#you can change people's lives just by sharing

[teaboot]

Re: my “don’t ‘test’ people, communicate your needs, because they aren’t instinctive to others” post:

I feel like a lot of people are reading that post and saying “if your friend/partner/colleague can’t be arsed to take the initiative, be courteous, or anticipate reasonable needs, they’re a selfish baby”

Which, on one hand, yes! Distributing labour in a shared space is a form of invisible labour that typically women are saddled with in disproportionately high percentages, but that wasn’t actually what I was saying

If the first time you notice something you desire isn’t being fulfilled you decide to test the other person and judge whether or not they care about you, that’s shitty. You have the responsibility to say “hey, I noticed this and it bothers me for this reason, when you do this I feel like this, can you do something else?”.

If you have done that REPEATEDLY and see no change, then it may be reasonable to conclude that the other person is disregarding your words.

If this is something that you have never pointed out before, or that you spontaneously decided to look for, or something that’s only come up once, don’t fucking “test” people. Don’t lie. Don’t try and “trap” them. That’s shitty. Come on

I’m a messy person with ADHD. I live alone. I clean up after myself and feed myself and everything an independent adult does on a schedule that WORKS for me. If you suddenly appear in my space and hate how I live but say nothing, I’m going to take you at face value and believe that you’re okay until you say otherwise.

Because why wouldn’t I? Why would I believe you’re lying to my face about your preferences and needs? Why would you want me to never believe what you say???

SAY WHAT YOU NEED. TELL ME HOW TO SHOW I CARE ABOUT YOUR COMFORT AND I WILL USE THAT INFORMATION.

Don’t just change a detail in your behaviour and judge mu character based on whether or not I can Sherlock Holmes your intent and desires off that alone

Attitude is communicated in REPEATED AND CLEARLY COMMUNICATED PATTERNS, not in one-offs, assumptions, and symbolism open to interpretation.

People are people, not books or TV shows. You can talk to them- you don’t have to do a literary analysis on whether or not a carton of milk means I’m a selfish bastard who doesn’t love you

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Your husband of 8 years suggests an open marriage, and while he's out finding a new girlfriend, you feel like it's wrong to even glance in another man's direction. But it all changes when you download Tinder and match with Seonghwa. The man who's about to turn your world upside down. And he even happens to be your husband's boss.

Word count: 11.7K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, some angst, slow burn, a little smut (something almost happens, that's all I'm saying)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), crying, betrayal, dry-humping, lmk if I missed anything!

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

It’s been four months. Four months since you had the conversation with your husband about having an open marriage, because he wanted to try something new. The conversation is still taking up space in your mind like it was yesterday he sat you down on the couch in the house you share.

“Honey, you know I still love you,” He kept repeating after saying the possibly most shocking things you’ve ever heard. “I’m just afraid we’ll get tired of each other if we don’t try this.. We promised to be together forever, but aren’t you wondering what else is waiting for you out in the world?”

“No,” Is all you could say. A million questions run through your mind as he sits in front of you, kneeled down on his knee with your hands in his as you sit on the couch. “I married you because I want to be with you. And only you.” Your voice is shaky, trying to hold back the tears.

He notices the way you react and squeezes your hands in his.

“And I want to be with you, baby. I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, which is why I feel like this is the best we can do for now.” He tried explaining, but it didn’t help. 

“I just don’t understand? Are you not happy with me? Am I not satisfying you enough? Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?” The questions fly out of your mouth before you’re able to hold back. He quickly shakes his head, holding your hands even tighter. 

“No, no not at all. Look, I was just thinking we could do this for a year, maybe? A year where we are still married, but see other people in the meantime. When the year ends, we’ll be back to just us, and because we promised to stay together for the rest of our lives, a year won’t seem as much. This will be the only time we get to see other people for the rest of our lives, baby. It’s not a bad thing, it's only gonna strengthen our marriage in the end.” 

For some twisted reason, you saw his point. If you agreed to this, he would have a year to be with whoever he wanted, to get everything out of his system. So you agreed. You told him you agreed to do this for a year, but there had to be rules.

You had to tell the other person when you started seeing someone. No sleeping with a bunch of people, you have to tell the other person who you’re sleeping with (mostly for safety reasons). And NO one is allowed into the bedroom besides husband and wife.

And so this has been going on for four months now, and your husband is out with his girlfriend. Since this wasn’t against your deal, you couldn’t say much against it, so you just nodded and pretended to be okay. He started seeing her a week after the deal was made, a woman from his office, and the news broke your heart. He was barely home anymore, spending all of his time at her place.

The pain of hearing your husband of 8 years loving someone else was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t even get yourself to see someone else. It felt so wrong. 

It was a friday night and you’re sitting on your couch in your shared home, and your husband just left to have a weekend getaway with his girlfriend. You’re staring at the TV that has been going for hours with some bad reality TV-show, when you finally realize how sick you are of sitting home alone while your husband is out. You grab your phone and without thinking too much, you download Tinder. 

It wasn’t an app you’ve ever tried before, since your husband and you have been dating since you were teens and got married at an early age. But you quickly figured out the app and set up your profile. 

Swiping left and right on guys was more fun than you imagined, getting a few matches here and there. There were all different types of profiles on this app. Guys looking for serious relationships, guys looking for hookups, couples looking for a woman to add to their threesome. Men who opened with “hey sexy” or bios that included “I’m not looking for anything serious unless it’s with Sabrina Carpenter.”

So when his profile popped up, you hesitated.

His picture captures you immediately, and you’re taken back with his beauty. He was… breathtaking. But not in that overly filtered, red flag kind of way. There was warmth in his eyes, even in photos. A calm kind of confidence. One picture had him sitting at a piano, another laughing in the passenger seat of a car, sunlight washing over his face like it knew exactly where to land.

No shirtless mirror pics. No awkward drunk group-pictures. No fish.

“Park Seonghwa.” You read his name out loud. His bio was short. “Looking for something good. And maybe someone to watch bad TV with.”

You stared at his profile for a full two minutes before swiping right, mostly convinced it wouldn’t be a match anyway.

But then-

It’s a match!

Suddenly your heart starts to beat faster and you sit up straight on the couch while looking at your phone.

Did you just match him? Probably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?

Your stomach did a weird little flip. You waited. Twenty minutes. An hour. Maybe he wasn’t the type to message first. Maybe he matched by accident. Or maybe-...

Park Seonghwa Are you watching something awful right now? Be honest.

You look at your screen for a few seconds before reacting. A smile spreads across your lips as you open his message and type back.

Me Love Mansion: Season 6. There’s a guy crying because no one likes his magic tricks.

You quickly see the dots that indicate he’s typing.

Park Seonghwa That sounds deeply tragic. And also like something I’d binge while pretending I hate it

Me You’re one of those people? “This show is terrible” but suddenly you’ve watched 8 episodes and you know everyone’s star sign.

While you wait for his answer, you enter his profile once again. You can’t help looking at his pictures, mesmerized by how beautiful this man is. You almost get a feeling of recognition while looking at him, like you’ve seen him on a poster or in an ad or something. His profile doesn’t inform about his occupation, but you’re sure he must be showing that face off somewhere. 

A new message pops up.

Park Seonghwa: I have a spreadsheet

You laughed out loud for the first time that night.

You: So what’s your favorite actually-good movie then?

Park Seonghwa: You’re asking a very serious question to someone who owns a full set of replica lightsabers

You: Oh, so you’re very serious about it

Park Seonghwa: Yes. Star Wars. All of it. Even the prequels. Especially the prequels. I said what I said

I’m at my third Star Wars movie of the day. The movies are over two hours each, so you can imagine how eventful my day is so far

You can’t help but smile while you type out your answer. 

Me As a person who doesn’t know much about the franchise, I can’t tell you whether I’m impressed or slightly worried. Maybe I should put on a Star Wars movie and give it a chance?

An answer ticks in a few seconds later.

Park Seonghwa If you do, watch “The Last Jedi”. I just started mine, we can watch it together but separately

You don’t know how a guy you’re only a few messages deep with has you convinced this is the best way to spend your night. You decide to play the movie and message him you’re watching it too. This is the most action you’ve gotten in months, but somehow it's the perfect way to start this journey of an open-relationship. 

Maybe.

The movie begins and Seonghwa introduces some of the characters as they show up on screen. You find yourself laughing at his messages, smiling and waiting for him to text you the next thing. A feeling you haven’t felt in years, despite being married to who you’re convinced is the love of your life. But you can already tell that Seonghwa is a completely different type of guy, and for once, you actually don’t feel alone in the house you share with your husband. 

The movie ends and you’re hundreds of messages deep.

Park Seonghwa Now that we’ve concluded that “The Last Jedi” is part of an amazing franchise but not at all the best movie, I wanna admit that I’ve never looked so much at my phone during a Star Wars movie. I feel like I’m cheating on my favorite series

The text makes you giggle and you’re quick to type your answer.

Me Despite enjoying the movie, I must admit that I didn’t see half of it because I was focused on my phone. But I’ll gladly give Star Wars another chance someday

You see the text bubble appear and then go away a few times, making you curious about what he’s about to say. 

Seonghwa: We could talk about the movie over dinner tomorrow?

You stare at your screen for what feels like forever, feeling like a teenager receiving a text from her crush. This overwhelming feeling Seonghwa leaves you is something completely new, but despite it being a new and slightly scary feeling, you can’t help but feel excited. And so your fingers start typing.

Me I’d love to! After arranging your upcoming date with Seonghwa, you decide to head to bed. You’re meeting him at a restaurant in the city tomorrow, Saturday. He offered to pick you up, but you’ve seen too many horror movies to give your address to a stranger before meeting them, so you came up with an excuse to meet him there. 

You get comfortable in bed before opening his profile once again to look at his pictures.

This man… wow.

But just like before, a feeling of recognition hits you and you study his pictures a bit more. You’re sure you would remember him if you had met him, because who would forget a face like that? But it doesn’t ring a bell.. 

You open a new tab on your phone and search for his name. Perhaps he has been in a show you’ve seen on tv, maybe on a poster somewhere. There’s no way this man isn’t showing off his looks somehow. 

His name pops up on your screen.

A gasp leaves your lips and you stare at him in awe. 

It can’t be him! No no no no no… 

The name, the face, him in a suit. Everything washes over you. You throw your phone away from you and bury your face in your pillow. 

In your mind, you’re getting transported to a specific night, one year ago. Your husband has your arm in his and you’re walking side by side in your finest attire. You’re laughing at something your husband's co-worker said, when you sense a powerful presence enter the circle at the company dinner at your husband’s job.

“Oh, I want to introduce you to someone,” Your husband says as he turns you towards the newest member of the group. “My boss, Park Seonghwa.”

You stare up at him, Seonghwa slightly taller than your husband. His gaze adverts to you as he reaches out his hand. But as you give him your hand, he doesn’t do a normal handshake. He gently takes your hand in his and sends you a warm smile. Something in his eyes makes you lose all concentration, as you’re lost in his beauty. 

And then it all made sense. You’ve thought these exact thoughts before. A year ago at the company dinner and again tonight. 

Everything in your mind is going 100 m/ph and you suddenly feel confused. Does he know you’re married to his employee? Does he remember you? You’re pretty sure he doesn’t, or else he would have said something. And now you’ve arranged a date with him. 

You grab your phone again, considering if you should cancel the dinner, but something in you stops that from happening. The words don't appear in your head when you try to get out of the situation, so you delete the nonsense you’ve written so far, and decide to take things as they come. You place your phone on your night stand and get comfortable under the covers, trying your best to fall asleep.

On a couch across town, Seonghwa is still looking at his phone, looking at the text-bubbles come and go. When it doesn’t result in a text from the woman he has been texting all night, he goes to look at your profile for the 29th time tonight. 

He didn’t expect much from Tinder.

Honestly, it had been a joke. A dare, technically. His assistant downloaded it on his phone one night after too many glasses of wine at a company dinner and said, “You need to date someone who doesn’t know what your net worth is.”

So fine. He swiped. Occasionally. Mostly out of boredom, sometimes out of curiosity. Everyone started blending together. Bios full of yoga poses, forced “entrepreneur” energy, one woman who said she manifested her future husband every morning through herbal tea and moon rituals.

But then he saw you.

He found himself leaning back against the cushions, phone in hand, grinning like an idiot as your replies came in. You weren't trying to be impressive. You were just herself. And that was more magnetic than anything he’d seen in months. He didn’t even realize he’d been texting for two straight hours until his phone buzzed with a calendar notification:

Dinner with Executive Team – 9 AM monday.

He groaned. Whatever. He’d been in back-to-back meetings all week. He could allow himself one night to just… feel normal. Human.

“What’s a woman like you doing here?” he’s asking himself with a smirk, scrolling through your pictures. 

He had planned to go to bed early, have a peaceful night and get up early tomorrow, but he’s been too fascinated by the woman on the other side of the app. The tug on his lips doesn’t go away as he gets up from the couch and decides to head to bed, already accepting that he won’t get up early tomorrow. 

But one thing is for sure.

He’s very satisfied with the way his night went.

***

Saturday arrives, and you find yourself in front of the restaurant you agreed to meet Seonghwa at. You haven’t had any contact since you arranged the date, besides the check-in he made earlier today to ask if you were still down for dinner.

You feel the nerves in your body when you open the door, not having felt this feeling since you started dating your husband. The restaurant is in an area of town you usually didn’t visit - it is more expensive than you are used to. But not spending money on dates with your husband, and only cooking food for one for the past four months has resulted in you having a bit more money than you usually do, so you could go big for one night and spend some money on a good restaurant. 

The restaurant has a dark design with marble and wooden interior. The light is dimmed and you notice couples occupying tables throughout the restaurant. 

This is actually happening. You are going on a date with him.

With Seonghwa. 

It suddenly hit you and once again, you starting to doubt if this was a good idea. You have come to the point where you wanted to date, but dating your husband’s boss seems like the next level. Will your husband be okay with this? Will Seonghwa be okay with this?

Suddenly feeling like your legs are about to give out, you turn around to head outside but you are instead met with a human wall. A set of hands grab your waist to steady you, making sure you won’t fall by the sudden collision. 

“Running away already?” The voice asks, darker than you remember but also soft with a small tease. You look up to see Seonghwa’s soft eyes, slightly covered by some dark pieces of hair. Being a few inches from his face, you can’t help but freeze to study how absolutely amazing he looks up close. 

His almost black eyes, bushy brows, how his upper lip looks slightly bigger than the other, the most perfect nose you’ve ever seen.. Everything is too perfect, you don't know how to react. 

The sudden realization that his hands are on your waist wakes you up, and you stand back up straight to take a step away from him and his undeniably stunning face. 

“Uhm, no I.. I mean, I- no. I didn’t..” Your struggle with words makes him chuckle and he seems to brush off your awkward first meeting quicker than you. 

“How about we find our table?” He asks with a smile, placing his hand on your back to lead you further into the restaurant. 

“Mh-hmm.” Is all you manage to get out, wanting to kick yourself in the head for almost walking out on this man. 

The restaurant is a rooftop spot. Quiet, upscale, city lights spilling in through the glass walls. A jazz trio played somewhere in the background, subtle and elegant. The staff seem to know him, your table is ready immediately, tucked in a quiet corner with a view of the city lights. He orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, his tone smooth and confident, and then turn all his attention to you.

“Tell me something,” he says, resting his chin on his hand, “How have you lived your entire life and last night was the first time you watched a Star Wars movie?”

You blink at him. “You start with the hard questions?”

He smile. “I like to skip the small talk.”

You giggle. And from there, the conversation goes rather smoothly. Then easier as the wine warms your chest and his eyes never stop watching you like you were the most interesting person in the world. He asks thoughtful questions. He doesn’t talk about himself unless you ask. And when you do, he’s vague, says he works in business, likes privacy, that his life isn’t all that exciting.

Which is a lie, you are sure.

This man radiates luxury. His watch alone could pay for your college loans, and he never once checked it. And then somewhere between the wine and the main course, it starts to gnaw at you. The weight of the secret you’re keeping. Or at least… the one you thought is yours alone.

You clear your throat, reaching for your glass again even though you didn’t really want another sip.

“I should tell you something.”

He tilts his head. “Are you okay?” he senses the way your behavior changes and tries meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, too nervous to break the truth that you know this man in front of you. “Or.. I don’t know, no, yes-no..” Your heart is beating fast. “Look, I’m sorry, but I feel like I have to be honest with you. I don’t want you to waste your time sitting here, and if you don’t feel comfortable after receiving this information I totally understand, so if you’re freaked out we can pretend this never happened and I won’t-..”

“Look,” Seonghwa places his hand over yours, totally calm, meeting your eyes. “Did you kill someone?”

“No!” You try keeping your voice down. Try.

“Do you need me to hide a body?”

“No!?”

“... Are we related?”

You tilt your head “No? I hope not…?”

“Then we’re good. I won’t be freaked out.” He shrugs, leans slightly back in his seat and sends you a smile as he picks up his glass.

You look at him, really look, and then just say it.

“You’re my husband’s boss.”

A beat. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just blinked once, slowly.

“Is that so?” he asked softly.

“I figured it out when I looked you up after we matched. I wasn’t… trying to snoop, I swear, I just got curious. And then I remembered you from the company dinner last year. Anyway, I wanted to say something in case it made this… weird for you.”

He smiles gently, setting down his glass. “It doesn’t.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I knew who you were the moment I saw your profile.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh.”

“But I still swiped right,” he adds, voice low, calm. “And I still wanted to meet you.”

“…Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you for a moment, and something in his gaze makes your skin heat. “Because I wanted the honor of inviting you out for dinner.” he says.

Your breath catches. You don’t know what to say to that, so you stay quiet, letting the words sit between you like warm embers.

“And now that we’re being honest,” he continues gently, “That little thing on your finger.” He points to the gold band with a small diamond around your finger, proving to everyone, including yourself, that you’re still in a marriage.

You give a small, helpless laugh. “Oh.. Yeah, it’s not what it looks like. Or maybe it is? I don’t think so, actually, I don’t know what this looks like, but I’m not doing anything I’m not supposed to do-...”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he says.

“No, I want to,” you reply, surprising yourself. “I need to.”

So you tell him. About the open marriage your husband suggested. About how you agreed, naively thinking it would be equal. About how he’d found someone in a matter of weeks while you’d sat at home, trying to convince yourself you weren’t just waiting. You watch Seonghwa carefully for a reaction. There is none, no judgment, no discomfort. Just a quiet focus that made you feel safer than you’d felt in months.

“But it’s actually a really good idea. I mean, we get the chance to see other people and do whatever we want, so we won’t cheat on each other later on,” you shrug, looking down at the wineglass instead of the piercing eyes in front of you. “It’s preventing us from hurting the other person in the end.” you say, finally. 

He sits quiet, just taking in your words. You can’t read his eyes, he just listens. But you don’t feel judged by the man in front of you. His eyes show too much warmth for you to be intimidated. 

“I don’t understand.” he finally says. 

“You know, if we date other people now, we won’t feel the need to do so in the future.” 

“No, I heard every word you said loud and clear,” he leaned forward in his chair, voice still soft. “I just don’t understand why he would need to.. you know.. date others when he has you.” 

Seonghwa was trying his best to not push. He could easily have said “I mean, if I was your husband, I wouldn’t want to see other people. I wouldn’t ever want another woman.” but he is still in the stage of getting to know you, doesn’t want to scare you away, and despite remembering you from the company dinner last year, he only remembers what impression you left him. A quick introduction and laughs shared in a circle of multiple people, but somehow his eyes kept drifting to you.

Your laugh, your dress, the way your eyes sparkled under the lights. It had stayed with Seonghwa for a year, so when he saw your profile on a dating app, he knew he had to shoot his shot. Unaware of what the circumstances are between you and your husband. 

But he doesn’t ask for more explanation. Instead, he shifts the conversation, just slightly, easing it toward lighter things, books, music, how you both secretly hate networking events.

And somehow, the night never felt heavy again. When dessert comes, some delicate French pastry you can’t pronounce, he insists you try the first bite. When your laugh returns, brighter this time, he smiles like that was the reward he’s been waiting for.

Later, as he walks you to your ride, you feel lighter. Like maybe it was okay to want something new. Someone new.

“I still want to see you again,” he says, standing beside the car door. His hand brushes your wrist, soft and brief. “If you want that too.”

You nod.

“I do.”

He opens the door for you, then leans down just enough to meet your eyes.

“Then let’s take our time.”

In the cab on the way home, you can’t stop smiling. You haven’t even finished closing the door behind you before your phone buzz.

Seonghwa: Text me when you’re home safe, yeah? No pressure, just want to know you’re good.

You smile into the hallway light. God, he’s that kind of man. You kick off your heels, phone still in hand, fingers already typing back.

You: Home. Warm. A little wine-dizzy but safe. Thank you for dinner.

Seonghwa: Thank you for giving me a chance. Sleep well xx

You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment longer than necessary, phone against your chest, still fully dressed. The night felt soft around the edges, like it wasn’t quite real. Like maybe you’d dreamed it. His smile, the way he listens to you like your words matter, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

And he knows. That was the wild part. He knows you’re married, to his employee, no less, and he still treats you with more care and curiosity than your own husband had in months. You let yourself fall back into bed, fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling with the ghost of his cologne still caught in your hair.

***

On this incredibly boring Monday, the rain started halfway through your meeting, and by the time you stepped outside, it had gone from a gentle drizzle to a full-on, cinematic downpour. You stand beneath the awning outside your building, arms crossed, watching as the other employees disappeared into warm cars and dry seats.

Your husband was supposed to pick you up. You agreed to that last week, so you texted him before you left, but no response. Not a word. That was twenty-five minutes ago. 

Your fingers tightens around your phone as you glance down the street for the fifth time. Just water streaking down your coat sleeve and your phone screen lighting up.

Not from him.

But from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa I debated texting you for ten minutes. This is me giving in. Hi.

You smile immediately, shoulders relaxing under your scarf as you type back.

You Ten minutes? I’m flattered. 

Three dots. Then:

Seonghwa Are you still at work or did you escape?

You exhale slowly, already smiling before your fingers move to reply.

You Currently trying to escape. But I’m waterlogged and standing under a leaky bus shelter.

A pause.

Seonghwa Do I want to know why you’re waiting for a bus in a rainstorm?

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to tell him, but because you did. And that felt… a little dangerous. But you type anyway.

You Husband said he’d pick me up after work. Then forgot.

You don’t know the reason why your husband didn’t pick you up today. But it was not the first time this has happened. Last time he was busy hanging out with his girlfriend, having his phone on silent. 

Three dots danced at the bottom of the screen for a long moment before his reply came in:

Seonghwa Tell me where you are

You don’t answer right away. Another bus pass, wrong line again, and your fingers ache from the cold.

You Seonghwa. I’m fine. It’s just a little rain

Seonghwa Sure. And I’m a little meteorologist. Tell me where you are

You bite your lip, watching as a bus rumbled past - not yours. 

You Seventh and Willow. But you don’t have to, it’s okay

Seonghwa I’m already in my car. Don’t argue with me while you’re catching pneumonia

Your lips curve in spite of yourself. You pulled your scarf tighter.

Seonghwa On my way. Five minutes. Don’t wander off or find a mysterious love interest in a bookstore while I’m driving

You spotted his car before you saw him.

It turns the corner slowly, headlights washing across the slick pavement, wipers dragging across the windshield in a steady rhythm. The passenger window rolls down just enough for him to lean towards it.

“Hey, get in,” he says, his tone easy and unaffected by the weather. “You look like you’ve been here a while.” 

You step forward, your boots making soft splashes in the puddles, and slide into the passenger seat. The warmth of the car is immediate, and you exhale, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. The car hums quietly as Seonghwa drives through the rain-slicked streets. He’s keeping his eyes on the road, but every now and then, his gaze flickers over to you, the small, concerned crease in his brow visible in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice steady but soft. He’s not pushing, just checking in.

You nod, brushing your damp hair back and glancing out the window. The cold air from the rain has soaked through your coat, and your clothes cling to you uncomfortably. The heater in the car is doing its best, but you can still feel the chill.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice sounds a little too quiet. “Just... a little wet. Didn’t expect next time you’d see me, to be me looking like this.”

Seonghwa doesn't respond right away, but you catch the small shift in his demeanor, a brief, thoughtful silence. His hands grip the steering wheel lightly as he drives through the darkened streets, navigating without hurry.

“Do you want to stop somewhere?” he asks, keeping his tone casual, though you can sense the care behind it. “Grab something warm?”

You think about it for a second. A warm drink, maybe a cozy corner of some café, those were things you used to enjoy. But the idea of sitting in a café, dripping wet and freezing, doesn’t feel right tonight. It feels… forced. You want warmth, sure, but not from the outside world.

You glance at him, then back at the road ahead.

“Actually,” you start, “could we just... go to your place?” your words surprising yourself. “If it’s not too much, of course.”

Seonghwa blinks, a soft smile curling at the corner of his lips, but he doesn't ask any questions. Instead, he simply nods, his gaze shifting back to the road as the corners of his mouth deepen into a fond, knowing expression.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low. “I mean... you’ve had a long day. You’re drenched.”

You shrug, even though a small part of you is shocked by your own words. "I’m fine. I’m not in the mood for a date-date or whatever. Just... somewhere warm. And I don���t wanna be alone tonight. If you don’t mind.”

The silence between you two feels more comfortable now, the tension from the earlier moments gone. It’s like a weight has lifted, neither of you needs to pretend anymore.

“Alright,” he says, his voice warm, “to my place it is.” The car turns into a quieter street, and Seonghwa taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, his smile still lingering.

When you step out of the car and into the rain, Seonghwa’s hand briefly touches the small of your back, guiding you toward the building. The touch is gentle and reassuring.

His apartment is warmer than you expected when you step inside. It’s spacious, sure, but it’s not the cold, intimidating type of wealth you might expect from someone like him. It’s cozy in a way that’s unexpected, like he’s curated it with care, each little thing in its place. You can tell he’s put thought into making this space a refuge, a place of comfort. 

“I can grab you a towel,” Seonghwa offers immediately, his voice soft. He’s already moving toward the bathroom, but when you shake your head, he pauses. “Are you sure? I’d feel better if you changed into something comfortable.”

You glance down at yourself, feeling how soaked your clothes are, and how tired you are of pretending like you don’t need help. You nod. “That would be nice, actually.”

He smiles, but it’s not a proud smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like he’s quietly relieved, like he wants to take care of you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. “I have a few shirts you can borrow,” he says, a hint of hesitation in his tone. “Nothing fancy, just... dry.”

You watch him for a moment, the way he’s trying to gauge your comfort level without pushing too hard. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of anything, and it’s a little disarming.

“That sounds perfect,” you say, giving him a small, appreciative smile.

He moves quickly, purposefully, heart thudding a little harder than usual. Not from nerves, but from quiet anger. Who forgets to pick up their wife in the middle of a downpour? He doesn’t let the frustration show on his face. He just breathes through it, reminding himself that this moment isn’t about him. It’s about making you comfortable. It’s about undoing a little bit of whatever damage your husband didn’t think twice about causing.

He returns with a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A soft, worn-in tee, and hands it to you. The fabric is warm to the touch, and it smells faintly of him. He doesn’t linger too long, but there’s something in the way he carefully places it in your hands that makes you feel safe, like he genuinely wants you to be okay, not just physically, but emotionally too.

“Take your time,” he says softly, backing away. He nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down to the left. I’ll make some tea. You’ll feel better.”

It’s a simple offer, like he’s willing to offer you warmth without making you feel indebted to him. When you disappear into the bathroom to change, you can hear him bustling around in the kitchen. You take a deep breath and let yourself relax for the first time in what feels like forever.

When you return, towel-drying your hair with one of the fluffy hand towels he left out for you, you’re practically swallowed in his clothes. The shirt hangs loose over your frame, the waistband of the sweatpants tied tight around your hips. You’ve never felt so ridiculous and so safe all at once.

Seonghwa looks up from the kitchen and immediately gives you that soft, amused smile. “Okay, that’s a look.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Stylish, right? You might not get these back.”

“I was just about to say they suit you,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You laugh, and it’s small, but real, and it makes something warm twist in his chest. He’s pacing, sleeves pushed up as he moves easily around the kitchen. A kettle is on, two mugs already waiting. You catch the scent of honey and ginger in the air, something warm and slightly sweet.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, padding into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around yourself.

He glances up from stirring the honey. “You’re cold. You’re tired. I want to.” Then, with a softer voice: “Let me take care of you. Just a little.”

That shouldn’t make your stomach flutter the way it does.

You sit at the counter, fingers curling around the mug he places in front of you. You’re so used to handling everything on your own that this small act of care feels like a luxury.

He leans against the counter opposite you, arms crossed casually, like he’s trying to keep a respectful distance. But he can’t help stealing glances at you. Not hungry, not suggestive, just thoughtful. Quietly admiring.

“You’ve had a long day,” he says after a pause, not prying. “Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, sipping your tea. “Not really.”

“That’s okay,” he says immediately. “We can just sit.”

No questions. No expectations. He wouldn’t make you relive any of it. Not the rain, not the waiting, not the part where someone was supposed to show up and didn’t.

You let a little smile play at the edge of your lips. “You’re... very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being comforting. It’s like you have a degree in it or something.”

Seonghwa chuckles, eyes crinkling just a little. “I’m just treating you how I think you deserve to be treated.”

He means it.

He means it.

You set your mug down. “You don’t even know me.”

Seonghwa smiles, not missing a beat. “I’m working on it.”

He leans slightly on the counter, arms still crossed, eyes steady on yours. “But I’ve picked up a few things. You’re the kind of person who checks in on others even when you’re the one having a bad day. You’re a little stubborn when it comes to letting people take care of you - you want to do things yourself. And when you’re tired, you get kind of funny. Like, weirdly funny.”

You laugh under your breath, and so does he.

“And tonight?” His smile softens. “You needed someone. I was close by. That’s all it takes.” There’s no hidden meaning in his voice. No pressure. Just the kind of honesty you’re not used to from a man.

You meet his eyes, and there it is. The kind of tension that doesn’t scream or flirt, it just hums. You glance around his kitchen. The wooden cabinets, the tiny potted herb garden on the windowsill, the slightly chipped mug in front of you. “Your place… it’s not what I expected.”

“Let me guess,” he teases, “you thought it’d be floor-to-ceiling glass, steel counters, and an automatic espresso machine?”

“Something like that.”

He grins. “I like homes that feel lived in. I don’t like that cold, overly-modern stuff. I like that I can comfortably show off my collection of magnets without having to worry if it fits in with the rest of the home.” He points to his fridge and you notice the huge collection of magnets. You let out a soft giggle.

You like that answer too much. You shouldn’t, but you do.

“I like it,” you say softly, not just about the apartment. The warm cup rests between your palms, grounding you, and Seonghwa leans back against the counter beside you, sipping his own. Then, without a word, he sets his mug down and starts rummaging through a cabinet.

You squint at him. “What are you doing?”

He glances over his shoulder with a small, almost mischievous smile. “We’re making cookies.”

You blink. “We are?”

“We are now,” he says simply, already pulling out a bag of flour.

You let out a soft laugh and step up beside him. You don’t ask if he needs help. You just join in. And he doesn’t say anything, just gives you a smile so gentle. Ten minutes later, the kitchen is a disaster.

The butter refuses to cooperate, slipping through your fingers and plopping to the floor. You try again, and this time it sticks to your hands so stubbornly that Seonghwa has to come to your rescue, giggling as he wipes it off with a spatula.

“Here,” he says, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Let’s try that again.” 

You giggle, brushing hair out of your face. “I swear, never make cookies.” 

“Oh, I can tell,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in his tone, only encouragement. “It’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.”

Later, flour explodes from the bag as it’s accidentally knocked over. It snows down across the counter, your arms, his shirt. You both freeze, and then burst into laughter. A moment later, the chocolate chips spill, scattering everywhere. 

Eventually, you both give up, the half-mixed dough resting lopsided in the bowl. You sat on the counter, legs swinging slightly as Seonghwa stood beside you. The bowl rests on your lap as he hands you a spoonful of raw dough, and you take it without hesitation.

“I think we killed it.” Seonghwa says proudly, scooping up some cookie dough for himself, using the same spoon.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you say around a mouthful. You sit side by side in the wreckage of flour and chocolate chips, warm tea forgotten, sharing bites of something that didn’t quite turn out the way it was supposed to, but still feels like a win.

You’re mid-laugh when he pauses, his eyes softening as they settle on you. Without a word, he steps a little closer, and his hand lifts. Gentle and careful.

“There’s a little…” he murmurs, brushing his fingers just above your eyebrow, where a streak of flour has settled. His thumb grazes your skin as he wipes it away, but he doesn’t pull back right away.

His touch lingers.

You feel it all the way down to your spine. His warmth, the closeness, the way his eyes briefly drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The air feels thick, like something unsaid is pressing at the edges of the moment. 

“Got it,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t move. And neither do you.

You’re still perched on the counter, his body angled toward yours, only a breath between you. He leans in slightly, gaze dropping again, first to your lips, then back up to your eyes, like he’s asking without words.

You lean in too.

Your knees bump against his hips, and your breath catches, held in your chest like it’s afraid to break the moment. His hands finds the counter next to you, grounding him, pulling him even closer. So close you can count every faint freckle on his skin. So close his breath hits your cheek.

And your phone rings.

Loud. Sharp. Invasive.

You freeze.

The moment shatters like glass.

Seonghwa pulls back slowly, but his hand stays on the counter near you, and he doesn’t turn away. Your phone rings again, and your eyes flick to the screen.

“Husband.”

You swallow hard, something sinking in your chest. Seonghwa doesn't say anything. He just watches, his expression soft but unreadable, and steps back enough to give you space. Not far, just enough. You hesitate for half a second. Then you slide off the counter, still warm from where your knees had brushed against him, and answer.

“Hello?” Your voice is thinner than you meant it to be.

He turns away, not out of anger, not even disappointment, just… quiet. Respectful. Still the same steady, gentle man, already reaching for the dish towel to start wiping flour from the counter like he’s giving you time. Giving you privacy.

But the warmth between you hasn’t disappeared.

It just simmers now, quiet and unsaid. Still there. Still waiting.

You murmur a few short replies into the phone, keeping your tone neutral. You hang up a moment later, your fingers still loosely wrapped around the device, like you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Seonghwa glances at you, not questioning, not pressing. Just that same soft-eyed look, like he sees everything without needing it explained.

You clear your throat and set the phone down on the far end of the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” His voice is quiet. He offers you the tiniest smile. “You didn’t miss much. The cookie dough was starting to melt anyway.”

You laugh under your breath, and he smiles a little wider.

“I should… probably get going soon,” you say.

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride.”

You change into your old clothes, now warm and dry after Seonghwa took care of it. You finish tying your shoes and glance up at him. His movements are calm, deliberate, like he’s giving you space to process, to gather yourself. His gentleness is almost too much to handle right now, and you wonder if he knows how much he’s doing, just being there. Just being himself.

The drive back to your place is calm, the city lights flickering by as Seonghwa keeps his focus on the road, his hand steady on the wheel. Every now and then, his eyes flicker toward you, like he’s checking, making sure you’re okay. 

When he finally pulls up to your house, you hesitate for a second before opening the door. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, “You really made my day.” and finally, and he offers you that smile of his. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. 

“Anytime,” he replies softly, as if there’s no question.

You step out of the car, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You stand there for a moment, watching his headlights fade into the distance, a quiet warmth settling in your chest.

***

A week has passed since that night. The one where everything had almost felt like it could change. The small, sweet moments that lingered in the kitchen, the silent tension, and that quiet brush of his fingers against your face. But you hadn’t really spoken much after that.

Seonghwa had been giving you space. He never pressed, never pushed, just sent a message here and there, something light, something simple. Asking how your day was, letting you know he was there if you needed to talk. It was as though he understood the weight on your shoulders, the things you were still trying to process, and he respected that.

You’d found comfort in those texts. They were a gentle reminder that there was still kindness out there, that not all men were careless or indifferent. But you hadn’t been ready to dive into anything more. Not yet.

So you let the days pass, lost in work and the usual noise of life, where everything felt like it was moving forward and standing still all at once.

When you walk into the house that evening, expecting to be alone, the air feels too still. Almost oppressive. You take off your shoes, drop your bag, and then, suddenly, you hear it.

Moans.

Loud and unmistakable.

Your heart skips a beat. The noise comes from the bedroom.

You freeze, panic washes over you in a way you never thought you’d feel. The reality hits harder than a slap, and before your mind can catch up to your body, your feet are already moving, silent, quick, out the door.

Your husband. With her.

The woman he’d been seeing for months. The one you knew about. From his work. The one he swore wouldn’t ever step foot in your bedroom.

But she had. They had.

The rules didn’t matter now.

You can barely remember how you made it out of the house, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your ribs. You don’t stop to think. You just grab your coat and rush outside, the cold air stinging your cheeks. You get on the bus, not thinking clearly or caring about anything other than getting away.

Away to the last place that felt safe.

Seonghwa opens the door looking completely confused in a loose hoodie and gray sweatpants, as if he’s been lounging or about to sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, his face soft with surprise, but when he sees you standing there, shaking and crying, everything about him changes.

His eyes widens, his body tensing as if his instincts slammed into overdrive.

“Hey-..hey, what’s going on?” His voice cracks a little, pure concern bleeding through. “Are you-, are you okay? What happened?” He barely waits for an answer before stepping forward, one hand reaching out like he’s afraid to startle you, the other already pulling the door wider. “Come in. Come here. Please.”

You don’t even remember how you’d made it to his place. You didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t even know where else to go. You are just… there. Your legs moved on their own. He gently takes your wrist, guiding you inside like he thought you might fall apart if he let go. And maybe you would.

“I-I didn’t know where else to go,” you whisper, your voice trembling so much the words barely came out. “I walked in and they were… in the bedroom. Our bedroom. I heard her, and him-”

Your breath hitched. The shame, the heartbreak, the betrayal all crashed into you again like a tidal wave. Seonghwa freeze, his face shifting from confusion to something like disbelief, followed by an ache so deep it flickered across his features before he could hide it.

“You’re shaking,” he breathes, like that was the only thing he could focus on to keep himself from doing something rash. “Gosh-, come here.”

Then he pulls you in. Not tentative. Not gentle like before. But firm. Warm. Protective. His arms wrap around you completely, hands cradling the back of your head, the middle of your back, holding you like he was trying to piece you back together with just his embrace.

You broke.

The sob that escaped you was raw, tearing through your chest as you collapsed against him. His hoodie quickly dampened with your tears, but he didn’t care. He only held you tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, over and over again, his voice thick, arms unyielding. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

A few hours passed. The silence of the apartment is heavy, and the soft hum of the city outside filters in through the windows, but none of it seems to matter. Seonghwa sits on the edge of the couch, his gaze fixed on you as you sleep, curled up with a blanket around you. Seonghwa didn’t move you. He wouldn’t dare. Your face is peaceful now, but he knows, he saw the remnants of the tears still streaked on your cheeks.

He watches you for a long moment, longer than he should have, just to be sure you were breathing easy, that your face wasn’t tight with the pain you’d carried in. He adjust the blanket around your shoulders once more, fingers brushing your arm like a silent promise: I’m here.

Then he slips away into the kitchen.

The lights are dim. He doesn’t turn on the overheads. Only the small one above the sink cast a quiet glow, painting gold over the counter and the delicate steam curling from the mug of tea he never ended up drinking.

He cleans slowly. Methodically. Not because there is much to clean, but because he needs to do something with his hands. He needs to focus on anything but the image of you curled on his couch with your cheeks still damp from crying. Something about seeing you so hurt, so vulnerable in his home, keeps his chest tight and his thoughts moving. He wants to be nearby, just in case you wake up and need him. 

He didn’t know what to do when you broke. His instinct was to hold you, to gather you up and shelter you from everything, but he’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to, but because he didn’t know if it was what you needed.

You are still married. Still healing. Still so fragile it makes his chest ache.

And yet, he can’t stop thinking about how you came here. To him. Not a friend. Not a hotel. Him.

What did that mean?

What could it mean?

He’s still standing at the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel, when he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps behind him. You’re quiet, hesitant, still wearing the same clothes from earlier. Sleep clinging to your features, eyes puffy, hair slightly mussed, your voice rough when you speak.

“Seonghwa?”

He turns once.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely looking at him. “For just… showing up. For staying. I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.”

Seonghwa sets the tea towel down gently and shakes his head “You didn’t take anything,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You look at him, startled by how easily he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather have you.

“I feel ridiculous,” you say quietly, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “Showing up here. Crying like that. Falling asleep like a mess on your couch.”

Seonghwa looks up from the sink where he’s rinsing a cup, then reaches for the towel draped nearby to dry it. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if not to startle you. “You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re human. And tonight was… a lot. You shouldn’t have had to hear that. Especially not in your own home.”

You nod once, lips press tight, your eyes tracing the pattern of the granite countertop.

“I guess I just didn’t expect it to hurt like that,” you whisper. “I agreed to this open marriage, I knew what it meant. All he had to do was follow the simple rules we made; let the other person know when you’re dating someone and don’t bring them into the bedroom. But hearing them like that… it was like everything I’d been pretending not to feel came crashing in.”

He steps a little closer, still drying the mug but slowing as he listens.

You look up at him then, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to bring it all here.”

“You didn’t bring anything but yourself,” he says, voice softer now. “And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you came. I’ve only seen you a few times, but I-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go anywhere else tonight.”

Your chest tightens. Something in his words, his expression, the way he stands there drying a cup like it was the only way he can keep his hands from holding you.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he adds, glancing down at the towel in his hand, placing the cup on the counter. “But when I saw you at my door, I didn’t feel interrupted. I felt relieved.” he huffs a quiet breath, laughing under it, ”I didn’t want anyone else to be the one you went to. Is that selfish? Maybe. But—”

He didn’t get to finish.

The towel was halfway folded in his hands when you moved.

Three fast steps.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down before he could process what was happening, and you kissed him.

Hard. Needy. Quietly desperate.

You needed to. You needed to feel if this was more than just you feeling crazy. Could you really find safety in someone who isn’t your husband? How could this man you’ve met 3 times the past two weeks, be the most thoughtful and supportive person in your life at the moment?

The towel slips from his hand, landing forgotten on the kitchen floor. He kisses you back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands finding your cheeks, pulling you close without hesitation. The warmth of him spreads through you instantly, grounding, solid, safe.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

Not until the kiss breaks, just enough for breath.

“I…” you whisper, suddenly unsure.

He smiles, gently, almost in disbelief. “You caught me off guard.” He’s smiling, eyes warm, his thumb brushing your side like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s started. 

“I don’t know why I did that,” you whisper, nervous now, terrified he might say it was too soon. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m really glad you did it.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with hunger, and you can feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, but there was hesitation, just a flicker of it.

You mumble the words, barely loud enough for either of you to hear. “Is this... too fast?”

A beat passed. Then another. 

“No,” he says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Not if it’s you. Not if you’re the one reaching for me.”

Your breath catches, the lump in your throat returning. Not from grief this time, but from something gentler. Something like hope. 

“You set the pace. I’ll follow.”

And he means it. Every word.

You reach for him again, pulling him in. The kiss is firmer this time, your lips claiming his with more urgency, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as if you couldn’t get close enough. He groans into your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist, as if holding you in place is the only thing keeping him from losing control.

Your hands slid by the hem of his shirt, fingertips barely grazing over his warm skin, and you feel him tense beneath your touch. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Fuck,” he rasp. “I’m barely holding on.”

“Good,” you whisper, and lean up to kiss him again.

His hands are on your waist, his grip tight, but there is still a slight hesitation in him. It’s as if he was torn between wanting to be the good guy, wanting to respect your boundaries, and the overwhelming, suffocating need to give in to everything you’re offering. His lips meet yours again, deeper this time, and the kiss is frantic, hungry, as though he can’t get close enough, can’t touch you enough.

You barely register your back hitting the edge of the kitchen island until his hands curl under your thighs and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled by the sudden motion, but his strength… the ease of it, the way he settles you gently onto the counter like you’re precious, it makes you shiver.

You wrap your legs around his hips instantly, locking your heels at the small of his back, and it pushes him in deeper, his length perfectly aligned with the ache between your legs.

The moment your bodies aligned, you both gasped.

You feel him.

Thick and full and undeniably hard, straining against the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. He’s pressed right against your center, the outline of him so vivid you can practically trace it with your eyes.

You gasp. He curses. 

“I can see you,” you whisper, voice wrecked, eyes flicking down to where his sweatpants clung to him, every thick inch outlined and throbbing. “You’re so hard.”

He lets out a strangled groan. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that-”

You can't help but grind once against his member, and you whimper as his hips rolled forward, slow and deep. His cock drags up the seam of your heat, the head catching perfectly where your clit throbs. It’s too much and not enough. The layers between you only made it worse.

He feels you. Wet, warm, pressed against the inside of your panties, where your thin leggings clings like a second skin, doing nothing to hide how badly you want him. His mouth crashes onto yours, and it was different this time, no hesitation, no restraint. Just teeth and tongue and desperation. Your hands were in his hair now, tugging, dragging him closer. He presses against you, hard enough to make you moan, and God, you feel him, thick, hard, straining against his pants.

But something occupies your mind.

“Wait,” You keep your legs wrapped around him. You don’t let go. Immediately, he stills. His breathing ragging, chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are warm on your thighs where they rest, thumbs rubbing soft, slow circles into your skin like he’s grounding you. His forehead presses gently against yours, both of you still catching your breath. 

“I want to,” you admitted, your voice wrecked. “So bad. But I need… I need to say it first. To him.”

Him. Your Husband.

For the first time in months, you hated that your husband was in your mind right now. 

His gaze lifts to yours instantly, and for a second, you brace yourself for disappointment. But it never comes.

He nods. “I know,” he pulls back and kisses your forehead. “Just because he broke your rules does not mean you should do it too.” He’s way quicker to understand than you’ve ever imagined. He’s too good.

“I’m sorry… I really want to.” You say, finding his eyes. “But I feel like I have to tell him that I’m seeing someone, let alone his boss, before I do something.”

“Hey,” he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin, the warmest eyes you’ve ever met. “You don’t have to explain, I totally understand.”

You try smiling but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. “It’s not you. I’m just not in the right headspace, and if we did this right now, I think I’d just… think too much. Regret it. Not because of you! But because of everything else.”

“I know,” he says gently, brushing your hair back with a touch that’s nothing short of reverent. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. If you want to do this or not. Whatever you end up deciding, I’ll respect. But if you decide you want to do this, with me sometime, I don’t want you to feel any pressure. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll wait for you.”

And God. That. That is the thing. He isn’t demanding. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t angry or annoyed or trying to guilt you into a decision.

He just understand.

“You’re kind,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re really fucking kind.” 

A silence fills the space between you, your gaze dropping down to where your bodies meet. You look up at him, cheeks flushed. “If I hadn’t said stop… would you have?”

His eyes darkens. He smile, not cocky. But honest.

“Not a chance in hell.” The weight behind those words makes your chest ache. “Can I do anything for you?” 

You glance down at yourself, then let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I probably need a shower. I look like someone who lost a fight to her own life.”

He grins at that, easing back just enough to slide his hands to your waist. Before you can say another word, he’s lifting you down from the counter with a firm but gentle grip, like you’re something precious, and threading his fingers through yours.

“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you softly. “Shower. I’ll get everything ready.”

You trail behind him to the bathroom, your hand still tucked in his. He moves around the space with practiced ease, grabbing towels, adjusting the water, and even laying out the same sweatpants and oversized t-shirt you wore the last time you were here.

When he places them carefully on the counter, he gives you one last glance, warm and soft. “Take your time, your clothes are on the counter. I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”

You nod, suddenly overwhelmed in a completely different way. “Seonghwa?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at you.

“Thank you. For… not making this weird.”

His smile is soft, patient. “It’s not weird. It’s okay.”

A few minutes later, you’re still in his bathroom, the warmth of the steam and the quiet hum of the fan giving you a moment to breathe. To be alone and let the water rinse some of it away. Not the pain of today, but the weight of it, just for a moment.

You change into the familiar sweatpants and soft T-shirt he left folded neatly by the sink. They still smell like him. When you open the door again, the hallway’s dim, and the softest light glows from the living room. 

He’s sitting on the couch, one arm resting over the back, a blanket already draped across the cushions, like he’s been preparing your little corner of the world for you. 

“Perfect timing,” he says, patting the space beside him with a grin that’s equal parts teasing and gentle. “I was about to start a movie without you and pretend I didn’t.”

You laugh, your heart lighter already. And as you cross the room and curl into his side beneath the blanket, it’s not the movie that matters. It’s the feeling that you’re safe here, with him.

And for the first time in a long time, that’s more than enough.

***

The boardroom is quiet when Seonghwa walks in the next day.

He’s always early, by design. It gives him time to breathe, to set the tone, to sit at the head of the glass table with everything already in place. His laptop is open, a black pen lined up perfectly beside his notepad, and his eyes skim the agenda, though he already knows it. But his focus isn’t on the day’s schedule.

Not yet.

It’s still on you.

Not the way you looked when you walked into his apartment yesterday. Exhausted, crying, your whole body weighed down by things you hadn’t said yet, but the way you looked curled up against him hours later, asleep on his couch, tucked into his side beneath a blanket like you’d always belonged there.

You had cried. You had kissed him. You had let him hold you. He’d kissed the crown of your head.

And he didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because you didn’t let him, if anything, you were warm and quiet, breathing slow against him. It was the way you felt in his arms that kept him awake. Like he was holding something fragile and sacred. Like if he moved, even slightly, you might disappear.

In the morning, you stirred first. Groggy and quiet, blinking sleepily against his chest before murmuring something about needing to go home and change before work. He offered to take the day off. Said he could cancel everything. That he didn’t care.

But you shook your head with a tiny smile. Insisted that he go.

You even teased him for hovering. Called him “overly attentive.” He’d rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but when you leaned in and kissed him goodbye, soft and sleepy, he nearly asked you to stay.

But you left. And he watched the door long after it closed behind you.

Now he’s here. Under sterile lighting. A boardroom full of chatter. And across the table sits the man who used to be your husband in everything but legality.

He walked in laughing - with her - like it’s just another Thursday. The girlfriend is practically attached to him, all smiles and subtle touches, like they don’t work under the same roof. Like they’re not sneaking around as if people haven’t noticed. Seonghwa doesn’t look up immediately. Just lets his fingers tap softly against the side of his coffee cup. 

Measured. Calm. Focused.

“Morning,” your husband says with that too-casual tone, like everything’s perfectly fine.

“Morning,” Seonghwa replies, flat and cool.

He doesn’t do anger like most people. It simmers quietly in him, contained, controlled. He doesn’t lash out. He remembers. He watches. He files things away until the time is right.

Today’s not the day.

But he is watching.

The meeting starts. The others file in, small talk filling the space. Projector humming, documents shuffling. Seonghwa opens the presentation. Keeps his voice even.

“I’d like to keep today’s meeting brief,” he says, voice smooth and low. “We’re focusing on timelines, project deliverables, and accountability.”

His gaze flicks to your husband. The pause is barely a second too long. “Especially accountability.”

There's a flicker in the man’s expression. He shifts in his seat, coughs once like he’s about to make a joke, but one look from Seonghwa shuts him down. The meeting ticks forward. 

Then your husband speaks up.

“I think the delay in deliverables came down to a lack of communication, not really our fault,” he says, flashing a grin at his girlfriend like she’ll have his back.

She does.

But Seonghwa is already leaning forward, calm but sharp. “And who was responsible for communicating that timeline to the vendors?”

Silence.

Your husband clears his throat. “Well… technically, I was. But-”

“Then let’s not redirect blame.” Seonghwa’s voice doesn’t rise. It never needs to. “If you were the lead, you’re accountable. End of story.”

The table goes quiet. The girlfriend shifts awkwardly. And your husband, he looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t dare.

Good.

Seonghwa could say more. So much more. He could talk about how you came to him last night after being ignored for months. How you told him things you never said to anyone. How you almost gave yourself to him. How you let him hold you, warm you, kiss you, keep you safe. How you fell asleep against him like he was the only place you felt okay.

He could say how he’s never going to forgive this man for not seeing you. For making you feel small. For letting you cry alone in your kitchen while he flirted with someone new on the clock.

But Seonghwa keeps it inside.

He lets the meeting run its course. Makes his points. Keeps his composure. Because no one knows what you are to him.

Yet.

And when it’s finally over, he gathers his papers slowly. Closes his laptop with care. And doesn’t look back once.

Because there’s something about seeing that man across from him, pretending like he still owns your heart, when Seonghwa knows what it feels like to have you kiss him good morning, in nothing but his hoodie, after a night of quiet healing.

He’s not done protecting you.

And your husband? He doesn’t even realize he already lost.

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi  @vixensss  @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @hwaskookies @vent-stink @desanslogique @taestrwbrry @hannahstacos

[readingkitty22]

You Were Mine First

Pairing: Alpha! Satoru Gojo x Omega! Reader

description: Gojo Satoru has been everything to you since childhood: your rival, your protector, your closest friend. And always, quietly, something more. From scraped knees to training matches, whispered confidences to shared silence, your lives have always been tangled.When Gojo and Suguru present early as powerful Alphas, and you, later, as a rare Omega, everything changes. Suddenly you're no longer invisible, no longer “just” a friend. You’re desirable. Vulnerable. A political asset to a lesser clan. And when your family arranges a match, Gojo reaches his limit.Because he’s the strongest and he’s always known one truth: You were his before anyone else had the right to say otherwise.

A slow-burn, childhood-friends-to-lovers saga set in an omegaverse where obsession brews quietly, affection runs deep, and nothing stands between Satoru and what he’s claimed.

⚠️Warnings Omegaverse dynamics (presentation, heats, bonding), possessive but not toxic Alpha behavior, sorta-explicit sexual content (18+), mild angst, arranged marriage elements, clan/political interference, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy references, mild language. No major character death. Emotional resolution and satisfying ending guaranteed.

w.c. 6.1k

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a/n: I am still SUPER new to this whole writing thing, but thank you all for liking and reblogging <3, I've been working on this little work for a bit and I'm still unsure about it. Hope y'all enjoy!

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 6

The first time you met Satoru Gojo, he offered you the red crayon.

Not the broken one. Not the short, stubby piece every kid avoided. He handed you the longest, sharpest red crayon in the box like it meant something.

“You can draw the wards,” he said, like you were already part of the team.

Suguru smiled at you from where he sat cross-legged on the temple floor. “He doesn’t usually share that one.”

You glanced between them,two boys from powerful clans, both still too young to know what their futures would cost them. You weren’t like them. You knew that even then. You were from a lower clan of healers, support staff. Useful, not vital.

But Gojo just tilted his head and said, “You’re gonna be around a lot, right?” You nodded. “Then you should start with the best color.”

And just like that, you were part of their world.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The three of you claimed a disused storehouse as your base. You brought juice boxes and old charms. Suguru brought manga. Gojo brought chalk and spelled salt he wasn’t supposed to have.

You were eight the first time he laid his head in your lap.

“I don’t get headaches,” he said softly, like he was surprised. “But I do when I’m around too many people. You’re… quieter.”

“Quieter how?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked up at you with those strange blue eyes, too bright for someone so tired.

“Like breathing near you is easier.”

When Suguru fell asleep with a comic book on his chest, Gojo scooted closer to you, drawing lazy circles on the floor with his chalk.

“I think we should make a pact,” he said.

You blinked. “What kind of pact?”

“We stick together. No matter what.” He glanced at Suguru. Then at you. “No matter who we grow up to be.”

You didn’t say anything at first. But you reached out and gently pressed the red crayon to the back of his hand like a seal.

He smiled, soft and secret.

And in the years that followed,when instincts started pulling you in strange, dangerous directions,he would always come back to that moment. The red crayon. Your touch. The feeling of safety he’d never find anywhere else.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 9

The shrine courtyard buzzed with late summer heat and the soft clatter of ceremonial prep,silk slippers on wood, hushed chanting, incense curling in the air like smoke from a dream.

You weren’t meant to be at the front.

Technically, neither was Gojo.

You were helping your aunt with the offerings,sprigs of purifying herbs, tied together with rice paper and string. It was busy work, meant to keep the lesser clan kids out of the way.

But you caught sight of him before the ceremony started,white hair mussed by the wind, half-buttoned yukata, sunglasses tucked into his collar instead of worn.

He grinned when he saw you.

“I snuck out of greeting duties. Suguru's covering for me.” He leaned close, whispering like it was a secret. “Said I had to ‘see the herbs in action.’ Very scientific.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t tell him to leave. You never really did.

It happened fast.

One of the elders from a visiting clan,tall, grim-faced, the kind of man who wore tradition like armor,caught you whispering over the offering baskets.

“Too noisy,” he snapped, voice like cracked ice. “This isn’t a playground.”

You dropped your head in a half-bow, voice quiet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You’re distracting the real assistants.” He stepped forward, hand twitching toward your shoulder. “Leave, child.”

You didn’t move.

Gojo did.

He stepped between you so smoothly, so silently, it almost didn’t register until the man’s hand stopped mid-air, just shy of his chest.

“She’s with me,” Gojo said. Calm. Clear. Unapologetic.

The elder narrowed his eyes. “This is a sacred rite. She is unqualified.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. “She’s mine to watch over.”

It wasn’t possessive,not quite. Not yet. Just... matter-of-fact.

The words hung in the air like static.

The elder backed off without another word.

Later, walking back down the stone steps with your sleeves bundled in your arms and sweat damp on your brow, you caught Gojo watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked. “He wasn’t going to hurt me.”

Gojo shrugged. “Didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You waited for him to tease. To make it a joke. But he didn’t.

Instead, he reached out and tugged a leaf from your hair. His fingers brushed your temple,so light, so careful,and he looked down at the crumpled sprig in his hand like it had done something wrong.

“Next time,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear, “just stand behind me.”

And something deep in your chest,something instinctive, old, nameless,settled quietly into place.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 13

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training field. The air was warm but still, almost too still, as though the world was holding its breath.

You didn’t understand why Gojo insisted on this early-morning training session. You had no intention of trying to compete with him today,not when his cursed energy felt like it was vibrating in the air itself.

“Focus, focus,” he said lightly, jumping into a crouch. His hands were relaxed, casual, like he wasn’t preparing to unleash the full force of his power at any moment. But the air felt too tight, and even Suguru, ever the grounded one, was glancing sideways at Gojo in an unspoken exchange.

Then it happened,without warning.

Gojo’s cursed energy exploded, a wild burst of power that cracked the earth beneath him. A shriek of wind shot through the field. You stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of it. Suguru’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t surprised.

You were used to this,used to Gojo’s strength, to his overwhelming presence. But this… this was different.

“Whoa!” Gojo laughed, standing tall and grinning, as if he hadn’t just nearly torn the air in half. He was practically glowing, the sheer magnitude of his power both terrifying and beautiful. “Guess it’s official, huh?”

Suguru didn’t say anything, just walked over to him and set a hand on his shoulder, eyes flicking toward the distance like he was waiting for something.

“Yeah,” Gojo said, lowering his voice. “Guess it is.”

And then, just like that, the storm subsided. Gojo grinned again, as if it was nothing. He’d presented as an Alpha, raw and potent, the kind of power that left a permanent mark on the world. It had been so fast, so quiet, but so intense.

You watched him with a mixture of awe and concern, but before you could speak, Suguru was already turning to face you, his gaze soft but knowing.

“I knew it was coming,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “His energy’s always been too big for anything else.”

You nodded, unsure what to say.

A week later, Geto presented.

His was quieter than Gojo’s,his energy more controlled, restrained. It didn’t have the explosive violence Gojo’s did, but there was something just as intimidating in the way it rippled under his skin. Geto always seemed like the kind of person who would wait until the world was watching before he made his move and when he presented, that’s exactly what he did.

It was subtle. It was almost… calm.

But there was no mistake. He was an Alpha.

When Geto met Gojo’s eyes from across the field, he raised an eyebrow, and a slow, amused smile crept across his face. “Guess we’re both officially off the market now, huh?”

Gojo laughed loud, easy, like the universe was his to control. “About time,” he said, smirking in that way that made everyone around him feel both invited and terrified.

It started quietly.

You were sitting under the old cherry blossom tree, half-listening to Suguru talk about a recent mission while Gojo made cranes out of your lunch napkin. It was normal,comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

At first, it was just a lingering glance. Then two. And then you felt it,noticed it. The way people were looking at you. Students who’d never said a word to you before. Instructors passing too slowly in the hall. A lingering, curious sharpness in the air.

Like they could smell something shifting.

Suguru noticed it before you did. His head turned toward you slowly, eyes narrowing, calculating. Then his expression softened, something sad and fond flickering across his face.

“…You presented,” he said quietly, like he was speaking a truth you hadn’t caught up to yet.

Your lips parted, confusion still thick in your chest.

Gojo sat upright in a second. His napkin crane crumpled in his lap.

The moment he caught your scent,really caught it,you saw it hit him like a wave. Not with hunger, not with something feral. With something… stunned. Like he’d been punched in the ribs by the universe.

His pupils contracted. Then dilated.

No words. Just pressure.

Suguru said it for both of them. “An Omega…”

Gojo’s jaw flexed.

Among jujutsu sorcerers, Omegas were rare. Especially rare in active bloodlines,your kind burned too hot, cursed energy tangled with instinct too violently. Most faded into support roles. Some were hidden by their clans, used for arranged bonds. And some… disappeared entirely.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how exposed you felt.

Your scent was faint for now,still settling,but the students around you weren’t stupid. They’d start to recognize it soon. The way Alpha instincts shifted in your direction. The tilt of a head. The tightening of a jaw. The challenge in a stare.

And through it all, Gojo just looked at you.

Not with pity.

Not with fear.

But like he’d just remembered something he’d sworn to himself long ago: Mine to watch over.

Only now… it meant something else.

The next day at Jujutsu Tech felt different.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to walk the same path to class. Keep your shoulders relaxed. Pretend the weight of your uniform hadn’t suddenly become too tight across your chest. But the air knew.

So did everyone else.

It wasn’t even subtle.

The moment you stepped into the classroom, conversations slowed. Heads turned. And though no one said it out loud, their stares pressed against your skin like heat,That’s the Omega.

You weren’t the first in school history, of course. But you were the only one currently in circulation. Most Omegas were quietly moved to private training or matched with a pre-approved bond by their clan before it ever got this far.

You? You were still here.

And that made you… vulnerable.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The worst part wasn’t the whispers.

It was the way some of the older students lingered a little too long in the halls. One of them,someone from a mid-tier clan you barely knew,bumped your arm in the corridor, leaned in a little too close.

“You smell different,” he murmured, eyes raking across your face like he had a right to look at you.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because before you could move, someone was already there.

Gojo’s voice was flat. “Touch her again.”

The boy turned, surprised. “Gojo—hey, I didn’t—”

“Touch her again,” Gojo repeated, low and cold, “and I’ll decorate the hallway with your teeth.”

There was no smile. No sunglasses. Just Gojo Satoru standing very, very still, his cursed energy curling around his shoulders like a stormcloud.

The boy backed off fast, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared down the corridor.

Gojo didn’t move.

He didn’t even look at you.

Not until Suguru came up behind him and said quietly, “You’re making a scene.”

That snapped him out of it. Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off, not looking back.

That night, Suguru walked you back to your dorm.

He didn’t say much at first. Just let the silence stretch between you like a thread.

Then, softly: “You okay?”

You nodded. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Suguru didn’t smile. But his voice was gentle. “It’s not your fault people are idiots.”

You looked up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. “Is he mad?”

“Gojo?” He huffed. “Gojo’s losing his mind.”

“…Why?”

Suguru tilted his head at you like you were being ridiculous. “Because you’re you. And now, everyone sees it.”

You swallowed hard.

“He’s trying not to act like it’s bothering him,” Suguru added, almost too casually. “But you’re an unmated Omega in a school full of Alphas. You’ve been close with us since you were six. What do you think he’s feeling?”

You stopped walking.

Suguru paused too, then looked over his shoulder, something fond flickering behind his eyes.

“Just… don’t be surprised if he doesn’t handle this very well.”

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

You couldn’t sleep.

The day had clung to your skin,stares like needles, voices too loud and too soft at the same time. Even Suguru’s calming presence hadn’t helped this time. You’d spent hours turning over what Suguru said about Gojo in your head.

You’re an unmated Omega in a school full of Alphas. You’ve been close with us since you were six. What do you think he’s feeling?

You needed air.

The rooftop was quiet this late. The wind was cool, brushing over your skin like a sigh. You curled your arms around your knees, sitting beneath the narrow lip of the railing. It was one of the only places in the school that still felt yours.

So when Gojo’s voice broke the silence behind you, your whole body jumped.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You turned.

He didn’t look like himself. No sunglasses. Hair messy. His uniform half shrugged off one shoulder, like he’d thrown it on without thinking.

He crossed the rooftop, quiet for once, and sat down next to you with a grunt. 

You both stared out at the campus.

The silence wasn’t awkward. Not really. But it was charged,a careful kind of quiet, like both of you knew what was sitting between you but neither had the courage to name it.

Finally, he asked: “How bad was it today?”

You hesitated. Then: “I’m handling it.”

“Don’t.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. Not angry. Just… quiet. “I saw your face after that guy touched you. You hated it.”

You dropped your gaze.

Gojo leaned back on his elbows, eyes toward the stars. “I’ve wanted to break a lot of people’s noses lately.”

You smiled. A real one.

Then, after a long moment: “Is it weird?”

He looked at you. “What?”

“That I’m… like this now.”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was soft. Careful.

“You’ve always been like this,” he said. “You’re just… more obvious now.”

You turned toward him. His expression was unreadable. Still boyish, still beautiful. But something in his eyes was older, heavier.

“It’s not weird,” he said, voice low. “It’s dangerous. For them.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gojo looked away. His mouth twitched,not a smirk. A defense.

“I mean,” he said, “if one more person looks at you like they deserve you, I’m going to forget I’m supposed to be playing nice.”

Something deep in your chest curled up at that. Warm and sharp and aching.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But you stayed there. Sitting close enough that your arms touched, listening to the wind and the distant buzz of lights. He didn’t reach for you. You didn’t lean in.

But his presence wrapped around you like a barrier.

And when you finally laid your head on his shoulder, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just sat there, frozen and burning, until his voice,so quiet,broke through the night.

“I won’t let anyone take you.”

And he meant it.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 16

Three years made a difference.

Gojo had always been tall, always been powerful. But now he filled a room before he even stepped into it. Every Alpha on campus carried weight, but he carried gravity. He didn’t just stand out; he distorted everything around him. People moved when he walked past. Students whispered in the halls after he’d gone, like his presence left a burn mark on the floor.

And you… started noticing things you hadn’t before.

It was the way he laughed too loud at his own jokes. The way he chewed his gum and flicked his wrist to push up his blindfold with lazy confidence. The way people stepped aside, but he always reached back,waited for you to follow.

He still walked you home. Still saved your favorite snacks. Still rolled his eyes when Suguru got too philosophical and threw paper balls at his head during lecture.

But it wasn’t the same anymore.

One day, during sparring drills, you caught yourself staring,not because he was flashy, not because of his technique. But because he moved like lightning trapped in a boy’s skin. Fluid. Dangerous. Beautiful.

When he caught your eye across the mat, something flickered there,recognition. Like he knew.

He looked away first.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

It got worse when you were paired for weapons class.

Gojo held the bokken with casual ease, his grin tilted just enough to be cocky. “Try not to fall for me during this, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, heart doing something it definitely shouldn’t.

The duel was fast, brutal, and completely unfair. He pulled his hits, of course,but even restrained, Gojo moved like he was born to be worshipped. Your body reacted before your brain did, drawn to him on instinct. Not just the Alpha scent, not just the power.

It was him.

After the match, breathless and warm, you met his eyes across the mat.

He looked at you like he’d been waiting.

Later, in the quiet of your dorm, you pressed your hand over your chest. Your pulse hadn’t slowed. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks, the echo of his voice, low and amused:

“You’re stronger than most of the boys that try to flirt with you, y’know that?”

You hadn’t said anything at the time. Just stared at him, too aware of his height, the closeness of his breath.

Three years ago, he would’ve teased you. Tugged on your sleeve. Laughed it off.

But now, Gojo Satoru just stood there, watching you like the only reason he hadn’t made a move was because he wasn’t allowed to yet.

And for the first time, you wondered what would happen if he did.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

You’d been aware of the stares for weeks.

But today, it shifted. Bolder. Louder.

Someone from the Zenin branch house,older, polished, confident,cornered you after class. He wasn’t rude. He was respectful. That made it worse.

“I was wondering,” he said smoothly, “if you’d consider lunch together this week. I know it’s sudden, but—”

You didn’t get to answer.

Gojo’s cursed energy hit the hallway like a wave.

It was subtle enough to be deniable. Just a tightness in the air, like the pressure drop before lightning. Your would-be suitor faltered mid-sentence. He turned his head slightly, met Gojo’s smile from a few feet away.

Cool. Polite. Murderous.

“Am I interrupting?” Gojo asked, voice light, eyes unreadable beneath his blindfold.

You opened your mouth to say no, but your classmate already took a full step back. “Of course not. Excuse me.”

He left like the air was on fire.

You glared. “Satoru.”

“What?” He blinked, innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Gojo shrugged and leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “Can’t blame a guy for hanging around when weirdos keep showing up.”

“They’re not weirdos,” you muttered.

He didn’t respond. Just stood there, close enough to smell, his body language casual. But the tension in him? Coiled. Hot. Barely contained.

Later that night, Suguru found him behind the training hall, still burning off energy with a practice staff, moving like he wanted something to bleed.

“You gonna kill every guy who talks to her?” Suguru asked, arms crossed.

Gojo didn’t look at him. “Only the ones who think they deserve her.”

Suguru exhaled slowly. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“She’s not bonded.”

“She’s not yours either.”

That finally made Gojo pause.

Suguru stepped closer. “I’m saying this as your friend, not hers. You’re not exactly subtle, Satoru.”

Gojo wiped sweat from his jaw. “Why should I be?”

“Because if the clans start noticing how you look at her, they’re going to act on it. You’re not just Gojo, you’re the Six Eyes Alpha. That makes her a target.”

Gojo’s expression shifted,still, sharp, deadly quiet.

“She’s already a target,” he said. “I’m just making sure everyone knows she’s protected.”

Suguru stared at him for a moment longer. Then he sighed.

“I’m not telling you to stop. I’m telling you to be careful.”

He walked away, his words still hanging in the air.

That night, Gojo didn’t sleep.

He sat outside your dorm window,hidden, silent,listening to your breathing just to make sure you were safe.

His hands trembled, just a little.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend this was only protection.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 18

It started with a letter.

You knew what it was the second you saw the envelope,hand-delivered, pressed with your clan’s seal. Thick, ceremonial, and cold.

Suguru’s eyes skimmed it over your shoulder as you sat in the common room. “You’re not opening that here, are you?”

You hesitated. “I already know what it says.”

They wanted to arrange a match.

A high-ranking Alpha from a politically advantageous family. One with “stability, long-term potential, and no history of excessive aggression.” Their words, not yours.

Your clan didn’t say Gojo Satoru’s name, but you could feel him in every line of that letter. The pressure to bond. The underlying threat of not doing so. You were an Omega of age. Delaying your mating was drawing attention.

It wasn’t a request.

You didn’t tell Gojo right away.

But he knew something was wrong.

You were quieter. Distracted. Distant.

He cornered you after sparring, chest heaving from the workout, a line of sweat curling down the side of his neck. He pulled off his blindfold,blue eyes sharp and worried.

“What’s going on?”

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

You tried to brush past him. He moved. Blocking your way with barely a shift of his body, not touching you, but too close to ignore.

“Satoru—”

“Tell me.”

So you did.

His expression didn’t change at first. Then, very slowly, something froze in his jaw. A muscle ticked. His hands clenched at his sides like he was trying very hard not to break something.

“What’s his name?” he asked, too calm.

You didn’t answer.

His voice dropped. “They’re trying to pull you out of Jujutsu Tech.”

You swallowed. “They think it’s safer.”

“No,” he said flatly. “They think you’re vulnerable. And they think I won’t do anything about it.”

You tried to reach for his arm. “You can’t—”

He stepped back.

Not from you. From himself.

“I can’t protect you from them,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not unless you let me.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

Gojo looked at you,really looked. And for once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect. Just stared like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

“It means I want you,” he said. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Silence.

“I thought I could wait,” he went on. “I thought if I kept quiet, if I gave you space, maybe you’d choose me on your own.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“But I’m not going to watch them take you away and pretend it doesn’t kill me.”

You stared at him. And then—

“You waited too long.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Soft. True.

Gojo’s breath caught.

But then you added, quieter:

“Do something about it.”

His restraint shattered.

Gojo stepped forward and kissed you like he’d been dying to do it for years,because he had. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t sweet. It was messy, desperate, a dam breaking with your fingers tangled in his jacket and his hands gripping your hips like the only way he could hold himself together was by holding onto you.

He didn’t ask for permission.

You’d already given it.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The meeting was called under the pretense of “concern.” A gathering of clan representatives, a few staff from Jujutsu Tech, and of course your suitor’s family.

You weren’t supposed to be there. Omegas were rarely permitted to speak on their own behalf in these negotiations.

But you came anyway.

And Gojo was already seated at the head of the table when you arrived.

Not an empty seat. The seat.

His blindfold was gone. His uniform collar open. His posture relaxed in the way only the most dangerous people can afford to be. Casual, confident, and clearly amused.

“Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he said lazily, gaze sweeping over the gathered elders like they were ants on his shoe. “All this effort just to talk about my Omega?”

Your heart stopped.

So did the room.

A clan elder cleared their throat. “She is not—”

“She is,” Gojo interrupted, voice silk-wrapped steel. “She just hasn’t said it officially yet. But I’m sure you’d all agree it’d be wildly inappropriate to suggest an engagement when she’s already spoken for.”

The silence crackled.

The representative from your clan’s inner circle leaned forward, fingers laced. “With respect, Gojo-sama, no such bond has been confirmed. And while your attachment is clear, this matter concerns lineage, compatibility, and the safety of the Omega in question.”

“Safety?” Gojo echoed, smile thin. “I’m the strongest sorcerer alive. Tell me, which one of you thinks you can offer her better protection than me?”

No one answered.

The suitor’s father spoke next. “Your emotions are understandable, but our son has been vetted. He’s mature, politically sound, and has a reputation for stability—”

“And I,” Gojo cut in, “can vaporize a domain in under three seconds.”

He leaned forward then, elbows on the table, voice dropping into something colder.

“So here’s how this is going to go: you’re going to drop the proposal. You’re going to keep your politics away from her. And you’re going to do it quietly, so no one gets embarrassed. Or hurt. Or—worst of all—made an example of.”

A long pause.

“Is that a threat?” someone asked tightly.

Gojo smiled.

“It’s a promise.”

When the meeting adjourned, Gojo caught up to you in the corridor, like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just threatened half the room without blinking.

“You’re insane,” you told him, heart racing.

“Insanely devoted, yeah,” he grinned. “Did you see their faces?”

“You basically declared war on my entire clan—”

“They started it,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “They came for what’s mine.”

You didn’t move.

“Am I?” you asked softly.

Gojo’s smile softened, all that sharpness folding inward, just for you.

“You’ve always been,” he said. “Even when you didn’t know it.”

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 21

Living with Gojo Satoru was like sharing an apartment with a hurricane that made coffee in your favorite mug and left his socks on the ceiling.

The top floor of Jujutsu Tech’s private housing had been “technically unauthorized” when he moved you in, but no one was stupid enough to stop him. Suguru called it your castle, which wasn’t wrong. It was all open space, floor-to-ceiling windows, and way too many pillows.

You’d been dating,courting, by clan terms,for three years.

No bond yet. No mark.

Gojo waited. Even though you could feel it,how he watched you. How he barely held back when you kissed. How his cursed energy coiled around you when you wore his clothes or nuzzled your face into his scent gland in your sleep.

“I’m fine waiting,” he’d said once, hand tangled in your hair, voice soft against your throat. “As long as it’s me you’re waiting for.”

Suguru visited one night during golden hour. He brought food and stayed long after the takeout was cold, curled into a corner of your couch with his arms tucked under his sleeves.

Gojo practically draped himself over you, cheek resting on your shoulder, scent lazy and content. His fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your shorts.

“Ugh,” Suguru said, grinning. “You’re disgusting.”

You hummed. “He’s just clingy.”

“She likes it,” Gojo mumbled into your neck.

“I tolerate it,” you corrected.

He nuzzled you, pleased.

Suguru shook his head. “You know, I was worried at first. Thought he’d suffocate you.”

You smirked. “He still might.”

Gojo just sighed dramatically. “Let me be in love in peace.”

Suguru’s smile dimmed a little,nostalgic. Quiet.

“She’s good for you.”

Gojo didn’t answer, but his fingers tightened on your thigh, just a little.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

It happened on a rainy night.

No mission. No special event. Just you and him, alone in your shared bedroom, warm from the shower, tangled in sheets and scent and skin.

He kissed you like he always did,slow, sweet, tasting every noise you made. But when you arched into him, scent thick with heat and need, Gojo paused.

“Tell me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Tell me you want it.”

You reached up, cupping his face, fingers trembling.

“I want you to claim me.”

Blue eyes burned.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure since I was sixteen.”

His control cracked.

The kiss that followed was rougher, deeper,borderline desperate. His hands mapped your body like memorization wasn’t enough anymore. Your scent bloomed under his touch, sticky-sweet and wet with submission, but your eyes never left his.

You weren’t being taken.

You were giving yourself.

Gojo groaned, rut-heavy and shaking, and when he finally sank his canines into the spot just beneath your scent gland, the shock of the bond hit like a curse.

You cried out, hips jerking, body going molten and boneless under him. His cursed energy snapped, flooding through you, marking you.

Not just skin-deep.

Soul-deep.

He licked over the mark, reverent, voice rasping against your neck: “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Your hands fisted in his hair.

“Yours,” you whispered. “Always.”

Afterward, he held you like he’d fall apart without you,arms around your waist, nose buried in your bond mark, still murmuring your name like a prayer.

When you drifted off, Gojo didn’t sleep.

He just watched you breathe.

His. Finally. Irrevocably.

And if the world tried to take you again?

Let it try.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 25

Years had passed since the world had first witnessed Gojo Satoru’s declaration of ownership over you. Since the day he'd practically claimed you, raw and unrestrained.

Since then, you and Gojo had built your lives,not just as partners, but as equals. You were stronger. He was more grounded. And the bond, always there, had deepened beyond what anyone outside the two of you could even fathom.

Your home was exactly as it had been before: full of noise, laughter, and chaos, just now with a few extra people. Jujutsu Tech still felt like the heart of the world, but with each passing year, you both had carved out more space for yourselves. Gojo was a legend, but he was also yours. And you were more than his Omega,you were his heart. His equal.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Gojo fussed with the coffee machine like he hadn’t made the same damn cup a thousand times before.

“Stop acting like you don’t know how to do it,” you teased, smiling fondly. He always made a production out of everything, even the simplest of things.

Gojo’s back was turned, but you saw him grin.

“I know how to make it. I just enjoy the effect,” he said, voice low, filled with that familiar smugness.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“No, I’m full of you,” he said, turning to you, his blue eyes locking onto yours, soft but possessive. “Always will be.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

“I’m new,” he said, walking closer, his body heat flooding your senses, that mix of Satoru and Gojo only you knew intimately.

His hand cupped your cheek gently, like he was afraid of breaking you. And you knew that even now, after all this time, despite the raw, unfiltered power he held, he was still careful with you. Always.

He kissed you, slow, deep like you were still the only person in the world.

“I’m not the only one who’s changed,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re more than I ever could’ve imagined, beloved.”

You smiled softly, almost shyly, remembering the long path from the moment he first made that choice, back when he was younger, less certain.

Later that afternoon, Suguru came over, as he always did. His usual routine was to catch up with Gojo, drink coffee, and discuss the growing chaos of their world, but today, something was off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but Suguru seemed a little… distracted.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching him fiddle with his mug.

He looked up at you, smiled a little, but his eyes were far away. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve known you both a long time,” he said, glancing at Gojo, who had his back turned, lost in his own thoughts. “And I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day you two would finally settle into this… Whatever this is.”

Gojo grinned from the other side of the room. “It’s called ‘happily ever after,’ Suguru.”

Suguru snorted, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right, right. But still… I never expected to see you both at peace.”

You stepped forward, cocking your head. “What’s going on, Suguru?”

He sighed, meeting your gaze. “I’ve just been wondering for a while now,what’s next for you two? I mean, you’ve built your lives together. But is that… enough? Or is there something more? Something bigger?”

You stared at him for a moment, before your eyes moved to Gojo, who had finally turned around and was watching you, expression soft and almost… expectant.

You glanced back at Suguru, confused. “What are you getting at?”

Suguru leaned forward. “Well, I’ve been hearing some rumors lately. About you two. And I… I think I know what the next step is.”

You stared at him.

He gave you a slow smile,whispering. “I think it’s time you tell him.”

Later that evening, Gojo had his arm around you, the two of you lounging on the couch as you watched some random movie. His hand traced lazy patterns on your arm, and you could feel the bond pulsing between you.

He wasn’t paying attention to the film, not really,his mind was always on you, and he was letting the quiet between you speak louder than anything else.

But tonight was different.

You turned to face him, drawing his attention, your heart beating a little faster as you reached for his hand.

“Satoru,” you whispered, your voice soft and slightly nervous. “I… I have something to tell you.”

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with that same intensity. “What is it?”

Your hand trembled slightly as you took his, squeezing gently. You knew, deep down, that this would be another step, the next chapter. The one that solidified everything.

“I’m… I’m pregnant.”

He froze for a beat, like the world itself had just shifted. Then,slowly, ever so carefully,he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

A smile broke out across his face, and it was like a weight lifted from his shoulders. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes, softened.

“You’re…” he started, the words stumbling out, but his smile grew. “You’re really doing this to me? You’re going to make me a dad?”

You laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "You’re going to be an amazing father, Satoru."

Gojo leaned forward, his lips brushing yours with a gentleness that matched the enormity of the moment.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, the bond between you thrumming with warmth.

“Our baby,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Our family.”

And just like that, everything felt real. The years, the bond, the madness and the love. It was all leading to this. Your future. Together.

You rested your hand on your stomach, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips.

His hand covered yours, pressing it to his chest, over his heart.

And you both knew.

This—this was the beginning of something even greater than you could’ve imagined.

[bee-calm]

it takes less than two minutes for aoi’s entire world to end

or; i had some thoughts about That scene in tbhk 126

When Nene’s phone cuts to voicemail for the fifth time, when the sun begins to cast long shadows across the ground outside, when the feeling of worry-fear-where-are-you burns to a fever pitch behind her ribs- Aoi is the one who suggests that they go and search for her.

It was Kou who saw Nene last- haunting the shoe lockers the night before with the wild, unpredictable look of something hunted. It’s a description that Aoi can’t quite reconcile with the girl she knows- the Yashiro Nene of silly crushes, sunflower patches, bright bursts of laughter like stars in the night.

(I wish I could be you, Nene told her once, huddled in the shade of the rhododendron bush. Referring to Aoi’s unfortunate engagement to one Minamoto Teru- but, semantics. If she’d ever known how to be brave, Aoi would’ve told her in reply why would you want that, when you’re already everything?)

She should’ve suggested they look for Nene earlier. As soon as Kou got back.

“She’d never disappear for this long,” Aoi insists, as another call cuts to the voicemail message that Nene recorded in the back of their maths class the previous year, Aoi’s quiet laughter just audible in the background. “Not without telling one of us.”

Mouth set in a grim line, Teru seems to agree. Aoi doesn’t need to look at Akane to know that he’ll be following.

The walk to the Red House is a tense one; a ligament bent close to snapping, a disaster waiting to happen. Aoi doesn’t miss that Teru has foregone his bag, sheathing his sword close at his hip instead. (She’d be a hypocrite to mention it. She’s got her own spirit blade, slipped into her school bag.)

When they enter, the house is a crooked maze of a thing- each room smelling of damp wood and burnt oil and the sick-sweet tang of something rotting. The layout makes no sense, kitchens that lead into bathrooms that lead into second, identical kitchens, time warping strangely around them as they search. Aoi calls Nene’s name once, twice, three times- like the invocations the people at the shrine wrote out to keep their Kannagi safe. Hoping that somehow they’ll catch on the dust motes in the air, carry themselves to Nene, and protect her from harm too. Aoi doesn’t know what sort of split-open expression she must be wearing, but she can tell it’s a terrible one from the way Akane knocks his shoulder gently against her own, like he did when they were little kids and the only meaning he needed to share was it’ll be okay.

Sousuke peers into a doorway that has changed from a living room into a broom cupboard in the five minutes since they last passed it, and complains that they’re never going to get out of here again.

And then- Nene is there.

She’s got cobwebs in her hair and she shrieks in surprise when she almost flings a door open into Teru’s face, but she’s there, okay, safe- and Aoi has to force down the sudden humiliating urge to sob with relief. She settles for hugging Nene tightly instead, burying her face into her neck in a wordless don’t ever leave me like that again she’d never have the courage to say out loud. In the damp and rot, Nene’s hair smells like peaches.

“I thought I saw something weird at the school,” Nene explains sheepishly, as Kou inspects the splinters and scrapes decorating her fingers and wonders how long it takes for tetanus symptoms to manifest. Aoi keeps a hold of Nene’s other hand, and pretends she doesn’t see the knowing look that Teru is sending her across the hallway. “I followed it here, then ended up getting totally lost.” Nene laughs, a lighthearted silly me that brightens up the gloom, and Aoi quickly swallows down the unexplainable feeling that something isn’t right. (It’s something she’s been getting better at- this act of trusting. Of not immediately looking for the worst, assuming that the world is operating with the aim of pulling her down. Plucking a cobweb from Nene’s hair, this feels like a good opportunity to practice.)

Leading them a little way down the hall, Nene points them towards a door set nonsensically under one of the many staircases they’ve passed. “I’m pretty certain I heard traffic coming from behind there earlier, so I think the exit must be this way,” she explains.

To their left, Teru frowns. “I think we’d best stick to going back-” he starts.

“Nii-chan,” Kou interrupts from Nene’s right, in that chiding tone Aoi knows from experience is copied from their mother. “We could end up going in circles all evening at this rate. What harm could it do?”

Teru hesitates, a held breath, before he nods. (Trusting- not something Aoi has been learning alone.)

“Okay,” he concedes. “But if we get lost, then we turn straight back.”

As they file through the door, Akane takes the lead only because his phone has the most battery life left, flicking on a torch which illuminates a crumbling stone staircase- winding down and down and down. Aoi goes next, because Nene is scared of heights and she’s always clung behind Aoi on observatory trips and rollercoasters and the tall bridge across the river in the next town along. Nene is brave like that, wearing her fears for everyone to see them. This time, though, it’s Kou and Sousuke who end up behind Aoi, Nene falling in another few steps behind them. Teru takes the rear. (His hand still lingers by the hilt of his sword. Aoi tries to ignore the unrest that settles in her bones at the sight of it.)

As they descend, Aoi fixes her gaze ahead, struck by the irrational fear that, if she turns around, Nene will no longer be there. A mythology spooling out in her head; a consequence for her own lifelong, selfish wanting. Instead she counts each step, making wishes on them in groups of three to keep herself sane.

The closer they get to the bottom, the more details come into focus. First the sound of water against stone, then cave walls cracked with moss, then finally the shape of a deep, black well, grinning up at them like a mouth in the gloom.

There’s no struggle, when it happens.

Just a strangled gasp. The clatter of sword against stone. The numbing realisation that this is now a world where Aoi knows what sound a body makes when it hits the ground.

Aoi has never been any good at keeping promises to herself. She turns around.

Where he’s half-submerged, Teru’s eyes are still open, unblinking even as the water pools under his eyelashes. There’s a strangled scream from behind Aoi, the broken cry of a younger brother who has just become the eldest. It’s a terrible sound, the lightning before the crack of thunder that echoes like a war-cry across the rocks of this hole, this well, this sealed tomb of a place- lightning, then Akane shouting, the sound of it cut brutally in half as Kou hits the wall and doesn’t move again.

And- stood over him like a nightmare is Nene- the spirit blade from Aoi’s bag bloodstained in her hand, hunched like a creature and Aoi should’ve known something was wrong. Should've known from the moment Nene didn’t hide in the collar of her uniform from the drop below them, like she’s been doing since their first day of middle school. From the moment Nene navigated her way through this impossible house with ease, like she hasn’t gotten lost trying to find their own homeroom class more than once. From the moment she didn’t pick up Aoi’s call, not even when she used the six-ring pattern they made for times when it feels like the world is ending, the one they pinky-swore to always answer.

(When they hugged, before, Nene smelled like peaches left out in the sun. Aoi knows that Nene’s favourite shampoo is scented with strawberries.)

Rooted at the bottom of the stairs, Aoi finds that she can’t focus on Nene’s face, nothing left of it but this terrible, gaping maw of a thing, twisted at the edge of her vision no matter how directly she tries to look at it. Because this isn’t Nene, just a distorted imitation of her, and the sight of it makes Aoi want to sink to her knees and cry like a stupid kid who wants her best friend back. To go back in time to their last sleepover before highschool, where Aoi stayed awake for hours just memorising the shape Nene’s face made when she dreamed. She’s distantly aware of Akane cursing as his watch is knocked from his hand- clumsily unsheathing Teru’s sword and charging with a wounded battle cry. Faltering last minute, when the grinning well of Not-Nene’s face swivels towards him and-

Years ago, before she was taught to tie her hair up in bows and smile neat and pretty, Aoi told Akane to go and die after he broke her favourite pencil.

She doesn’t think she would’ve said it, if she knew what it would really feel like.

By the stairs, Sousuke is hunched by Kou’s side, trying uselessly to stem the bleeding with the hem of his school shirt. Panic has turned his voice to radio static, a jumble of words spilling out. Aoi doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s already too late- at least that way, when it’s his turn, he still has hope.

In total, it takes less than two minutes for Aoi’s entire world to end.

It’s then that she spots it. Nene’s bag lying at the base of the well; her phone scattered a few feet beside it, her collection of keychains now cracked and waterlogged.

Maybe not entirely an imitation, then. A possession instead- one of the ghost stories that Aoi used to whisper in Nene’s ear between classes, just to watch the way her face would go all flushed with excited terror afterwards. (Hunted- Kou described the look on Nene’s face when she found him by the shoe lockers. Maybe this is what she was running from.)

It’s anger that finally raises Aoi, marionette-like, to her feet. Because this is Yashiro Nene, who carries spiders out of rooms in paper cups and cries when the dog dies in movies and apologises to plants when she cuts their dead petals free. This violence for the sake of violence, it’s an insult to the very soul of her.

So Aoi stands on puppet strings, and tells this thing in front of her: Give me my best friend back.

She knows, certain as her own bones, that Nene will not survive the aftermath of what has happened here. Not as a whole person, not with her soul intact. Selfish as she’s ever been, Aoi knows that a world where Nene is no longer herself is not one that she wants to exist in either. So it’s not a choice so much as an inevitability when she runs, blood-black water staining the hem of her skirt like dirt from the garden, and throws her arms around Nene’s neck. The black hole where Nene’s face should be churns like a thing where hope goes to die, and all Aoi can do is hold on tight as her own knife buries itself between her seventh and eighth ribs.

“Nene-chan,” she gasps, holds, wishes on the sparks of pained light that burst behind her eyelids that once, just this once, Nene will hear every twisted, selfish part of her, open her eyes, and look. “Nene-chan. Please, snap out of it. Nene-”

In the end, it’s simple as a realignment- just a quiet shift from grasping to holding.

When gravity tips and her hands slide loose, Aoi smells strawberries.

[obsidianpen]

Once B&G is finished, would you publish it as a book? I know there’s some protocol about publishing fanfics, but I still wanted to ask. This story blew my mind in and out again. Made me go into mental breakdown and back to the reality. It’s crazy how beautifully it’s written, especially now that chapter 75 is out. The plot! Oh god pure masterpiece. You’ve left me speechless. I’ve been reading this fanfic for years now. This amazing story changed my book taste forever. I love it, I love every bit of it. ❤️ you are really a talented writer, and I know I’ve said it before but it’s absolutely beautiful, the plot, the characters, the psychology in it! Pure perfection. Thank you for writing this, this story is living rent free in my mind every single day. I just wanted to say thank you, for creating this masterpiece, for sharing it with the world. And if you ever decided to publish, I wouldn’t care if I had to pay 20, 30 or even 50€ just to have this in my home, because the time and dedication you’ve put into this is absolutely incredible.

let’s be very very VERY clear here: binding and selling fanfiction is illegal, full stop. I know that some morons sell bound fanfic on TikTok and Etsy, but when you see that, you should report tf out of it. Harass the seller. They are selling something illegal. They are profiting off a work that they didn’t even write, that they did not have the writer’s permission to do (and have gone against the writer’s wishes in the first place). Doing this can and will come back on the writer in the fanfiction, who put it out there for FREE, purely out of love. This is going to fucking ruin fanfiction for everyone if it doesn’t stop. Report, report, report.

that being said. I’m working on original stuff, and when B&G is over plan to focus a lot of my second draft of one of those. As for Blood and Gold, if you want a bound copy of it on your shelf, you can still do that! You can bind it yourself, or you can do some kind of exchange with someone else who binds. NO MONEY CAN BE MADE BY ANYONE, but I’ve seen plenty of gift exchanges with people who bind fanfic, and I think that’s lovely. So there are ways to do it - you just can’t buy it. Fanfiction is a gift, a beautiful, wonderful gift. Let’s keep it that way.

[velvetvexations]

Man that post about trans men having it easy when they go swimming pissed me off. Honestly for a while now I've seen posts about trans women and swimming that seemed to imply that trans women specifically are not allowed to go swimming unlike others, or have some sort of extra struggle regarding swimming at the pool while other trans people wouldn't have much to worry about.

It has always kinda annoyed me to be completely dismissed like that because like. I'm not American so I don't know what your public pool laws and rules are but where I live, public swimming pools have pretty strict rules about what kind of swimsuits are allowed. You're not allowed stuff like swimming shorts or shirts, no rash guards, it really sucks. It's either 1 piece swimsuit or 2 piece swimsuit for women (some variety in styles is allowed tho, as long as it's not like, a thong or something, and ironically swimsuits that cover "too much" are also banned and are considered a political debate issue since they can denote religious appartenance), and for men, it's skin tight speedo and that's it. And of course, baring your breasts is not allowed either. (I'm not entirely sure where using tape on your chest would fall but I honestly don't think it would fly, especially if you don't pass as male very well.)

Which leaves you with a number of problems as a trans guy, especially without top surgery because you have to cover your chest, which means you'll have to wear some type of women's swimsuit (even picking a 1 piece one or a top with a more "neutral" cut doesn't look gender neutral at all since only women will wear these at the pool). I think I don't need to specify that being a man visibly wearing a women's swimsuit to the public pool isn't exactly the safest experience.

But then there's also issues with the speedo. Where it can become quite obvious whether or not there's something in there. You can choose to pack or not (I don't think packers are allowed, except maybe just using a foam padded cup...? Then again the swimming pool staff aren't exactly gonna expect or check for that. Still I guess there's the risk of whatever you use to pack slipping or sliding or getting lost in the pool...), but either way, if you're visibly trans in some way, people will look at your crotch because they are fixated on trans people's genitals and you're wearing nothing but a swimsuit. And they'll be disgusted by the result (trans man with no penis = unnatural, trans man with penis = unnatural). I know that a fair share of trans men even post top surgery still avoid going to the pool because they're not comfortable with having to wear some shitty speedo in front of strangers (makes your flat crotch obvious, the cut makes you dysphoric because it reminds you too much of wearing women's underwear, people being weird about it, the packing dilemma that is a lose/lose situation... Again, being visibly identified as a trans man (for example, because of your scars) and having a bulge in your speedo basically makes the people around you think you're some sort of gross fetishist predator who enjoys walking around with "a dildo in your underwear" in a public place with children.)

Not long ago I had to explain to my psychiatrist who was recommending me swimming to improve some physical and mental issues that going to the pool just wouldn't be an option for me because with my body (facial hair, body hair, deep voice but no top surgery) it's just too complicated with the shitty swimsuit rules and all, so I'm basically... Pretty much banned from swimming pools because of my body... Unless I completely change my appearance to make myself look like a woman and wear a women's swimsuit, which would make me feel horrible. Yay, so much privilege !

(And yeah I know the OG post was about trans men with top surgery specifically but also.... Why tf was it comparing it to bulge, aka something that can be removed through surgery...?? Isn't it more fair to compare no surgery and no surgery...)

they like to intentionally engineer scenarios where things are stacked in favor of the oppression of trans women by giving every possible benefit to trans men even when they're benefits that are just as likely to be possessed by trans women (e.g. being pre/post-op)

[mothinked]

To be more open with his feelings... well, it wasn't as easy as Owen wished it would be. In fact, it was a point of contention in his last relationship. Mel would always tell him to express his feelings and thoughts rather than just agreeing with her on things to avoid an argument. He would tell her what he believed she wanted to hear, even as his mental headspace deteriorated after Jackson. He'd been running on autopilot for weeks and avoiding both Mel and Abby.

You want to keep the baby? Okay, we can make it work. You want to move in together at base instead of spending so much time at the aquarium? Alright, let's do that. He could've counted on one hand how many times over the course of three years that he told her he loved her. It took nearly six months of dating for her to coax it out of him the first time. People said things during sex without really thinking about it, he told himself later on. Like he needed to justify why he said it.

The only I love you he truly meant was the first time they'd felt the baby kick while she was helping him paint one evening. He remembered leaving a blue handprint on her sweater, laughing about it and her playfully smearing a streak of green on his face in retaliation. It was a special moment that he held onto all these years later and never shared with anyone else. Honestly, it would bring him to tears if he ever did. That loss and guilt was locked down deep.

Had he been a terrible person, a piece of shit boyfriend, for having wished to experience parenthood with Abby rather than Mel? Yes, yes he had been. Being with Mel while not being able to move on from Abby was a shitty thing for him to have done. And so he lived with it, in silence. What else could he do...? He couldn't go back but he could change. Be true to himself for once in his life.

But up until the end, nothing nor no one could claim the space in his life, in his mind, occupied by Abby Anderson. She belonged there like the moon belonged with the stars—spilling into the cracks of his heart and mending it until he felt whole again. She was the first thought that came to his mind when he awoke, the last thought before the lights went out in the aquarium. How could Owen love anyone else?

His response was matter-of-fact with no room whatsoever for debate. "Nope." He made a popping sound with his mouth at the end. "Doesn't feel fast to me. We've known each other well over a decade... I'd say it's about time." They were the last living members of the Salt Lake crew. The others would have wanted him and Abby to at least stick together, and they had. Through hell and high water, they'd survived the worst of it and come out the other side to this paradise of an island. "The offer stands indefinitely." Maybe they could have their happy ending, too, whatever that looked like.

Owen took off his sunglasses. He squinted for a moment to adjust to the change in lighting then set them down. She was taking in the place and her approval pulled another smile from him. He still held an interest in aquatic creatures and had collected items from all the gift shops he could find—everything from posters of the ocean to paintings of fish. A seal statue made of resin sat on a shelf next to the TV. The other shelves housed more collectibles and trinkets he liked to look at.

The great white shark keychain he had found at a gas station belonged to Lev as of a month ago. There was a picture taken by a friend of him with Lev and two seal pups they came across on a fishing trip to the cove last summer: Lev was smiling from ear-to-ear, one hand touching the closer seal and Owen's arm wrapped around him as the man flashed a peace sign at the camera. The kid was like a brother to Owen. A member of the family he had made for himself and promised to watch out for.

It felt right, like the three of them were fated to be friends for life.

Owen stared at the picture that was a part of the collage he'd started putting together on the wall that divided the kitchen and the livingroom. Anyone who visited could look at it. Of course there weren't just scenic shots or group photos but candids of Abby, too. One of her at the gym powering through an intense workout and another was of her reading with her back resting against the massive trunk of a California redwood. A flicker of hope ignited in Owen suddenly that he would be able to add another photo of them together one day. Sharing a kiss, perhaps? If only photo booths still worked.

Finding frames with faded pictures of couples in all sorts of locations and events always made him want a memento of his own to hold onto. It was proof those people—albeit strangers to him—once existed. He wanted others to remember him and Abby like that, happily frozen in time. He learned a thing or two about photography from Manny... but also had to listen to the guy talk about anime. The things you put up with for your friends, Owen thought.

It was them who made the human experience easier to endure.

Owen turned on the CD he'd left in the stereo and adjusted the volume to a comfortable level before starting dinner. He began with the meat: fish, crab and sausage. Farm-grown potatoes were peeled and cut into sizable wedges that would cook faster. Corn cobs were halved, onions chopped and lemons sliced. Food prep was easy for practiced hands; Owen did a lot of his own cooking. He perused the spice rack for seasonings he thought would go well in a seafood boil and added them, not too generously though—it was safer to add to taste.

By the time he was done most of the work, his CD was on its third track and he was opening up a beer well-deserved. He leaned against the counter, bottle in hand with his eyes closed. Just enjoying the music as he waited for Abby to finish her shower.

Though she doesn’t utter back the words, it’s the way she shyly smiles to herself that’s a dead giveaway for how she feels in return. He knows and doesn’t push for it which she deeply appreciates. Not yet ready to dive into deeper subjects, she shakes her head at the mention of the other man. “Know the name, not the guy. Good for him. Nice for someone to get a happy ending.” She’s distracted as she takes her bag from him, only to pause momentarily at the offer of shacking up with him. “Owen Moore, you’re inviting me to move in with you the first time I come over? Doesn’t feel fast to you?” The look she gives him is a playfully serious one, complete with one eyebrow arching upward to really lay the puzzled look on thick. “At least buy me dinner first…” Or make it..? Which is what he happens to be doing tonight. In that case? “Let me at least see the place first before you try and rope me in, damn.”

With the door now open, Abby steps inside and is immediately overwhelmed by how homey it is. No wonder Owen would sneak away here so often. It doesn’t feel like the shell of homes they had come across in their travels. There was no depressing atmosphere from remnants of what was once a normal place of peace. This place was about as good as it would get. Was nice to see some artwork on the walls, helped to make it not so barren. And it looked like he was quite the green thumb as well with a couple of plants inside looking just as nice as the greenery on the property looked. A couple of candles scattered about here and there, what looked like some really cozy blankets. Damn he had it good. “Alright now I’m real mad you’ve held out on me so long with this place.”

A hot shower will help dampen her faux attitude and that’s where she’s headed to next. “I’ll leave some hot water for you, maybe,” she calls as she walks down the hall and shuts the door behind her. Finding a towel is easy. The small linen closet is neat and organized. The sound of running water soon fills the air and she’s quick to undo her braid, strip down, and hop in. The sensation of heat floods her system and instantly relaxes her as the water washes away the grime of the day. In such a horrific world, this felt as close to perfect as it could get. Add in a home cooked meal and a movie and it was a recipe for a perfect 10.

[mi-co-uk]

empty pages

─── expired reader has been told she's dying. but how much does it matter if she wanted to anyway? best friend matt is heartbroken to be losing the girl he never shared his feelings for - until now.

expired reader x matt

a/n NOT PROOFREAD IM LAZYY

warnings: mentions of sickness and treatment plans, consistent theme of death and dying aswell as suicidal thoughts. also matt is so cutie i need him to confess his love for reader NOW (i literally control when it happens 😐) vague mentions of panic attacks and nightmares. SERIES ITSELF will contain angst fluff and smut <3

wc: 1.5k

PART TWO

the creak of the swingset created a combination of annoyance and comfort. it echoed your childhood in a sense, the hours spent swinging (not too high) back and forth due to being far too scared of the slide.

you peered over at it - now having grown almost to the height of it, you didn't understand what you had been so afraid of.

the playground equipment was all rusted over, not even used by the kids who lived nearby. it wasn't the centre for making friends as it use to be. regardless, it still held the memory of where you met matt.

he hadn't been scared of the slide - he just couldn't get a turn. his rowdy brothers hogged it relentlessly, matt found their game funny initially but he grew tired of waiting for them to see him waiting.

the girl on the swing next to you was swaying obnoxiously, yelling to her mum about how high she was swinging on her own. you didn't understand how she was doing it physically, aswell as without fear.

"can I push?" after standing beside the poles that dug the swingset into the ground, he'd mustered to the courage to ask you a question. he felt kind of sorry for you, on your own in a park full of people.

he started off overly gentle, as if sensing your fear or being afraid to push you off it entirely.

it wasn't much but it was more than you could manage on your own. you also found yourself a little less scared.

you're on the same swing now - terrified, but for a different reason. now you were scared of dying - not from swaying too high on a swingset or falling from the well known dramatic height of a slide, but from your own body giving up on itself.

what hadn't changed was that you always had known that there wasn't much life in you.

the position of the swingset allows you to see over the horizon, admiring the pinkish tints of the clouds as you await matts return. you hear his scuffling behind you, his footsteps snapping the small branches laying across the floor. hear stands in front of you handing you a small pot of ice cream, a wide grin on his face as he giggles to himself. you smile in response, his laughter infectious as he sets himself on the swingset to your left.

"why are you laughing?" you can't help but continue giggling, his optimism always seemingly amplified around you.

his giggles heighten in response, "I dont know, I'm just excited"

"for the ice cream"

he giggles and nods in response. you chuckle and shake your head, licking the ice cream off your spoon. the laughter settles down, silently enjoying each other's company as you watch the sunset and savour your ice cream.

you've always been somewhat jealous of matt. despite his struggles with anxiousness and his unsurety in himself that have debilitated him a lot in life, he's always managed to make the most of himself. he's not entirely confident, but he manages. his life gets stressful, but he manages. it's an attribute you somewhat wish you had.

sometimes you wanna be better. you want to be happy and actually live for once but a life like that is so inconsistent. no one can ever be constantly joyful and living the life they want. you want something secure and death is the most assured thing there is.

matt notices the drop of your emotions much lower than before, nudging your knee with his. you look up to his comforting smile and sympathetic eyes. trust you to find a way to bring down the mood already.

"you okay?" matts first to break the silence, taking the final mouthful of ice cream and setting the tub down by the side of the swingset.

you mumble a 'yeah', obviously not filling matt with confidence that it's a genuine response.

"what u thinkin'?" he persists.

you hesitate before bringing it up. you wanted to avoid it but it's gonna come up eventually.

"I um, I had a call."

"yeah? with who?" matts eyes a fixed in your direction despite your bodies refusal to hold eye contact.

"the hospital."

short answers are less anxiety inducing. but they definitely also prolong the length of torture. matt stays silent, giving you the space to speak at your own pace.

"about treatments. well- a-an appointment to talk about them." you finally look back up to matt, unsure of whether to continue.

"when's that? I'll come with you."

"um. yesterday" you voice falters towards the end, becoming a mumble in lack of confidence.

matts eyebrows scrunch in vague confusion. "I didn't go." you confirm matts suspicions.

you were thoroughly aware that the consequences of bringing that up to matt before the appointment would result you in actually going. hence the fact you didn't mention it.

matts head is swarming with conflicting emotions. he doesn't want to push you into something but he also has an obvious overwhelming desperation to keep you around. and a way to do that is with your treatment.

"you don't want treatment?" matt finally responds.

you can only shake your head.

you finally stop moving around the remainder of your ice cream and set the pot down, gaining grip on the chain attached to your swing. you plant your feet more firmly on the ground, allowing you to look directly away from matt and his pity.

"I'm tired of being sick, matt. treatment might not even work. 'm not sure if it's worth it." you're not sure if you're worth it.

"but it also might work." matt tried desperately to maintain his outward calm. "you could try it."

"I dont wanna try it, matt, I don't even want it to work."

though he isn't the one dying, matt felt his life drain further from his body. every fibre of him wanted to convince you that you were wrong. he almost wanted to confess all his feelings in the hope it would give you the motivation to try - to live for him.

"I dont wanna go through all that just be depressed still by the end of it. I don't wanna keep being someone for everyone to worry about. I don't wanna people to think I wanted to try living because then it's as if I never suffered at all." the words spill out before you evaluate the weight of them. you're not trying to dump it onto matt you just need him to understand. "I'm not trying to make you pity me, matt I just-"

"I dont get to pity you, don't you get that? none of us do."

his gaze on you feels much heavier, less focused on being cautious of every word out his mouth.

"we don't get to pity you because we all know you want this."

"what, you sit around with everyone talking about how I'm a suicidal fuck up?" you accuse, tone of voice almost repulsed.

"of course not! we just know you're in pain! you always have been, mentally and now physically. I fucking hate it but there's obviously positives in it for you and it's undeniable. treatment might keep you alive but you said yourself it doesn't change your mental state and I've researched and it won't even end your pain, you just won't die."

he pauses, tears building at the brim of his eyes.

"I'm with you all the time. I see you panic attack after panic attack, nightmare after nightmare aswell as dealing with the pain attacks over and over, night after night. it's not fair on you to have to live like that. in fact I feel selfish because I want you alive despite that. I'd be there for you with that same pain cycle if it meant you were still around."

unknowingly, the tears have fallen from your own eyes, matt blinks his own away as he removes his gaze on you. youre at a loss for words. you'd neglected observing how other people were dealing with the situation - not completely but enough to have missed that others could see your death the way you see it. it was only a matter of time before yours and matts dynamic switched. you pitied him, it was an obviously complicated situation with no right response or perspective.

you reach your hand over to matts, he looks at your expression and makes a mental note of the pity in your eyes. he secures the grip of his hand in yours, fingers entwined with one another's. your hands hung inbetween the two swings.

"doesn't mean you can pity me either" matt forces a small smile, trying to lighten up the mood. he hadn't intended to let it all slip but he didn't entirely regret it either.

"'m sorry" you whisper and offer the same small smile back at him.

he chuckles a bit, "'s alright. why couldn't you be an asshole? then i wouldnt care this much." he leans his head against the chain of the swing closest to your own.

"I'm not?" you giggle.

"course not. you're you."

────୨ৎ────

NAVIGATION

AU MASTERLIST

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[greyonelost]

Have you ever heard the tragedy of Syril Karn and Dedra Meero? It's not a story the rebels would tell you.

I don't think I will ever be over it. I hate what they did to these characters in episodes 7-12 of season two of Andor. I am whining and this is LONG.

Syril and Dedra were established as intriguing imperials they made you root for with relatable flaws. Both were products of the system, the result of a life of brainwashing. They were tragic and emotionally starved, just like Kylo and Anakin. They were firm believers in the empire but you also somehow really liked them. They were some of the most well developed characters in that show. Both were serious, awkward, emotionally damaged, driven, ambitious, intelligent and with no other friends but each other. Both were starved for recognition. Dedra was capable, highly intelligent and underappreciated, but at the same time she wasn't running around screaming at people like Reva or choking underlings like Vader. She treated her assistant as her equal. Syril was a wide-eyed, idealistic, pure, everyday guy, devoid of malice and distictively rebel-like in his belief in and passion for justice. After an embarrassing failure he had to go back to his emotionally abusive mother. We watched him being starved for the validation he never got and looking for it constantly in his superiors by despertely doing his best. Syril was the one you felt for and related to, Dedra was the one you admired. Rooting for them at that point was inevitable.

Then you observed these sympathetic, unappreciated, traumatised weirdos slowly finding each other. You cheered for them when he saved her, you cheered for them when you saw them happily sharing domestic bliss, you cheered when you saw Dedra stand up to his abusive mom and when you saw Dedra's humanity peak through when she was with Syril. She was becoming softer compared to the Dedra in season one. Living with him and loving him was changing her.

These imperials were some of the most well developed characters in the show. More nuanced, intriguing and relatable than all of the rebels, with the exception of Luthen.

Then the tone noticeably shifted in episode seven with Dedra's untypical reaction to Syril asking questions about Ghorman. It didn't fit her character, it didn't fit the Dedra they had established until now. Remember, that she was an intelligence officer who came from law enforcement, she demonstrated she can think ahead and deal with stress. But now that Syril wants answers, instead of just saying she will explain later, when they are alone, at home, her intelligence is turned off and she starts rambling like she is delusional and forces a kiss on him, like a school girl, clearly to his discomfort. Again, this wasn't the Dedra who we saw dealing pretty well with challenges to her authority and loss of control with Blevin and with Eedy. This scene only made sense as a way to get them to that point of Dedra getting screamed at and choked.

Which scene, turns out, has no redeeming nuances. Or at least they didn't matter. She never tried to resist him, she didn't call the guards on him, she never got angry or even upset that he put his hands on her. She let it go immediately like it was nothing. Because she loved him and she wanted him to stay. I thought this was supposed to mean something. That it would be the first step towards her "Are we the baddies?" epiphany But no, it was revealed to be pointless. Just like that scene of her breaking down in the small room after learning about Syril's death. I thought that as tragic as these scenes were, they would be the first steps in her realisation that she has been brainwashed her entire life. But no, it meant nothing.

I thought her trying to back off from the Ghorman project, her giving the order obviously against her will, were all signs building up to the moment when she is finally done with it. But again, it meant nothing.

I thought they were showing her pain and conflict to build up to the twist of her changing sides but it turned out there is no change of heart for her. As the show progressed, the abuse of Dedra Meero only intensified and you realise with horror that the cruelty is the point. The nuance was just left hanging like a loose thread. Which is why I think the original story was different but was later changed. (Season 1 as a whole was much more coherent, season 2 felt like stitched together but that will be a diffent rant.) They dropped hints of her having humanity in the first half of season 2 and then just took it in the opposite direction. It just didn't make sense. And worse, it was cruel. They literally took away her humanity, they denied her humanity. Just think about it for a moment, think about how sinister and personal and spite driven it is - they took away her humanity and all the nuance that made you feel for her to make it acceptable to abuse her. And also her competence. They took away that too. They DEHUMANISED her.

Another thing that makes me think they changed the story was that they said some people will switch sides in season 2. But then it didn't happen. And no, Syril getting his entire worldview shattered doesn't count. He didn't join the rebels, he just got shocked and then killed off in the moment when he finally figured it out and got some clarity.

It'a a cruel and cynical ending for the most pure, imperial character in the show. And he was also one of the most interesting. They put a lot of effort into developing him - showing him being tortured, starved for recognition, believing in doing the right thing and desperate to do better in any way. But in the end none of it mattered. The writers just had him rejected by his newly found father figure on Ghorman, Carro Rylanz, another one Syril desperately wanted to prove himself to. Syril's last words to Rylanz included the line "I mean you no harm." only for him to be dismissed and later executed by Rylanz point-blank.

Syril Karn was like a child. Even the actor said that. Mentally, he is an adolescent. And that was the real reason Dedra didn't tell him about the true goal of the Ghorman project. She knew he was pure, she knew he couldn't take it. She wanted to protect him from her life. He was her truth, her escape from the life of brutality and lies she was trapped into but couldn't escape. And honestly, I don't think the thought of escaping ever crossed her mind. Just like with Syril, the empire was almost her entire personality. Also, they would never just let them disappear, she knew too much and was too high up. It would be like trying to leave the mafia. She would have been killed immediately. Same thing would happen if she refused to relay the order on Ghorman. They would have just offed her and then a quick holo call from Partagaz telling them to proceed would have made her sacrifice useless. She did try to resist taking the project both with Krennic and Partagaz only to be dismissed. So, she was trying to carve out a life for her and Syril. She was doing it for them, for him. She loved him, she wanted him to be happy. That's why she got him the promotions ("You didn't seem to mind the promotions!"). That's why she got that spy gig for him on Ghorman ("It's good to see you happy.") She never wanted to manipulate him. She could have hired anyone. And it would have been easier for her, because she wouldn't worry so much about their safety. She wanted to protect Syril. ("You were careful?", "You need to go home and pack and be ready to leave.")

That's why it's so hurtful what they did to their relationship. He was the only one she made a connection with, the only one who loved her, the only one she loved and they had him scream at her, choke her, leave her and then die and never be mentioned again. In the end, his love and respect for her didn't matter, her love for him didn't matter. He was a character they used to hurt her just for the sake of it.

And then episodes 10-12 took the torture of Dedra Meero to a whole new level.

First, we see her in the last arc finally capturing Luthen, or as the ISB refers to him, Axis. And this is a moment, when again she was acting out of character. Her toying with Luthen, her smug mustache twirling, villain monologue... Again, her behaviour just didn't fit her intelligence and experience. She was not the type to gloat. She did a monologue on Bix but Bix was already in the chair and the monologue had the purpose to intimidate her and make her talk. In contrast, Luthen was still free, on his own territory and could do something, which he did. An experienced hunter like Dedra would never do the mistake of gloating before arresting her target, especially one that is as dangerous as Luthen. She failed to catch him for years, and when she finally does, instead of quickly arresting him, she does this rookie mistake. Again, you can see how the story was adjusted just for this to be a step in her downfall and have Krennic scream about it in her face.

Then there is the backstabbing Heert plotline. I hated that. Yes, considering the cut-throat work place, it is plausible. But still, she was never domineering to her assistant in any way, she treated him as her equal. So, turning the loyal, competent Heert from season one into an incompetent, jealous, backstabbing jerk really came out of nowhere. Another subplot, that felt like the writers came up with just because they needed to somehow take her down. Like the order from Partagaz to arrest her. The same Partagaz who was impressed with her initiative in season one, would arrest her when she finally caught Axis? I doubt that. The Axis job was taken from her because they wanted her to focus on Ghorman but now that the project is off the table, they would have no problems about her stepping over boundaries when she delivers results. She was rewarded for doing just that in season one.

And I can't help but notice that all the men who respected Dedra Meero in season 1, were systematically turned against her in season 2 (Syril, Partagaz, Heert) and shown to backstab, abandon, disrespect and abuse her. They could have picked any supervisor to show how fascism uses and discards people, but they picked Dedra and turned her fall into a prolonged degradation porn with close shots of her being horrified, intimidated, sobbing and breaking down. And if you think this is about making a point about fascism, I have a bridge to sell you.

And lastly, the Lonni thing. Somehow this intelligence agency that excels in investigation, would be too quick to accuse one of their top hunters of being a rebel spy and discard her just because a colleague went through her files? Again, this felt like the writers just needed her to fall. In that interrogation Dedra killed it, there was no doubt she was honest. No commander, no matter how fascist, will destroy their top and most loyal hunter because of a few slips. That scene, like Dedra's entire final arc, was indulgence in cruelty.

The last moments of her on screen were pure torture. Her getting manhandled again and verbally and physically intimidated by krennic while she is getting increasingly horrified... The close shots of her in the arrest, broken, stripped of rank and disheveled... Her completely broken down and sobbing in narkina 5... Make no mistake, she will not survive more than a month before the last shreds of her dignity and sanity are gone and she jumps on one of those electrified floors. By the time she was sent there, she already had lost everything - her position, her love, the empire discarded her, her dignity and any hope. She had nothing left to live for.

It's pure sadism. No one deserves that except Palpatine. Vader and Hux did much worse things and they got a more dignified death.

It's almost as if they surveyed the reactions to the first season and then decided to please everyone - both the part of fandom who wanted a love story between her and Syril and the misogynists who wanted to see her broken and crushed and her relationship with the loyal Syril who admired her twisted into her manipulating him and him putting her in her place. I have seen many mean comments wishing for Dedra to get the EXACT SAME things the writers did to her in episodes 7-12.

Sadly, it won't be the first time they have done it. During the original trilogy, many men complained that Leia was acting like a space bitch, so Lucasfilm put her in those slave bikini in episode 6 to soften her. And Disney did the same with The Last Jedi. The worst part of Star Wars fandom screamed to the heavens that Rian Johnson ruined their childhood and that's why episode 9 was changed.

That would explain why season 2 of Andor feels like it was stitched together while the first one was flawlessly coherent. It would explain why season 2 felt a bit underwhelming compared to the first one. And why some subplots felt redundant and had no connection to the rest of the story or why they were so prolonged. But it makes sense if the original story was something else and changed at some point. But that's a different rant.

[aricharmm]

and on the contrary i'll reply to everything in order! kinda. i do want to firstly say that i'm not trying to argue with you, i'm just replying with my thoughts because i value your opinion in the same way you've read through mine. all of this is in good faith, and i'm not trying to add more negativity onto your plate. lastly, you're not stupid.

anyways, sure, they can. i made a generalized statement. but children and teens being diagnosed with a pd is way less common than you think. the whole reason most practitioners wait until a client is an adult to diagnose a pd is because a lot of pd symptoms overlap with basic hormone changes that kids/teens go through when growing up, and they have to check that symptoms still remain when your frontal lobe is mostly done developing. in hindsight, i personally had almost all bpd symptoms growing up, but it was always diagnosed as a severe form of depression and gad and it was incredibly difficult to get a bpd diagnosis when i eventually could seek professional opinions beyong my family practitioner.

any kind of pd is something that i strongly believe you shouldn't ever claim to have if you're not diagnosed, because you can easily stigmatize it. self diagnosis is another conversation. but again, i totally understand the take that minors can have a pd, yet it really really really it's much rarer than you think.

yes, not everyone's experience is the same. like i said in my original post, i know the purpose of these kinds of communities is to find comfort in relating to others, and sharing to others that will understand how you feel. that is why i am personally in this kind of space too. my issue is the subconscious enabling that occurs the longer and deeper you stay within these spaces, where you end up in an echo chamber that you don't know how to escape because it's all you've ever known growing up. emphasis on subconscious. again, these kinds of online communities are very predatory and take advantage of the growing minds of kids, and that's what hurts my heart. i'm coming from a place of genuine concern, not criticism. and i'm sorry you were told that by people who fail to support you, i had similar things said to me by my mom growing up and to this day.

however you just said a kid dying can be a good thing. i'm not even going to try to reason with you on that one. that's truly an outlandish take and obviously biased. i wish you the best in unpacking the underlying issues that obliged you to say that.

and it's confusing because in the next breath, you talk about teen suicide and how much it hurts for both the victim and those left behind. i too am someone who has grieved teen suicide, and has also been the teen attempting suicide. i'm deeply sorry for your loss and i know how complicated it is to navigate something so traumatic so early in life, and so recent too. there is never an easy solution or answer to grief, neither is there one for dealing with suicidal intentions yourself. but you're not alone, and i hope you can find solace in that.

i'm not trying to help anyone here, and it's eerie that you think i was. again, it goes to show how these kinds of communities are not in your best interest. not even me. so if me saying that life gets exponentially harder in the future and that living in a bubble does you more harm than good when reality hits you is something that upset you, then you have a long way to go, and i'm sorry life is just mapped out to be that way by default. this world is not built for disabilities.

i don't know you personally. i'm not trying to offend or demean you, or assume anything you're going through. my original post is generalized, opinionated, and not directed towards anyone specifically. if someone takes something positive out of it, i'm glad. if not, i don't really care. if you're one of the latter, i completely understand and again. wish you the best with unpacking things on your own. because you put words in my mouth that i definitely didn't say, and that's a reflection of you. i never said kids need to enjoy their younger years because it's the best time of their lives. i said kids need to take initiative to protect themselves because someone out there (me) genuinely cares about them. if they don't wanna take that advice, fuck around and find out. quite literally the tl;dr of the post.

yes, suicide is always a deeply personal choice. yes, i'm still going to show support and compassion even if i don't know anybody personally because if you don't experience that kind of thing at home, you deserve to experience it online from someone who understands what you're going through. yes, sometimes showing love and support leads to dead ends with some people. that doesn't mean we stop doing it or give up on someone else. this is basic human decency.

“Kids shouldn’t be on jiraiblr!” You’re right, they shouldn’t. They should be enjoying life as a kid. But they’re not, they’re fucking miserable, so shut the fuck up and stop complaining. If that’s all you whine about get the hell off jiraiblr, nobody wants you here.

[cressidagrey]

Are Bee and Felicity autistic? I am autistic and the more I read about them the more of a kinship I feel. I know that there’s issues with the portrayal of autistic people as extremely smart in the media (I am not one of those people. I am very very dumb) but just mannerisms and ways of talking seem to me like they are. Please don’t take this the wrong way I just really connect with them both.

First — thank you so much for sharing this. It's never taken the wrong way, and it means a lot that you feel safe enough to bring it up.

Bee and Felicity haven’t been explicitly written as autistic on purpose. I based Bee pretty much on me as a kid (Though I was not quite that smart 😂) and Felicity is also coloured by some of my own experiences (I was a gifted kid, but I wasn't a genius by far.)

One of the most beautiful things about writing — especially character-driven fiction — is how much of ourselves we see in stories, and how much stories can hold space for our experiences. If you see parts of yourself in Felicity and Bee — their way of moving through the world, their particularity, their brilliance, their sometimes quiet but unshakable loyalty — then that connection is real, and it matters. That kind of kinship is powerful.

You’re absolutely right that there’s a harmful trope in media where autistic characters are often only represented through a “genius” lens, which doesn’t reflect the vast, diverse spectrum of autistic people.

That said, I think what you’re picking up on in Felicity and Bee isn’t just intellect — it’s a specificity. The way they both prefer structure. How Bee is sometimes overwhelmed by the sensory demands of people around her and communicates in a very deliberate, thoughtful way. How Felicity struggles with change and expresses affection in her own unique style. Their deep love for their routines and the people in their lives. Those are traits that many neurodivergent readers will probably recognize — and they were written with care, even if it wasn’t always named.

I myself have never been formally diagnosed with autism, but if you give me one of these online tests, chances I'll ace them with A+ for autism. I definetly see myself in a lot of other neurodivergent folks online and have also found success in a lot of coping mechanisms I have seen. I also have a few neurodivergent family members from my father's side...so a lot of that experience also colours my writing and sometimes bleeds into it.

(I did write Percy Cane in the Stay Through It All series as autistic on purpose...he's pretty much my aunt just as a fictional character 😂)

You’ve found something of yourself in these characters. And that makes them a little bit yours, too.

[ateez-himari]

250515 ; FROM THE THRONE

[NEW MESSAGES FROMM HIMARI]

[AM 9:01] Hanzo nii-chan texted me this saying we look the same ㅎㅎ I don't think so though, that poor baby looks so confused, not a thought behind those eyes

[AM 9:02] No...I was talking about the tiger, not me, the tiny thing doesn't even know it exists. Yes I'm still talking about the tiger-

[AM 9:03] My sister in-law congratulated me first this morning because she saw the post while my big brother was training

[AM 9:03] Hanzo nii-chan was trying to make up for the missed time by sending me videos and texts all at once ㅎㅎ He even told his teammates

[AM 9:04] The members woke me up with so many pastries, they were all really emotional. Hongjoong oppa actually cried, it must mean a lot to him too

[AM 9:04] His words were the most memorable, he said 'we made it, so you can rest now, please don't worry about the future anymore'

[AM 9:04] I guess I shouldn't share too many emotions today, our Tiny seem to be celebrating too ㅎㅎ I think I'm still having a hard time believing it

[AM 9:05] As producers we look up to the people at the top of the charts because we know how much it took to reach these heights, but now that I'm there...

[AM 9:05] I don't know, there's much more to achieve, no doubt about that, but it's kind of scary in a sense? Sorry I'm not making sense, I'm overwhelmed ㅎㅎ

[AM 9:06] It was never about recognition no, music has always been some sense of escape for me. Performing was encouraged by fear, and producing by passion

[AM 9:07] You guys have seen so much over the years, some of you even noticed the changes firsthand right? I hope I can make you and the members proud

[AM 9:08] That's a very complicated question...I'm not in the same mindset as when I wrote 'Shadow' or even 'AM 4:44' but you know, some days have been hard recently

[AM 9:08] There's nothing to blame, Tiny. Not everything is going to piece itself back together even after healing, and you have to live with that. It's what the tattoo around my ear means, nothing will ever be perfect, but even in this there is beauty

[AM 9:08] Look at it this way, parts of my past were very sad, they broke me, took something from me, but without those many songs would have never been created

[AM 9:10] ㅎㅎ T.O.P sunbaenim sent me the billboard post just now with question marks. The truth is I've known for around a month but didn't tell anyone-

[AM 9:10] Since Mingi oppa didn't reveal much about our new apartment, no one knows where it is, but I still covered myself fully to attend schedules just in case

[AM 9:10] How do you guys know...he must have told you. I'm so excited, working on Seventeen sunbaenim's new comeback was amazing! I can't wait for you to listen

[AM 9:11] I know the notifications are blowing up my phone, I figured that BND and Xikers would post about it since I'm their producer but still ㅜ.ㅜ I'm very shy

[AM 9:11] I'll work even harder to maintain my position then ㅎㅎ Anyway, sorry my precious Tiny but it's time to go practice now, we have a performance today! I'm excited, it's been a bit since we went up on stage. Since it's such a special day please cheer as loud as you can �� Love you so much, kisses!

[AM 9:13] that's my girlfriend by the way, stay jealous 😒

Translated from Korean by Google

Taglist ; @prbywoo

[biancasaidstfu]

ok for non book readers who wants to know generally story of the books of s4,5&6, sorry if this is long a but but so that people have general idea I’m sure many things will be changed slightly

in the books Ben meets Sophie at the ball for the first time but she doesn’t give him her name and they share a dance and a tender moment but he was so drunk he doesn’t remember much except that he is obsessed with the sweet girl he danced and something with at the ball. He spends two years trying to find who she is but to no avail and he calls the woman “lady in silver”. One day when he is going to stay at “my cottage” which is a big house at the outskirts of the city that belongs to the family but Ben mainly who spends time there, he hears screams and saves Sophie from getting assaulted, he gets injured, Sophie tends to him as a thank you and realizes he is the one she danced with at the ball two years ago, she knows who he is but he doesn’t know that. They share a moment by the lake while he was naked and they make out. She realizes he doesn’t remember her and since she is a maid he offers her to be his mistress since she is a maid and he can’t marry a maid. She rejects him and get upset by that offer but he blackmails her and force her to work for his family so he can always be near her. She reluctantly agree, he keeps pressuring her to accept that while she keeps rejecting him. He still develops feelings for her and feels conflicted because he still wants the lady in silver not realizing that both are Sophie. Sophie is an illegitimate daughter of an earl and has two step sister the one called Rosamond & the step mother are abusive like Cinderella story. Colin tells Ben that why is he now caring about what society thinks and tells him to marry Sophie. Sophie step mother frame her of a crime and she goes to jail. Pen uncover the whole thing about Sophie and how she was also framed so Pen publish the whole thing in LW to save Sophie. Sophie loves LW btw. The Bridgerton learn everything through LW papers and go save Sophie. B & S get married and live in the my cottage place

Ben book events were years before Colin book so they don’t know that Pen is LW in the books yet so Pen can’t go directly to them to ask them to help Sophie plus she wants to publicly expose Sophie’s step mother so she published that on LW which is the better option to save Sophie. I assume the difference in the show is that Pen will tell the family first before she publish everything and if Ben gets angry that Sophie hid her lady in silver identity from him, Colin can also give him advice about how Sophie having a secret identity doesn’t change who she is and another change is that the evil step sister will learn about Sophie being Lady in silver and possibly pretend that she is her so she can marry Ben instead

Eloise book starts right after Polin book, with her best friend and favorite brother getting married plus her other older siblings too, she feels lonely and each time she goes to spends time with Polin she finds out they are busy fucking lmao so she decides to run away to go visit Philip. Marina is The Bridgerton cousin in the books and isn’t related to Penelope at all in any shape or form. She likes Philip brother George and was supposed to marry him but he dies and her father plus Philip father force them to get married; she has depression and has moments where she not talk at all. Philip father pressure him to have a heir so they have sex but she doesn’t enjoy it. She gets pregnant with twins and give birth later and her depression gets worse. After a while Philip tries to have normal relationship with her but she is mentally unwell. They try to have sex again but in the middle of it she just becomes unresponsive so he stops and never ask her again. Years pass and the kids are 8years old and her depression is just worse and she tries to unaligned herself multiple times. One day she tries to drown herself and gets really sick and dies. When Eloise send condolences Philip responds and they exchange letters. Anyway she runs away to meet him. He only wants a step mother for his kids first and find her talking too much but slowly warms up to her as time pass. The kids prank her a lot but she love her she becomes like the mother they always wanted. He falls in love with her and Eloise finds out that his dad was both physically and verbally abusive to him and Philip is covered by scars. The only person he ever had sex with was Marina and the experience traumatized him but his love for Eloise open him up and him & Eloise basically get freaky a lot. Eloise brothers go fight Philip and force them to get married. Colin is the only one gentle with Philip and talks a lot about missing Pen. Anyway they end up getting married

in the show they already made George be the father of the kids so the icky part that people fight over already changed and he is gentle so far when he talks in the show unlike in the books he is pretty cold so the changes so far are good

Fran loved John but they had issues of getting pregnant. She gets pregnant and miscarry. The other time she gets pregnant, John dies and she miscarries badly this time. She is going through a lot. Michael or Michaela in the show fell in love with Fran the moment they met her but felt guilty about loving his cousin wife so he traveled being colonizer in other countries( thank god that won’t be in the show) and he sleep around a lot. Anyway after John passes the title goes to him and ge wants Fran to stay so he kinda pressure her to marry him. They have a lot of freaky sex, she still has issues with pregnancy but finally get pregnant and gives a birth to a boy. Colin and him used to be kinda friends in school and Colin is the one who tells him to confess to Fran if he really loves her. Michael is kinda shitty and make fatphobic remarks about Pen because she is curvy in his head he doesn’t say it out loud but he refers to her as the pudgy redhead and internally makes fun of Colin for falling in love with her. In the show they already changed a lot so thank goodness to that

btw Colin, Eloise and Fran all get married the same year lmao

Colin is really important to all his siblings relationships and is the one who gives wise reasonable advices all the time so I hope they keep that in the show. Colin is actually the author favorite character and he is all her regency books even the spin off series. He literally shows up suddenly in a scene or two, no other sibling have that. Sure they show up in the ensemble moments but he always gets solo scenes in the books and they usually very important

Thank you for the break down!!!

[make-friends-with-the-rats]

hii!

was wondering if anyone evr found the original hard promises script? all ik is jack’s love interest was a girl named charlie who was cut. this implies that some people have read hard promises-and i can only find the one with sarah, not charlie

That's a fair conclusion to draw and I only wish it were true!

Unfortunately, the original Hard Promises script has never been found or shared anywhere. The information on Charlie comes directly from Bob Tzudiker and Noni White themselves. Specifically, from a January 2012 interview titled "Newsies Opens on Broadway - Interview with the Writers" by Joe Montague for Riveting Riffs Magazine.

In this interview, Noni White explains that Jack's original love interest was a newsgirl named Charlie and that at the end of the film the two of them were to have gone off to Santa Fe together.

She is further quoted:

"When we originally wrote (the story) with Charlie the girl who was the love interest of Jack she lived in a house of ill repute with her aunt and her aunt did not want her to go into that life and so she was really trying to shield her from it. As soon as we sold it to Disney I said to Bob, guess what Bob, goodbye to the house of prostitution. This was a family film and it was just not going to fly. That was changed to [Medda] Larkson (a cabaret style singer)."

In addition to Charlie and her aunt, Bob and Noni also shared that originally the newsies hung out at "an African American juke joint." This would be replaced by Tibby's and then by Jacobi's in the stage adaptation.

Bob and Noni had also intended for Joseph Pulitzer to be a much more complex character, rather than simply the story's villain. I personally think that this aspect of Hard Promises could have been extremely interesting. As Bob Tzudiker noted “Pulitzer would have been in support of these kids if they had been affecting some other business. He was not as bad of a guy as he gets portrayed in [Newsies]”

Circling back to Charlie, Bob and Noni have also commented on her at least two other times that I'm aware of. First in the 1992 DVD Commentary, and then more recently when they attended a performance of Newsies UK:

Top: Quote from the Newsies DVD Commentary: source Bottom: Ryan Kopel (Davey) quote from a Newsies UK interview: source

I'd also like to note, that while Charlie doesn't seem to exist in the version of Hard Promises that we do have, the following might just be in reference to her. After Jack scabs, Sarah goes out at night to confront him in David's clothes. When Jack sees her he asks "That you, Charlie?"

1991 Hard Promises script

If it is our newsgirl Charlie who Jack thought he saw, I find it amusing that Jack mistakes Sarah for her considering that Sarah did replace Charlie's role in the story.

[catherine-clover]

Alright. Time to finish this draft.

@sophieinwonderland

Rejecting dehumanization isn't some lofty moral virtue or a form of tone policing. It's a safeguard against self-deception. This stance isn't to protect others. It's for your own benefit.

Sure, at this moment, you feel confident in your understanding of the world. You stay informed and can clearly distinguish right from wrong. But confidence today will blind you tomorrow, when the boundaries of truth start to shift.

Something new will always come up. New challenges and perspectives constantly emerge. The intense convictions you hold are liable to backfire over time. Mistakes are inevitable. You will be wrong, and eventually, you will stand on the wrong side of history. The question is how quickly you'll get back. But if you've already decided that everyone who disagrees with you is lesser than an animal, that's going to take a long time.

To repeat the old trope, there are a lot of former hippies who are now senior conservatives. Or to point at a more recent example, all the middle-aged TERFs/FARTs taking power. Dehumanization breeds closed minds. This is why it is so often used by closed minds.

And relatedly, no matter how disgusting or horrifying it is to think about, those people are part of the same species as you. They are running the same jelly hardware as you. Many of them are, in a neutral sense, just as intelligent as you, or more so. ("Um actually they're automatically less intelligent because they believe-" No True Scotsman Fallacy.)

This is not calling for "appealing to a shared humanity" I am stating a biological fact that is very important not to forget. That common phrase is shorthand for an appeal to shared human virtue. And if there is none to appeal to, then fine. There are some "low roads" that are effective and necessary tools. But there are many more cursed ones like this that will always fulfill "live long enough to see yourself become the villain".

Do not confuse what humans ought to be with what they are or must be, or what defines them. A human is a living organism of the species Homo sapiens. Refusing to acknowledge your own potential for cruelty and prejudice, even and especially unto the extreme, is much like ignoring your vulnerability to manipulation into a cult, or any scam: losing awareness makes you more susceptible than ever.

This mindset also incentivizes you to drag anyone who opposes you into the dehumanized "other" category. It makes them a lot easier to deal with, because you can do anything, very cathartic things, to an evil subhuman. You will justify your actions as righteous, and be confident in your righteousness.

The real danger isn't hating them. The real danger is how good it feels to hate them. Once you decide your cruelty is righteous, you'll keep escalating to chase that high. And you won't even notice the lock clicking shut on your own mind.

I'm sure you've already heard all of that, of course. I'm sure you've seen these kinds of points made plenty elsewhere. I don't expect to change your mind with a single post. But I'd like to see you defend yourself against this bulk of reason. And when you've finished writing out your response, overbloated as always, I want you to give it a long, slow read and really consider the kinds of arguments you're making.

It's not different when you do it.

[hotvampireadjacent]

one day, everyone will have always been against this. Has been a very good read. It’s about an Egyptian immigrants experience and reflection on the treatment of Palestine and the contradictions in the western world. When I feel like I’m losing my mind it’s, reassuring to remind myself other people in the west do share my believes and I’m not. Alone in my thinking.

Of course, not to put this as woe as me, but more to highlight how easy it can be to feel alone when your politics oppose the empire when you live here. But there is a lot of us, even if it was just 10 or even 1. I wouldn’t want to change my position. The reminder that we’re not the only ones feeling like we’re losing our minds is reassuring.