're able and would like to contribute to upcoming veterinary costs, please consider getting a plushie, indulging on Patreon, or tuning in to any upcoming streams. I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to do yet in terms of a stream, but I'd be happiest if you'd treat yourself to some of what I have to offer so you get something in return!

I'm taking care of things at home and hopefully returning to work in the coming week to fulfill what I owe folks. I'm sorry for all the delays and waiting right in the midst of what should be a very busy time. I've only just beaten my cold (though I'm still coughing 🙃) and then life kicked me square in the balls.

Thank you all for being so kind and patient and loving. I needed y'all real bad today, and you showed up when you didn't even know I needed it. Love y'all, for real. 💖

I'll share a recent Haru picture that isn't cleverly veiled marketing to fundraise for removing his mutant growth.

[ihaveasolutionbutyouwontlikeit]

A healthy friendship/relationship/partnering is where you not only hold space for each other, but remind them to hold grace for themselves.

We can't always be our best selves, and I don't believe we should encourage the other to make decisions or process life with a "best self" mindset all the time, because it doesn't apply all the time.

Independence is important, but relationships by their very nature are dependent on the variables of the other, otherwise why even be in the relationship?

It's perfectly okay to encourage a sit-with-whatever-version-of-yourself-you-are-in-this-moment for each other with the point being that the agreement comes down to quietly sitting with them too when they need it. It's showing up for each other when it's getting hard to show up for yourself. It's saying I don't know how we'll get through this right now but I know we have this bond, so I want to try. That's love.

“A healthy relationship is where two independent people just make a deal that they will help the other person be the best version of themselves.”

— Unknown

[lesbianisamu]

Why Isamu Being Queer Could've Benefitted His Arc Of Courage: A Semi-Coherent Ramble (and Criticism)

Disclaimer: I have zero intent to attack any member of the development team, my criticisms are untargeted and will remain unnamed. I encourage discussion about this topic. I (OBVIOUSLY) do not want disagreement in the form of homophobia. Yes I'm queer my URL is literally lesbianisamu what did you think I was? Not a lesbian? I'll start writing now.

The Mimic has a fairly substantial and fairly egregious history with misrepresenting mental health issues. This is relevant. While TMO (The Mimic Origins) is no longer canon (thank god), its influences still remain. While it is no longer explicitly canon that Futaba, or Futao, has bipolar disorder/bpd (unclear), the stereotypes, mishandling and frankly ridiculous storytelling are still present in The Witch Trials. This point has been done to death, but I will reiterate anyway.

Making a character with a severe mental illness an evil, abusive, disgusting individual is not GOOD(edit) representation, believe it or not. At first it seems that Futaba is aware of her struggles and how it affects her daughter, though I still don't like this. By the end, she completely contradicts herself by doing a 180 and claiming that she is not at fault for any of her actions and instead blaming the demon inside of her. Woah. Sure. Also the split-into-two representations of being manic and depressive with the depressive constantly humming a melancholy tune and crying, while the manic, or the demon (Mote) is constantly cackling with inhuman laughter. It's odd. Left a terrible taste in my mouth.

Yasu is a character who is objectively non-abusive. Pretty non-problematic too. I don't have much to say on the character himself as I've never fixated enough to do a full analysis (sorry to my Yasoomfs), but I can say that his resulting mental health was also handled poorly. So thoroughly traumatised by the events of Control that he apparently? Has PTSD? DO NOT QUOTE ME ON THIS. Either way, I'm going to disregard that, I just had to bring up the hearsay. Regardless of whether he did end up with a trauma based mental health disorder or not, the way he was treated and left after Control by the writing is nothing short of bleak. All of his friends being turned into butterfly spirits and then him being forced to sacrifice them simply to move onto a new room of horror? His parents being caught with his mother hanging in front of him, only to find out when he saves them that they don't remember a thing? Being hunted down by nightmarish mutants that are his long-dead family members, forced to save them all and carry the burden of the curse on largely unsuspecting shoulders? You might think he was put in therapy, or had counselling, or maybe sought out other people who had gone through similar experiences so he could start to heal.

We don't know anything after the knowledge that his parents are amnesiacs about the event. Like I'm not kidding, zilch. Second edition of a character with obviously poor mental health being mistreated by the direction the writing either took or didn't take.

Senzai. Jesus fucking Christ. The next edition we have of mental health representation is a guy who canonically is a terrorist, murderer and conspirator who flattened, and aided to flatten the densest city in terms of population on Earth. I don't think I need to say much more on this topic. If I do, I'll get angry. I hate Senzai and I wish he was written about ten million times better than he is.

In the case of both Senzai and Futaba, they are victims of abuse/generational trauma, which led to or exacerbated their previously present mental health issues. Both wind up as. I don't want to be yelled at again for my wording. Abysmal people. That's 3/3 so far on mental health, all awful, all harmful, and all bleak which is not really the tone mental health representation should speak with.

I promise you it was relevant to the title. Now that we know The Mimic has an, at best, shaky representation with mental health issues and illnesses, we could probably hope that their queer representation would be bett-

They decanonised Enzukai being genderqueer (fluid? or agender? not certain) when JC4 came out. They did this, I think, in an effort to lift the possible implications of a genderqueer character being. Evil demon creature. I get it, like I do. There's also literally everything else. Like Senzai being implied to be queer.

A character who is queer being a bad person is not inherently a poor writing choice. Just because someone is queer, they are not exempt from being awful, they are not exempt from consequence, and they most certainly are not exempt from being criticised for their actions in media, or in real life. However. Senzai is a genocidal terrorist who, I'm not kidding, killed upwards of NINE MILLION PEOPLE. Yes while under the cults influence, and Yes gave himself up to the authorities after (another can of worms) but holy shit. nine fucking million. It's not the best message to give off and I hope I don't have to explain why. Edit: I should have stated that this is heavily implied rather than explicitly canon, but my main point still stands.

Yes, fucked up evil queer characters are sometimes fun, but its less fun when so far (and continuing) its the only gimmick that the queer characters get. Then it's weird.

My biggest gripe is honestly with the Nagemi character in Halloween Trials. OOOO god. It's agender. Win for agender's right? WRONG. WE LOSE. AGAIN. It is, if you haven't actually seen the character, half a body. It is a decaying freakish torso that crawls behind you and kills you like all other mimic monsters. In an old. Insane. Asylum. AN INSANE ASYLUM. What the actual fuck.

There are no queer characters who are happy with their queerness, no queer characters that actually even have an arc that remotely includes their queer aspect, and all of them are fucking oddball freaks. I'm not including Kibo Edouji as a queer character, even though he pretty much objectively is as much as I detest the Kizai propaganda that gets pushed, because he's essentially a brick with a jumper, with no actual character arc, and exists purely to be in love with Senzai. (HEAVY IMPLICATION)

Overall. Not a good look. Time for the main event.

Isamu is a character that hides. While it's obviously not intentional, Book 2 gameplay has an extreme increase in hiding spots compared to Book 1. He was neglected by his father and mother, and definitely is a victim of their abuse I genuinely will not take any of that "we didn't see him get hit" bullshit. Go read my other post about this if you want to argue. Neglected for the first 15 years of his life and probably beyond, hiding in plain sight from care, and this is also shown in the way the C3 teaser shows him deflecting blame from himself, trying to remain hidden, and being caught off-guard when involved in a conversation only to act as the deciding factor in the result of the event, the result being Senzai hit over the head with a glass bottle. His only method of reliable defence was to hide, and he continued to do so throughout the book, hiding or running from danger instead of fighting it.

Giving Isamu a queer identity, or more likely a genderqueer identity would've fitted his character if shown, even briefly, alongside the display of his upbringing. He knows how to hide, it has been instilled into him from the moment he was brought into the world. He was also neglected, meaning the attention was away from him and on his older brother anyway. He could've gotten away with existing as a queer person in his early teens, though it wouldn't necessarily have been readily accepted by his peers. When thrust into the spotlight after the incident, and focus placed on him, likely to "marry well and continue the family lineage", he would've struggled with the conversations.

The UK is currently a shitshow with protecting queer and trans people, but even in school when it wasn't so abhorrent as it is now, the bullying was horrific, and I was incredibly lucky to have firm friends alongside me. I cannot imagine how difficult and isolating it would be in a country such as Japan where gay marriage is still not legal.

This, however, would contribute to him being isolated as an early adult. Isamu has no friends or partners listed in his "relationships" tab on the wiki. In a country where there is an ongoing "loneliness" epidemic, being queer would only further isolate you.

I think him specifically being some form of trans (transfem/neutral) would've introduced yet another parallel to Enzukai. Youngest siblings vying for the attention of their family and going to extreme methods for it (destructive in Enzukai's case and semi-self-destructive in Isamu's). Informal and crass, making (and keeping) them both genderqueer would've introduced a neat parallel, showing us again that Senzai turned from his brother to a version that could give him power, instead of accepting the power that came from Isamu's encouragement. But they decanonised Enzukai being genderqueer. So whatever.

It also gives us an aspect to Isamu's character that's a personal struggle, even if it's in the background and barely touched upon, and derails the focus from being entirely on Senzai and the antagonists for THE ENTIRE BOOK. He wouldn't be a person going through shit in a queer way, it wouldn't be a central aspect of his character. He'd be a character going through shit who also happened to be queer but ultimately is busy focused on saving the world. It humanises him a little and shows how things operate in the real world. Being queer is important to me, undoubtedly, but I also have a job, I have responsibilities, I don't focus on being queer 110% of the time, because it's just one aspect of who I am. It would add another layer to his character that makes him more intriguing when his arc is all about COURAGE. and supposedly acceptance but the execution of that was dubious at best

Isamu's courage. Growing up, becoming stronger, saving his brother and saving the remaining people of Tokyo that he could at extreme risk to himself. I have points to make but they're not totally relevant. Stay Tuned Maybe.

Actually fighting the monsters, fighting a huge dragon with the weaponry equivalent of a very bright candle and barely breaking a sweat. But also having the courage finally to actually show his emotions, show his feelings to someone who isn't himself, and actually break down a little bit even if it was for five seconds, he had the courage to not be okay for a moment. If Isamu had gone through the journey of queer self-acceptance before all this had gone down, it would've GREATLY increased his ability to become courageous and stay courageous, as it is such a hard thing for many people to do, and would show his eternal strength and bravery to keep existing despite the world being against you for who you're attracted to or what you identify as.

We would also finally have a queer character who is genuinely a good person, who before the events had a stable job he enjoyed and got along with his coworkers, even if he wasn't the best at making friends. We would have a queer character who isn't a terrorist, who isn't just a creature or an insane asylum resident clump of flesh. We would have a queer character who is the HERO of the story instead of being a direct antagonist. We would have a complicated, naive and slightly flawed in his thinking queer person who felt the most like an actual, real human from this game.

I have contradicted myself and been aware of it the whole time, as it fuels my own point. Isamu is not a happy character. Even if he was queer he would not exist peacefully, but it isn't due to his queerness. This is less of a point about how queer people rarely end up happy in media - although it's also one I'm actively making - and more about how Isamu himself was treated anyway. A punching bag, a scapegoat for the writers and the fandom intentionally or not, abused, belittled, refused genuine peace at every turn, his one supportive figure snatched away from him at the very last moment, and the last thing he sees being his brother flinching away from him in fear, confirming to him that his self-hatred was correct, diminishing any and all character growth that they barely acknowledged before ripping it away. He died alone and unloved, and being queer wouldn't fix that, a complete rewrite would, and should be done.

To conclude: I'm always going to be angry about the mental health mishandling that happened and continues to happen in this game. Isamu's entire character focus should not have been on his brother. Your only queer characters should not be fucked up evil insane 100% of the time. I miss Isamu. He's a transfem lesbian to me always and forever.

Edit: I've received a little criticism on this post, and have made necessary edits and changes, particularly in my wording or indication as to whether something is implied or is canon, or whether something is representation or not.

[lynxgriffin]

Yeah, the fact that Noelle can equip some swords is fairly ominous! And It's definitely interesting that the shard is one of those few objects that doesn't seem to change between worlds. Just really wonder what is going on with the Knight that they can look like that even jumping between worlds!

Yeah, it's honestly something I really appreciate about the fandom. It's also just a cool time capsule to see what people thought might happen between chapters, and what people prioritized, and then how those priorities and ideas shift with new information. If Undertale was in part a warning to players that overusing a game will detach you from its characters and world, I really feel like Deltarune is an encouragement to engage in fandom in order to take characters beyond what's already been set out for them.

Mmm no, I believe that part of chapter 2 did happen...it showed Queen's car in that scene, and the little bit you do drive her car she literally just has you barrel through everything in the way. That said, it really does feel to me like Susie is the lynchpin to change how the prophecy goes, just based on what Gerson tells her throughout chapter four. What that ending is, though, still don't know.

The images we see describing the heroes are frustratingly vague. Even the silhouette of "the girl" I feel has a duck-or-bunny situation where it could read as Susie facing left with her hair behind her, or Noelle with her hood up and wearing the tattered wings. Hell, I'd even say Ralsei is not 100% certain...during the sermon, Catty describes one of the heroes as being fluffy with horns, and sounding cute. Is that Ralsei or Asriel? Who even knows right now!!

It's hard to focus on because I feel like that could apply to any one of the main characters, or to none at all and something else entirely. All options would be bad!

Heck, right now I'm already afraid of the fact that there is a scary amount of foreshadowing that Kris will lose a hand before we're done!

Geez I have no clue how to choose. Hard to go wrong with Black Knife in chapter four, of course...but I think a lot of my favorite tunes are weighted towards chapter four. From Now On, Hammer of Justice, Gya Ha Ha! are all bangers... Right now I've got Second Sanctuary on repeat. Heck, even 12AM might be my new melancholy "Quiet Water"-esque favorite.

It really does seem to be there's some bigger conspiracy at work with people working with each other in different capacities...Kris and the Knight are involved, Kris and Carol are involved, Carol and the Knight are involved, Asgore is in that mix somewhere as well, and possibly also Alvin?? Honestly I'm going to need a Pepe Silvia corkboard or something to try and work it all out in my mind.

Dragon Blazers is such an interesting aspect of the game, because Dragon Blazers is the in-text media that Deltarune uses to talk about itself. (Cat Petterz almost seems like the inverse of this, the off-the-beaten-path game in comparison to Dragon Blazers' more straightforward adaptation.)

And yeah, that very well could indeed be a reference to something happening to Dess...I think that was a thought some folks had even before the new chapters. The "stay in the party" part could just be about reinterpretation telephone, yeah. It'd be really nice if we had a copy of Lord of the Hammer and knowledge of what happens in Dragon Blazers to compare, but I don't think that'll ever happen.

The prophecy is so vague on both the terms and symbology used that it could refer to Susie and Kris or the Vessel and Noelle. I don't know if we can say for sure that it's not one or the other. I lean towards the latter because I do like the idea that Susie is the wrench in the prophecy, but there's just as much evidence towards the fact that it IS supposed to be about Susie and Kris.

But man, after Susie's whole development where she's so excited about finally being picked for something, about actually being a hero...getting that rug pulled out from under her is going to really hurt if it happens.