#but I think it’s out of my system now…..maybe

[palephilosopherautomaton]

Title: Slipstream

You’d think finishing a decades-long dream project — a fully functional, skin-tight power armor that folds into a pocket dimension when not worn — would come with some kind of celebration. Champagne. A parade. Maybe just a quiet, satisfied sigh.

But no. Here I am, hiding in the back of a rust-slick storage container two blocks from a black-market tech hub in Kowloon’s subterranean district, trying to figure out how to keep the military-industrial complex — or more specifically, my father — from finding out I just made something that could rewrite the rules of warfare.

I call it Slipstream. Not just a name. It's a system. Fabric-thin, zero bulk, and bonded to the user on a quantum signature level. You don't wear it. You become it. Nanothreads hold your body in place across microfractures in spacetime, drawing kinetic power from dimensional instability. Translation: you hit harder, run faster, and shrug off bullets like they’re spitballs. And it vanishes on command. No need for a suit locker, a jetpack, or even clothes, technically.

It should be revolutionary. But I can’t patent it. Not without alerting every alphabet agency this side of the Mariana Trench. And my father — Colonel Isaac Rembrandt — would love to get his callused hands on it. Not because he’d understand it. Because he doesn’t need to. He just sees something that makes soldiers harder to kill. To him, that’s always a win.

Never mind that I started this project in rebellion. That every line of code, every alloy fusion and spatial rift calibration was one long "fuck you" to the man who said I’d never be anything more than his legacy.

So now I’m stuck. I’ve got:

A prototype suit keyed to my DNA and nervous system;

A semi-legal dimensional stabilizer embedded in my spine;

And a price on my head from at least two clients I ghosted while sourcing materials.

Time to get creative.

Plan A: Sell the concept anonymously to private buyers via quantum-encrypted dark channels. Problem? The tech's too exotic. Anyone rich enough to afford it is connected enough to trace it back. The power signature alone narrows the origin to a handful of labs — and my fingerprints are everywhere in the quantum resonance.

Plan B: Create a decoy version — bloated, chunky, and crude. Sell that as a “work-in-progress.” Let buyers underestimate the potential. Meanwhile, slowly trickle improved versions under fake identities and shell corps. Draw it out over years. Problem? I don’t have years. My father’s people are sniffing around my old lab already.

Plan C: Test it in the wild. Not for war. For spectacle. Underground fight rings. Urban stunt leagues. Maybe even viral superhero-style media appearances. Hide in plain sight. Let the legend grow until people want the myth, not the tech. And myths are easier to control than blueprints.

So, tonight’s trial run.

I’ve dropped into Neo-Saigon’s overcity sprawl. A dense thicket of neon wires, plastic rain, and rooftops buzzing with drone traffic. My suit hums in my bones — no boot-up sequence, no UI. It just is.

A local gang is moving stolen anti-grav cores. Nothing I care about, except they’re guarded by mercs using exo-rigs — outdated, but mean. Enough to sell a story.

I leap. Ten meters forward, half a second. The slipstream catches, rips spacetime around me into a blur of violet trails. I hit the first rig in mid-air, my palm flat against the armor’s chest. The kinetic feedback bends the metal inward like it’s paper. The merc crumples.

I vanish before his partner can scream. Reappear behind her. A whisper of movement, and she’s unconscious, her weapon clattering against the rooftop.

The whole thing takes twelve seconds.

Now, the feeds light up. Amateur drone footage. Shaky-cam thrillers. A silhouette — faceless, frictionless, fast beyond logic. The net names me “Phantom Vector.” Not my choice, but it’ll work.

I vanish again, back into the shadows.

Slipstream is online.

And if my father ever sees me?

He’ll just see another ghost on the battlefield. One he can’t catch. One that got away.

Let’s see how long I can stay ahead.

You're a genius inventor whose dad is military, and forced you into it. After a decade of work on the side, you've managed to make 'skin tight' power armour. Only, it uses dimensional fuckery. You're now trying to find a way to sell it that won't get back to your dad.

[moonriizing]

dear reader... | 02z (18+)

You came seeking permanence in a place known for its impermanence.  Instead, three men showed you what one unforgettable summer can teach about love, adventure, and letting go.

Genre: destination au, strangers-to-lovers, smut Pairing: ENHYPEN Jake/Sunghoon/Jay x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI, Notes: 20k words. I KNOW, WHY IS IT SO LONG? Guys, it's three men. 15k words is not gonna cover it all, lmao. Loosely based on the 2018 movie, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again!. I was rewatching the movie (for the 9868th time) and thought it would make a great fic because it's messy and dramatic, you know what I'm saying? LMAO. I hope you like this! Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for NCT, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself, otherwise, lmk.

Enjoy~

Paris, 2007

At a small restaurant tucked into a corner in Paris, you sat across from a guy who hadn’t stopped talking since the wine arrived. His name was Jake. You’d met him earlier that afternoon at the hotel. Or more accurately, you’d bumped into him just as he was coming back from lunch, with his paper cup of cold coffee spilling all over your shirt.

He’d looked horrified. In accented English, he started rapid-firing: “Oh god, I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you—are you okay? Did it burn? No, wait, it’s iced. Still—fuck—hang on—”

You were still blinking the splash out of your eye when he lunged forward with a bunch of napkins, dabbing at your sleeve in a panic. That only led to a series of increasingly awkward brushes and even more frantic apologies. At one point, his hand grazed your left boob and he practically launched himself backward.

“Shit—I wasn’t trying to grope you, I swear! I’m not a strange man!”

You were flustered and maybe a little annoyed. But the whole thing was so ridiculous that you just started laughing. Jake, still a little red in the face, had let out a breathy, nervous chuckle of his own. For a few seconds, he just watched you laugh with a slight crease on his forehead and a confused but curious smile on his lips.

You’d eventually stopped laughing and started waving your hand dismissively. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It was just… oh my god,” you trailed off, looking away so you don’t laugh again.

“I know this is probably the worst possible timing but—would you, um—” He paused, cleared his throat, and in one breath and what you now realized was an Australian accent, blurted, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

And now here you were. He was still rambling.

“It’s just been a mess since I got here. First, the hotel mixed up my reservation, then I couldn’t figure out the train system, and don’t even get me started on the guy at the station who yelled at me in French—I think it was French. I don’t know. I really thought this trip would be like… I don’t know, healing or something?”

He paused only to take a sip of wine, then set the glass down with a sigh.

“I’m not even the spontaneous type, you know? I plan everything. But I thought, hey, maybe I’ll go off the grid for once. Have my little adventure. And so far, it’s just been a lot of me getting lost and getting sworn at in French.”

“They were probably just saying ‘hi,’” you offered, shrugging.

“Yeah, maybe. But I probably should’ve just stayed home,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Played with my dog, or something.”

You rested your chin on your hand, half a smile tugging at your lips as you watched him go on. He talked a lot about himself, but not in a way that he was trying to impress you. He was just… nervous. A little frantic, even. But there was something about the way he talked earnestly and a bit self-deprecatingly that made you want to lean in and listen. It was kind of cute.

He was kind of cute.

Jake glanced up mid-sentence. “Sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I don’t usually talk too much, but I can’t help it. You’re just so…” he trailed off and sighed. “Is it boring? Am I boring you?” he added, looking a little apologetic.

You shook your head. “Not at all. Please, I like listening.”

He smiled, relieved, and you found yourself smiling back.

Two days ago, you’d been somewhere else entirely. Standing at the airport with your two best friends, both trying not to cry, both saying you were being dramatic, that you were running away. Maybe you were. But you liked to think of it as ‘starting over’ instead.

The moment your graduation cap hit the floor of your shared apartment, you knew your youth was over, and that perfect, cookie-cutter life waiting back home would catch up to you. You didn’t want that. So you packed your bags and chose your own path.

Corsica. An island off the coast of France, where you could be whoever you wanted and do whatever you wanted.

You hadn’t made it to Corsica yet. You hadn’t even figured out how to get there. But you weren’t in a hurry. So for now, you wandered Paris. And somehow, you’d ended up here—with a very cute stranger who couldn’t stop talking.

After dinner, you ended up walking along the Seine and Jake had stopped talking.  The silence was a little startling, like someone had hit pause on a very fast, very chaotic radio broadcast. But it wasn’t awkward. He kept close but not too close, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly against the wind.

The city lights reflected on the river, making it glimmer as you basked in the quiet and the beauty around you. Paris looked like something out of a movie, and you found yourself slowing your steps just to take it all in.

“Paris is kind of magical,” you said, just to say something.

Jake nodded slowly, then said, “It’d be a lot more magical if the people were a little nicer.”

You laughed. “Still mad about that guy at the train station?”

“He called me a donkey.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Un âne,” he said, in a terrible accent, pulling out a small dictionary from his coat pocket. “I looked it up later.”

You laughed harder, and he gave a self-pitying sigh that only made it worse. “I don’t even know what I did. I think I just stood too close to him.”

You kept walking, your steps in sync without meaning to.  It seemed like Jake had finally gotten comfortable around you. He’d stopped yapping and the nervous crease on his forehead had disappeared at some point. He asked where you were from, how long you were traveling, what made you pick Paris. You answered casually, carefully. Bits and pieces. Enough to keep the conversation going without opening up too much.

But it was a good conversation, and a good walk. You enjoyed talking to him and hearing his thoughts. And from the way he looked at you when you talked, it seemed like he enjoyed it too.

When you finally made it back to the hotel, Jake lingered with you in the lobby, fidgeting with the room key in his hand. He was getting nervous again, you could tell by the way his forehead was creased, and how he couldn’t look you in the eyes.

“What?” you prompted.

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, um,” he said, voice suddenly a little hoarse, “do you… wanna go out with me tomorrow?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Are you gonna spill another drink on me?”

“No,” he said quickly. Then added, “Not on purpose.”

You bit back a smile.

“I just—” he exhaled, looking a little too earnest, “Meeting you was kind of the only good accident I’ve had this whole trip. So, if you don’t have plans, how about spending the day with me?”

That sold it. You smiled and said, “I would love to, Jake.”

He looked relieved, grinning at the carpet before finally meeting your eyes again.

You didn’t bother setting an alarm. When you wandered downstairs the next morning, Jake was already waiting in the lobby, sipping a cappuccino and tapping his foot like he wasn’t sure whether he was early or late.

His eyes lit up when he saw you. “Hey,” he said, standing up a little too fast. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

You raised a brow. “I said I will.”

“Yeah, I know, but sometimes people say yes and don’t mean it. And I’ve been ghosted before. Not that I thought you would. Just—anyway. Hi.”

You laughed and said hi back.

“You look good today,” he said, smiling toothily. “And yesterday too. I’m sure you look good every day.”

“Dude, stop,” you chuckled, already making a beeline for the exit. “Let’s just go.”

“Of course! Yeah!”

The plan, if there was one, was to wing it. You both agreed on no maps and no real agenda. Jake suggested museum-hopping, and it sounded good enough. He brought a little foldable tourist map “just in case,” which you teased him for.

You wandered through halls of oil paintings and marble statues, whispering observations like you were museum critics. Jake tried to guess what every sculpture was about—usually something tragic or wildly inappropriate. He made you laugh loud enough to earn a few shushes from other people.

“‘Femme Étendue avec un Chien.’ Sounds like a thriller.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a woman napping with her dog.”

“Still. Could be a thriller. The dog murdering its master kind of thriller.”

You got shushed by a woman in a long wool coat. Jake mimed zipping his lips but started talking again five seconds later.

After that, you ended up in Montmartre, where artists lined the cobbled square, painting everything from landscapes to caricatures. Jake insisted you both get one drawn together by a grumpy man with yellow-tinted glasses who didn’t say a word the entire time. When he finally flipped the sketch around, Jake let out a strangled noise.

“Is that my nose? I look like a pelican.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “I kind of love it.”

While you were there, a man tried to sell you a tiny Eiffel Tower keychain for twenty euros and Jake got so flustered trying to say ‘non merci’ that you ended up dragging him away before he accidentally bought three.

You shared a crepe from a street vendor and walked into luxury boutiques, the kind where everything smelled expensive and the saleswomen looked allergic to budget travelers. You ran your fingers along a buttery-soft leather purse with no visible price tag.

Jake hovered behind you, blinking at the rows of gleaming handbags.

“How much do you think this is?” you asked, holding up a small purse.

“Mm… two hundred?”

You tilted the bag to find the tag. “Try two thousand.”

Jake recoiled like it burned him. “Does it read your mind? What are we paying for?”

“The aesthetic, obviously,” you said, striking a mock-model pose.

In another shop, you pointed at a pair of heels that looked like crystal. Jake pointed at a maroon scarf and said, “You’d look good in this.”

You scoffed. “If I can afford it.”

Jake tilted his head as he searched for the price tag. “Oh, I think this is the only thing we can afford from here.”

You hummed, narrowing your eyes like you were actually considering it. “Exactly how many crepes can we buy for one of those?” 

He shrugged. “Twenty, give or take?”

“Yeah, nope.”

“Big nope,” he agreed, carefully putting the box back on the shelf.

By late afternoon, your feet were starting to ache. You tried to hide it, but Jake noticed.

“I know you’re tired, but we have one more stop. We’re gonna need to take a train, but I promise it’s worth it.”

You grimaced, and for a second, Jake looked like he was about to give up, but he shook his head and put on a determined face. “You can’t come to Paris and not see the Eiffel Tower.”

That made you nod. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

He took you to the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t part of the plan—you didn’t have one, but you weren’t expecting it, not really. You’d caught glimpses of it during the day, rising above the city like a paper cutout, but standing under it at dusk felt different.

It glowed. That was the only word for it. Golden lights stretched up into the sky, and there was this hush, like the whole city had quieted just for a moment to let you take it all in.

You ended up on the lawn across the street from the Eiffel Tower, eating sandwiches from a shop you passed on the way there. The sky was turning lilac. You chewed slowly, taking it all in—lights blinking, the faint sound of a violin from somewhere down the street, the grass slightly damp beneath your coat.

“I used to think I’d work for a big hotel chain,” you said after a while. “You know, like… the Four Seasons or The Ritz.”

Jake turned his head to look at you.

“But later on, I decided I wanted one of my own,” you went on. “A little hotel. Cozy and nice. Something that feels like home for people who are far away from theirs.”

Jake hummed thoughtfully, swallowing a bite before saying, “I’d stay there.”

You turned to him. “You would?”

He nodded. “But only if there’s room service. And robes. I’m very fancy.”

You snorted. “We’re eating 2 euro sandwiches in probably the most expensive city in the world.”

“Only for now,” he replied proudly. “We’d both be doing much better and earning much more by the time you’ve built that hotel.”

You didn’t say anything to that. You just smiled at your sandwich and took another bite.

In your dimly lit hotel room, you sat on the edge of your bed, laughing at something Jake had said. You were leaning your head against the four-poster as you watched Jake in his spot on the carpeted floor, fumbling with the wine bottle and the paper cup.

He’d brought it out casually in the elevator, half-joking that he’d bought it on his first day here to take back home, but he was willing to share it with you. One thing led to another, and now here you were, drinking warm Bordeaux out of paper cups and toasting to the kind of day that felt too good to leave unfinished.

Jake finally managed to pour without spilling and handed you your paper cup.

“I wish this place at least had room service,” he sighed, shaking his head at the cup.

“You should’ve gone to a bigger, more posh hotel then,” you teased before taking a sip.

It was fruity, a little warm, and probably not very good, but in that moment, it felt perfect enough.

You talked less now. The day had wrung most of it out of you. Jake had leaned back against the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted toward the ceiling as he listened. He was just there—warm and a little flushed, wine-stained cup cradled in one hand.

He let out a contented sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever walked this much in one day.”

You snorted. “You say that like you didn’t make me climb half of Montmartre.”

Jake gave you an indignant look. “I did make you climb, but it was me who almost died trying to keep up with you.”

“You’re such a baby,” you laughed, nudging his knee with your foot. He caught it in his palm.

You looked down, and so did he. Neither of you said anything.

Then his hand slid up, fingers wrapping loosely around your ankle—carefully, almost cautiously. You watched the way he tilted his head to meet your eyes, searching, communicating something you could understand clearly, oddly enough.

You could say it was the alcohol, willing you into something you usually wouldn’t do sober. But you knew that would be a lie. You weren’t drunk, not even tipsy. You knew what you were doing when you gave him the same look he was giving you.

Your heart picked up as Jake’s hand traveled up your leg, pausing at your knee. He leaned in, soft and slow, and planted a kiss on your skin.

You didn’t say anything. And to him, your silence—and the way you were looking at him—was encouragement enough to keep going.

He kissed the side of your knee again, a little firmer this time. When you still didn’t stop him, he shifted closer. His hand slid up your leg, pausing just above your knee. 

“Tell me if this is—if I’m reading this wrong,” he said softly, his voice lower than before but you could hear he was a little nervous.

“You’re not,” you said softly, offering a shy smile.

Jake gave a small, almost bashful smile, like he was relieved but still a little uncertain. Then he leaned in, placing a hand beside your hip as he kissed you. He missed your mouth the first time, catching the edge of your lip.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

You laughed a little against his mouth. “It’s fine. Come here.”

That helped. He kissed you again, properly this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other propped him up on the bed. Still, even as it deepened, he wasn’t rushing. You could feel how careful he was, like he didn’t want to startle you or like he wasn’t sure this was really happening.

When you tugged his shirt up, he hesitated for a second before helping you take it off, eyes darting to yours like he was checking again.

“You sure?” he asked in a whisper.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah. Just… kind of feels unreal.”

That made your chest ache in a good way. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his cheek, and said, “It’s real.”

He let out a breath, nodding as he touched your waist, thumbs brushing your skin like he wanted to be gentle even now. His shyness didn’t last long once you pulled him close again, his confidence creeping in the moment he saw you responding with your hands on him, and your breath hitching under his touch.

Jake took care of the rest, his hands sliding under your top with more certainty now. His palms were warm, fingertips grazing up your sides, over your ribs, until you raised your arms and let him pull the fabric over your head. His gaze flickered downward, then back up again, clearly trying not to stare but staring anyway.

You felt beautiful under his gaze, the kind of beautiful that didn’t come from lighting or lingerie or careful timing, just the way he looked at you. Like he wanted all of you, and genuinely so.

“You’re—” he started, then bit his lip, trying to compose himself. “You’re beautiful.”

You reached for him, pulling him in until your lips met again, slower this time, deeper. When you moved further up onto the bed, Jake followed, crawling up between your legs as you tugged at the waistband of his jeans. He was quiet but not passive. His hands were all over you now, exploring, touching, squeezing with a gentle firmness that made your heart skip.

As he pulled your bottoms down and tossed them aside, his gaze trailed over every inch of bare skin with eyes of adoration and amazement. He hesitated just long enough for you to notice. His fingers were brushing the top of your thigh, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You reached for him instead, undoing the button of his jeans with more confidence than you felt. “Jake,” you prompted.

“Yeah,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He kissed you again, one hand traveling down from your boob to your belly, and futher down to cup your sex. He worked you up for a few moments, fingers circling your clit clumsily but with just enough pressure to make you moan.

And when he finally decided to push into you, he did it painfully slow, still being cautious. He held still, breathing hard, his hand sliding under your thigh to pull you closer. His other hand gripped the sheet near your head like he needed something to hold on to. 

You let out a soft gasp, your back arching as you adjusted around him, and he kissed your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he could reach.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded again. “Yeah. You can move.”

He obliged and moved slowly at first, deeply, the kind of rhythm that made your toes curl.  He kept it up until the tension coiled tight in both your bodies, until his restraint began to slip. The room filled with breathy, lewd sounds—your moans, his whispered curse when you clenched around him, the muffled thump of the headboard as his thrusts grew more desperate.

You bit your lip, eyes shut tight as you tried not to be too loud. The hotel was cheap, and the walls were unforgivingly thin.

“Jake, please,” you whimpered, mouth parting but barely making a sound, even as he drove you to the edge.

“Please what?” he asked softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek and kissing your forehead.

You gripped his arms tighter, holding his gaze. “Harder.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. With a low grunt, he adjusted his grip on your hips and drove into you harder, the rhythm picking up, deeper now, less cautious. Your head tipped back against the pillows, a sharp moan slipping out before you could stop it. Jake buried his face in your neck to muffle his own.

Each thrust made the headboard knock just slightly louder. You barely registered it anymore. All you could think about was the heat of his skin, the stretch of him inside you, and the desperation in the way he held you like he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you feel so—” He cut himself off with a breathy groan, hands sliding up your sides. “You okay?”

You couldn’t answer with words. You just nodded frantically and wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, drawing him in deeper. He gasped, nearly losing his rhythm.

Your hand tangled in his hair as your other clawed at his back, trying to hold yourself together as he kept hitting just the right spot. The coil in your belly wound tight. You were close. His movements turned erratic, one hand slipping down to your clit, clumsily rubbing in tight circles until your body seized around him.

Your orgasm hit like a wave, crashing over every nerve. You clung to him, gasping out his name, your entire body tensing, shaking, unraveling.

Jake didn’t last much longer. The second your walls clenched around him, he let out a strangled groan, buried as deep as he could go, and spilled into you. His whole body trembled with it, the hand near your head fisting the sheet like he needed to anchor himself to something.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you said anything and it was just the sound of your breathing, oddly too loud in the quiet room.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then your cheek. And finally, your lips—slow and breathless and almost shy again.

Then, quietly, Jake asked, “Did you like it?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was messy, and he looked so earnest that your heart squeezed a little.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I really did.”

He let out a relieved breath, then grinned bashfully, like he couldn’t quite believe this had happened.

“Good,” he said, tucking his face into the crook of your neck again. “’Cause I really liked it too.”

You chuckled. “You did well.”

He let out a soft laugh, forehead pressed to yours. “I think I just saw stars.”

He fell on the space beside you, staring at the ceiling as you both caught your breath. You curled up beside him, nuzzling against his chest that was still damp with sweat. You wanted to say something, but sleep was already catching up to you.

Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then he let out a deep, contented breath.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, suddenly wide awake. You shifted to look at him, but his breathing was already slowing, his features softening.

He was fast asleep before you could say anything.

The wind blew at you as soon as you stepped off the bus, salty and cool and strong enough to tug at your sun hat. You held it in place and squinted up at the sky. It was bright and beautiful, the vivid blue hue decorated with scattered clouds.

You adjusted the handle of your carrier and followed the other passengers toward the ferry terminal. A seagull screamed overhead. Someone lit a cigarette beside you. Around you, people were chattering in what you could make out was French and some Italian. It was much noisier here than it was in Paris. Less posh and polished, more human and real.

The morning felt raw, a little too bright after a night like that. But you didn’t look back.  Corsica was next. That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

The port was small—just one wooden pier stretching out into the water, a few moored boats bobbing gently with the current. It was a far cry from Paris, or even the bus station you’d left this morning. Everything here moved slower, like time itself had decided not to keep up.

You walked up to the small booth, eyes darting to the analog clock above the door. 17:10.

Last Departure - 17:00Next Departure - Tomorrow, 7:10

“No, no, no,” you muttered, quickening your pace. 

You shoved past a wobbly gate that probably wasn’t meant to be opened, lugging your bag like it was a boulder. “Wait!” you screamed at the ferry, your voice cracking as you sprinted along the creaky wooden pier.

“Wait for me!” you shouted, flailing your arms like a maniac.

The ferry let out a long, mournful horn and started to pull away, the wake rippling through the still water.

“Turn back!” you shrieked, weaving past a stack of plastic crates and an unimpressed fisherman. “Turn back! Damn it!”

You reached the end of the pier, panting, face red, chest burning. The ferry was already further on the horizon.

“Seriously?!” you yelled, flailing your hat in the air. “You couldn’t wait five more minutes?!”

You dropped your suitcase with a thud and bent over your knees, catching your breath. “Merde.”

“Missed your boat?” said a man from behind you.

You straightened, whipping around with a glare reserved for backhanded comments and people who cut in lines. “Wow, what gave it away?” you deadpanned. “The shouting or the visible despair?”

The man smiled smugly. His dark hair was pushed back neatly, his button-down was crisp and linen, and on his nose sat a pair of sunglasses you could swear you’d seen on display at Prada yesterday. Definitely not a local. And definitely not someone who’d taken three buses in the past ten hours.

“Both?” he said, tilting his head. “That’s too bad. The next ferry isn’t until tomorrow.”

You sighed, all the fight draining from your body at once. “Yeah. I can read.”

He clicked his tongue, stepping closer to the edge of the dock beside you. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” he said, “if someone had a boat that could take you to the island?”

You let out a dry laugh. “It sure is. But it’s a little early to start hallucinating.”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking over you with mild amusement.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked past you, toward a gleaming white yacht docked not ten feet away.

You blinked.

He stepped onto the deck like he’d done it a hundred times before, then turned back to look at you with an infuriatingly pleasant smile. You lifted your chin, brushed your hair out of your face, and stepped forward.

“Looks like someone did have a boat that could take me to the island,” you said, flashing your best smile. “If only the owner was nice enough.”

He glanced at the yacht behind him, then back at you. “Oh, this isn’t mine. I just stand here pretending it is so women will fall for me.”

You snorted. “Gross.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning. “But it works.”

You scoffed, laughing under your breath as you waved him off and turned away. “Right. Bye, then.”

“I’m kidding,” he called out, still laughing. “Come aboard. My boat’s heading that way too, and I’ve got spare rooms.”

Your feet moved before your brain could offer a single warning, climbing onto the docked yacht without hesitation. No passport check, no credentials, no double-take at the stranger with movie-star hair and designer sunglasses. Just vibes. Your mother would’ve had a stroke.

Or, more likely, she would’ve shaken her head and muttered something about how you always liked to fuck around and find out.

The man turned just in time to help you onto the deck, his hand warm around yours. “I’m Jay, by the way.”

You told him your name and he chuckled. “Next time, you might wanna do a double-take and get to know people before getting into their boat,” he said. 

You laughed at that, though you agree he was right. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

You glanced around the yacht. Sleek, white, and clean enough to eat off of the floor. A compact galley gleamed to the left, and a staircase led to what you assumed were the sleeping quarters.

“This is Captain Luc,” Jay said, nodding to a man in a white polo who gave you a quick salute before going back to his maps. “That’s Sofia, our cook. Pierre and Manu help out with navigation and maintenance. Don’t worry, they’re all very well-paid and only mildly resent me.”

Sofia gave you a wink as she passed with a basket of fruit, and Manu barely looked up from where he was scrubbing something on the deck.

“Nice setup,” you said, setting your suitcase down with a thunk that felt very out of place on such pristine floors.

Jay smiled. “It’s not huge, but it gets the job done.”

“That’s what they all say,” you quipped, giggling.

His grin widened. “I like you already.” He turned and motioned for you to follow him below deck. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

You followed him down a narrow staircase and into a hallway of sleek wood and soft lighting. He opened a door to a small but clean room with a porthole view and a surprisingly fluffy-looking bed.

“This one’s cozy,” he said. Then, casually added, “Mine’s a bit nicer though. Bigger bed. Better sheets. Better lighting, if that matters.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bet the women loved the lighting in your room.”

Jay leaned on the doorframe, still grinning. “They loved me more, but yeah, the lighting did suit their taste too.”

“Great.” You stepped into the room, tossed your bag onto the bed, and gave him a sweet smile. “I like dim rooms like this one better.”

But Jay wasn’t backing down yet. “You’d be surprised how effective dimmers can be.”

You gave him your fakest smile and nodded to the door. “Thanks for accommodating me. Please close the door on your way out.”

Jay chuckled and pushed off the doorframe. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be dimming the lights in advance.”

He disappeared down the hall, leaving the scent of some expensive cologne lingering behind him.

You looked around the room again, shook your head, and flopped back onto the bed.

The sun had set by the time you made it up to the deck. The sky was starry and cold, and the sea was calm, stretching endlessly in all directions. Dinner had been set on a small table with linen napkins, wine glasses, and even candles.

Jay looked up from the magazine he was reading, straightening up when he saw you walking in. “Good evening. How was your nap?” he asked, motioning to the seat across from him.

“Refreshing,” you replied, eyeing the setup. “First, you tried to seduce me with good lighting. Now it’s sea bass?”

He laughed. “Can’t a guy just offer dinner without an ulterior motive?”

You sat. “Sure, he can. But to me, you’re a walking ulterior motive.”

“Please,” he chuckled. “I just like to make my guests feel special.”

“How many guests have there been?”

Jay poured you a glass of wine and handed it over. “Too many. You’re my favorite, though.”

You smirked as Sofia walked over to fill your glass with wine. “You’re really going for it, huh?”

“Just enough to keep you entertained,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. “If I go too hard, you’ll run. If I don’t try, I’m wasting this view.”

“You mean me or the sea?”

He tilted his glass toward you. “Both. Though you’re slightly more distracting.”

Dinner was actually good. The fish was cooked perfectly, and the wine was expensive and tasted like it. Every so often, a crew member drifted in and out, clearing plates or topping off wine like it was just any ordinary day. Jay, for his part, didn’t stop flirting for more than thirty seconds at a time.

“So where exactly were you running to before you missed the ferry?” he asked, leaning in like he actually wanted to hear the answer.

“Some small village in Corsica,” you said, twirling your fork. 

“Vacation?”

You shrugged. “Immigration? I’m moving there.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Why?”

“Identity crisis?” you offered with a chuckle. “Nothing really. Just trying to figure things out. Make something for myself.”

“Ah,” he said, sipping his wine. “My favorite kind of woman.”

“I’m sure you say that about every kind of woman.”

“Not to every kind,” he replied, smirking. “Just the ones I like.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help chuckling.

“Anyway,” he said after a beat, cutting into his food, “I may not look like it, but I’m kind of figuring things out too. So… I get it.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m sure you’ll get there eventually.”

“I feel like we should toast to that,” he said, lifting his glass. “To starting over and making something of ourselves.”

You clinked yours gently against his. “To strange men and questionable decisions.”

After dinner, the two of you drifted toward the front of the yacht. You leaned against the rail, watching the faint outline of the horizon and the stars dotting the night sky.

Jay stood beside you, close but not touching. His wine glass dangled loosely in his fingers. “Not a bad way to spend a missed ferry, huh?” he said.

You hummed. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve ended up on a fishing boat with no wine.”

“Or worse,” he said, “with someone boring.”

You glanced at him. “Fine. I’ll concede and say you’re not that boring.”

Jay smirked, eyes on the sea. “I can already imagine how broken my heart would be once you leave this boat tomorrow.”

You snorted. “Did that line ever work for you? Don’t tell me it did, because I know it didn’t.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you’d be surprised. It’s my best line.”

“No, it’s not,” you replied, shaking your head and taking a sip from your glass. 

“It is, though,” Jay insisted, bright grin gleaming under the light. “Although, I can see that it doesn’t work on you, and that’s just making me fall in love with you even more.”

“Stop,” you chided softly, nudging his arm with your elbow. “I won’t have sex with you.”

“Why not?”

You looked over at him, smirking. “We literally only just met.”

He bumped you back with a grin “And you’re not that kind of girl?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, then paused. “Usually,” you added, looking away.

Jay chuckled heartily, taking one step away. “Fine. But it is true that I’m falling in love with you.”

“Yeah,” you sniggered, rolling your eyes. “I'm getting that a lot these days.”

The next day arrived with the soft rock of the yacht and sunlight pouring through the porthole window. You stirred awake at noon, disoriented for a second before remembering the events of the day before—missed ferry, expensive yacht, handsome stranger with very white teeth.

By the time you made it to the deck, the coastline of Corsica was already coming into view. It was closer now and you had specifically pointed out a tiny village by the coast when the captain asked where you wanted to be delivered to.

The village was small, charming in that rustic way travel blogs loved to romanticize—whitewashed walls, terracotta roofs, little boats bobbing in a quiet harbor. It looked peaceful and safe. Like the kind of place where things might finally slow down for you.

Jay was already up, leaning casually on the rail with a coffee in hand and sunglasses perched on his nose like he hadn’t stayed up half the night trying to charm you out of your room.

“Sleep well?” he asked without looking.

You stepped beside him and inhaled the salt-thick air. “Like a sloth. Must be the ocean breeze. Or the sheer emotional exhaustion of your flirting.”

He chuckled. “You wound me. I’m not a flirt, I’m a charmer.”

“Does saying that help you sleep better at night?” you asked, stretching your arms over your head.

“Most of the time,” he said, grinning. Then he nodded toward the dock. “You’re up next. Corsica awaits.”

You glanced at the approaching land, heart flickering with something between nerves and excitement. “Oh, it’s a beauty. Are you sure you won’t stop by and explore the island before you head to Sardinia?”

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m a little behind schedule.” He turned to face you fully, just for a moment. “It’s a shame, though. I was starting to enjoy your company.”

“Was?”

“Am,” he corrected, gently. “Though I suspect I’ll be enjoying the memory of you more than anything else.”

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling anyway. “Well, thanks for the ride. And the fish. And for not being a strange man who liked to kidnap unsuspecting tourists who missed their ferries.”

Jay laughed a little too hard, head lolling back. When he recovered, he was wiping small tears from the corners of his eyes. “We’ll see each other again, though. I’m sure of it.”

You blinked at him. “That sounded oddly ominous.”

He winked. “Then I said it right.”

The yacht bumped gently against the dock. A crew member waved you toward the exit. You gave Jay a last look, one corner of your mouth lifting in amusement.

“Take care, Playboy.”

“You too, Miss Not-That-Kind-of-Girl.”

You descended the ramp with your suitcase thumping behind you, the sun warming your shoulders and your next destination waiting just ahead.

Behind you, the yacht peeled away from the dock and disappeared around the curve of the coast. But Jay’s last words echoed anyway.

We’ll see each other again.

The village was even lovelier up close. Narrow stone streets wove between crumbling old buildings, flower boxes popping color out of every window. Locals moved slowly, like they had all the time in the world. It felt like a place untouched by urgency, like nothing truly bad could happen here.

You wandered without direction, letting your feet take you uphill, away from the port and toward the cliffs that framed the coastline. The sea stretched endlessly below, crashing in soft rhythms. For a while, you just stood there and stared at it, arms folded loosely, wind tugging at your clothes. You could already picture the postcards.

Then, further ahead, something caught your eye.

It sat like a relic from another lifetime: a grand, slightly crumbling mansion with tall shuttered windows and ivy crawling halfway up the walls. The gate stood open, a “FOR SALE” sign bolted crookedly to the wrought iron. Grass had grown wild, and the gravel path was broken and overgrown, but the bones of the place were beautiful. In your mind’s eye, you could picture the grandeur and the majesty of the place.

You hesitated for a second, then stepped through the gate. The front door wasn’t locked and inside, the air was stale but not unpleasant. The ceilings were high, the rooms wide and flooded with light from broken windows. It smelled faintly of dust and sea. You moved carefully, your footsteps echoing across tiled floors and creaking wood.

In your mind, it all changed. You saw fresh white paint, wide glass doors, airy curtains that fluttered in the breeze. You pictured soft linens and warm breakfasts, travelers coming in from the harbor with sand still on their skin. You could almost hear the clink of plates in a bright little dining room and laughter echoing through the halls.

You gasped at the sheer excitement of it all, covering your mouth as you looked around the place. Then you shrieked and started twirling around. You stopped just in time, breathless at the edge of the stairs.

“This is it,” you muttered to yourself, eyes still wide. “This is the place.”

You turned to leave, determined to find out if the place was still for sale and if your savings was enough to buy it. But just as you were stepping out of the big double doors, large drops of rain started hitting the floor and your head.

The downpour came instantly, heavy and fast, drenching the gravel path before you. You froze at the doorway, then stepped back inside. The once quiet halls were filled with the sound of raindrops battering the roof and the old windows, sheets of it cascading off the eaves. There was no point trying to make a run for it.

So you wandered a little deeper into the house, hugging your arms to yourself. 

“Just for a few minutes,” you murmured aloud, brushing a cobweb off a dusty banister. “I’m sure it’s just passing by.”

But hours passed and the rain didn’t let up.

What started as a drizzle had turned relentless, and by late afternoon, it was hard to tell whether the sky was getting darker from the storm or the approaching dusk. The old house groaned occasionally with the wind. Water pelted the windows like tiny stones.

You paced for a bit, hugged your knees for a while, then tried pacing again. The floorboards creaked. Somewhere upstairs, something thudded. It could’ve been the wind. Or ghosts. You chose not to think about it.

“I love this place,” you muttered to yourself. “I just don’t want to die here.”

With the rain still going strong and no sign of stopping, you resigned yourself to the possibility of staying the night, miserable, damp, and slightly haunted. You pulled your bag closer, rummaging for something that could function as a light source. Cellphone? Dead. Flashlight? Obviously, you didn’t have one. You were sure you had a lighter, though. It was your friend’s that you’d nicked at some point before leaving for France.

Just as you were deep into your luggage looking for the lighter, you heard footsteps. Your head jerked up. Then another footstep, then the sound of the front door creaking.

You froze. You weren’t imagining it—someone was inside!

Your mind raced. Was it the owner? Were you about to be arrested for trespassing? Was it a real estate agent with unfortunate timing? Or worse, some awful drifter who wandered into empty buildings looking for lone women to murder in cold blood?

The footsteps were getting closer. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Without thinking, you grabbed the closest thing—a splintered piece of wood from a broken table leg—and backed into the shadow of the stairwell, gripping it like a weapon.

They were coming down the main hall with steady, heavy steps. When the figure appeared in the doorway, you lunged.

Or, well, tried to.

A startled yelp came out of both of you as the man blocked your swing just in time, catching your wrists with both hands. “Whoa—whoa—hey!” he gasped. “I’m not—! I’m not here to rob you! Or—or murder you!”

You stared at him, breathless, wood still clutched in your hands. “Then what the hell are you doing here?!”

“Trying not to die of hypothermia,” he said quickly. He had a soaked jacket, a backpack slung off one shoulder, and water dripping from the ends of his hair. “And, uh—avoiding flying furniture, apparently.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m—I’m Sunghoon! Park Sunghoon!”

You didn’t relax yet. “Are you the owner?”

“No,” he said. “Are you?”

You hesitated. “…No.”

He slowly let go of your wrists. You slowly lowered your arm. The two of you stared at each other, breathing hard.

“Well,” you said after a few seconds, sighing in relief. “This is definitely not how I imagined meeting someone today.”

He blinked. Then laughed. “Yeah, me neither.”

You both stood there for a while, listening to the rain hammering the roof like it had no plans of stopping. You glanced at him. “Think it’ll let up soon?”

Sunghoon didn’t even look outside. “Nope.”

“…You sound so sure.”

He shrugged out of his wet jacket. “I just know a thing or two about weather.”

“Okay, Weatherman.” You made a face. “Fantastic. So what, we just wait it out? Sit on the floor until morning?”

“There’s probably a fireplace somewhere,” he said, tugging off his shoes and shaking out his soaked sleeves. “A place like this has to have one.”

You sighed, shuddering at the sight of him in wet clothes. You then turned to your suitcase and flung it open. You first found the lighter, turned it on, and rummaged through your clothes for a t-shirt.

You found a plain white oversized sweater and handed it to him. “Here.”

Sunghoon hesitated. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You said so yourself. The rain isn’t letting up anytime soon.”

He sighed, but he looked grateful when he accepted it. “Thanks.”

You turned away as he got dressed, fixing your gaze on a hallway up ahead. “I think I saw the fireplace over there earlier.”

Walking together, with the lighter illuminating the dark halls, the two of you found it the old, soot-caked hearth in what might’ve once been a formal sitting room. Tall windows lined the walls, and you could see lightning flash beyond the horizon. The fireplace was cold and cobwebbed but intact.

“Found our survival base,” you said, voice echoing off the high ceiling.

Together, you gathered anything burnable—splintered chair legs, bits of an old table that looked way beyond repair. Sunghoon kicked apart a broken door with a little too much enthusiasm.

You raised an eyebrow. “You do this a lot?”

“Breaking and entering?” he asked, dragging a long covered couch across the room. “No. But I’m good at winging things.”

He tugged the white cloth off the couch and sent a thick cloud of dust into the air. Beneath it, the upholstery was surprisingly intact—floral velvet with only one visible tear on the side.

“Not bad,” he said, flopping down. “Way better than the hostel I stayed in last night.”

You scoffed. “I appreciate your optimism.”

You dropped your bag nearby and pulled out your meager stash of chips, two chocolate bars, and a slightly squished croissant. You held them out. “Dinner?”

He held up a hand to his chest solemnly. “It’s an honor.”

You shared the food while he coaxed the fire to life. Soon enough, warmth began to seep into the room, and a yellowish glow illuminated your faces and the walls.

“Not the worst way to spend a storm,” he said, stretching out his legs toward the fire.

You gave him a look. “You realize we’re in a haunted-looking mansion, right? With barely enough food and no cell service?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, tilting his head back against the couch. “But at least we’re warm and dry, and not dead yet.”

You laughed quietly, pulling your knees up to your chest. The fire crackled between you. Rain kept pelting the windows, but in here, it was manageable. Almost safe. You were both quiet for a while, chewing in silence, listening to the fire crackle and the storm rage outside.

Then Sunghoon spoke. “I used to be scared of thunder.”

You glanced over. “Really?”

He nodded, glancing over his shoulders out at the tall windows. “I was maybe six or seven. My mom told me it was just the clouds yelling at each other.” He smiled faintly. “So I’d yell back. Thought it made me brave.”

You grinned. “Did it work?”

“Only when she was in the room.”

The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. He leaned back, his gaze on the flames. “You ever have something you were embarrassed to admit you were scared of?”

You thought about it. “I’m scared of spiraling out of control.” You chuckled. “You?”

He looked over, brows lifted slightly. “Me? I don’t know,” he said, then looked away. “I think I’m scared of staying still.”

You didn’t say anything at first, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you asked, “Did you… run away?”

“Not exactly,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m running away or taking a break. I had this perfectly reasonable life mapped out for me. Job, partner, apartment, future. All very respectable.” He let out a dry laugh. “But none of it felt like it belonged to me.”

You nodded slowly, understanding without needing every detail.

“So I left,” he added. “Just picked a spot on the map and left.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then you said, “Good for you.”

He looked at you. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Sometimes walking away is the braver thing.”

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the fire. “I ran away, too. Everyone back home had some plan for me. What I’d study. Where I’d work. Who I’d be. And I went along with it because it was easier than fighting. Until one day I looked around and realized nothing in my life felt like mine.”

You felt your chest loosen after saying that out loud, like something unknotted inside you. A long pause followed. Then you added with a smile, “Still doesn’t explain why I walked into a random old mansion.”

“It’s a beautiful one,” he said. “Kind of poetic, really. You leave your life behind and walk straight into a ghost of someone else’s.”

You chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “Well, when you put it that way…”

The wind howled outside, but the room felt warm. Not just from the fire—something else, too. Something like understanding. You looked at him again, really looked this time. He was soaked, probably tired, and definitely not what you expected to find when you first stepped through those gates.

But somehow, running into him made perfect sense.

You woke up to sunlight pouring in from the tall windows. The high ceiling and the dust floating in the rays of morning light reminded you where you were—an abandoned mansion where you got stuck waiting out a storm.

You sat up slowly, noticing that the spot on the couch beside you was empty.

“Sunghoon?” you called out, but there was no response. 

You stood up, stretching your sore arms, and glanced around. The place was as quiet as it had been the day before. The broken furniture. The high windows. The eerie vibe.

You had almost thought Sunghoon wasn’t real. That he was just a figment of your imagination that your brain cooked up out of fear of being alone in this big house, but then your eyes landed on a dark denim jacket hanging near the fireplace, still a little damp.

You smiled a little. He was real after all.

But where was he? You had no idea. Maybe he’d left as soon as morning came and simply forgotten his jacket. Not that you were expecting him to stay, but you had assumed he would at least bid you a proper goodbye.

Well, it was no use sitting around waiting for him to come back and explain himself, so you decided to start your day. After gathering your things and running a hand through your hair, you made your way out of the mansion and back through the village path. The rain had washed the streets clean, and the morning had that fresh-after-a-storm feeling.

At the heart of the village, you found the inn. It looked like it hadn’t been updated in a decade, but it had flower pots on the window sills and a hand-painted sign out front that read Chambres.

The woman at the front desk wore a knit vest, bright lipstick, and had the energy of someone who’d wrestle a bear and win. She welcomed you like you were an old friend who’d finally come home, offered a nice room, and a hearty breakfast.

By noon, you were freshly showered, had eaten something good, and were strolling through the village looking for the real estate office. You found it near a patisserie, and the woman behind the desk raised an eyebrow when you mentioned the old mansion.

“That place?” she said. “You sure?”

You told her you were, and that you had the money ready.

She blinked, then smiled. “Well, no one else was ever interested in buying it, so it’s yours if you really want it. Paperwork will take a while, but you can go ahead and start fixing it up. No one’ll stop you.”

You were halfway through signing the first form when she added, “Funny. Someone else asked about it earlier today. Young man. Seemed curious but didn’t seem interested in buying.”

“Why was he asking about it?”

“Who knows? First-time visitors to this town are always curious about that place.”

You paused for a second, then shrugged. “As long as he’s not a potential rival buyer, I’m good,” you said with a smile.

“I assure you, Miss,” the lady said, stepping out of her desk to join you. “No one wants that place. Why do you think it’s much cheaper than it’s supposed to be?”

The real estate agent handed you note after the paperwork, tapping her nail against the words written on it.

“Since the place is gonna need to be fixed up, I suggest you talk to Jean-Luc. He’s a mason, but he has a group of carpenters working for him. He does a pretty good job, though he can be a little nosy.”

“Thanks. I was just wondering where to start looking for help,” you said, smiling as you examined the name and address on the note.

Before leaving the office, the agent told you what Jean-Luc’s daily rate was and to call out his bullshit if he ever asked for more than that. You thanked her again and turned in the direction of Jean-Luc’s shop. 

You met him at his shop, a wiry man in suspenders and a flat cap. He asked a few questions, but he seemed to know more about the place than you did.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning to have a proper look, then we can negotiate.”

After that, he pointed you to a local supply shop, where you bought items you could use in the meantime, including some sturdy brooms, a pair of gloves, a few rags, and a bucket. You debated getting bleach but settled for lemon cleaner and optimism.

By the time you made your way back up the winding road to the mansion, your arms were aching from the weight of the supplies. But there was something satisfying about the ache, the breeze, and the faint scent of damp earth left by the storm.

You were surprised to see a motorbike parked outside the gates. The rain from the night before had washed the dust off the path, and the sun lit up the gravel as you stepped through the front doors of the mansion again.

Inside, the sound of hammering echoed faintly through the halls.

You followed it to the study, where the fireplace was. Sunghoon was crouched beside a wooden table, sleeves pushed up, hair damp at the temples. He held a hammer in one hand and was steadying a broken leg with the other, completely focused.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps. “Hey,” he said, straightening. “You’re back.”

You blinked. “You’re here?”

“So are you,” he said, setting the hammer down gently. “I thought you’d left for good.”

“I thought you left,” you replied, stepping inside.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Just went out to grab some food. When I came back, you weren’t here.”

You looked around. A few chairs had been repaired. One of the broken shelves stood straighter than before. He’d clearly been busy.

“You’ve been fixing things?” you asked.

He nodded. “I had time. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to help the place along a little. The woman at the real estate office said I could come by if I wanted.”

You raised a brow. “You went to the real estate office?”

“Yeah. She was friendly.” He looked sheepish, then smiled. “She said no one was ever interested in the place.”

You smiled back. “Well… someone is.”

He paused. “You?”

You nodded. He let out a short breath, like he hadn’t expected that. Then he gave a small, thoughtful smile. “Then maybe it’s good I didn’t leave.”

You tilted your head. “Why is that?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna need extra hands around here.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t need a man bossing me around my own property.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that.” Sunghoon laughed. “I’m an architect, you see. I know my way around structures. If you’re planning to restore the place… I could help.”

You studied him. He didn’t seem to be lying. “…I don’t know how much I can pay you,” you said.

“Well, you fed and dressed me last night, so I’m basically alive because of you.”

That made you snort. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Just a little,” he replied, laughing. “But I’m serious. If you don’t mind having me around… I’m happy to help. That’s all.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached into your bag and pulled out a broom. “Alright, then. Since you’re so eager… how about we start with the floors?”

He took the broom from you with a smile. “Sure.”

The first few days were chaotic in the most exciting way. You had dust in your lungs. Paint flakes in your hair. And the occasional clatter of tools or startled yelp when someone stepped on a loose board made the once eerily quiet place into a rowdy construction site. 

Jean-Luc’s team of local carpenters moved in and out with efficiency, restoring what could be saved and gutting what couldn’t. 

You did what you could afford. No grand hotel transformation just yet because your savings wouldn’t allow it, but enough to make the place safe, clean, and standing. You patched up what you could and left the heavy lifting to people who actually knew what they were doing. Sunghoon floated somewhere between both worlds, neither a hired worker nor idle guest.

He showed the carpenters the original layout you’d uncovered, and offered suggestions they actually listened to. You noticed the way they nodded when he spoke, how they looked to him when unsure.

One day, when the particularly exquisite wooden double doors leading to a grand ballroom broke down, everyone said your idea of putting them back in place wasn’t possible. The broken hinges had chipped a piece off one of the two doors, making it hard to put it back.

“We can repurpose the other one. Use it to replace the library door. Then maybe forgo the doors and keep the ballroom open?” Sunghoon suggested, tilting his head as he examined the doorway. He turned to you. “What do you think?”

“You’re full of solutions, aren’t you?” you said, only half-teasing.

He shrugged. “Comes with the degree.”

The architect thing came up again and again—not because he bragged, but because he made it quite useful. He knew how to brace the weakened staircase, how to check for mold behind plaster, and how to tell the difference between salvageable and unsafe. And when you asked how he knew all this labor stuff when he was supposed to be an architect, he always said, “It comes with the job.”

Together, you made progress. Slow, sweaty, stubborn progress.

You’d sweep out a room while he cleared debris. He’d rig up temporary lighting while you picked tile samples you couldn’t afford yet. Some afternoons, you’d sit together on the back steps, drinking orange juice from the orchard behind the house. 

Other times, when your arms were too tired to scrub anything else, he’d ask, “Want to get out of here for a bit?” And somehow, you always did.

You rode behind him on the motorbike, hands wrapped around his waist, wind whipping at your sleeves. The roads curved sharply along the cliffs, opening into views of the sea that looked almost too blue to be real. You dipped your toes in hidden coves, ate greasy fish sandwiches by the pier, and once spent a full hour watching an old man play the accordion in the town square.

Sometimes he pointed things out—a crumbling lighthouse, a fig tree blooming near the bend—and you found yourself asking about the island, even though you knew he was as new to the island as you were.

The nights were quieter. Sometimes you cooked, sometimes you didn’t. Once, when the electricity went out, you shared a bowl of fruit by candlelight and listened to the wind sweep through the shutters. He told you about a vineyard resort project he’d worked on in Nice. You told him how you’d found this place by accident a few years ago on a trip you were never supposed to take.

Opening up to him was oddly easy for someone like you who liked to keep to herself and not let people in. He was easy to be around. Charismatic without trying. Quiet, but never cold.

You soon noticed how he always let you talk first. How he’d fix something for you without being asked to, or wipe his shoes before stepping inside even if the floors were already filthy.

The house slowly took shape. And so did whatever this was between you.

Jean-Luc’s crew was just wrapping up for the day when you stepped out, putting on your jacket and smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’d taken the time to pick it out, simple, soft blue, not too fancy, but it was much more sophisticated than your usual work shirts and sun-stained jeans.

Jean spotted you instantly. “Ah,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag and giving you a once-over. “That dress is new.”

You gave him a look. “I had this dress for years.”

He grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You dressed up nicely for your date.”

“It’s not a date,” you said, out of habit more than conviction. “We’re just eating out because I didn’t wanna cook.”

The guys had heard Sunghoon earlier in the day when he invited you to eat at the pub in town. He did it because you complained about being too tired to make food, but Jean and his crew decided it was open to interpretation.

“Mm-hmm.” He raised a brow. “Sure. Too tired to cook, but not too tired to wear parfum, eh?” he added, glancing at his crew, who all started whistling.

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. Their teasing had become a daily ritual ever since they started working in the house. You’d learned about Jean’s nosy nature from the get-go, but were surprised at first when you saw it firsthand. He’d asked you almost everything there was to know about you, from your education, your parents, and your decision to move into a foreign land and buy a haunted mansion.

Still, he didn’t pry too much and wasn’t annoying, so you took it all in stride. And as for his assumption that there was something going on between you and Sunghoon, well, you didn’t think much of it. If Sunghoon knew or was clueless that he was being shipped with you, you wouldn’t know because you never really talked about it.

“How about I hitch a ride to town?” you asked, already getting into their truck. “Would be a waste walking downhill in this dress, don’t you think?”

“It would be an honor to deliver you to your prince, mademoiselle.”

By the time you stepped out at the curb near the pub, the sun had dipped low, gleaming orange and gold across the sea. You caught your reflection briefly in the window and frowned. It was a nice dress. But why did you take the time to look pretty? You’d even put on lipstick, and for what? A casual dinner?

It’s just dinner! Right?

Or is it? You shook the thought away before you could overthink it.

Inside, the pub was lively but cozy, with fairy lights strung on wooden beams, a small local band playing mellow jazz near the back. Sunghoon was already seated at a corner table, nursing a glass of something amber. He looked up when you walked in and smiled.

“Wow,” he said, standing as you approached. “You look…”

He paused, and the way he searched for a word made you feel self-conscious. You hid your nervousness behind a smirk. “Weird? Disproportionate? Wicked with a hint of witchcraft and sorcery?”

He laughed. “Beautiful. Definitely beautiful.”

You smiled, sliding into the chair opposite him. “Thanks.”

He looked good, too. He’d shaved. Maybe even styled his hair. A waitress came by, dropped off menus, and you both skimmed through them, ordering a round of food that was heavier than you needed but comforting all the same. The band was playing a soft instrumental, and you leaned back in your seat, letting the atmosphere settle.

Sunghoon had been at the house every day this past week, but it occurred to you now how little you knew about his nights. He didn’t stay there, not even once. He always left just before dusk, riding off on that old motorbike. You never asked where he went, but vaguely assumed he was probably resting in his room at the inn. You were curious, but it didn’t matter much.

Until now.

Tonight, he was different. Still warm, still easy to talk to, but something in the air felt a little off-script. The way his eyes gleamed, the way he smiled when you caught him looking. It made you nervous and giddy at the same time.

“Didn’t take you for a dress person,” he said, sipping his drink.

You raised a brow. “And what kind of person did you take me for?”

He tilted his head like he was thinking of the answer. “Sawdust. Paint stains. And boots.”

You scoffed. “So… a disaster?”

“I didn’t say that.” His smile widened. “I like disasters. They’re more fun to fix.”

You narrowed your eyes, half-laughing. “Did you just call me a fixer-upper?”

“Well, no…” he trailed off, then blinked like he’d surprised himself. “Wait, did I? Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—you're actually kind of perfect.”

You laughed under your breath. “Okay, Charmer. Slow down.”

He leaned in, elbows on the table. “You’re blushing. I think you’re charmed.”

“It would take more than that to sweep me off my feet, Hoon,” you said, taking a slow sip of your drink. You smiled at him as you placed your glass back down. “But you’re on the right track.”

“Am I?” he asked, grinning, canines and dimples on full display. “Good to know. I’ll try harder then.”

He didn’t usually talk like this. You didn’t either, not with him. But neither of you stopped.

When the food came, the conversation didn’t stop either. It slipped in with the wine, with the melodic music in the background, with the occasional brush of his knee against yours beneath the table.

“You really didn’t have to dress up,” he said at one point, glancing at you over his fork.

“I didn’t,” you said. “This is me on a regular day. You should see me on a real date.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Am I not getting the real date version?”

“That depends. Is this a date?”

His brows lifted slightly, as if surprised you said it out loud. But his answer came quickly.

“I don’t know.” He smiled. “You tell me.”’

You sighed, feigning frustration. “Ugh, no. Wrong answer.”

Sunghoon winced, propped an elbow on the table, and buried his face in his hand. “Crap. Can I try again?”

“Nope,” you teased, giggling behind your glass.

The flirting stopped by dessert, and you fell into a conversation about the house and its grand architecture. Sunghoon talked about the dating of the design and the timelessness of it. At some point, you’d told him your plans of converting it into a hotel. It would take time since money was obviously a huge factor to consider, but you laid out your renovation plans, your vision, and the whole dream behind the project.

“For now, it’s just a dream,” you said, smiling as you stirred an olive in your drink. “But the first step was buying the place, and that’s a box ticked in my list.”

“That’s actually a big start.”

“Right?” you chimed, eyes gleaming. “I still have a long way to go, but it is something, right?”

“It is,” he replied, a smile gracing his lips as he watched you.

You kept talking, hands moving animatedly as you described the lounge you envisioned, the garden terrace, the way the morning sun would hit the breakfast room just right. And Sunghoon just watched you.

At first, you didn’t notice, too caught up in your own excitement. But then you glanced at him and caught the way he was looking at you—soft and focused, like he wasn’t listening at all but watching.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, leaned back, and shrugged with a small grin. “Like what?”

“Like that,” you repeated, heat creeping to your cheeks. “I know you know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes glinting under the dim pub lights. “No reason. I just… I’m just really proud of you.”

Your pulse raced at the way he said it. Like he meant it, and the affection in his voice wasn’t a figment of your imagination. You looked down at your drink. “Well. Thanks.”

He tilted his head. “That made you nervous.”

“No, it didn’t.”

He laughed under his breath. “You always get defensive when someone compliments you. It’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling now. “And you’re acting really out of character tonight. What’s up with you?”

“Sunghoon straightened up in his seat, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, a little too casually

Before you could say anything, he flagged down the server, asking for a pen and paper. A few minutes later, the order sheet was in front of him, along with your full attention.

“Alright,” he said, uncapping the pen. “Show me what you see.”

“What I see?”

“For your dream hotel,” he replied, beaming. “I’ll do a free sketch for you since you came here looking all pretty tonight.”

You laughed at first, but took him up on his offer. You walked him through it—the courtyard, the check-in desk, the sunlit breakfast room. He listened closely, nodding along, his hand gliding over the paper with precision. He added soft curves where you imagined sharp lines, windows where there were none, and little alcoves you hadn’t even thought of.

“This is where I’d put the courtyard,” you said, tapping the center.

“With some trees?” he asked. “A fountain?”

“Exactly,” you said. “But not a flashy one. Just charming and pretty.”

He sketched it in. You leaned over the table to get a better look, your shoulder brushing his. He didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

When he finished, he slid the paper toward you. “It’s rough, but… this is what I see when you talk about it.”

You stared at the sketch, warmth blooming in your chest. “It’s kind of perfect.”

“You’re kind of perfect,” he said, and this time, he didn’t soften it with a laugh or a tease. 

Your heart thudded. He was looking at you like that again—like you were the only one in the room, like it would hurt him to peel his eyes away, like he wanted to just stare at you as much as he could.

“So… what now?” you asked, one hand hugging yourself. You felt nervous under his gaze, and not in a bad way.

“I should drive you back, but…” he paused, leaning a little closer. “Do you want to take a walk before we call it a night?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Outside, the air was cool and the streets mostly empty. The band’s music faded behind you as you walked side by side, a little closer than usual, not talking much. His hand brushed yours once, then again—until he finally just reached for it and laced your fingers together.

When you turned the corner and saw his bike down the road, he looked at you once with a smile before letting go of your hand.

“Will you be alright?” he asked as he mounted his bike and handed you one of the helmets. “You’re in a dress.”

“Yeah. I can manage,” you said, letting him help you put the helmet on.

His hand lingered on your jaw even after he’d fastened the helmet in. For a second, you thought he was gonna kiss you, but he just took a deep breath and turned back to his bike.

The ride was cool and quiet. You held onto him as usual, arms wrapped around his torso, balancing yourself behind him, making sure you didn’t fall. For some reason, despite the considerable distance of the town from your mansion, the drive ended too quickly. 

You stopped in front of the gates but as you handed him his helmet back, something heavy settled in your chest. You didn’t want the night to end.

Neither did he, apparently. You could tell by the way he just sat there on his bike, staring at you and not saying anything but not moving to leave either.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked quietly after a minute.

He didn’t answer at first, just looked at you as if he was looking for any hint of doubt on your face.

Then, with a smile, he said, “I would love to if that’s alright with you.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t need to. Because all the overthinking, the second-guessing, the usual mental tug-of-war you went through whenever something felt too close and too good just stopped.

There was only the cool night air, the sound of crickets in the distance, and Sunghoon—  at you with that steady gaze of his, like he’d wait forever for your answer if he had to.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and kissed him. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting for this all night.

His hands came to your waist, holding you. One of them slid up your back, pulling you in a little closer. You felt him smile into it and that was the moment your knees nearly gave out.

Because it was soft and sweet and beautiful and just so so melting.

When you finally pulled back, breath slightly uneven, he didn’t let go of you. “Is that a ‘yes’?” he whispered teasingly.

You giggled, eyes still closed. “That’s a yes.”

He kissed you once more. Urgently this time, like he couldn’t help himself, before reaching past you to unlock the gate.

Inside, the house was quiet, the lights were dim. You didn’t bother flicking them on. His hand found yours as you kicked your shoes off by the door, and you led him through the dim hallway like it was instinct. 

You weren’t rushing, pausing every now and then at some corner to kiss and embrace each other like you couldn’t get enough.

In your room, you both paused not from hesitation, but awe. Sunghoon looked around the once lifeless space that now felt lived-in and warm. And then his gaze returned to you, and it softened, like you were the most beautiful part of the room.

“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly, holding your hands.

“A little,” you admitted, stepping close. “But not the bad kind of nervous.”

He smiled, reached up and cupped your face in both hands, drawing you in again. The kiss this time was different. Slower, surer. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the way his breath hitched when your fingers brushed the back of his neck.

His touch was careful and tender, like he was asking permission with every move. You helped him out of his jacket, then reached behind yourself to pull the zipper of your dress down, but his hands stopped you gently.

“Let me,” he murmured.

You turned, and his fingers found the zipper. You felt the brush of his knuckles against your spine, the drag of fabric slipping from your shoulders. When you turned back to face him, he just stood there for a second, eyes roaming slowly over you.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

He didn’t say it like he was trying to seduce you. He said it like he meant it. Like he’d never meant anything more.

You reached out, pulled him back to you, mouths meeting again as your hands slid down his stomach to the front of his jeans. He hissed when you pressed your palm to the bulge there, already hard for you. “Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “Please don’t tease.”

“Sorry,” you whispered, grinning.

He picked you up gently and carried you to the bed. The sheets were cool beneath you, and the room warm around you. You pulled him down with you, mouths meeting again. His kisses grew deeper, needier, as he settled between your legs, grinding slow against your clothed sex.

You could feel him through the layers, thick and hard, and it made your body pulse with want. He slipped a hand down between your thighs, pressing the heel of his palm against your core. You moaned, soft and breathy, hips tilting up to meet him.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, his lips grazing your throat. “Just from kissing me?”

“Don’t get cocky,” you mumbled, but your voice cracked on the end.

He smiled against your skin, then kissed down your body—between your breasts, your navel, lower—until he reached the edge of your panties. He looked up at you then, waiting.

You nodded.

He pulled them off slowly and settled between your thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The first stroke of his tongue made your back arch off the bed.

He took his time, licking deep, sucking hard until you were gasping his name. One arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you open, the other hand slid up to lace your fingers together on the sheets. You came like that—shaking, eyes squeezed shut, hand clinging to his—his mouth still on you, working you through it.

When he kissed back up your body, you were trembling. “You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded again. “Please.”

“Condoms?”

You shook your head. “I’m on the pill.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, and then positioned himself between your legs, his jaw tight like he was holding himself back. He slid into you languidly, lubricated by your own cum and his saliva.

He sank in slowly, with a deep, ragged breath, forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

You felt full, stretched in the best way. Your arms wrapped around his back, fingernails grazing his skin as he started to move—shallow at first, then deeper, rolling his hips in smooth, deliberate thrusts that made your toes curl.

He kept whispering your name, like he couldn’t stop himself. Kept asking if you were okay, if it felt good, if he should go slower—and every time, your only answer was to hold him closer.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t frantic. It was deep. Hot. And overwhelming in the most delightful way.

You kissed through it, tangled in sweat and soft moans and the sound of skin meeting skin. Your second orgasm built slowly, until he shifted your hips up just right, and you cried out, gripping his back as you came again.

He followed not long after, burying his face in your neck with a choked sound, holding you so tightly you could hardly breathe—and you didn’t want to, not if it meant letting go.

He stayed inside you for a moment after, catching his breath, lips brushing your shoulder. Then he pulled out gently and lay beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms again.

No one spoke for a while. You didn’t need to.

His fingers traced soft shapes of your back as your breathing slowed. Your cheek rested against his chest, where you could feel his heartbeat still thudding fast.

“I really like you,” he said eventually, voice low, almost shy.

You closed your eyes. “I know.” And you did. “I like you too.”

The next morning, Sunghoon made coffee while you stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair messy, wearing only his oversized shirt from the night before. He’d found the beans in your pantry, ground them by hand, and hummed under his breath while the moka pot hissed on the stove. When he handed you a cup, it was with a kiss to your temple and a sleepy smile you wanted to keep in your pocket forever.

He didn’t leave that day. And the day after that. And then again the next. It wasn’t even a conversation—it just happened. One minute, he was supposed to return to his little room at the inn. The next, his toothbrush was on your sink and his boots sat neatly next to yours by the door.

“I guess I live here now,” he said with a shrug one evening, holding up a bundle of clean clothes he’d brought over.

You tried to act unbothered, but your chest felt light and strange and full. “I guess you do,” you replied.

Days spilled into each other like honey, slow and golden.

You worked the orange orchard together, side by side under the sun. He taught you how to check the fruits for ripeness, how to prune gently, how to tell if the bees were happy. You teased him for being too serious about it. He teased you for wearing perfume to pick fruit. He stole kisses in the shade of the trees, juice sticky on your fingers, the scent of citrus clinging to your skin.

“You’ve got a bit on your mouth,” he’d say, only to lean in and lick it off with a grin that made you drop the basket you were carrying.

Sometimes you ended up lying in the grass instead of working. Talking about the past, the future. Tracing invisible lines on each other’s arms. Learning the things that didn’t come up in early conversations—how he hated raisins, how you cried watching documentaries, how neither of you had felt like this in a long, long time.

Nights were warm. He’d light a fire when it got cold and pull you into his lap while you ate dinner on the couch. The two of you would read—him with his architectural journals, you with whatever novel you’d found at the local shop. Your legs tangled. His hand on your thigh. You’d fall asleep with your cheek on his chest more often than not, waking up only when he carried you to bed.

He made love to you like he was discovering something new each time. Slow. Intentional. Always watching your face like it told him a secret he didn’t want to forget. There were times he didn’t say a word, just kissed you like he meant it, like he needed it, like he’d been waiting to do it forever.

Sometimes it was lazy. Sometimes passionate. Sometimes soft, with laughter in between. One time, he brought oranges into the shower, peeled them as water ran down both your backs, fed you slices from his fingers before pressing you up against the glass.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” you told him one night, your voice quiet in the dark.

He rolled over to face you, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Me neither.”

You explored the island on foot and by his bike, visited hidden beaches and ate at local tavernas where he introduced you as his “partner”—not girlfriend, not roommate, just something simple and solid and true.

He drew plans for your hotel idea, left them pinned up on your fridge, updated them with sticky notes that said things like “maybe French doors here?” or “do you like this arch style?”

You found yourself setting the table for two without thinking. Buying his favorite snacks when you went into town. Pulling his shirts from the laundry and holding them to your chest like a fool.

There was a routine now. A tenderness. A life. And it felt like forever.

One day, you were sitting on the dock just past the cove, legs dangling over the edge, fishing rods in hand and an old bottle of white wine between you. Neither of you knew much about fishing, but Sunghoon said that was part of the fun.

You’d caught nothing. He’d caught seaweed. Twice.

“Okay, but it looked like a fish,” he said defensively, flicking the green tangle off his line. “For a second.”

You laughed, tipping your head back as the breeze brushed your cheeks. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed like this with someone other than your best friends. He looked over at you, half smiling, the way he always did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

A peaceful quiet settled between you for a minute. Then you broke it.

“I’ve pictured this place for years,” you said softly. “Not this exact dock, or this exact sunset… but the idea of it. Of being somewhere like this.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond right away. He just turned his head to listen.

“I’d imagine buying a house on some forgotten island, fixing it up myself, turning it into a little bed and breakfast or a hotel. Starting something that was just mine. A place to breathe. A place to stay.”

You swallowed, not nervous, just careful. “And I was always alone in that picture. I wasn’t lonely, I was content. I thought that’s what I wanted.” You looked at him. “And then I met you.”

His eyes stayed on you, steady. Patient.

“And now when I picture it again… I see you. Just—there. Beside me. Part of it.”

You gave a small shrug, cheeks warm. “I know it sounds crazy. We haven’t known each other long, and there’s still a lot I don’t know about you, and maybe this is too fast, but… I was wondering if you’d like to be in that picture. For real. If you’d want to try building something together.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. He just set down his fishing rod, then reached for your hand, fingers lacing between yours.

“Doesn’t sound crazy to me at all,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. He looked at you. And in that silence, something deep and certain was decided between you. Llike two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

The fish still weren’t biting. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

That night, you lay tangled together in bed, skin still warm from the day’s sun and each other’s touch. The windows were open, and the sound of the waves slamming against the cliff below was oddly soothing despite its violence. Sunghoon’s arm lay heavy across your waist, fingers lazily stroking your bare stomach. It was quiet, the kind of silence that usually felt safe with him.

“I have to tell you something,” he said quietly.

You turned slightly to face him. “What is it?”

“I love you.”

You giggled, closing your eyes and nuzzling your nose back on his chest. “Okay, Lover Boy. I heard you.”

“And I’m engaged to someone else,” he added, making you force your eyes open.

At first, you didn’t react. The words didn’t quite register in your head. You blinked up at him, waiting for a punchline. But he just looked back at you, his eyes open and serious.

“What?”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” he said quickly, propping himself up. “It’s arranged. My family—back home—they… they set it up. I didn’t choose it. I barely know her. I’ve met her maybe three times. I don’t have feelings for her.”

Something cold seeped into your chest. You pulled away from him. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“I—I didn’t know how. I didn’t think it mattered at first. But then everything with us…” He reached for you, but you slapped his hand away. “I should’ve told you sooner. I know.”

You sat up, dragging the sheet around yourself. “You didn’t think it mattered? Are you hearing yourself?”

“I didn’t plan any of this,” he said, sitting up too. “I was just here for a little break. I didn’t plan to meet you and fall for you.”

You laughed bitterly. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t stand there and talk about falling for me like you didn’t lie by omission every single day. You let me build a whole dream around you. Around us. And you were promised to someone else this whole time?”

“It’s not real—”

“It’s real enough,” you snapped. “I don’t care if you love her or not. I don’t care if it’s just paper. You’re someone else’s, Sunghoon.”

He looked like he’d been punched. “I don’t want it! I choose you.”

“No. You don’t get to choose! You knew this would happen and you let it happen anyway.” Your voice broke then. You didn’t mean for it to, but it came out in a tremble. “Get out.”

He froze. “Please… Don’t do this.”

“Go. Just get the fuck out! Please,” you said, turning away and moving to the corner of the room.

You buried your face in your hands and sobbed, shoulder trembling, voice breaking. You could hear the soft sounds of Sunghoon’s footsteps approaching you, then his hand on your shoulder but you swatted it away.

“Just leave, Hoon!”

He left. And he never came back.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. You’d kept your eyes closed through most of the night, but your mind never let you rest. You could still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, the weight of his words sitting heavy on your chest.

“And I’m engaged to someone else.”

The sun had fully risen and the ocean looked far too cheerful for how you felt. You opened the door to see Amy’s familiar grin and Lea’s arms already opening for a hug. They were glowing with excitement, sunglasses in their hair, bags slung over their shoulders, and not even an ounce of awareness that your world had collapsed less than twelve hours ago.

“There she is!” Lea beamed, pulling you into a tight squeeze. “God, it smells like citrus and freedom out here. I’m never leaving.”

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Amy said with a teasing frown. “Don’t tell me you and Lover Boy were up all night doing—”

You let out a soft laugh—more exhale than amusement—and stepped aside to let them in.

The massive house felt too full suddenly. Their voices bounced off the walls, light and warm. They talked about the flight, the heat, the funny guy at customs. You listened. Smiled when appropriate. Nodded at all the right times.

It wasn’t until you’d served them fresh juice on the patio that Amy tilted her head and said, “So where is he? You were going to introduce us, right? We were ready for the whole ‘meet the boyfriend’ thing.”

You looked down at your glass, then out at the sea. “He’s not here anymore,” you said quietly. “We’re done.”

Both of them froze. “What?” Amy asked, gently.

“He’s engaged to someone else. Back home. Doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

You didn’t look at them, didn’t want to see the sympathy you knew was coming.

Lea reached across the table and touched your hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed, unwilling to get into the details but wanted to share. “It’s really nothing. We were having a good time and I thought I’m in love with him. Now that he’s gone, I think it was just the moment, you know what I mean?”

Lea tilted her head, looking at you in confusion, but Amy beside her nodded in understanding. “Totally get it. I mean, two beautiful people together in a beautiful island? I’d think I’m in love too,” said Amy.

Lea shook her head. “No. It was serious when you told us about it on the phone. You sounded so…sure.”

“No, darling.” Amy tapped Lea’s cheek gently. “It was the weather. You have no idea how easy it is to mistake good vibes with being in love.”

They argued about it for a while, but they didn’t press. They didn’t ask for more than what you were willing to divulge. They simply shifted the conversation, as if by instinct, pulling you back into safer waters.

But even as they talked about their plans—about beach days and wine nights and helping you with the orchard—you couldn’t help but glance at the seat across from you. The one that had been his just yesterday.

It was supposed to be good day. You were gonna introduce him to Amy and Lea, your best friends, your true family. But that was a bust. And now it was just you again.

But at least you weren’t alone.

The week that followed blurred into a sun-soaked montage of tequila shots, sandy hair, and late-night laughter. With Amy and Lea around, it was impossible to sit still for too long. They pulled you out of the house, out of your head, and out of the quiet grief you hadn’t yet figured out how to deal with.

Amy dragged you away from the village and into the other side of the island where the beaches were packed with tourists, loud music, and overpriced mojitos. You danced barefoot in the sand, lip-synced into beer bottles, flirted with strangers you had no intention of remembering. You let the lights and noise and sea carry you for days—numbed and glowing all at once.

Amy flirted with every fine European men who so much as looked her way. Lea got into a tipsy argument with a street performer about astrology. You laughed so hard you nearly cried.

It didn’t make the pain disappear. But for a little while, it drowned it out.

And then, one afternoon, as you lay on a beach towel by the docks, the sand warm beneath you, skin glowing, a little drunk on Aperol spritz and good company, the sun suddenly vanished from your face.

You blinked up at the abrupt shadow.

And found a man holding an umbrella over your head like a knight with absolutely no armor, just absurd confidence and expensive taste. Linen shirt, half-buttoned. Sunglasses pushed up into dark brown hair. Smirk painted across his face like it had been there since birth.

“Hi there,” he greeted casually, his voice ringing with a familiarity that hit straight in your chest.

You pulled your own sunglasses down your nose and squinted up at him. “What are you doing here, Jay?”

He chuckled lightly. “It’s good to see you too.”

Amy and Lea looked between the two of you like they’d accidentally stepped into a scene from a movie they hadn’t seen the beginning of.

“No, seriously.” You sat up slowly, brushing sand off your legs. “What are you doing here?”

“Official business is concluded, so I’m heading home. But I figured I’d drop anchor for a bit.” He lowered the umbrella handle toward you. “And maybe see a friendly face.”

You blinked at him again, mouth parting slightly. This wasn’t just some coincidence. Jay was here. Jay, with his yacht and smirk and maddening presence, had found you again.

“I knew it was weird when you said we’d be seeing each other again,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He grinned wider. “Miss me?”

“In your dreams,” you replied, standing up. “How long has it been?”

“Oh, just thirty-three days, give or take,” he shrugged, closing the umbrella. “It’s not like I was counting the days till I see you again,” he added with a grin.

Of course. That was the Jay you knew. Shamelessly flirty, smooth about it, and tries to talk you in sleeping with him every chance he gets. You rolled your eyes and turned to your friends, both still looking clueless. “Oh, these are my girls, Amy and Lea.”

“Hi,” said Lea.

“Lovely to meet you,” said Amy, offering a hand to Jay. “I’ve heard nothing about you,” she added, glancing knowingly at you.

You gave her an apologetic scrunch of your nose.

“Ladies, I’d hate to disturb you, but,” Jay nodded toward the water, past the dock where his boat was glistening under the sun. “How would you like some cocktails on a boat?”

You chuckled at his blatant attempt at impressing your girls. Amy perked up immediately. “A boat? That boat?” she asked, pointing at Jay’s yacht.

“Yes, Ames,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes at Jay. “Did I mention he’s got a yacht?”

Lea was already grabbing her tote. “Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

You shook your head, laughing as Jay offered you a hand up like he was inviting you to a gala. Dramatic, as always. You didn’t take it, but you did follow him, the three of you trailing after him barefoot across the sun-warmed dock.

Amy nudged your arm discreetly. “Who is he?” she whispered.

Lea leaned in on your other side. “He’s hot.”

“Hotter than the fucking sun,” Amy added.

You smirked, keeping your eyes ahead. “He’s just someone I met a while back. He helped me out when I first got stranded here.”

Amy gasped softly. “That’s the boat guy? You never said he looked like that.”

“I barely said anything,” you muttered.

“Exactly,” Lea said. “Suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Jay was ahead now, glancing back to make sure you were all still following. He tossed you a wink and kept walking.

Amy nudged you again, lower this time. “Okay but for real—are we allowed to flirt with him or is that off-limits?”

You gave her a look. “Behave.”

“Not a no,” she sing-songed.

You sighed dramatically. “He’s a player. If you can handle someone like him, then go ahead.”

They both exchanged a knowing glance. Amy shook her head. “Yeah, no. It’s pretty obvious he came all the way here to see you, specifically.”

You had a small yacht party, just the four of you, plus Manu, Jay’s crew member-slash-silent bartender who somehow knew exactly when to top up a drink or disappear entirely. There were expensive bottles, platters of seafood and fruit laid out by the excellent Sofia, and music drifting softly through the deck speakers. You laughed, drank, danced barefoot under string lights, and watched the sun dip into the sea.

By the time night fell properly, Lea had passed out on one of the long couches, clutching a throw pillow like a lifeline. Amy had disappeared below deck with Manu about thirty minutes ago and hadn’t been seen since.

Which left you, barefoot at the railing, half a drink in hand, ocean breeze blowing your hair, talking to Jay.

“Today, you became Amy and Lea’s favorite person,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him. He was leaning beside you, one arm braced casually against the rail.

He gave a lazy shrug, that usual smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “As I should be. I did try my best. Although my main guest of honor’s a little harder to impress.”

You chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

He chuckled too, eyes glinting as he looked at you for a long moment. “You look different,” he said. “Not in a bad way. Just… different. Your eyes don’t shine like they did when we met.”

The sudden comment caught you off guard. He smiled and added, “Must’ve been hard for you after I left.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you turned back toward the dark water. “Not at all,” you said. “But… a lot’s happened since then. Been kind of a rough patch lately. Don’t really wanna talk about it. I’ll just bore you.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded, like he understood. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “But for what it’s worth—I know you’ll be fine. You’re the strong, independent type. You don’t need anyone.”

You smiled faintly, touched by the unexpected sincerity.

Then, with perfect Jay timing, he tilted his head and said, “How was it? Am I sweeping you off your feet? Are you considering checking out my suite now?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Wow. Very subtle, Jay,” you said flatly.

He grinned, shrugging with fake innocence. “Can’t be too forward. You might think I’m desperate to have sex with you.”

That made you laugh, and he watched you with a fond smile on his lips. After a beat, you handed him your empty glass and said, “Lead the way, then.”

He blinked once. Then let out a short breath of disbelief, like he was laughing at his own luck.

“Damn,” he said, cocking his head. “Didn’t think you’d actually bite.”

You raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. “So? Lead the way.”

Jay paused. The smirk was still there, but it faltered a little. He avoided your gaze, then he leaned back just slightly, voice dropping lower.

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Can’t mess around with drunk girls. Bad karma.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Still not gonna happen.”

You tilted your head. “That’s your excuse?”

He gave you a crooked grin, but he wasn’t meeting your eyes anymore. “It’s called principle, thanks. I’m being a gentleman for once, but don’t get used to it.”

You stared at him, trying not to laugh at his face. He was flustered. Jay, king of confidence, was caught off guard. He probably hadn’t expected you to actually call him on his bullshit. And now he was scrambling, all cool exterior but twitchy tells.

“Wow,” you teased, enjoying his struggle. “You’re not as smooth as I thought.”

“Well, whatever,” he deadpanned. “I’m gonna go make sure no one’s thrown themselves off the side of the boat.”

And with that, he turned and walked away. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head. Score one for you.

The next day was supposed to be a group outing. Jay had invited all three of you on his boat again, planning a full day of sightseeing, drinks, and whatever else the ocean had in store.

But that morning, when you stepped out in your swimsuit and cover-up, your hair still damp from the shower, Amy and Lea were both lounging on the patio, coffee mugs in hand and suspiciously smug looks on their faces.

“What are you guys doing? We have to go,” you said matter-of-factly.

Amy hummed as she shook her head. “You’re going alone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You need this, girl,” Lea said simply. “He’s hot. You’re heartbroken. And we’re tired of watching you mope.”

You scoffed indignantly. “I did not mope. When did I—”

“Go,” they said in unison.

So you did.

Jay greeted you with a grin as you boarded his boat, wind tousling his hair and sunglasses perched cockily on his nose.

“No entourage today?” he asked, helping you aboard.

“They bailed,” you said.

He smiled, clearly pleased. “Smart girls.”

The day unfolded like something out of a travel magazine. The sky was endless blue, the sea even more so. He took you to hidden coves and quiet stretches of beach, pointing out rocky cliffs and ancient ruins. You swam in the clearest water you’d ever seen, laughed until your stomach hurt, shared cold drinks and warm glances.

By late afternoon, you were stretched out beside him on the deck, towel beneath you, the sun dipping lower in the sky.

Jay turned his head toward you, that lazy smirk still in place. “I would really be heartbroken once you leave my boat, but I guess it’s worth it if it’s you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Romantic.”

He chuckled. “I can be, if that’s what you’re into.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him, lying on his side, head propped on one hand, salt still glistening on his chest and sunglasses perched perfectly on his nose.

“I’ve been dying to be alone with you,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look away. “And now that you are?”

He gave a half-shrug, his smile softening. “Now I’m trying not to fuck it up.”

You smiled, leaned in just a little, and said, “Then don’t.”

It was all the permission he needed. With one swift motion, he hovered over you, his body blocking the sun as he looked down at you.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Are you?” you asked back, challenging him. “Or are you gonna get all flustered and adorable for me again?” you added, fingers tracing the curve of his abs.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, sweetheart,” he challenged.

“So what? Too hot for you?”

Jay smirked, visibly impressed. His eyes flicked to your lips then briefly back to your eyes before diving in to kiss you. It was warm, salty, sun-drenched. His hand was confident when it landed on your waist, rubbing, feeling. Yours curled into his damp hair as the boat rocked gently beneath you, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Below deck, the second the door shut behind you, Jay had you pressed against it.

He kissed you deep, dirty, all tongue and teeth, his hands greedy as they found your waist and pulled you closer. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the seawater still drying in patches along his chest, the faint taste of liquor on his tongue. You reached down, tugged on the waistband of his shorts, and he laughed into your mouth.

“Impatient, are we?” he murmured, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth.

You kissed him hard, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he groaned low in his throat as his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you to the bed like you weighed nothing. Your bare legs locked around his hips. Your thighs met the warm sheets and you gasped against his mouth when he bit your lip.

“God, I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day,” he muttered, kissing down your jaw, his hands roaming greedily over your sides. “You're so goddamn sexy when you tease me.”

You tugged at his hair. “When did I do that?”

He smirked into your neck. “You obviously had no idea, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you feel very, very sorry about it.”

His lips were on you again before the words even registered. Kissing you deep, kissing you slow, until you were squirming beneath him. His hand slid up your thigh, pushed the fabric of your swimsuit aside, and his thumb brushed where you were already soaked.

“Wet and excited,” he muttered. “Just the way I like it.”

“Jay, stop talking and get on it,” you panted, hips chasing his hand.

Jay grinned. “Alright, since you asked nicely.”

You shot him a glare, but it melted fast when he dropped to his knees. Pulled your bottoms off with one fluid motion and threw them somewhere behind him. 

You tipped your head back the moment his mouth touched you, one hand bracing on the counter, the other tugging at his hair again. “Jay—fuck—”

He moaned into you, rough and obscene, like he wanted you to know just how much he was enjoying it. The room was filled with wet, messy sounds, your breathy gasps echoing above it all. You gripped his hair, trying to stay still, but your body had a mind of its own, hips rocking up into his face.

“I can’t—” you choked out, thighs trembling. You came embarrassingly fast, clenching hard around nothing as you gasped his name.

Jay stood and kissed you, still tasting like you, and his hands were already pushing his shorts down. You reached for him, touched him, and he hissed in approval.

“Come here,” he growled, and then you were being turned, hands braced against the mattress, his chest pressing against your back. He slid inside you with a groan so guttural it made your toes curl.

The stretch stole your breath. “Oh, fuck—Jay—”

“God, you feel unreal,” he breathed against your shoulder, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise while the other slipped between your thighs again. “You gonna take it like a good girl or do you want to tell me what to do?”

You tried. You really tried. But every time you opened your mouth, he hit something inside you that made your thoughts scatter.

“Uh-huh,” he chuckled darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

The pace turned relentless. Fast and deep, the sounds of your bodies slapping together echoing off the cabin walls, your breathy moans mixing with his filthy praise. He told you how good you felt, how gorgeous you looked, how he’d been dreaming about this since the day he met you. You cursed, clutched the sheets, back arching, completely unraveling beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, pulling out and flipping you around.

He hovered above you, kissed you slow again, positioning himself between your legs. “You wanna ride me?” he asked, teasing.

You nodded, lips brushing his jaw. “Yeah. I do.”

He rolled onto his back immediately, hands behind his head. “Be my guest.”

It didn’t last long. You straddled him, sank down slowly, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Jesus Christ—”

You tried to find a rhythm, something steady, but the way he felt inside you—thick, deep, rubbing every spot perfectly—made it impossible. Especially with the way he kept watching you, mouthing filth between clenched teeth, hips bucking up to meet yours.

“You’re so fucking tight—shit—look at you,” he groaned. “If you can only see yourself right now.”

His hands gripped your ass, helping you move, but then he sat up, mouth finding your collarbone, your shoulder, and suddenly he was thrusting up into you, hard and fast, stealing every ounce of composure you had left.

You clung to him, moaning shamelessly as he fucked you from below, his voice rough in your ear. “That’s it, baby. Come on.”

You did, again, harder than before—crying out as you clenched down around him, lightheaded and spiraling in euphoria.

Jay swore under his breath, then flipped you onto your back in one fluid motion. “One more,” he rasped, driving back into you, not giving you time to catch your breath. “You’ve got one more in you, don’t you?”

You didn’t even answer. Just held on tight, nails digging into his back as he slammed into you, rough, messy, perfect. He kissed you through it, swore again when he felt you start to come undone, and then with one final thrust, he spilled into you, gasping your name against your mouth.

The silence after was satisfying. Heavy with heat and broken by his occasional grunts and your panting. You stayed tangled, sweaty and half-laughing, while he buried his face in your neck and caught his breath.

“Well,” he said eventually, voice hoarse. “I’m amazing, aren’t I?”

That made you laugh. “You’re alright.”

He laughed and kissed your shoulder. “Okay, liar,” he quipped before rolling onto the bed beside you.

You said goodbye to Jay at the dock, the same spot he’d first said goodbye to you after taking you to this place. He helped your friends load their bags onto his yacht, cracked a joke about how he wasn’t running a taxi service, and kissed you once—quick and easy, no lingering promises. You smiled at him, genuine and grateful, and then he was gone, taking the laughter and chaos and comfort with him.

And just like that, you were alone.

You hadn’t truly been alone since you arrived in France. Jake had been with you in Paris on your first day, cute and shy. Sunghoon was on this island the day you got here, charming and kind, offering you help and himself. When he left, your friends arrived with wine and sunhats, and then Jay swept in like a storm, all noise and heat. But now the house was truly empty. You hadn’t expected the silence to feel so loud.

For a while, you didn’t do much. You walked around barefoot, let the days pass lazily, ate too much fruit, and stared at the ocean. You were scared, not of the house, not of the work ahead, but of the loneliness. You’d never admitted that before. But there it was, pressing into your chest like it intended to suffocate you.

Still, you carried on.

Since you didn’t have the finances to convert the mansion into a guesthouse yet, you found work in town. Mornings were spent in a café near the harbor, brewing coffee and scribbling names on cups that always got smudged. Tourists liked you, maybe because you smiled even when you were tired, or maybe because you looked like a tourist yourself if one would take away the uniform and the beret.

At night, you waited tables at corner street restaurant, where the wine was relatively pricey and the seafood never disappointed. The hours were long, but the pay was fair, and the staff became familiar. You didn’t tell them much about yourself, just that you were from a small village a few miles away and saving up for something big.

You kept working on your plans when you got home—sketching interior designs, tallying costs, researching permits and licensing. Some nights you fell asleep with your laptop still open on your stomach. Other nights you walked down to the beach alone, letting the cool sand soothe your body and mind.

It wasn’t a glamorous life. But it was good.

And slowly, you started to feel less fragile. You didn’t miss Sunghoon, not exactly. What you missed was the closeness, the feeling of someone else’s warmth in the bed beside you, the distraction from your thoughts. But you were proud of yourself too. You were building something. Even if it wasn’t a hotel yet, even if it was just a new version of yourself.

Two months passed like that.

Work, sleep, plan, repeat. The days folded into each other like pages in a worn book—some soft and golden, others heavy with fatigue. You had slipped into a routine without realizing it. Maybe that’s why you didn’t notice at first.

Your period was late.

It didn’t hit you until one morning at the café, when the espresso machine was hissing in the background and a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. You brushed it off, blaming the heat. But the feeling stayed until you had to leave because you couldn’t take it anymore without throwing up. 

And then came the other things. The tenderness, the fatigue, the strange aversion to the smell of coffee that made your coworkers laugh but made your stomach turn.

You tried not to spiral. Maybe it was stress. You’d read that stress could delay periods. You'd been busy and tired. But still, something gnawed at you. So you had to check. 

On afternoon, after your shift ended early, you walked into a clinic two towns over, where no one knew your name. You filled out the form with shaky hands and let the nurse lead you through the halls, your heart racing in your chest.

And then came the results that were impossible to misunderstand.

You were pregnant.

When you stepped back outside, the world was too bright, the sound of cicadas were roaring in your ears. You sat on a bench just outside the building, phone clutched in your hand but no one to call.

Because now came the real question: Who? Which one?

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought of it. The possibility had been there, but hearing the confirmation made it real. And now your mind spiraled through the summer like a montage, playing back every moment, every night, every touch.

Jake. Sunghoon. Jay.

You weren’t reckless. It wasn’t about that. You had been careful—or at least you thought you had. But the lines blurred in your memory now, and all you were left with was the truth.

You were carrying a child, and you didn’t know who the father was.

You sat there for a long time. Just breathing. A little girl passed by holding her mother’s hand, chattering about ice cream. A breeze lifted your hair. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed.

And you were still sitting. Still not sure what came next. But that night, you knew you needed to call Amy and Lea.

“This is why I always tell you to wrap it up,” Amy said immediately.

Neither of them knew what to say at first. You didn’t blame them. It wasn’t exactly news you could prepare them for.

“The raw way might be toe-curling, head-spinningly amazing,” Amy went on, “but it’s not worth it if it’s gonna get you knocked up out of wedlock.”

Lea scoffed audibly on the other line. “Shut up, Ames. You’re the one who always said condoms are cock-blockers and everyone should experience the ‘sheer delight’ of raw sex at least once.”

“I meant once, not—” Amy cut herself off. “Okay, never mind. We’re not talking about me.”

“You’re literally always talking about you.”

“Lea.”

“Sorry, sorry. Focus,” Lea said, clearing her throat. “So who do you think is the father?”

“Park Jay?” Amy ventured.

“Or Park Sunghoon,” Lea added. “You did say he was hot and brooding and emotionally intense, right? That sounds like potent baby-daddy energy.”

“Mm,” Amy mused. “But Jay has the boat and the abs. I’m leaning Jay.”

“Oh my god. It doesn’t matter. They’re both Parks, our baby will get the same surname regardless of who the father is,” Lea said excitedly.

You sighed. “Guys.”

“Don’t ‘guys’ us,” Amy said. “You invited us into the drama, now let us live in it.”

“Okay, but there’s someone else…”

They both went quiet. “...Don’t tell me you slept with someone else after Jay left?” Amy finally said.

You winced. “Actually, it was before. I met a guy name Jake Sim in Paris. Before coming to Corsica. Things happened.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then both of them erupted in squeals. 

“Three guys in just one summer?” Amy shrieked.

Lea was laughing. “You are an icon. How does it feel to be the main character of an erotic French film?”

“I feel nauseous,” you muttered.

“Pregnancy symptom,” Amy deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” you said, running a hand over your face. “What if it was Jake and I was just insane this whole time? Like, genuinely hormonal and insane. What if that’s why I got so swept up with Sunghoon? I couldn’t keep my hands off him. Maybe I was already pregnant then. Maybe I wasn’t even in love—just horny and mental.”

“Hormones do make you horny,” Amy said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to fall in lust under the influence of progesterone.”

“No, girl. You cried over him,” Lea reminded gently. “And you don’t really cry over guys unless it’s real.”

“Yeah, but pregnant women are crazy women. How would I know what’s real and what’s not?” you whispered. “I just thought it was love but then it wasn’t. It was just me being reckless and careless and—”

“Babe,” Amy cut in. “I know what you’re doing. You’re denying that it was real. Even if it was love and even if it wasn’t, you’re allowed to have feelings. You don’t need to justify your heartbreak to anyone. Especially not to yourself.”

You were quiet for a second. “Thanks, Ames.”

Amy added, “And I still say it’s Jay. Sunghoon probably pulls out. He sounds like a good guy. Good guys pull out.”

“Oh my god,” Lea said, cracking up. “On that note, I’m hanging up before Amy gives this baby a horoscope reading.”

“Wait, I totally should—”

Click. You stared at your phone, smiling faintly.

And then you weren’t smiling. You were just sitting again, alone in your big bedroom. A child growing inside you. A thousand things left to figure out. But at least you had friends who made you laugh along the way.

You didn’t know what to do at first. The test had been positive, the signs were there, but your thoughts had scattered into every direction at once. You considered everything—your finances, your future. Your pride.

The sheer humiliation of having to call any of the three men, let alone all of them. What would you even say? That you had a summer full of crap decisions and now needed help guessing which one was the father?

No. Just the idea made you shrink into yourself.

You kept the secret close to your chest, rolling it over and over, sleepless nights spent making pro and con lists in your head. You had reasons—dozens of them—for why you couldn’t keep the baby. And everytime you came close to making the call, to booking the appointment, something stopped you.

And then it was too late to even consider it.

You gave birth to a healthy baby girl in a cool winter night, with the help of kind women in the village who knew what to do. They guided you through labor with gentle hands and wisdom, and when you finally held your daughter in your arms, all the noise in your head quieted down.

Your daughter was perfect. Warm and pink and wailing, with one little fist curled around your finger.

You named her together. Amy and Lea had flown in as quickly as they could, flustered and crying and loud as ever, and from that moment on, the baby was theirs too. Theirs and the village’s, because it really did take a village to raise a child. The baker who always snuck pastries into her bag. Old man Jean-Luc who carved a cradle. The innkeeper who watched the baby when you picked up extra shifts.

The little girl grew into a sweet, curious child with wide eyes and smart wit. Everyone said she looked just like you. You were near-twins, people would say, shaking their heads fondly. 

“She’s your spitting image. Her dad’s genes didn’t even try!”

You raised your daughter with love. You taught her to be soft with the world but never small. To be good but not naive. To be strong but not unkind.

Meanwhile, you built the bed and breakfast from the ground up—slowly, with scraped knees and secondhand furniture, but with pride. It was small but beautiful. Cozy but polished. Tourists came, then returned, drawn by the warmth of the place and the magic of the island.

It wasn’t always easy—there were long nights, missed opportunities, tired tears—but it was yours. And you were happy.

Not the kind of happy that came with a man’s hands around your waist or whispered promises in the dark. The kind that looked like laughter over breakfast, like sun-dried sheets, like a child’s muddy footprints on a kitchen floor.

You didn’t need a man, and neither did your daughter. You had built a life of your own and it was enough.

“Mommy! Someone’s here!” your daughter called from the front door.

You had two hours left before guests would arrive for her birthday party. You were in the kitchen icing cupcakes when the doorbell rang, so you called out for her to answer it, assuming it was a parent dropping off a gift early—or Amy and Lea showing up with something too big to carry alone.

“I’ll be right out!” you called, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you jogged toward the front, hair tied up in a bun, frosting smudged on your arm. “Who is it, honey?”

You froze the moment you saw who she was staring at.

Standing on your porch were three men you hadn’t seen in years.

Jake, in a navy blue suit and tie, holding a bouquet of flowers. Jay, sunglasses perched on his head, casual as ever but visibly hesitant. And Sunghoon, his expression unreadable, eyes flicking from your face to the hand you’d unconsciously placed on your daughter’s shoulder.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Then you let out a stunned, almost exasperated laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

[the end... or is it?]

[aimasup]

you know what no I'm not done I'm not done raving about the 2025 Lilo and Stitch like a lunatic. Have to get it outta my system I wanna be a BITCH today

This is coming from someone who is very biased towards the original movie and decided to do their first hate-pirate watch just so they knew exactly what they would be raving about. So it's not an analysis really. If you like the 2025 movie then I'm happy for you, buuuut maybe don't read this 👉👈

This is not meant to discourage anyone from watching the movie, this is just me ranting and nitpicking lol. If you are interested do watch it (PIRATED) and form your own opinion!

Spoiler warning, long post

Pleakley

Hey let's talk about the changes made to Pleakley's character other than 'no dresses'

Live action: Here's the thing. They seem to understand that an inseperable part of Pleakley's character is his love for fashion. So to work around the dress ban, they decided to give him the love for human fashion from the very start. He first shows up in front of the councilwoman in a cowboy outfit. Every time his human disguise is out, he is always wearing something different (flowery shirts and hats, a mini concert backpack, etc).

But to me this further simplifies an already comedic side character. He can't even have the progression from 'mosquitoes are cool' to 'fashion is cool', or be redeemed in his view of humans from fascinating specimens to thinking feeling beings!! He has nowhere to go as a character because they moved his end point to the starting point, erasing the road!!!

By taking away his discovery of his love for fashion, he remains the same throughout the whole movie with only half the competence of his animated counterpart so he can't even be a funny punching bag character. Idk how else to explain it

Og: A smartass dripping with condescension but also scientific fascination, his disrespect to the councilwoman comes from his confidence

Live action: His disrespect to the councilwoman comes from a lack of understanding of boundaries, he constantly gets so excited he asks to hug her.

Live action: Actually he's oddly enthusiastic in this movie??? He is HYPED to be teamed up with Jumba and clings to him on first sight, he is HYPED to go to Earth and stay on Earth. He has a bit of a nervous golden retriever energy. They did keep him high-strung about the mission, which is kind of entertaining to watch when played off of Jumba.

Live action: Speaking of Jumba, they really committed! People are saying Jumba turned on Pleakley and that Jumba was the twist villain. Not true! Pleakley turns on Jumba and Jumba was always a whiny heartless ass. The councilwoman orders him to arrest Jumba after they fail and Pleakley moves to do so with a shrug. Go off buddy cops who hate each other give us nothing

To read me bitch more about Jumba, it's all here in this post, Nani is also talked about a ton in it lmao

Lilo

(No hate to the live action actor, she's delightful)

Og: In hula, she has a violent outburst in response to an insensitive comment.

Live action: In hula, she gets actively shoved onstage. I am neutral about this tbh

Live action: Lilo asking 'we're a broken family, aren't we?' is replaced by 'Am I...bad?' for Nani to comfort her. watch the Sims negative relationship points appear above my head in real time

Live action: Most of her scenes are now dedicated to being chaotic cute or encouraging Nani. The scene in her bedroom where we learn about how her parents died is dedicated to Lilo talking about Nani's backstory I am not joking

Live action: does not discuss how their parents' death affect Lilo. Lilo is a side character and a troublemaker in her own movie. Watching her gas up this college plotline because the script thinks Lilo should be more understanding of Nani is so awkward

Og: About family, Lilo says 'What happened to yours? Do you dream about them? I know that's why you wreck things. And push me.'

Live action: Lilo says 'Do you have a family?' and Stitch says 'No.' and Lilo says 'that's okay, you can be a part of ours 😊'

It's a fine change I think, all the same it shows Lilo's emotional intelligence, but the vibe is off. I can't place it

Og: Lilo tries to explain Stitch's behaviour all the time: 'He needs desserts!' 'It's past his bedtime!' 'He's an orphan and we adopted him!' 'Be careful of the little angel!' The angel I wished for, Lilo doesn't say, he has to be the one I wished for!

During the Elvis Presley beach scene in the og Lilo cries out for the spectators to stop crowding him!!! and she is correct, the camera flashes overwhelm Stitch and he lashes out again!!!

Live action: Lilo sticks up for Stitch but it's slightly different, she says 'He's just exploring his new home!' 'He's just curious!' as he's sticking forks in the blender - it feels more like she's oblivious to just how destructive his behaviour is and excusing it. She's still a really sweet brave child but her naivety is played up on purpose here to frusrate Nani even more! She only tries to seriously get on Stitch about good behaviour when everyone around keeps telling her to control her dog - Stitch is an escaped convict, he's not actually a dog does the 2025 movie know that it's important to me that they know that

Og: Lilo is so defensive of Stitch because she sees herself in him (and also he's just a magic talking animal to her). Not in the way that the 2025 movie thinks, that she's getting a taste of her own medicine (she's 6, why do you want a grieving 6 year old to learn a Cat in the Hat lesson, Lilo ALREADY KNOWS CONSEQUENCES) but in that she believes Stitch is capable of more than just a destroying beast!!!

Live action: But in the 2025 movie she sees Stitch as top tier playmate material that needs to be controlled sometimes??

Nani

Live action: Listen she still loves Lilo. Tickle fights and concern for her and laughing at her antics, there is effort to show they care, she cares.

Og: When Lilo says 'I like you better as a sister than a mom' it's sad because that's the role Nani is in now. Nani doesn't know what to say, she wants to be a sister too!!

Live action: When Lilo says 'I like you better as a sister than a mom', Nani says 'Ouch.' in like a jokey way and I don't know what to make of that.

Live action: The movie gives her Fiona Gallagher levels of stress when they added two whole characters who live NEXT DOOR that have a close bond with Lilo and know their situation super well. She is not Tiana, why are we doing this (I've never watched Shameless I just know the entire plot through TikTok osmosis 😔)

Horror just flashed before me at the thought of a Princess and the Frog live action remake in the future

Live action: They added a wise playful grandma and social worker to constantly explain the plot to Nani and the audience ughhh

The grandma tells Nani she is smart and deserves college. The grandma tells her to make up with her sister after they fight. Social worker doesn't sit Lilo and Nani down to counsel their situation and set goals, she only sits Nani down. The grandma takes Lilo to get a pet behind Nani's back and explains what pets are for to Nani. The grandma says 'hey we're ohana too' and then later we have a scene where Nani says Ohana isn't realistic.

The grandma and the social worker keep telling Nani she's so smart and selfless and she works so hard, after the movie shows that Nani is smart and selfless and works so hard. She works so hard and is struggling so much that she misses Lilo's hula show and it's sad for everyone.

Basically they gave away Nani's sillier side, understanding and patience of Lilo, and time spent with her sister that isn't scolding, to the grandma. Leaving Nani with just the tragedy

They also do a reoccurring thing with Nani struggling to start her car until the end? I don't know what that's about. I think it's symbolic for her life or something. someone tell me why they gave her car troubles on top of college troubles

Nani is a mouthpiece for the movie too. The scene where Lilo tries to use Ohana to stop Stitch from being sent away, Nani interrupts her and rants at her about how unrealistic Ohana is now, and Stitch doesn't bat an eye, still a background nuisance. Huh

How does one fuck up the record player joke I hear you ask

One morning, Lilo places a record in front of Nani and demonstrates Stitch's biopunk capabilities, absurdly transforming him into a flesh gramophone.

Og: half the punchline is Nani's utter baffled reaction at madness. This is her life now and she's more certain than ever the dog is radioactive

Live action: Nani is so busy she barely acknowledges it. Lilo has to explain why this is cool actually, falling on deaf ears as Nani is more anxiously focused on being late and having to bring Lilo along to her job applications.

Again, along with the missed hula show, they want to show how stressed Nani is to the point where she CAN'T be in Lilo's life, that Lilo is a distraction, and that's why the separation is for the best. The HOOPS this movie is jumping through mate

If you want to read more about what I've said about og Nani, it's in here

Councilwoman alien

This is the figurehead of the alien plot that they kept

Live action: Why is she talking so fast. Why are all the alien scenes going by so fast. The beginning, from Stitch's courtroom meeting to Jumba and Pleakley being sent after him, takes like less than 10 minutes in the new one.

Og: Councilwoman is wise enough to find loopholes in her strict rules in the name of ethics, she's a grumpy governor whose every move is methodical and speaks sharply to get things done.

Live action: they only halfway did that here?? At the end Cobra didn't even make up the mosquito conspiracy here, he just tells the councilwoman 'Hey. Trust me. I won't tell the government about this. 🥺'. and the councilwoman is like 'okay sure Stitch can stay.'

Stitch

Live action: A full-on dog, a puppy, a goofy creature that gets guilt halfway through instead of also being motivated by a desire for companionship

Live action: In the surfing scene, Stitch sees a dog surfing and wants to mimic it. That's it, that's why he gets on the water

Live action: New home adjustment scene, Stitch does not falter at Lilo using Ohana to stop Nani sending him away.

Here's Stitch's progress in the original film:

Destroy everything, evade the cops, find a city where I can kill everything rawr

Gets humbled by earth

Gets humbled by Lilo just hanging out

Gets humbled by Jumba and Pleakley on his ass

Hears Ohana just as he's about to get kicked out, sparking something in him

Lilo calms him down then tells him to redirect his energy towards something constructive. He makes a model of San Francisco to terrorize but it's a start

There's no memories for him to visit in the night, no other purpose than to destroy, so he starts looking through books to find it

He plays along with Lilo teaching him to play music, albeit chaotically, but he's such a natural tornado that he just brings destruction everywhere he goes. And now he's in an environment where destroying is both purposeless and not even fun, and he questions everything again

Getting humbled by surfing, placed into a situation with his natural enemy element (water) where he doesn't have the advantage. Seeing how much fun Lilo and her sister (+ future brother-in-law) are having, he finds himself yearning again, what intelligent creature doesn't? He willingly returns to water, he's scared but he's learning that water can be fun, he HUGS NANI'S LEG AND NANI FINDS HIM BRIEFLY ENDEARING

He breaks everything again, not even on purpose, the more he learns about Lilo he feels like he should remove himself from the picture, he's lost again and again. Aka consequences, he is forced again and again to grapple with consequences

He reveals himself as an alien to Lilo, he's honest on purpose because he knows he fucked up and she deserves to know the truth

During his arrest he decides to motivate Nani with Ohana again, because he's not leaving this time without them. And he gets them to save Lilo, then he ends the movie as ohana who helps with the chores

Stitch's progress in the live action: he just feels bad when Jumba calls him out and gets protective of Lilo out of nowhere!! The bond is them causing chaos together which is just more stress for Nani???

Live action: He willingly gives himself up for capture. Touching and noble, but they've missed out on yet another opportunity for Nani warm up to him.

When they make the surfing scene just surfing and the capture scene just capture, there's no reason for Nani to save Stitch from drowning the end of the movie other than an obligation to her sister and 'Ohana'! Again, it feels like obligation!!! And for plot reasons, to give Nani the selfless spotlight yet again and throw in a fakeout death scene for Stitch.

Live action: He doesn't shove Lilo like a petulant bully, his chaos feels more like playtime. It changes things when the 2025 movie makes him tear up the house with a wide-eyed smile on his face as opposed to the original where he's snarling and hissing the whole time. They're both carrying out their purpose to destroy everything they see but again. The vibes are off

He's not just a cute freak!! He's SOMETHING THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO EXIST WHO LEARNS TO LOVE AND HAS A CHANGE OF PERSPECTIVE THROUGH THE GRACE OF THE PEOPLE AROUND HIM!!! Agahgahhh

Extra:

The shot of the Hawaiian flag during a monologue near the ending? Cool I guess. I'm Malaysian, I recognise an intentional flag camera shot when I see one 🫵

CapriSun placement is also very unexpected and kind of funny. They did it like twice lmao. 'With the power of CapriSun you too can beat up Jumba in your own home!'

A lot of the 2025 movie removes if not changed the decisions their characters make that would affect the plot. It rearranges scenes without any consideration of why those scenes were there in the first place. And the scenes from the og that aren't totally altered go by so quickly with a dozen jokes per second, like the movie wants to move on and get to the new stuff they added.

Aaaah I think that's everything

Gonna go now

[hellfirebarnes]

Slow-Burns - Part 3

PART 1 PART 2 PART 4 PART 5

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

1.7K words

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

Bucky scanned the briefing file. Intel breach. Corporate sabotage. Medium risk, low collateral. High-tech infiltration. One scientist needed extraction. Half the mission screamed you - cyber-forensic work, silent infiltration, backdoor escape route.

He frowned. “She’s not coming?”

Yelena leaned back in her chair, sipping bad coffee from a novelty mug that read ‘Crime, But Make It Cute.’

“She’s not coming.”

Bucky’s heart skipped. “Why?”

“She has the day off,” Ava answered, scrolling through her own tablet.

“But we need someone who can spoof an encrypted relay system on the move,” he said, voice flat but tight. “That’s her.”

“Relax, grandpa,” John muttered. “We’ve got it covered. Ava rewrote a protocol last night, and Bob is flying overwatch.”

Bucky looked back down at the tablet, annoyed. Not at the team. Not at the mission. At the fact that it felt wrong without you. And he hated how that felt.

“She asked for the day off two weeks ago,” Yelena added, tapping through something on her screen. “She deserves it.”

Alexei, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly grinned like he’d been waiting for someone to ask.

“Is big day,” he said, voice full of pride. “I set her up with very nice man. Name is Luka. Banker. Hair like lion. Very symmetrical face.”

Bucky looked up, slowly. “…You what?”

“Date!” Alexei beamed. “They go to brunch. Then art museum. Maybe share pretzel. Classic courtship!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Bucky didn’t move.

“Wait,” John said, looking up from his file. “She’s on a date?”

“Yes!” Alexei slammed a celebratory hand on the table. “I make things happen!”

Yelena blinked. “With Luka? From your bowling team?”

“He does not just bowl! He reads books. Big hands. Gentle eyes.”

Ava smirked. “You sound like you’re in love with him yourself.”

“He is very huggable!”

Bucky barely heard any of it. He was still stuck on date.

Something cold settled under his ribs. He hadn’t known you were seeing someone. He hadn’t even thought to ask. You’d always been here, orbiting close. And now, without warning, you were… elsewhere. With someone. Laughing, maybe. Wearing something soft and light. Smiling the way you always did when you were teasing him - except it wasn’t him.

Alexei’s words filtered back in. “—and if it goes well, they go to second location. Maybe fondue. Is very romantic.”

Bucky pushed back from the table. “I’ll be on the jet,” he muttered.

Yelena watched him go, eyes narrowing. When the door slid shut behind him, she turned to the others. “Okay,” she said. “That man is not okay.”

Bob tilted his head. “Is this the part where he acknowledges his feelings and makes a healthy emotional decision?”

John scoffed. “More like he’ll sit alone in the cargo bay and think about how her laugh sounds.”

Alexei frowned. “But she deserves strong man with good face symmetry. Why is Barnes sad?”

Ava deadpanned, “Because he’s been in denial for months.”

Two hours later Bucky sat strapped in, arms crossed, staring out the window like it had offended him personally. Every passing city below looked like a blur of decisions he hadn’t made. He thought about the last time you had touched his shoulder. How you’d laughed at one of Bob’s ridiculous stories. How you always leaned in just slightly when you talked to him, like what he said mattered more than anyone else’s words.

And now you were giving that attention to someone else. Some Luka.

He didn’t even know what the guy looked like, but his brain was helpfully painting the worst: tall, perfect teeth, probably called you beautiful without tripping over the word like Bucky always did in his head.

He wasn’t mad at you. Not even close. But he was angry with himself.

He’d wasted time. So much time, thinking if he just stayed close, you’d know. That he wouldn’t need to say anything. That maybe feelings could transfer telepathically through awkward silences and missed glances.

You were out there living. And he was up here… sulking.

He hadn’t wanted to make a move. He’d told himself he wasn’t ready. And now it might be too late.

Meanwhile, at a café in Brooklyn, you stirred your coffee absently as Luka droned on about crypto trends and some vacation he’d taken in the Alps with his “boys.” His shirt was tailored, his teeth were indeed perfect, and he had zero opinions on whether or not one should put glitter in combat boots.

You smiled politely. But your mind wandered.

To the Tower.

To the mission briefing you could have been part of.

To a certain grumpy super soldier with eyes like storm clouds and the emotional range of a wounded wolf.

God, you missed him already.

The Tower was quieter than usual that night. Post-mission debriefs were filed. John had gone out. Yelena and Ava were holed up somewhere with wine and a true crime doc. Alexei was in the sauna, probably giving unsolicited dating advice to someone over speakerphone.

And you? You were back.

Bucky noticed the moment you walked in. Not because you announced it - you never did - but because the air shifted.

He was in the common room, nursing a drink and reading the same paragraph of a book for the fourth time when he heard the elevator ding and your familiar footsteps cross the floor.

Then your voice. “Hey.”

He looked up.

You were dressed casually - simple, comfortable, but still carried yourself like you had a secret no one else was allowed to know. Except this time, you looked… tired. Not physically. Just disappointed in a way that sat deep in the shoulders.

Bucky sat up a little straighter. “You’re back.”

You sank onto the opposite end of the couch, kicking your shoes off with a sigh. “Yeah. Just got in.”

He hesitated. Then, carefully: “How was the date?”

You groaned and dropped your head back dramatically. “So bad. So impressively bad.”

Bucky’s heart did something traitorous - thrilled a little too much at the words. He worked hard not to show it.

“He was… polite. I’ll give him that. But every time I tried to steer the conversation toward something fun or personal, he’d redirect it back to himself. Or his investments. Or this stupid vacation he took with a group of guys who all wore matching swim trunks and called themselves the Wolfpack.”

Bucky blinked. “The what?”

“Right?” You said, eyes wide. “It felt like a sitcom where the punchline never came.”

A beat passed. He couldn’t help it—he smiled. Just a little.

You caught it. Your expression softened. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… sounds like hell.”

“It was. But the pretzel was good.”

You shared a quiet moment. Bucky’s chest felt warm and strange. He didn’t speak much, but he listened, and for once, he didn’t feel like he was drowning in his own silence. Maybe it was the soft tone in your voice. Maybe it was the way you’d looked at him when you walked in, like you’d missed him too.

He almost leaned in, just a little, like he was going to say something real for once.

And then Bob practically exploded into the room, arms wide, face beaming like a golden retriever who’d just spotted his favorite human.

Bucky immediately sat back, shoulders going tense.

You blinked, then smiled, bright and open. “Hey, Bob.”

Bob crossed the room in three giant steps and flopped onto the couch between you with a whoomp, knocking Bucky’s knee in the process. “You’re back! I missed you! Did you see the picture of Waffles I texted you?”

“I did,” you said, laughing. “The little hat was a nice touch.”

“He wore it willingly!” Bob looked at you with stars in his eyes. “Did you have a fun day off?”

You paused. “It had its moments.”

Bob turned to Bucky, clueless and radiant. “Didn’t we miss her, Buck? I kept saying we needed her on the mission. She would’ve handled that alarm system in two minutes.”

Bucky blinked slowly. “Yeah. We missed her.”

Your eyes flicked to Bucky, and something quiet passed between you again. But Bob, entirely unaware, continued cheerfully.

“I was thinking maybe we could all go get pancakes tomorrow. Celebrate a mission well done and your return. I know a place. They have whipped cream. And seasonal syrups. And they let you mix them. Which is chaos, but good chaos.”

You laughed again, and Bucky felt the familiar ache settle back into his chest. Because Bob wasn’t competition. He was just kind. Bright and open and honest in a way Bucky hadn’t been in years. Maybe ever. And you looked so comfortable around him. So light.

Bucky couldn’t even be mad. Not at Bob. Not at you. Just at himself, for still sitting there, wanting something and saying nothing.

He stood up quietly, draining the rest of his drink.

“Where you going?” You asked, noticing.

“Gonna turn in,” he said, avoiding your eyes. “Long day.”

“Goodnight,” you said softly.

He paused. Then looked at you - really looked at you. And for just a second, he let something show.

“Glad you’re back.”

And then he walked away.

Behind him, you watched him go. And for the first time since the date, you weren’t thinking about Luka at all.

Valentina slid a sleek folder across her desk. Inside was a badge, a keycard, a stack of onboarding documents, and a post-it with “Val we need a hot tub in the tower—seriously” scribbled in Yelena’s handwriting.

“I want you full-time, Agent. No more coming and going. A room and an official seat at the table. The team already treats you like you’re one of them. Might as well make it real.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Your heart said yes immediately. But your brain, ever cautious, flipped through the mental index of what-ifs and escape routes.

“You sure you want to say no?” Val asked, arms folded, one brow arched.

You blinked. “Did I say no?”

“You hesitated.”

“I blinked.”

“Same thing in spy-speak.”

Then you thought about last night’s mission.

How Yelena had linked arms with you when you walked back into the jet, chattering about snack options. How Alexei had announced proudly that he’d protected “the two best sharpshooters in the world.” How Bob had quietly tucked your coat over your shoulders when you’d dozed off.

And how Bucky had looked at you before you parted ways. Like maybe he didn’t want to see you go.

You smiled softly.

“I’m in.”

[rosenclaws]

Hi! I really, really love your writing, especially these headcanons.

This is gonna sound really weird but could you write Logan with a reader who struggles with friendships and making friends? And general loneliness?

I'm struggling with feeling like I have no one right now and I just would really like to read about Logan loving on me and making me forget that for a bit

HI!! of course I can. we don't really talk and im so ass at responding BUT my dms or inbox is always open if you need someone to talk to <33 I really understand where ur coming from this was literally me all through college. I didn’t make a single friend bc I commuted and I felt so lonely. Also dofp and trilogy logan can be read more platonic so if u arent happy with it i can redo them!

Origins Logan -

I think that Logan isn’t great with making friends either. He’s not super interested in making friends so he’s very content being alone or being with you. But he notices a small sadness in your eyes sometimes. How you never seem to go out with people or the way your voice falls when he tells you he’s going to the bar after work with some work friends. He wasn’t sure what it was at first but then he saw you tucked away with tears in your eyes one night and decided it to get to the bottom of things.

See making friends is hard. You try. You really do. But no matter how nice you are and how much you try to reach out it just never works out. You never told Logan about it. Fearing he’d laugh or think you were lame. But it breaks his heart to see you so sad. He puts you in his lap and assures you that he’s there for you. He’ll be your boyfriend, your best friend, your support system. Hell he’ll even be your enemy if you wanted him to be.

He takes you out to town more in his free time encouraging you to join that book club you see flyers for or maybe that running group. Of course he won’t push anything but he just wants to see you happy. Whatever you need from him he’ll be. Because he loves you and he’ll be by your side through it all.

Trilogy Logan -

It’s stupid. At least it feels stupid. You live in a mansion with people just like you. Yet somehow you just feel lonely. You didn’t grow up here. You came very late in life and your powers didn’t warrant a spot on the team. In fact you swear the only reason Charles let you in is because they needed an art teacher. You’d sit in the kitchen at dinner by yourself while everyone was chatting around the counter. You would take walks when the students and staff played games. You were never invited to go out afterwards. Hell you aren’t even sure anyone else knows your name.

Until Logan came along. You knew him, of course you did he was The Wolverine after all. But you swore he never even gave you a second glance. It was your birthday and you were once again alone. You debated on going to the store and buying a cupcake but before you could make a decision Logan made it for you. A cute pink box sat on your bed with a card in very proper handwriting. The card just read Happy birthday signed by Logan of all people. It was your favorite flavor too. You confronted him and he just shrugged. He had always seen you but he was a lone wolf kind of guy. Still he liked you and in the spirit of…teamwork? He reached out. Logan was more than the grumpy man you thought he was. He was funny and had a sharp tongue. But he was sweet and a big softie. Only you got to see that side. He was your friend and slowly he made you feel seem. Made you feel loved. Now you have someone to exist in silence with and you’ve never been happier.

DOFP Logan -

I think it’s similar to trilogy Logan in the sense that he sees you when you feel like no one else does. He’s observant and the man can see that you don’t talk much to anyone. At a staff event you stayed quiet in the corner. Your face had “get me out” written all over it. A look he knows too well. He doesn’t know what draws him to you exactly. He thinks your smart and the kids love your class so why hasn’t he seen you around more.

The truth is you hated these events because you want to be apart of the fun so badly. To talk and laugh and befriend the people everyone seems to idolize. But no matter how hard you tried you just faded to the back. Making friends isn’t as easy as asking someone if they like ponies or the color purple. So when Logan. The Wolverine of all people walked up to and talked to you. It was bizarre. Not that you were complaining but fuck how did he even know who you were?

You start to overthink everything with Logan. Are you too clingy? Too forward? Should you ask if he wants coffee when you asked him yesterday if he wanted an extra donut? Eventually I think he asks you about it and you confess that making friends isn’t easy for you. Logan doesn’t think you’re weird or a loser for it. He understands shit happens and things aren’t easy for everyone. He is not a people person either and making friends is low on his skill set. But he likes you a lot and he’ll happily be your friend. Maybe more if you’re interested. He’ll be whatever you want him to be.

Old Man Logan -

Logan notices you’re just a little off. That you aren’t as happy as you used to be. A part of him is worried it’s his fault. He’s gone so much working and when he’s home he’s exhausted. He tries to take out on a nice date every other week. Something that you’ll remember for a long time. He’ll by you flowers he thinks are pretty from the store. They aren’t the most expensive but you don’t care. Was he not doing enough? I think he hides his worry until one day he finds you teary eyed laying on your bed and he can’t hold it in any longer.

It feels silly to tell him. He’s got so much on his plate and it’s not his fault he has things to do. He takes such good care of you and loves you. But you’re lonely. You go to work you come home and that’s it. You have Logan but you don’t have any friends and its starting to weigh on you. You try but people can be mean or they already have friends. You feel like theres something wrong with yoj. Logan frowns as he reassures you there’s nothing wrong with you. Absolutely nothing. Making friends ain’t as easy for some people and that’s okay. He would pick you up in his arms and cuddle you. He makes an effort to be the person you can always come to. Texting you things in between his rides. He’ll let you blow up his phone with everything you’re doing. He can’t always respond but he promises he reads it. When he comes home he’ll listen to you talk, ask a few questions and smile when you do. It can be hard but the loneliness isn’t forever and Logan will be your beacon for as long as you need him.

Worst Logan -

Wade has a lot of friends and sometimes it can be overwhelming as hell. So sometimes Logan just fucks off for a little bit. He enjoys the quiet more than the noise of people. That’s where he meets you. You live next door but he’s never met you. Not even Wade really knows who you are. You’re quiet and reserved and seem to stumble on your words. But Logan likes you. You’re much more tolerable than Wade for long periods of time. Sometimes you show up to ask for help or to drop off something but you don’t stay long.

After a while Logan asks why you don’t come to dinner or any of Wade’s parties. That’s when you tell him the truth. You aren’t Wade’s friend and that sometimes your jealousy gets the best of you when it comes to hearing how much joy and life comes from his apartment. Wade is friends with just about everyone but for some reason he never bothered to befriend you. You’re lonely and despite your small attempts to become closer they never went anywhere so you kind of just gave up. Until Logan came along. He was nice and he looked at you and gave you the time of day.

Admitting to him you were lonely was hard but he understands. He was the same way for years. All his friends had died and he had no one for a long time. He never wants to be that lost again and he won’t let you feel that way anymore either. He listens and he tells you that things might feel bad now but it will get better. He can’t tell you when but he’s there and he hopes his company can distract you even just for a little bit. Wade was appalled with himself for not introducing himself sooner once Logan brings you to a Sunday dinner.

He doesn’t force you to talk to anyone or suddenly expect you to be amazing at making friends with these strangers but he is there when you look back. Offering a smile that encourages you to open up just a little more. And if things feel like you’re losing it again, he’s right there to comfort you. He’s just a wall away and there’s no where else he’d rather be than with you.

[forsaken-headcanons]

Since 007n7's lore seems to be getting a rewrite (the actual 007n7 is helping! A!) I would like to throw my hat in the ring, as I've had an interesting concept hit my brain.

At first, 007n7 was just an average person, just with some shifty connections. He worked at Builder Brothers and was good friends with Elliott. He got his paycheck at the end of every week, and was a hard enough worker he earned several bonuses. He lived alone, and had a mostly comfortable life. Sure he had to cut corners to make ends meet once in a while, but who didn't skip a meal every now and again?

He and Noli were friends in college, and Noli highly encouraged him to take up hacking and/or join his group (which was rapidly transforming into a cult,) but there was no pressure. 007n7 refused every offer - he was perfectly happy the way he was. Noli, while extremely disappointed, accepted his refusal, while reminding Seven that he could always call him up for a favor, big or small. They would chat every once in a while, and Seven wouldn't report Noli to the mods. Life was good.

Then that little red pillbaby got left at his doorstep. At first, 007n7 tried to give the little guy to the foster care system, because he didn't think he had what it took to be a single father. But one night, he had a nightmare of the baby looking hurt and scared, reaching for him with tears in his eyes. That did it for Seven - he adopted c00lkidd outright the very next day. And he never regretted it.

But as c00lkidd grew, 007n7 found it exponentially harder to take care of the both of them. He took on more hours. He got another job. He tried to homeschool c00lkidd in his free time. They moved into a smaller house. He got another job. He got more hours. He skipped more meals in favor of feeding c00lkidd. He got his cousin to watch the house. They moved in with 007e7. He didn't sleep. E took on extra hours at his job.

It wasn't enough.

Seven called Noli. Noli taught him the basics. He started teleporting to work. He used different glitches to boost his efficiency. His mind locked onto coding easily, and he started developing the c00lGUI. He tried to get a more tech-focused job but was rejected. He used clones to work all his jobs at once.

It wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

He realized he wasn't really valuable to these people.

He realized c00lkidd wasn't valuable to these people.

He snapped.

He continued to work on the c00lGUI, enhancing it, making it bigger and better. He discovered hacks that shocked even Noli.

E saw what was happening. He tried to talk N out of it.

He didn't listen.

He founded Team c00lkidd, and enlisted several like-minded individuals to his side. He made c00lkidd the face of his madcap endeavor. So they could see who they were robbing. So he would never forget who all this was for. Was it dangerous? Of course. But if they wanted his family, they would have to go through him first. And he would not make it easy.

He returned to the place it all began.

And he brought hell down upon their heads.

C00lkidd was four at the time. He made sure it would be a show that would bring a smile to that precious face. He even let the little guy help stir up the chaos.

Elliott didn't recognize the monster in front of him.

It was almost two years before 007n7 got caught. Noli actually got caught before him, and he broke him out of jail.

It would have gone a lot worse for both 007n7 and c00lkidd if Shedletsky hadn't intervened. He saw a bit of himself in the "little Firebrand" and his hotshot father. Maybe he saw something he had lost long ago...?

007n7 was sentenced to exhausting community service for a while, but there was no fine, and all in all, it could have been a lot worse. At least c00lkidd hadn't been sentenced to anything, and didn't have to suffer for his father's actions.

But then c00lkidd went missing. He was only seven. 007n7 was devastated. He searched desperately for him. Even Shedletsky helped.

But three years passed and no sign of his little Firebrand. He became increasingly depressed. He had given up everything for c00lkidd, and now he was gone, seemingly for good. He started pushing everyone else away. Noli and E both tried getting through to him, with no results. He continued his downward spiral. His little red pillbaby, gone.

We all know what happened next.

oh this is so fucking good jesus christ. we have no words other than THIS IS AMAZING like GOOD LORD??? ok anon. hope you don't mind if we yank this out of your hands /silly. THE WRITING IS IMPECCABLE OGUHG (STOPP WE KNOW WHO YOU'RE REFERRING TO 💔💔💔 shed missing 1x realcore...)

this concept is delicious got damn. argh. JUST. THE PROGRESSION OF 7N7'S HACKS GETTING WORSE???? Michelin star type meal holy shamoly. everyone please read this it's so peak

[r-memberme]

I've been waiting | k.m

⎯⎯ Carries them like a secret, like a promise, like a goddamn artifact. Something to remind him that even if you think it was nothing, he knows it was everything. That even if your lips say you’re over it, your body never lies.

warnings: kinda smut, 18+

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was one night. That whatever he’d taken from you—your breath, your sanity, your name spoken like a prayer half-burned—was long gone by now. Forgotten.

Because men like him always forget. They have empires to burn, thrones to protect, centuries to carry like ghosts in their lungs. You were just a girl who touched him once. Just hands. Just hips. Just heat.

Just nothing.

That’s what you told yourself when he stopped calling. When days passed without a flicker of him. When the silence bloomed sharp and cruel inside your chest and you started to believe maybe… maybe you were just a story he folded away.

Maybe he’d already taken what he wanted and moved on.

But Klaus Mikaelson doesn’t move on. Not when it comes to what’s his.

Not when it comes to you.

And you don’t know it yet—but he kept something. Not a memory. Not a photo. Not your perfume on his skin or your voice echoing in his head at three in the morning.

No. He kept your panties.

Pressed between the pages of a book he doesn’t let anyone touch. Tucked behind wards in a drawer no one dares open. Wrapped in the scent of you and the memory of your shaking thighs, the gasp in your throat when you gave in and let him ruin you.

He carries them sometimes.

Carries them like a secret, like a promise, like a goddamn artifact. Something to remind him that even if you think it was nothing, he knows it was everything. That even if your lips say you’re over it, your body never lies.

You feel it again when he enters the room weeks later, like no time passed at all.

Like the air knows him. Like you do.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. He never is.

He just walks up to you at some crowded gallery opening you came to escape your own mind. A glass of wine trembling in your hand. A stranger on your arm trying to talk about brushstrokes, unaware he’s already become prey.

And Klaus—

Klaus doesn't even glance at the boy beside you. His eyes are on you. Only you.

He leans in, close enough that only you can hear, and murmurs—

“Still sleeping in my shirt, love? Or did you move on to something else I touched?”

You freeze.

Your throat goes dry.

Because you are. You are sleeping in his shirt.

And he knows it.

His voice brushes against your jaw like the back of his knuckles used to. And he whispers, slow:

“I didn’t forget you. I chose not to come back… yet. There’s a difference.”

You can’t breathe. Not with the weight of him that close, not with the heat of him still coiled in your blood like a spell.

And then—then, he slides something soft and wicked into your hand, curled so carefully no one else can see.

You don’t need to look.

You already know what it is.

The panties you left behind. The ones he folded and kept like a prayer. Like a possession.

His voice curls like smoke in your ear.

“I carry them with me,” he says. “Like a reminder. Like a promise. Because you’re not something I got out of my system, sweetheart. You’re something I let in.”

And you realize something that unravels you like silk:

He never let you go.

༊*·˚

You tell yourself it won’t happen again.

That what he slipped into your hand that night—those delicate, dark scraps of silk you once left behind in the heat of a too-fast goodbye—was just a trick. A flourish. An attempt to rattle you.

But the truth is, it worked.

You keep them in the drawer now, those panties. Like they’re haunted. Like they hum.

And the worst part?

You touch them.

Sometimes you touch them with trembling fingers and remember how you felt that night—how he said your name like it was already carved into him. How he didn’t ask you to stay, but still made you feel like you belonged nowhere else but tangled in his sheets.

You remember the reverence.

The grip of his hands on your hips. The way he looked at you, like you were something holy. Something his.

And eventually, you stop pretending you don’t want it again.

So you go to him.

You don’t text. You don’t call. You show up, because you know that’s what he likes best.

Rain is falling when you do. So cliché it’s almost laughable, but the sky seems to know something about surrender.

His door opens before you knock.

Like he knew.

He always knows.

He doesn’t say a word at first. Just stands in the frame, shirt undone, chest bare like a threat. Like a temptation.

You say his name.

He doesn’t answer it. Doesn’t need to.

Because you’re already stepping inside. Already unbuttoning your coat. Already letting him see what you came for.

Him.

And when his hands finally touch you—slow at first, like rediscovering a painting he used to study with fever—your knees nearly buckle.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispers against your shoulder. “You were never going to forget me. Because I never left you.”

His lips find the side of your throat, tongue tasting the pulse you can’t control.

“And you’re not here for closure, love. You’re here because you miss the way it felt when someone worshipped you.”

And he’s right.

You want to be worshipped.

And god, he does. On his knees. In his bed. In every breath he takes while his fingers slide under your skirt like it’s still that first night.

You tell yourself it’s the last time.

But he already knows better.

༊*·˚

You don’t remember moving.

Only that now, somehow, the air between you is gone. That your back hits the wall with a sound too soft to echo. That his palm braces beside your head, knuckles grazing the crumbling plaster like he’s doing it gently—for your sake.

He’s not touching you.

But his body is so close you can feel the shape of it in your breath. The warmth radiating off his skin. The tension carved into every inch of him.

“Do you think I forgot?” Klaus asks, voice low, dangerous, intimate.

You can’t answer. Not with words. Not with the way his eyes hold you still like a storm about to break.

“Do you think I ever stopped remembering?” he murmurs, tilting his head. His mouth is close to your cheek now, but not touching. “The sound you made when you came that first time. The way your fingers dragged down my back like you couldn’t stand the thought of letting go.”

His words shouldn’t make your legs shake. But they do.

Your throat tightens. “You didn’t say anything. After.”

He hums, soft. A dangerous kind of soft. “I didn’t need to.”

“You let me leave,” you say, voice sharp with all the things you never let yourself feel. “You made it seem like it meant nothing.”

Finally, his eyes flash. “No, love. You convinced yourself it meant nothing.”

And then — then — he touches you.

A single knuckle under your chin, tilting your face toward his like you’re something he’s about to taste, not claim. And yet you already feel owned.

“You think I could fuck you like that and forget?” he whispers.

His hand slides to your neck, not gripping, just holding — like he’s checking your pulse. And he feels it. Rapid. Unsteady. Wanting.

“I kept those panties,” he says. “Not to remember the night. But to remember you. To keep the scent of you. The ghost of you. Because you haunt, darling. You live beneath the skin. You crawl under the ribcage and stay.”

He leans in. Breath on your jaw. Nose against your temple. His other hand finds your waist, dragging slowly up your side, not with lust — with reverence.

You could cry from the way it feels. Like he’s trying to memorize your shape again, just in case the stars steal you away.

“I wanted you to come back,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “But I knew you wouldn’t. Not until you missed the way I touched you more than you feared what it meant.”

You whisper, “And what does it mean?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you. Really look.

“That you’re mine,” he says, finally. “And that I will ruin every man you try to love after me.”

Your fingers dig into his shirt. You pull. He presses his forehead to yours like a prayer.

Rain still beats against the windows.

And then — he leads you to the bed. Slow. Deliberate. Like you’re something to be carried, not taken.

And once you're there—his fingers on your thighs, your neck, your hips, your lips—he doesn’t ask again. He doesn’t need to.

You already said yes the moment you came back.

The moment you reached for the drawer and touched what he left behind.

You think it’ll be like last time.

Fast. Fevered. Forgotten by morning.

But Klaus touches you like there’s nothing else to do in the world.

No agenda. No rush. Just you, unraveling.

And him—watching it happen like it’s divine.

His fingers don’t fumble. They revere. They memorize. They press reverently into the dip of your back, the curve behind your knee, the fluttering skin at your hipbone where your breath stutters.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, mouth trailing along the slope of your shoulder, “what it’s done to me—having only the memory of you. I’ve had to live on echoes.”

You whimper when his lips find the hollow at your throat. It feels like a promise. Like he’s blessing the place he’s about to ruin.

He lifts his head, and for a moment—just a moment—there’s something raw behind his eyes. Not hunger. Not pride.

Longing.

“I dreamt of this,” he admits, almost to himself. “Of touching you again. Of undoing you again. Slowly this time.”

His fingers brush over your ribs, as if feeling for the cage that holds your heart. “I want to know what makes you break. And I want to be the only one who ever gets to do it.”

You try to speak—his name, a warning, a plea—but it falls apart when his palm spreads across your belly and anchors you to the mattress like you’re a storm he intends to weather.

“You’re so soft,” he says against your skin. “So goddamn warm. Do you have any idea what it did to me, walking around with a piece of you in my pocket, and not being able to touch the rest of you?”

He leans in, kisses the center of your chest like a prayer, like a bruise he’s sorry for. “I don’t just remember how you sounded. I remember how you shivered when I first said your name in the dark.”

His hands slide lower.

“You still do.”

You’re already trembling. You don’t know if it’s from the anticipation or the ache or the simple unbearable way he looks at you.

Like you are rare.

Like he’s found something holy in a world he long stopped believing in.

His thumb brushes your cheek. “You came back,” he whispers.

And for a moment, all the swagger, all the smirk—all of him—goes quiet.

“I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up, fingers ghosting over his jaw, into his hair. “Neither did I.”

He kisses you then.

But not hard.

Not like last time.

This kiss is slow. This kiss is ruinous.

This kiss is the kind that brands. The kind that breaks a promise made to someone else. The kind that lets him in.

And you do.

You let him in.

Not just under your clothes, but under your skin. Under your ribs. Under every lie you told yourself about what this wasn't.

Because the truth is—

He never needed to ask you to stay.

You were always going to.

༊*·˚

It’s quiet now.

The kind of quiet that only comes after something sacred has happened. Your breath still trembles. His doesn’t. He’s too steady. Too still. Like he’s been waiting a century to feel this again and now he’s terrified it will end.

The air smells like skin and rain and something sweeter. Something warmer. You don’t want to name it.

His fingers trail lazily down your spine, as if he doesn’t want to wake you—but he also doesn’t want to stop touching you. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He lies beside you, arm tucked beneath your ribs, gaze set on you like you’re an answer to a question he’s always been afraid to ask.

You try not to look. But then you do. And it breaks you a little.

Because it’s not lust in his eyes.

It’s ache.

It’s reverence.

“I should go,” you whisper, already hating the sound of your own voice.

He doesn’t blink. “Then why are you still here?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know.

Or maybe you do.

Because you miss the way his hands made you feel kept. Because you miss being wanted like that. Worshipped like that. Looked at like that.

Because no one else has ever looked at you like that.

He props himself up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with the back of his fingers.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he says softly.

Your breath catches.

“You think you were a night to remember.” His eyes flick down to your mouth. “But love… I haven’t let you go since.”

You open your mouth—to deflect, to deny—but his hand wraps gently around your jaw, thumb under your chin.

“Do you know how many times I reached into my coat pocket and found you there? A scrap of silk. A breath of sin.” His voice drops lower. “Do you know how many times I missed you when I had no right to?”

He leans closer.

“You think you were a mistake. But I think you were mine.”

Silence.

And then—

“I’m scared,” you whisper. And it tastes so bitter in your mouth, so raw, like truth ripped from bone.

He exhales. The sound is almost a laugh. Almost a sigh.

“So am I.”

His forehead touches yours. His hand splays across your stomach, like he’s grounding you, or himself, or maybe both.

“But I’d rather be scared with you than live another day pretending I don’t already belong to you.”

You feel it then.

Not just the aftermath of touch, but the ache of meaning. The bloom of something that shouldn’t be allowed to exist—this deep, this fast, this fierce.

And you’re still trembling, but this time not from the rain or the cold or the shame.

This time, you tremble because you know it’s real.

And so does he.

He doesn’t ask you to stay.

He doesn’t have to.

Because you do.

the freakyness has been matched again.... you're welcome😜

[bewitched-hours]

Heh...Your writing is so edible bcs OH MEIN GOTT THAT 007N7 AND ROBOT! READER??? AAAAA🔥🔥 it was so fire 🗣️🗣️

Perchance could you feed us, yes us, more? My left kidney will be yours >:3 😝😝

Firstly, thank you a lot, I love being praised- (not in a kinky way lmao) Second, that "OH MEIN GOTT" caught me off guard and now I'm wondering if you're someone I know but I might just be overthinking. But yes, I'll be happy to feed you more but you can keep your kidney because I'm so nice (/lhj) (Assuming you meant more dad!007n7 for robot!reader here but feel free to clarify or make another ask if you'd like to see a version where maybe the old man just caught feelings for a robot lmao) (╮°-°)╮┳━━┳ ( ╯°□°)╯ ┻━━┻

Like previously, the reader's pronouns are still They/Them (≧◡≦)

Guilt... Such a strange feeling for a little robot like yourself.

It only happened when you went against C00lkidd too...

Did you do something wrong?

"007n7-" You got cut off. "You can call me father, I already told you I don't mind it anymore." His voice was sweet, making you quickly change his registry in your system before continuing.

"Right... Father, may I request you take a look at my programming?" You asked gently, receiving a confused head tilt in return. "Did something happen?" It was like he knew.

You were hesitating for some reason, knowing his son- technically your brother- was a sensitive topic. And he didn't fail to pick up on it as you spoke. "I think there is something wrong in CK's directory..." You spoke quietly, knowing better than to say his full name outloud because you didn't like seeing 007 so heartbroken like he was during rounds. But there it was again, the guilt.

He didn't need to say anything and simply took you to his cabin to check on you. "You said his directory might have an error?" He asked cautiously, with you only able to nod as you just looked forward to the wall.

"I don't see anything unusual..." He mumbled as he clicked and typed away. You knew where he was looking and tried to point him towards the file you marked 'Unknown Emotion'.

"Kid this- This just sounds like you're... Guilty?" He sounded as shocked as you were when it first happened. But you just nodded again and he sighed.

He simply renamed it and decided to let it be. "Don't feel bad about it... It just means you're learning to be an actual kid. It's natural to feel guilty over hurting... Your brother." You didn't dare look at him now. You just knew he was trying to hold back again.

"But just- Don't worry about it. I feel that way too when I even look at him. You won't have to stun him if that makes it worse. I won't even fault you for that. What matters is that you survive and don't try to get in his way or anything." He sounded almost guilty himself. Just not over c00lkidd this time... Was he guilty over you?

And what do you know- C00lkidd was the killer for the next round!

Despite 007's orders, you went off on your own after noticing everyone going to the same half of the map. You wanted to be helpful and maybe distract your dear brother for a while to try and talk with him.

And so would a new loop begin between you and c00lkidd. A loop in which you were subconsciously fighting a power higher than any of you...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[kuri-karin]

i have things to say abt the hidden inventory leaks….

it’s so heartbreaking to see them happy and it seems crazy to think that… they were just kids- they were teenagers they took silly photos and watched movies and had sleepovers and studied and pulled all nighters together like teenagers do. they had so much life ahead of them and they were failed by the jujutsu society system. it drove suguru to a psychotic break, it drove their group apart, it took their lives later on. looking at the leaks is painful because they were so. happy. the amount of horrors that were ahead of them they never deserved. they didn’t deserve any of this. they were fucking kids… it’s something i can’t get past because i look at them and i don’t see the joy i see the pain that is to come. this is an anime and maybe im thinking too deep about this (i definitely am) but fuck all THIS IS DEEP TO ME.

this is a headcanon of mine that honestly- i think is canon. suguru is the type to hold in his feelings and when he’s in a dark place he keeps it to himself he bottles everything up and he acts like he’s fine. he struggles and it’s so clear that he’s struggling but he won’t tell you he is. he’s going to push everything down until it coagulates into a red giant and explodes to a supernova, and it did. satoru is the type to fear saying the wrong thing, he sees someone is struggling and he wants to be there for them so badly but he’s so scared he’s going to say the wrong thing and offend them or upset them further he just doesn’t say anything at all. he’s loves so deeply and cares so much he’s afraid others don’t and so he just- doesn’t. He could see suguru was struggling he could see how much pain he was in and he was so scared he was going to make it worse to in his mind he thought “well if i don’t say anything, i can’t make it worse” he wanted to say something he wanted to be there he wanted to show his best friend how much he cared but he just couldn’t. satoru never asks, suguru never tells. they walked parallel to each other and never crossed. they saw each other they had each other, but i think at this point they started going in completely opposite directions, and their paths would never cross again. fate wouldn’t let it happen, they missed the chance to merge and now it’s never going to happen. they were destined to have each other but never to keep each other. their story was doomed from the start. i like to think that if satoru just asked… if he got the courage to ask, and if suguru answered, if he got the courage to answer, then maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. it’s something i like to think is true, but the odds were always against them.

by attending jujutsu high, they unknowingly set foot onto a path that would lead them to their doom. there is never going to be a happy ending, the cycle is going to continue.

anyways those are my thoughts that came up with the screenshots from the hidden inventory movie :p

[starie-leo]

Astro Observations 6 (?)

I haven't done a post like this in a long time so I forgot what number I'm on.

⋆˙⟡ — taurus mars can stay motivated by thinking about how much they can relax and enjoy their rewards afterwards

⋆˙⟡ — your lifelong/long term friends or at least your behavior/relation with them can also be represented by your 7H because in a way you are committed to them. Childhood friends may be represented by 3H too.

⋆˙⟡ — I feel like 8H mars in solar returns or 8H placements in general in solar return can be an indicator of privacy invasions

idk I've had this placement in my solar return for 3 years now and each time it got worse

⋆˙⟡ — libra placements have 12H virgo in derivative so they always fear making the wrong choice or saying the wrong things which is why to others they end up looking indecisive/confused and "fake"

⋆˙⟡ — I noticed I become popular online very quickly when I'm mysterious but I rarely become known when people know me (as in know my name and everything).

I have 12H venus (my chart ruler), and 10H ruler in 4H 😔.

⋆˙⟡ — 5H ruler in 12H or 12H venuses like may feel we're falling behind, lonely or unlucky in love/romance because most times we can't see our own admirers (the aversion is just strong as hell 😭)

⋆˙⟡ — a lot of nepo babies have decan II Aries placement which is called "The Crown" and is associated with

coincidentally this decan also entirely falls in the revati nakshatra in vedic which claire nakti associated with nepo babies if I'm not wrong

⋆˙⟡ — wondering if 1st decan leo placements can experience being cheated on since this decan is associated with Hephaestus 

this decan falls in pushya nak in vedic which also has themes of cheating in its mythology

⋆˙⟡ — Saturn exalts in the second decan of libra which is double Saturn ruled

I say double Saturn ruled because this decan is ruled by Saturn in both chaldean and triplicity decan systems

⋆˙⟡ — something that I think is not talked about enough is how Venus represents victories.

⋆˙⟡ — both moon and Venus can represent your relationship with your mom, hence why they both can show your relationship with women in general. Venus can signify mothers for day chart and moon can signify mothers for night chart

⋆˙⟡ — similarly sun and Saturn both represent your relationship with your father. Sun can signify fathers in a day chart and Saturn can signify fathers in a night chart. sun aspects can also show what your father and your parents' relationship was like when you were born

I've noticed many people with sun-moon opposition had parents that got divorced. People with sun-moon inconjunction didn't always have divorced parents but the parents were always on the verge of it. Sun-Saturn people often had a distant or absent father in some way.

⋆˙⟡ — similar to how vedic astrology uses the moon as a secondary ascendant, i.e. chandra lagna, traditional tropical astrology uses lot of fortune (LOF) as a secondary ascendant

not really an observation but it's a fun synchronicity that in tropical my chart ruler is in 12H but when I use LOF as my asc the ruler is in 10H and in vedic my chart ruler is in 10H but the lunar chart ruler is in 12H

⋆˙⟡ — I feel like a lot of us don't realize that whether a relationship will work out or not depends a lot on transits too and I mean both natal transits and composite transits

⋆˙⟡ — Uranus was in gemini when it was discovered and was making an opposition to both mars and Saturn and a square to sun

it's also so funny to me that Uranus was discovered on accident and electromagnetism was also discovered on accident/suddenly and then uranus rules both electromagnetism and suddenness

⋆˙⟡ — wondering what's in charts of "pick-me"/"male-centered" or even anti-feminist women especially the aspects since I know a lot of people say libra placements but as a libra rising I've never been like that or maybe it's just my capricorn moon

Pearl Davis, for example, has a libra venus conjunct north node, but it also opposites her rx aries saturn (not a very close aspect tho) and has either a leo or virgo moon. I'm leaning towards virgo with how critical she is of other women and also because then she'd also have a tight moon-mars conjunction, indicating her bad experience with other women and feminine topics. Also feel free to reblog with other placements/aspects that you notice in charts of women like this cause unfortunately (or fortunately) for me I don't really hang out with people like this so I don't know their charts.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ that's all I have for now byee

[deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist]

Holy shit, I love it!! My favorite bits:

“When you look at his grumpy face, he just reminds you of Oscar the Grouch.” Holy shit, he’s been my favorite since I was a small child, and now I am never gonna think about soldier boy again without thinking “take a rotten apple and beat it.” (Or, with him, maybe a cherry and eat it…)

“Well, this is gonna be fun. Slumber party with America’s Most Wanted, you think, with no small amount of Jesus fucking Christ weighing your steps.” no small amount of JFC is now going to enter my personal lexicon.

I love how she sticks to her guns telling him no, and “For all Vought claimed to care about diversity, your boss once commented on your “wild” hair shedding on the tile floor.” I’ve had the same problem, only mine is red.

“Put your tits away, please,” made me just laugh out loud – I can just imagine his face hearing that, or “calm your tits”

“Your lips purse. Does he really think hitting you with that Brad Pitt tone of voice is going to work on you? He fucking kidnapped you, and not to mention, is currently holding you on house arrest.” The idea definitely does not appeal considering the danger she’s in… She knows it, but she’s got the fortitude to withstand him.

“It’s a Cuban espresso,” you inform him. “And believe me, you don’t want it any bigger than that.” Unless he just wants to spend the rest of the day on the toilet. Maybe he needs to clean out his system.” as one of the most emotionally constipated characters on the show, I think this could only help him!

The whole “All right. Calm down, Chiquita.” to “If you’ve got me mad fucking tight right now, it’s because you clearly have no idea what decade you’re in.” was brilliant, but especially “Either way, he’s about to get slapped across his pig-man mouth.” made me cheer - give him hell, woman!! Love it!!

UNRAVEL ME - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Finallyyyyy lol. I know I've been talking about this series for months now, but it was genuinely challenging for me to write this prequel for Lost in Translation (which was requested by various Tumblr friends and anons who wanted to see Soldier Boy matched with a woman of color). I think maybe it's because this is now my third Soldier Boy series, and getting this guy to show character growth is hard to do three different times. 🤣 But let's see how it goes with another post-season 3 misadventure! 💜💙 This series also fulfills a hilarious prompt for @jacklesversebingo!

Song Inspo: “Unravel Me” by Sabrina Claudio

JVB Prompt: Accidental Old Person Acquisition

Word Count: 6K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, threats, SB being his typical asshole self, obnoxious flirting, racial elements, Ben drinks Cuban coffee, among other ethnic mini adventures in the future. The reader is a mixed-race Afro-Latina with textured hair. 

💜 Series Masterlist

💙 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Hot Tamale

Vought Tower is falling.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like: the ground trembling like a Magnitude 7 earthquake, overhead lights flickering, a line of rubble falling on your head as you finally manage to squeeze out of the stairwell and into the main floor's reception area. You take in a large gulp of air, breathing past the oppressive clog of warm bodies, sweat, fear, and a hint of piss.

The walls quake along with the tile floor; you spill onto it hard, hitting your knees, though you curl your fingers fast when a woman from Legal almost steps on them in her dagger heels. Fuck!

Fear and adrenaline compel you to scramble onto your feet and claw your way through the gift shop. Maybe you'll be able to cut through the aisles of overpriced Starlight plushies and Special Edition Black Noir Funko Pops to get to one of the east exits.

It's Vought’s very own 9/11. You were told to evacuate over the intercom, and now you're about to find out why.

It’s taken over an hour to try and escape. You’re still trapped in the building, obviously, caught up in the lobby. It's backed up by the clusterfuck of people squeezing themselves through the narrow exit doorways to the garage, like rats clamoring over one another to avoid extermination. Somehow they've broken through the glass to override the security protocols that had first tried to lock you all in.

Just when you make it past the display of red, white, and blue Homelander mugs, a blinding light catches your eye through the tall windows and the growing darkness of the evening. The light falls and falls, what looks like a tangled ball of red and orange and green.

It explodes into the ground, shaking the very foundations of New York City. You cling to the display table and manage to dive underneath it.

You hide there until the shaking stops.

Tears sting in your eyes as the unsteady screams of your coworkers ring out in the lobby, even though you don’t recognize most of them. You suddenly remember your boss; you lost sight of him on the way down the first five flights of stairs. You morbidly wonder if he was one of the ones who got trampled along the way, or blown off the side of the building in the crash.

When the outside world is quiet again, you crawl out from underneath the table. Everyone who still can is slowly getting to their feet, picking themselves up, some of them helping the people closest to them. You don’t know what the hell is happening, but you have a strong feeling Homelander is involved. He’s been playing at CEO for weeks, now that Stan Edgar has been deposed.

Instead of leaving out the front, you continue your plan of going through one of the east side exits. There’s a narrow alley that leads to the garage farther down. You step out into the evening light, made darker in the alley behind what’s left of the Tower. You know the metal door to the garage isn’t too far away, but before you can get to it, you see a man stumbling right toward you.

It's too dark to see him clearly, and even though you back up a couple of steps, the green of his uniform captures your attention.

“Oh my God,” you breathe. “Soldier Boy?”

He glances up at you through furrowed brows. The state of him, ragged and soot-stained, his labored breaths, and the way he’s leaning against the wall—it all tells you that he’s been through some major shit.

“Uh, a-are you okay?” you ask shakily, clutching your messenger bag.

“I’m fine,” he says, though his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes your spine prickle with unease.

In record time, your brain collects what little you know about the ancient relic of a supe that’s mere steps away from invading your personal space. Homelander has been calling him a rogue in the press, but even though your role at Vought barely makes you a blip on anyone’s radar, you know enough about what really holds the company together…which means you know better than to believe even one iota of what that star-spangled prick told the public. 

Your gaze flits over Soldier Boy, now with some concern despite your wariness.

“Are you hurt?” you ask.

“I said I’m fucking fine. Do I look fucking hurt?” he growls tiredly. When he tries to stand a bit straighter, he almost stumbles against the wall.

Part of you twinges with sympathy, but still, your lips purse at his attitude.

“Dude, you don’t want me to tell you what you look like,” you say.

His eyebrow twitches. He opens his mouth to retort, but that’s when a man’s voice can be heard nearby. You turn your head at the sound.

While you’re distracted, Soldier Boy grabs you with more strength than you anticipated and drags you along with him against the wall. You gasp, but he holds a dirty half-gloved hand over your mouth.

Voices begin to echo from down the other end of the alley, closer to the main road. The supe has already turned his head in that direction, but your gaze flicks there next, your eyes wide and fearful.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ doctor,” says a man. His accent is thick as hell, like a Mary Poppins chimney sweep. Cockney? He’s tall, wearing a long black coat to match his black hair. He’s also arguing with a black man and a skinny white guy. A couple of ambulances zoom by, for a moment overtaking their voices and casting their bodies in the red glow of the siren alarms.

“Considering you coughed up blood on my fucking shoes, I’m dumping you off at the nearest hospital within a mile, and then you lose my number for good. Got that, motherfucker?” says the black man. He’s just as intimidating as the other guy, if not more so, considering the way the Brit's leaning against the wall like he might keel over right there.

The skinny guy breaks the tension between them. “Look, we should go. Annie’s got Maeve, and Homelander could be circling the sky looking for us right now.”

Queen Maeve? What happened to her? She was supposed to be in rehab. Who's Annie? Oh shit. Annie January. Starlight broke Maeve out? No. I should've known that rehab story was bullshit too. Who fucking knows what actually happened there. More importantly, what's happening here?!

Your thoughts tumble into one another while your heartbeat pounds in your ears. Your breathing comes out shallower through your nose, considering the big meaty hand covering your mouth.

If Homelander's looking for these guys, then none of this little scene is good. It makes you a fucking witness. Shit...

Soldier Boy tightens his hold on your arm. Slow and quiet, he opens the door to the parking garage with his elbow, since his other hand is still locked over your mouth. He guides you in. 

“Don’t scream, or I’ll start squeezing,” he warns. At least he releases his hand from your mouth, instead, grabbing the back of your neck. “Where’s your car?” 

“Wait, come on,” you plead, your voice shaking. “Whatever you did, I don’t want to know, but I didn’t sign up to be your getaway driver.” 

Ben’s grip tightens a fraction. “All I need is a fucking ride. That isn’t too much to ask, now is it, sweetheart?”

“Depends on where you’re trying to go,” you say. But you decide that not getting snapped in half is good enough reason to lead him to your car. You rarely have cause to drive it, so it mostly just stays parked here in the garage. For once, you’re grateful that you shell out a portion of your monthly paycheck to reserve this space. 

You fish your keys out of your car and unlock the door with shaky hands. Soldier Boy watches you press the button on the small key remote with furrowed brows, but he takes it from you after forcing you in the driver’s seat, so he can enter the car on the passenger side.

The second your tiny blue Kia rumbles pitifully to life, your music blares loud enough to feel the bass in the floor. Soldier Boy smacks the radio buttons roughly until it stops.

You give him a thin smile. 

“Not a fan of Bad Bunny?” you ask.

Irritated, he grabs a hold of the small plushie swinging from your rearview mirror. He yanks it off despite your protest, nearly breaking the mirror, and stares in gruff bewilderment at the white fluffy heart. It has a Dominican flag embroidered on the front and a Cuban flag on the back—custom made on Etsy.

The supe raises a brow, but he dismissively tosses it somewhere in the back seat. When you look at his grumpy face, he just reminds you of Oscar the Grouch. He reaches down and shifts the seat back, but he barely has any leg room for those thunder thighs and combat boots.

“Just fucking drive,” he says, his voice like sharp gravel.

Again, your annoyance sparks at his rudeness. Are all supes assholes, or is it just the ones you’re forced to interact with?

“Okay, but where the hell do you want me to take you?” you ask. “The subway? The airport? The Hudson River? What?”

He thinks about it, drumming his fingers against his leg. His uniform is a bit poppier than military green, yet more classic than Homelander’s with the stretch of that silver-plated eagle across the chest. 

“Too many eyes at the airport. I need to lie low for a while before I get outta dodge,” Soldier Boy admits. Then he sits back in your passenger seat, adjusting the recline until his broad frame is below the view of the window. You think it’s both for his own comfort and so he’s less likely to be seen. 

“Your place should be all right,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your mouth falls open in shock. “Are you for real?” 

He just gives you a stern look. He’s not fucking kidding.

“Look, you may be a superhero and all, but I don’t fucking know you! And…” Just then, clarity strikes you as you remember what’s been going on in the news for the past week. “Didn’t, uh, didn’t you…blow up a building in Midtown?”

He doesn’t seem to want to answer at first, leveling you with that stoic, bearded face. His gaze eventually drifts away from yours. 

“That was an accident.” 

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “That’s a pretty big accident.”

Again, Soldier Boy doesn’t answer you. You try to focus on the road, but it’s pretty impossible when you have a supe that’s supposedly risen from the dead in your passenger seat, who also exploded 19 people on accident, who tried and failed to kill Homelander.

Speaking of, Homelander himself is looking for this guy…which means you’re helping a fugitive escape. What’s worse, he wants to crash on your goddamn couch.

One of your hands leaves the steering wheel to cover your mouth. You press your hand there until the mix-match of gold and silver rings start to bite into the sensitive flesh of your lower lip. 

“Coño su madre,” you mutter the curse under your breath. I’m so fucking screwed.  

You unlock the door to your third-floor apartment with a heavy sigh. As usual, it gets stuck the first time you try to swing it open. You throw a little more strength in your arm the second time, and the door finally budges. 

You flick the lights on inside and unveil the shoebox that is your home. It’s barely a one-bedroom. The open kitchen lies to the right with a small two-seater table nestled against the wall, while the “living room” lies to the left. There you managed to fit a faded violet loveseat couch from your college days, a bookshelf from Goodwill, and your TV perched on what’s supposed to be a coffee table.

Straight ahead is a narrow hall that leads to your bedroom door on the right side and the one and only bathroom on the other. 

Well, this is gonna be fun. Slumber party with America’s Most Wanted, you think, with no small amount of Jesus fucking Christ weighing your steps.

Soldier Boy’s broad shoulders barely clear the open doorway. He shuts and locks the door behind him and takes stock of your apartment with a slow turn of his head. He doesn’t seem impressed, except for the paintings, funky ‘60s style shelves, and other canvases decorating the walls.

“You some kind of artist?” he asks, giving a cursory glance to each one.

“Uh, yeah, kinda,” you nod. “But most of these aren’t mine.”

On every wall, there’s a cluster of art, from canvases to pottery, glass, burnished clay, and brass. There are replicas of paintings by Salvador Dalí and Frida Kahlo, Picasso and Basquiat, Monet and Amelia Peláez, even a sculpture of a woman that you tried to replicate from Ana Mendieta. It’s meant to represent the suffering of women. Hell if today doesn’t qualify.

You toss your messenger bag onto the couch and throw up your arms at your sides.

“Well, since the police, Homelander, and probably the rest of the government are looking for you, you should do the whole ‘get outta dodge’ thing in the morning,” you say. You clasp your hands together in the facsimile of a prayer and politeness all in one. “But if you really wanna spend a night on my couch, then that’s okay.”

We’ll get through this. Just one night of insanity and then this’ll all be over. 

“That bed looks big enough for two,” the supe says. He nods at your open bedroom door and smiles suggestively, his gaze roaming over your form.

You get that shiver down your spine again, even as you blush. You take a pointed step away from him.

“Uh, how about fucking no,” you snap. “That door will be locked, and I have a taser that I’m not afraid to use on any tender bits.”

He raises a brow at you, but he snorts. He steps toward you, his gait slow and arrogant. You cross your arms while he closes the distance, his hair falling forward across his forehead as he stares down at you with a hint of a sneer. His chin and forehead are still stained with grime, just as his red gloves are scuffed and half burnt from whatever happened in that blast.

Your heart trips up faster. A tremble of fear runs through you, but you refuse to move.

“You do realize that that’s tantamount to flicking me with a rubber band,” he says. His half-lidded gaze runs over you with a note of interest. The corner of his mouth raises in a smirk. “Besides, whatever we might get up to, I can guarantee you’ll enjoy it. Just ask Loni Anderson. Farrah Fawcett. Hell, Molly Ringwald. Love me a fuckin’ redhead once in a while.”

You give him a look that could (proverbially) crumble Empire State.

“Don’t fucking bet on it,” you say.

Yes, your voice is quiet. Yes, you have to work past a swallow. But you don’t ever drop your gaze. You meet him head-on with every bit of stubborn fire you have left inside you.

“If you touch me, I’ll scream," you say, a wary trembling in your chest. "Even if you kill me, they’ll find you that much quicker.”

His smirk falls away. His gaze roams over you again, this time in a different way. Maybe he sees the way your entire body is tense, locked up tight, prepared to recoil and scream if he tries to grab at you. He relents.

“Christ, relax. It’s your fucking loss anyway, sweetheart.” His eyes roll dismissively as he turns away from you. “I need a shower.”

He strides down the hall in search of it. You move quickly to get ahead of him. The last thing you need is him rifling through your bedroom drawers.

“Ah, wait! I’ll get you a towel,” you say. It irritates you to have to treat him like a “guest,” but you don’t know what else to do. The man can literally snap your neck. Even for that big ass bluff you just pulled, you really, really don’t want to die.

You could try calling the police while he’s in the shower, but you don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out. And who’s gonna be quicker on the draw—the human police force, or the literal super soldier?

No, it’ll be more painless to just wait this guy out and see him off in the morning. For now, he doesn’t seem inclined to hurt you. He even took a rejection of you “sleeping” with him pretty well, for a supe. They tend to think they're God’s gifts to humanity. Working at Vought, you’ve been propositioned more than enough times. Though God forbid you say no for a ride on their magical dick. You’d rather not jump on that potential steel trap. You know a guy in Marketing who had his happy place literally frozen and chipped off.

After finding a fresh towel for Soldier Boy, he shuts himself in the lone bathroom across from your room. Soon, the old pipes roar to life. You retreat into your room for a long, slow breath. It’s less steadying than you’d hoped.

You also shut and lock the bedroom door behind you, for whatever good that might do you. 

Not much, you realize warily. 

You sink your fingers into your hair and blow out a sigh of frustration. What even is my fucking life right now?

Tugging on the knotted curls, you loosen them from the bun you wrapped tightly this morning. For all Vought claimed to care about diversity, your boss once commented on your “wild” hair shedding on the tile floor. 

Taking in a few deep, yoga-style breaths before you lose your shit, you dig into the recesses of your closet and dresser drawers. Your most recent ex had left at least one shirt, maybe a pair of boxers. Soldier Boy will have to make do with your favorite sweatpants. They’re stretched out enough from years of wear and washes that they’ll probably fit him. 

Juuuuust great. You're really contemplating this asshole wearing your clothes.

By the time you gather your bearings, shove your soul back into your body and leave your room, Soldier Boy is exiting the bathroom, the fluffy purple towel slung low around his hips. 

“Jesus!” You jolt and instinctively step back. There’s nowhere far to go in the hallway, so your ass ends up bumping against the hollow wall. 

Once again, he wears a smug sort of smile as he stares down at you in amusement. 

“Like what you see, huh, baby doll?”

“Put your tits away, please,” you snap, handing him the bundle of clothing while trying not to look at him directly. You can’t help glancing at his muscular frame out of the corner of your eye. 

Good lord, it’s like he was chiseled from marble. Make that marble with a golden tan, and a patch of hair across his chest that you could run your nails through.

His lips curve with a cockier smile. You quickly look away.

Great. He caught you ogling for one tiny second. And with that moment of human weakness, all that strong talk you accomplished earlier had probably just withered away into nothing. Is he going to take that as an invitation to slide into bed with you tonight while you’re trying to sleep?

Yeeeah. Who the hell are you kidding? You’re going to tape your own eyes open if you have to, but you’re not dropping your guard around this guy. He doesn’t seem to actually want to hurt you. He wants to use you for convenience’s sake. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s dangerous, hunted, arrogant as fuck, and weirdly horny for a guy who just threw himself off a building.

Subtly clearing your throat, you move past him to the living room. There you set up the couch for him to sleep on. He ventures back into the bathroom to get dressed, which gives you a small break. You’re mentally counting the seconds. 

He comes back somewhat fully dressed. The shirt is a bit small for him, as are the boxer shorts. 

“Christ, who did this belong to, a fucking eunuch?” Soldier Boy asks. “Tell me you’ve got a brother. Because if this was your boyfriend’s, then he wasn’t doing shit for you, sweetheart.”

You begin to blush on reflex, shooting him a steely glare. Those clothes did belong to your ex, but that’s none of his damn business. 

“As promised, here’s the couch,” you gesture to the neatly fitted sheets, blankets, and even a fluffy(ish) pillow you so generously laid out for him. “Again, I will be locking my bedroom door, and if you make even a step in that direction, prepare to get tased in the dick. It’s already set on the max setting.”

Soldier Boy smirks. You fail to see how what you’ve said is in any way funny. You’re definitely not laughing, but you do blink in surprise when he takes your hand and brings the back of it to his lips for a kiss. His beard briefly rasps against your skin. He looks down at you, meeting your eyes with his own. The green in them makes you falter. 

“Believe it or not, I appreciate the help,” he says, turning on the charm. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Your lips purse. Does he really think hitting you with that Brad Pitt tone of voice is going to work on you? He fucking kidnapped you, and not to mention, is currently holding you on house arrest.

“Oh, now you want to know my name? After conning me into being your Uber driver and your Airbnb in one?” You try to slip your hand out of his, but his grip tightens. He’s still smiling, amused by your struggle. 

“Come on, what’s your name?” he cajoles.

You sigh. Despite your better judgment, you give it to him begrudgingly.

"What's yours?" you ask, mostly drenched in sarcasm. Though a small part of you is...curious.

He stares back at you for a moment, something almost like surprise flicking through his gaze. His lips twitch at the corners, wry and humorless.

"Ben," he says, finally letting go of your hand.

“Okay, cool. So nice to meet you, uh, Ben," you reply, gesturing at his overall form. You still can't believe he's standing here like an iron lamppost in your living room. Are you about to step into the portal to Narnia now and continue this fever dream, or fall straight down to hell?

"All right, mind if I go now?" you say, crossing your arms as the snark escapes its cage. "I’ve had a bitch of a day and I need my beauty sleep."

Ben raises a brow.

Shit. You bite your lip.

Okay, you know you’re being a bit too hostile to a man who can all too easily snap you in half, but he’s got this way of pushing every single one of your buttons at once. Not in a good way. In the wish I could fucking scratch your eyes out kind of a way.

You're frankly lucky that Soldier Boy just seems amused by your attitude. Silly woman with her silly fits of belligerence.

His green-eyed gaze slides from the curve of your jean-clad thighs to your hips, over your breasts concealed by a red blouse, and finally up to your chin, your lips, your eyes. You can’t help the way your skin tingles at his scrutiny, even as you frown.

“From where I’m standing, sleep isn’t what you need,” he says. He somehow manages to sound both flattering and suggestive. 

Your face flares hotter, and your lips press tightly together.

“Sweet dreams, Soldier Boy,” you say, somewhat sarcastically as you head back to your room. You intend to grab your pajamas and take them with you into the bathroom. You’re going to have to bring your taser and lock yourself in there for a shower, even with the obvious safety hazard. What-fucking-ever at this point, as long as it keeps out Hungry Like the Wolf out there. But his reply makes you pause. 

He snorts. “Good night, sweetheart.” 

You turn to look at him over your shoulder. He spares you one final look, less arrogant and more taciturn, before he turns away and lowers himself down onto the couch.

You sigh, but you can’t help peeking around the corner at the supe sitting in your living room. His broad frame takes up the entire center of the little couch. You’re not all that sure he’s going to be comfortable there, since his long legs are definitely not going to fit across the loveseat, but he’s going to have to deal with it until tomorrow. 

You watch him rest his elbows above his knees and blow out a long, tired breath. He raises a hand to rub between his furrowed brows. For a long beat, he just stares vacantly at the floor between his knees. 

Then he leans back against the couch, crosses his arms, and closes his eyes. He seems…lost. Exhausted.

You wonder if he has anyone in his life worth getting back to. Anyone at all.

Shaking your head, you quietly make your way back to your room.

Ben finds himself watching you the next morning. He sits at the two-seater table while you putter about in the kitchen.

You’re cute, he has to admit, all sleepy and barely awake as you slide around in your fuzzy red slippers. A large Knicks shirt hangs off your body, exposing one smooth shoulder. Your sweatpants are overlarge as well, which only makes him think about the generous curves you’ve got hiding underneath. He took notice yesterday. You had a lot to work with under that little blouse, jeans, and chunky heels.   

Yesterday you were put together, even though you’d clearly had a rough time escaping the Tower. Today you've slunk out of your room with baggy pajamas, your hair a mess of curls running down your back. 

“Want a cafecito?” you ask.

Ben raises a brow. “If you mean coffee, then that’d be good. Something hot to eat would be even better.”

“First of all, this isn’t a bed and breakfast,” you say, turning to him with an edge to your voice. “Look, I’m exhausted. There’s a bakery down the street. I can pick something up.” 

As a matter of fact, your favorite Colombian bakery is right around the corner. You start thinking about all the pastries you’re going to treat yourself with, even though it does make you miss the Cuban bakeries back home. You would absolutely kill for an empanada with guava and cheese right now. 

Instead of cold-blooded murder, you set the tiny espresso cup of coffee in front of Ben. His face shifts to confusion and bewilderment. 

“I asked for a cup of coffee, black, not this baby doll tea set cup of coffee,” he says. 

“It’s a Cuban espresso,” you inform him. “And believe me, you don’t want it any bigger than that.”

Unless he just wants to spend the rest of the day on the toilet. Maybe he needs to clean out his system. 

“Just try it,” you encourage. “I think you’ll like it.” 

He eyes you with skepticism, but he takes a sip.

It’s sweet, but the rich, robust taste hits him between the eyes. His brows raise high.

“Okay,” he says with a growing smile. “I see what you mean.”

“See? Now you don’t gotta doubt me again,” you nod. He watches you pour one for yourself, stirring in a frankly alarming spoonful of sugar. 

“Where are you from, exactly?” he asks. 

You glance over at him, taking issue with the way he asks the question. 

“New York,” you respond tartly. You're really from Miami, but he doesn't need to know that.

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. What are you, Mexican or something?”

You raise a brow, your lips pursing when he begins to smirk.  

“I do like me a juicy taco,” he says. 

His slutty grin is too much for you. Your hand tightens around your coffee cup.

“Okay, a lot to unpack there, Romeo, but no. Not all of us are Mexican!” 

“All right. Calm down, Chiquita. You should take it as a fucking compliment,” he says. He raises a brow at you. “You’re a real spicy one, aren’t you?”

You gape incredulously. “Excuse me?” 

Chiquita?! What the hell is that? Is he saying you look like a goddamn banana, or does he actually know a few words in Spanish? Is he actually calling you a little girl? And for the cherry on top, did he really just call you spicy?!

Either way, he’s about to get slapped across his pig-man mouth. 

“I’ve gotten with a few Latinas in my time,” he says as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as his thighs splay out a little wider in the sweatpants you let him borrow. “Always with that fuckin’ feisty little temper. But you know what, I got no problem with a hot tamale.” 

“Oooh.” The sound is pure and unadulterated FED UP. You down your espresso like a shot. You’re already contemplating another dose, because you don’t have the energy for this.

But you’re also reminded then, that this man came to fame in the 1940s. He was born, what, before the damn Dust Bowl and the Great Depression? He’s literally an ancient relic, a walking black and white billboard of tóxico, and he acts like one too. 

You fairly slam your ceramic cup on the dining table as you slide into the seat across from him. 

“Just so we don’t have any more conversations like this in the future, here it goes,” you say with a sharp sigh. “My mom is Cuban. My dad is black and Dominican. I’m as mixed as it gets, but I’m in no way spicy. If you’ve got me mad fucking tight right now, it’s because you clearly have no idea what decade you’re in.”

Your insult strikes a nerve, making his eyebrow twitch. Soon, however, his lips curve. 

“I’ve got you tight, huh?” he says, cocking his head. A lock of his hair falls roguishly across his brow. “Gotta say, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had that effect on a woman.” 

You freeze, another hot blush burning in your cheeks. You can feel it making its way down your neck. “That’s…that’s not what you think it means.”

His lazy, arrogant, salacious smirk really makes you want to slap him, but you have a feeling that it’ll hurt you way more than it would hurt him. You get up from the table and ignore the loud scrape of the chair on tile.

“You know what? Forget it! I’m hungry. Don’t follow me.”

You go back to your room and lock the door behind you. You come back out a few minutes later dressed in what he thinks is your way of teasing him—in some ass-hugging jeans and a shirt that clings to your form. Ben watches you cross the room, smiling at the way you give him some narrowed side-eye while twisting your hair up into a wild ponytail. It’s a simple thing women do that’s always attracted him for some reason.

He also likes the shade of red you painted on your lips. 

“You are a feisty little thing,” he remarks, sipping his espresso. “Can’t say I mind.”

“Good. Stay here,” you hotly retort. Or better yet, get the FUCK out of my apartment.

You don’t say that last bit out loud, but he can read it loud and clear in your eyes, filled with that Latina fire. He remembers it all too well.

He grabs your wrist before you slip by him though. He hears the way your breath hitches, your gaze snapping down to meet his. You manage to hide most of your fear.

Maybe it makes some part of him twinge, deep down. You don’t know that he mostly finds you amusing. That he’d rather not hurt you, considering you don’t pose even one fraction of a threat to him. That like it or not, he needs to stay in your rathole apartment until he can figure out how to get out of the city unseen, let alone out of the country.

“You think I’m fucking stupid?” he asks.

You say nothing, but the look on your face tells him what you want to say. His eyes narrow.

“You’re not leaving,” he says.

“Well, I’m not cooking,” you counter. “There’s nothing to cook—”

“Order a damn delivery.”

“You know how expensive that is? Between delivery fee and tipping nowadays, Doordash charges a whole other meal on top of the meal! UberEats isn’t much better. Plus, none of the good places around here deliver like that. Not for breakfast at least. And anyway, I really need to go grocery shopping. What do you expect me to do, open a can of tuna and a jar of olives for breakfast?”

Ben’s not going to pretend he knows what the fuck you’re talking about, but his patience is running out.

“All right, enough. Give me your uh, your phone,” he demands. His tone gains an edge, a warning.

You expel an irritated huff, but you reach into your purse and all but slam it on the kitchen table. He takes it and examines it with some curiosity, but mostly, he retains his stoicism.

“I know for a fact you can get basically whatever you want on this fucking thing within half an hour,” he says. “Do what you need to do to get some grub over here, but you’re not leaving this fucking apartment until I say so."

He raises his brows and meets your eyes in a not so subtle warning.

"Just so you know, I've got a sharper ear than you think," he adds. "If you get stupid and try making a call for help, it's gonna be the last thing you fucking do. You understand me?”

Your teeth grind together, but ultimately, your sense of self-preservation reminds you not to poke the bear anymore. You force your anger and fear to dim to embers beneath your skin, and you nod in agreement. You then lower your gaze, waiting for him to let you go.

When he does, you slip away from him as soon as possible, taking your phone as you go.

For what it’s worth, you lock the bedroom door behind you. 

AN: Aaaand we're off! lol Did you expect him to basically force her into house arrest? 😅 We're gonna have some fun on this one, but there's also going to be a fair bit of action and slow-burn moments.~

Next Time:

You suddenly stand from the table, your chair scraping across the floor. You can tell the sound irritates his sharp ear as he glances up at you with a frown.

“You are a goddamn fugitive. You get that right?” you say, regarding him with an incredulous tilt of your head. “Now you’ve hooked me into this. I could get into serious shit because of you, and you don’t even seem to care! What…what kind of fucking superhero are you supposed to be?”

At the same time, you don’t know why this surprises you. Most of the supes you’ve met couldn't care less about the average person. The entire purpose of Vought’s Legal Department springs to mind.

Still, you thought America’s first supe ever—the one who supposedly fought in WWII, pounded Nazis up the ass, and represented the ideals this country was supposed to be founded on—might actually give a shit. Yet again, it stings to be proven wrong.

Ben’s expression had been verging on apathy, but now, he’s irritated and angry. He pushes back from the table and stands up to his full height. Even wearing your ex’s plain gray crew shirt and some threadbare sweatpants, the man’s frame is intimidating. He makes slow steps closer until he’s looming over you.

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Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1)

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@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2

[krystalsturns]

smoke in my mouth, you on my skin - chris sturniolo imagine

smut

-

the living room was hazy, steeped in a slow moving cloud of smoke and the comforting scent of pine candles burning low on the shelf. everything felt soft at the edges. the couch cushions under your thighs, the gentle flicker of the tv casting shifting shadows on the walls, the dull buzz in your chest from the weed curling through your system.

you leaned back, sinking deeper into the cushions, your lips wrapped around the blunt, fingertips warm from where the cherry glowed. the inhale was slow, lazy. the exhale, slower. your head tilted up, eyes half lidded as smoke floated toward the ceiling like it had nowhere else to be.

chris was next to you, stretched out with that casual sprawl that always felt a little too confident, a little too comfortable. his hoodie had ridden up just enough to expose a slice of stomach. smooth skin, a barely there trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his sweats. when you passed him the blunt, your fingers brushed, and even though it lasted no more than a second, it sent a little pulse of heat through your veins.

he smirked as he brought it to his lips. “you’re high as hell already,” he said, voice low, almost a purr.

you grinned, tugging the blanket over both your laps. “so are you,” you murmured, leaning against him just enough for your shoulder to press into his. “you keep laughing at the dumbest shit.”

he took a drag, eyes watching you from under thick lashes. “maybe i just think you’re funnier when i’m baked.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile stuck around. it wasn’t just the weed buzzing under your skin. it was the way he looked at you. slow, hungry, amused. like he’d been waiting for this all night and now that he had it, he was in no rush.

you shifted your weight, your thigh brushing his. this time, the contact lingered. neither of you moved.

on the screen, the movie continued. loud and chaotic, all explosions and cliches, but you weren’t watching. neither was he. chris leaned forward, reached for the remote, and hit pause. the silence left behind felt heavier.

“we can finish that later,” he murmured, voice dipping.

you glanced at him, lips curving into something just shy of wicked. “already bored?”

his eyes dropped to your mouth, then lower. “just… distracted,” he said, and under the blanket, his fingers brushed your knee, featherlight. “you keep squirming. i noticed.”

you shifted closer. “maybe i’m just cold.”

his brow lifted, amused. “that why your leg’s been glued to mine for the past twenty minutes?”

you didn’t answer. just tilted your head, parting your lips slightly in quiet invitation. your gaze locked with his, unblinking, daring.

he leaned in slow, one hand lifting to cup your jaw with a gentleness that contrasted the heat behind his eyes. his thumb traced the edge of your mouth, and then he kissed you. soft, exploratory, like he was savoring the first taste.

you melted into it, into him, the heat rising quick and steady. the kiss deepened, mouths parting, tongues brushing, the air between you crackling. you climbed into his lap without thinking, straddling him, knees pressing into the couch cushions, the blanket sliding down and forgotten.

his hands gripped your hips, holding you close. “fuck,” he whispered into your mouth. “you always do this to me.”

“do what?”

“make me forget anything else exists.”

you laughed, breathy, head tipping back, and he took the opening to trail kisses down your neck, slow and warm. his lips dragged over sensitive skin, his teeth grazing just enough to make your stomach tighten. his hands slipped beneath your shirt, thumbs stroking along your ribs, slow and reverent.

“you’re so fucking soft,” he breathed, like it was something he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch.

you rocked your hips against his, just enough to make him groan. low, guttural, right against your skin.

“you’re not helping,” he said, voice wrecked, forehead resting against your collarbone.

you smiled against his temple. “i’m not trying to.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, then bit at your shoulder, his hands moving lower to cup your ass, pulling you even closer. the friction made your breath hitch, your body flush with his.

clothes started coming off in pieces. pulled, peeled, tossed wherever they landed. the room felt warmer now, skin against skin, the faint tickle of air on bare shoulders and thighs. chris kissed like he wanted to memorize you, his mouth trailing down your chest, your stomach, his tongue leaving behind heat and dampness. everywhere he touched, you burned.

“you look so fucking good like this,” he murmured, fingers gliding down your spine. “all needy and warm.”

“i’m not needy,” you whispered, though your voice shook.

he laughed again, breath hot against your stomach. “sure you’re not.”

he flipped you gently onto your back, settling between your legs like he belonged there. and he did. god, he did. his mouth found yours again, slower this time, kissing you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do. like you were something sacred. like he could never get enough.

“tell me what you want,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.

“you,” you breathed. “just you. all of you.”

his groan was soft, almost broken. he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut for a beat before kissing you again. deeper, rougher, like he was finally giving in to everything he’d been holding back.

he slowly slid into you. your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. your legs wrapped around his waist. every part of you fit against him like puzzle pieces, like gravity had been waiting for this exact alignment.

moans spilled freely between kisses. you didn’t care how loud you were. the weed made everything hazy and intense, like your nerves were dialed all the way up. chris touched you like he had all the time in the world, and yet like he was desperate to have you all at once. his hands never stopped moving. your thighs, your waist, your chest, your face.

“so fucking pretty,” he whispered. “you don’t even know.”

your body trembled beneath him, fingers digging into his shoulders. it was building, slowly, steadily. that molten heat tightening in your belly, rising with every slow grind of his hips, every breathless kiss, every whispered praise.

and when it hit, it felt like the air had been knocked out of you. your back arched, mouth falling open, his name slipping past your lips like a prayer. he held you through it, kissed you through it, grounding you with soft touches and murmured words.

he came right after, his face buried in your neck, whole body shuddering. you felt it. the way he gave in, the way he let go, like he was only safe with you.

you stayed there for a while, tangled in limbs and blankets and each other. the tv was still paused. the candles still burned low. the air was thick with sex and smoke and something quieter. something softer.

chris kissed your temple and pressed his forehead to yours, breath still uneven.

“movie sucked anyway,” he mumbled.

you smiled, eyes barely open. “told you.”

he pulled the blanket over you both, arm wrapping around your waist.

“next time,” he said, lips brushing your cheek, “we skip the movie and start with this.”

you yawned, eyes fluttering shut. “what about the weed?”

he paused like he was really thinking about it. “nah. we keep the weed. definitely.”

you laughed, soft and sleepy, and curled into him.

“deal.”

-

(this is all my original work. all characters and actions are fictional. don’t steal, copy, or repost this work without my knowledge and consent. reblogs and love is appreciated.)

[geiba]

okay sooo i made some sketches for a few of the sprites i'll be using, some of which i'm gonna show here, as well as thinking about the code edits i'll need to do for this project. i don't want to just redraw a shimeji to look like SQQ, i want him to act and move in character, so i have a whole bunch of edits to do

some of my notes:

i'm not yet sure how many sprites some animations will require so i'm not putting in a final number, or numbering which sprites will be used for what animation, but i'm going to throw out an estimate that the final sprite count will be about sixty-ish.

i mostly have all my animations already planned out. i know what i want them to look like and know how to do it, but there's a few i still need to think about, like one of the multiplying animations. i considered just getting rid of the one i have no ideas for, but i'll think on it some more. i'm open to suggestions too

i'm considering if i should code and draw in interactions with other shimejis already. it's a bit of a far off idea but i might make a Binghe or maybe even Liu Qingge or Shang Qinghua? who knows. anyway it'd be fun to make some interactions between them. i could even add a tutorial for adding more "romantic" interactions since i want to leave this area open for shippers. if i make it that is

"pet" - yes you can pat Shizun on the head. it makes him embarrased but he likes it.

i'd like to make this an incredibly intricate shimeji with a lot of animations but i'm worried about the performance. they may not be Chrome level RAM eaters, but they're not the lightest and i don't want to create something which people won't get to enjoy

i'm still considering where to host the files. thought about maybe hosting them on a patreon account (for free. the Shizun Distribution System does not demand payment for what it does) but i'm, again, open to suggestions

i'm making this for the Shimeji-ee DESKTOP SOFTWARE FOR WINDOWS. i've never used things like the shimeji chrome extension nor do i own any apple devices. i don't know how to work with these. HOWEVER, if there's someone who DOES know how to work on those, feel free to make versions compatibile with apple or with browsers, BUT only if those versions ARE DISTRIBUTED FOR FREE AND CREDIT ME AS THE CREATOR. i want as many people as possible to enjoy my shimejis

two long idles, one of which i'm showing the sketch for. in the notes i wrote down "looping" and "sound" - while it may be a project that i do not realize in the end, i thought it would be cute to make an animation where Shizun plays the guqin and add sound to it. there would have to be the option to toggle animation sounds, and another to loop that animation, but i thought it would be absolutely adorable to make a sort of music player out of that animation, allowing the user to add a downloaded copy of their playlist into the files. imagine - you're sitting at your computer, studying, working or filing your taxes or whatever, and Shizun's on your screen, doing his thing, providing background music for whatever it is you're doing. cute, no? but this feels like the sort of thing that might get annoying or make your computer turn into a jet engine from overworking. so, for now this is staying a concept. the animation will be present, that much i guarantee but all that other stuff might not show up

OKAY, SO. as you might have noticed i have three designs. i sorta changed them since i made the first post about this, because as it turns out my computer screen doesn't actually display bright colours all that well. might have to fiddle with the settings on it more. anyway this time i coloured looking at my tablet screen so they should be more accurate to what i wanted. i decided that my previous design didn't look like mint chocolate chip ice cream enough <3

so, i'd like you guys to tell me which design is your favourite! i have mixed feelings about design no. 3 because, while pretty, it's kinda too detailed. i just know i'd get sick of redrawing it so i might simplify it further for the finished product

here's the designs!

*slight correction: the eye colour is not final! i left the sketch in on those parts and forgot to actually draw the finished design for the eyes. i don't have the time to correct that at the moment, however. sorry! for a closer look at how the eyes might look like, see previous design

[itsjustdg]

Long post but I had to get my thoughts on Hudson & Rex (and certain fans) out.

This has been in the back of my mind for a while, and I think I've finally put my finger on what's been bothering me about the way a certain online contingent are reacting to the imagined idea that John Reardon has been forced out of Hudson & Rex.

TL;DR - We have nothing to go on that John's not returning and anyone who feels owed an answer by the studio/actors/dog handlers who have no say over the studio's decisions needs to take a good long look at everything. Use some critical thinking skills and just breathe for a second. And maybe some compassion for the fact that John nearly died half a year ago.

(And spamming every social media account related to the show demanding answers is not going to get anyone what they want. In fact, it's highly likely to do the opposite and I'm not surprised people's comments have been deleted. Especially for all the tangential people - but even for John! - they're probably pretty miserable to get yet another contact about this.)

More below the cut.

First off, let me say I'm a huge fan of the show. This is probably one of the first shows in a while that I got so into so fast. It has a lot of the things I love in media all rolled into one, I would be upset if they truly did kill off Charlie Hudson, and I've been anxiously awaiting any cast news. However...

None of us are owed a single thing by any studio, producer, or actor, especially not on our timelines. I know we live in a day and age of constant news and instant gratification, but we certainly aren't owed what might currently be tentative, confidential information regarding an actor's contract. If both parties haven't signed a final agreement, then they likely cannot publicly publish any related details. Maybe they're still negotiating. Maybe John is still trying to figure out how much he can commit to for a new season. Because lemme tell ya, acting might seem glamorous, but do you know how many hours they have to put in and how physically demanding even a Hallmark movie is? Let alone Hudson & Rex where Charlie is regularly jumping off of things and fighting people? More on why this is important in point 3.

We basically have never been told the regular stars were coming back. I looked but can't find where the show announced that any of their actors were coming back for seasons 2-7. They just said the show was returning. And... that's what's happened with season 8. The promo materials thus far have been on par with every other season's promo materials. (Because I love the show, but for some reason they never really put out much until the season premiere is nearly upon us.) Did we get an announcement that Luke joined the cast? Yes. Because he's a new addition (and it's often part of the contract that they'll promote it.) Did we get an announcement that Justin, Kevin, or Mayko are coming back? No. So... maybe hold up on assuming John's not returning just because nobody has mentioned that he is. We've never gotten much early promo content, just that the show was back… so why are all of these people suddenly so sure that John's been punished by the studio for having cancer? Speaking of which…

John practically just got the all-clear from his cancer diagnosis. In late December, he posted that it was his first night out since being diagnosed. (And my heart broke at the hospital picture he included because he looked so tired and sick. His "now" picture was drastically better, but you could tell he was still recovering.) Are these fans all forgetting that the man literally almost died not even 6 months ago? I don't know if their understanding of cancer is what they've seen on a couple of pieces of media or if the cavalier way most shows (including Hudson & Rex) handle injuries, poisonings, etc most of the time has warped any sense of what actually happens when a human being is deathly ill, but... illness wrecks your body. Chemo wipes out your immune system. Fighting cancer weakens your entire system. How are people demanding he turn around and come back to an extremely physically demanding role and spend 20+ hours a day on a set for weeks? They might still be figuring out just how much John can physically do. For that matter, John's doctors might not have even cleared him yet and the studio is waiting it out or John may have just recently decided if he was well enough to come back. (Also, he has a wife and three little kids. I'm pretty sure the seriousness of them losing him was a lot to deal with. Maybe he needed time to decide if he's able to fully commit to coming back?)

John's likely still dealing with a lot with having lost Diesel. They were incredibly close. All of the interviews I've seen talk about how much they bonded (they were co-stars for 6.5 seasons!). I remember one where they talked about how they had to keep Rex off-set when they filmed scenes where Charlie was in danger or got hurt because Diesel wanted to tear people apart for touching him. So then consider that John's fighting cancer, and then Diesel gets sick and passes away - and John probably couldn't even really see him much if at all because of him also being sick. (How hard must it be to have your co-star die of the same thing you're fighting? And not even be able to grieve properly because of the sheer amount of energy you're expending just trying to stay alive yourself?) Can we show some compassion toward the guy? And not just wail about how we're being cheated of... well, anything? Like, come on, cancer should put everything into perspective!

Luke joining the cast has 0 bearing on if John's staying. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Luke was added so the show could continue having a lead detective who can fall down a well for Rex to rescue while John comes back to regular episodes slowly. Maybe they'll be partners long-term. Who knows. NONE OF US DO. That's kinda my whole point here. (And yeah, the show is called Hudson & Rex, not just Inspector Rex, but I have a feeling these fans would've still lost their minds when the original show changed their human cast multiple times.) The only thing that the show starting to film season 8 means is they have a required schedule to stick to in order to meet legal requirements with the studio. Which could also have a lot to do with why Luke was added as a series regular.

Can we all just calm down and find our thinking caps? I'm aware that might be too much to ask from the internet at large, but I'm also really tired of all the panicking fans I've seen posts from lately.

At the end of the day, this is a television show that does not actually control any of our lives, and demanding they cancel it and end everyone's jobs in a very competitive industry just because you're upset about something that may not actually be happening just feels really self-centered and unfair to me.

Maybe John's leaving after all (and if he is, I'll be sad). Maybe he's coming back eventually. But also maybe don't harass every single person related to the show and contribute to making all of them miserable just because you feel like you're owed an answer and a specific outcome?

[super-ion]

The klaxons scream as rushing air whips violently at my hair.

I shove Jorgesson through the pressure hatch before it slams shut.

The wind abates slightly, but there's still a leak somewhere in the hangar bay. I have no idea what happened, a pressure seal on the main cargo bay lock went out. Maybe it was a faulty part, maybe we took a meteor hit. I have no idea.

The pressure lock comm box crackles to life next to me. I can barely hear it over the wind and the klaxons.

"Yvonne!"

"Yeah, I'm here!" I reply.

I am soft spoken by nature. I learned a long time ago to keep my voice low to avoid attention. Raising my voice now shocks me, there's something deep and resonant to it... but not in a bad way. I don't know how to describe it.

My thoughts are cut off as the box crackles again.

"We got Jorgesson, but Amahle is unaccounted for. Do you have eyes on her?"

I whip around, wincing as my tail slams painfully into the bulkhead.

There. Amahle is down, her leg is pinned under a fallen stack of crates. She still has her eva suit on, but no helmet in sight.

Oh shit.

There is no time to think and I lunge towards the lockers. The door is unresponsive, but that doesn't mean shit to razor sharp claws as hard as diamonds. I shred through the metal like paper and toss the door to my own locker aside. There, sitting right where I left it, is my helmet.

I haven't touched it since the incident.

I pluck it gingerly from the rack and sprint to where Amahle lies pinned.

The air is getting thin now. She blinks up in a daze. The display on her suit flashes a whole series of status alerts. Critical injury, seek medical attention. Suit integrity okay.

I sag in relief at that.

"Yv?" she mumbles.

"Hey, we gotta get this on you," I reply.

"I can't," she says, struggling feebly. "This is yours."

She looks at the helmet, chipped and worn white paint with the bright pink stripe. The whole crew made a big to-do about surprising me with the paint job five years ago when I finally got off my shit and decided to start living authentically as me.

That was the first time I ever cried from joy.

I force a smile.

"It's not going to fit me any more," I say, tapping one of the horns spiraling out of my skull.

I help her get it on. My claws are too big to fit the latches, but she manages.

Her suit stops screaming its pressure alarm. Her leg is still crushed and medsys says she has three broken ribs, but she's not in danger from depressurization any more.

I can't exactly say the same for me.

I'm so much stronger than I used to be. I toss aside the container pinning Amahle down with no effort at all.

I lift her into my arms, careful not to jostle her leg. A flap of my wings and I'm standing by the emergency air lock just as it cycles open.

Alexei and Sáez take her out of my arms and lay her down.

Sáez looks back at me urgently, but we both know I won't fit in the vestibule, let alone the hatch leading into it.

I shake my head.

"Get her safe," I tell them. "I'll be fine."

I tap a claw against the control and the hatch slides shut.

This is it then... I thump to the deck and wrap my wings around me, waiting for the inevitable moment when the last of the air runs out.

At some point, I must have stopped breathing, but I'm still alive. The realization comes slow. It's impossible, isn't it?

But then, a lot of impossible things have happened in the last few weeks.

"Yvonne?"

I can't hear the voice exactly, there’s no air left in the hangar. But I can... I don't even know how to describe it.

My ears flick and I raise my head.

"Essie?"

And then... holy shit. I can see her. It's like every single power and data conduit is made of light, blazing through the bulkheads. The entire system of the Esperanza is laid out before me. It's like the loss of air has somehow awakened some new perception inside me.

"Am I dead?" I ask. Again, not in words, but... I don't know, am I somehow speaking in radio frequencies?

"I do not believe so," Essie replies.

I unfold my changed body and stand up.

I feel the hum of her beneath my taloned feet. I drag a single claw along one of her conduits where I perceive that same living thrum of her.

It's a silly thing, falling in love with your ship's ai. It's one of those things everyone jokingly tells you not to do. But she was there for me when I was at my lowest.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

"Fine," I admit. "Better than fine."

I spread my wings and try to understand the sudden feeling of longing in my chest.

The cargo bay feels so small to me now. It's like some ironic reflection of my whole existence, trying to force myself to be small, unnoticed.

"Can you open the cargo bay doors?" I ask her.

"Under normal circumstances, I would not recommend it," she replies.

"This isn't normal circumstances though."

She seems to pause to consider this for a moment and then the yellow warning lights begin to flash mutely. The cargo bay has been my whole universe for two weeks now, ever since I grew too big to fit comfortably in the rest of the ship.

Now the wall splits open, revealing infinite black, dusted with stars.

I can't even begin to try to understand the physics of how this works, but I spread my wings and suddenly I am sailing into the void.

Essie drops away below me and I am flying alongside her. Her crew, my family, are safe inside. Maybe they watch in wonder as midnight black scales blot out the stars.

Things will be different now, for sure, but things have been getting different for a while now.

I gotta transform something, send me prompt ideas

[gremlinmodetweeker]

All Around The Stars Do Shine

Some Summoned!König and a good helping of fluff. Looks like being König's mate isn't such a bad thing after all!

Tws:  Fluff

Wordcount: 2K

Art from This Post

Rest of the Story Below the Cut

All Around The Stars Do Shine

Up above, a whirl of wild shifting constellations crossed the ceiling. You saw galaxies being born, suns snuffing out, world living and dying and being born all over again.

“It really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?” König said as he lay on the floor beside you.

You nodded, watching a solar flare wipe out another solar system.

“It reminds me of how interconnected we all are,” he continued quietly, “how all our actions are interwoven together. See here, this galaxy,” he pointed to the right, “see how it shatters and the remaining matter scatters through the universe.” On que, the suns flared up and then, in an instant, it was gone. The planets were blasted into nothingness, scattering across the dark sky and hurtling into other solar systems. “See?” he laughed, “even in chaos there is order.”

“I thought you would’ve hated that,” you said.

“How come?”

“Well, aren’t you an avatar of chaos?” you pointed out, “you’re pretty much a god on this plane of existence.”

“I am merely an avatar,” König templed his talons together on his chest, “I am only a servitor of the greater forces at work. They operate far beyond me. Fate whispers into my ear, I only act upon their desires.”

“Do you actually know the future?” you asked.

“Do I know the future…” König mused, “from your perspective, maybe yes. From mine, I couldn’t be more at a loss. All I see is the potential outcomes, not what actually will be. I am also a follower of my aspect.”

“So then… Do you know what will happen to us?” you asked.

“To us?” he laughed, “no Summoner, I am not so sure what happens to us now. I am a forest in the trees, it seems. I can only see so far as you allow me to.”

A meteor shower crossed above you. Planets burst into nothingness and scattered into the void of space.

Without thinking, you reached out and took one of König’s talons in your hand. You could see him look down from your peripheral vision, then look back up. His eyes crinkled fondly.

“I want to think we make it,” you said softly.

“The fates indicate strange things,” König droned.

“What sort of things do they say?” you asked, “do they say good things?”

“Who’s to say what is good?” König chuffed, “I only see the lights and hear their voices. I can only just make out what they ask of me, and even then I am not fully sure. Maybe that is the nature of chaos. I follow orders I do not understand.”

“Did the fates tell you to spare me?” you rolled your head to look at him, “back when I first summoned you.”

“They made a case for you,” König said, “but that wasn’t what made me spare you. It was the look in your eyes that drew me in.”

You smiled, “That’s so sweet.”

“I saw sheer terror, and unending awe,” he continued, “I saw your heart beat in your chest as I looked into your mind. In there, I saw the first spark of curiosity.”

You paused.

“I admire you, Summoner, for your bravery in the face of certain despair,” he finished with.

“So you thought I was strong?”

“I thought you were the weakest Summoner I’d ever seen,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes and turned to look back up at the galaxies mixing together above. At least they were silent for you.

König glanced over at you.

“Summoner, you do not seriously believe I see you as less than me, do you?”

“Um, how can I not? You literally speak to me like I’m a bug or something,” you snorted, “it’s kinda hard to see myself as equal to you when you’re so… You’re so above me.”

“I resent the accusation,” he muttered.

“How else would you describe our relationship?” you drew your free hand over your chest, “think about it. You can make this out of thin air. You can do anything and I can do… I can’t do anything. I’m not even a good summoner. It’s weird. You call me Summoner and everything, but I can’t even do that right.”

“Have you not considered that you are the most successful summoner in your line?” König offered.

“My great great great whatever summoned a god,” you drawled, “I summoned you. Sorry, but an avatar isn’t an actual god.”

“He was eviscerated on the spot,” König pointed out, “you have successfully bonded to me. We have formed a partnership.”

“But I only have one summon. Most summoners have dozens by the time they’re my age,” you sighed.

You watched a dozen eclipses come and go in the blink of an eye.

“You do not need them though,” König said testily, “you only need for me. I am more than enough to fulfill all your needs.”

“You suck at bringing me snacks,” you snorted.

“Were your plane more easily traversable, it wouldn’t be an issue,” König sniffed.

“That’s literally out of my control.”

“So you say,” he rolled his eyes, “but one day this land will be yours. You are the herald, after all.”

You frowned. You pushed yourself to look down at your summon and said, “You keep saying that. I don’t know what that means.”

“There are many ways to interpret my words,” König stared ahead at the stars.

“Herald, König,” you said, “what does it mean to be ‘The Herald’?”

“It means that you will usher in a new age,” König said simply, “you are the turning point of your plane of existence’s future. Together, we find balance.”

“That literally means nothing to me.”

König sighed and rose up to look you in the eyes.

“Summoner,” he said gently, “the more I tell you the more fragile this future becomes. I simply cannot stress how delicate the fates are. To truly elaborate would be to put a golden age in jeopardy. I am being vague not simply for your sake, but for all those who live in this land.”

“Why do we change though?” you quizzed, “what happens to us?”

König closed his eyes and sighed.

“I simply cannot tell you,” he said flatly, “now look, if you really want to understand, then know this: You must learn to trust me to understand. One day, you will be on my level. You will understand as I do. Until then, I’m sorry that there is this disparity.”

You sighed.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” you slumped.

König shuffled to your side and wrapped a hand around your side, “Come now, Summoner. I assure you all will be revealed to you in time. You simply have to trust in the fates as I do.”

You leaned into his side, letting him wrap a layer of his robe around you and enveloped you in a comfortable warmth.

“I thought you were cold blooded,” you said as you snuggled in.

“My blood is…” König paused, “I actually don’t know how to describe it to you. Hot? Cold? Both? Both at once.”

“Is it like…” you hummed, “you know how if you take your helmet off in space you freeze to death and your blood boils?” 

“I suppose it is similar in concept,” said König.

You wrapped the length of his robe around you like a warm blanket and sighed, finally resting into his arms.

“I still want to know.”

“I know,” König patted your head, “but I can’t tell you.”

You closed your eyes and let the warmth encompass you. It felt like waking up on a warm summer day, basked in light and glowing with radiance. Up above, the stars twinkled as they span in concentric circles.

“It’s nice having you here,” you said quietly.

“You seem to like these sorts of things,” König looked down at you strangely, “it’s almost as though you like touching me.”

“That’s because I do like it,” you laughed and kissed his masked chin, “you’re comfy.”

“Am I now,” he said quietly, “that is… Nice. I’m happy to hear that.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled him down to kiss his lips through his shroud. When you pulled back, you saw his pupils blown wide.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you,” you whispered.

“Is this…” König narrowed his eyes, “is this human flirting?”

“It’s a bit more than that,” you grinned brightly.

“When humans are close like this,” König gestured at your state, “what does it mean?”

“Well, it means a lot of things,” you giggled, then added, “but with us? It means I like you.”

“You like me?” König’s eyes widened, “as in, the way I love you?”

You coughed, “Not that much, but yeah. Something like that.”

König hummed and looked back up at the stars above. With a wave of his hand, the image vanished and all the light vanished. Moonlight flowed in behind, giving König a glowing silhouette.

“You’re incredible,” you whispered.

König glanced down at you, then leaned down and kissed you softly. When he pulled back, you could hear him breathing deeply.

“Are you alright?” you asked.

“I am,” he panted, “I am more than fine Summoner.”

You let your hands fold over your chest and closed your eyes.

“Good.”

König gently ran his claws across your cheek as he gazed down. A low, throaty sound rumbled from deep inside him.

“Are you… Are you purring?”

“I may be,” König admitted.

“I like it,” you sighed and settled into König’s lap, “you should do it more often.”

“If you should like it Summoner, then I shall,” König rumbled.

You gently patted König’s thigh and sighed.

“Is all well?”

“It’s perfect,” you murmured, “it’s nice to spend time with you like this. It helps everything… It makes things okay.”

“Are things not well with you, Summoner?” König tilted his head slightly.

“I mean, I’m not exactly doing great,” you admitted, “I’ve been in this cabin for a few days, but I have no idea what’s happening outside. I don’t even know what time period I’m in honestly. I just know that I can’t go back home.”

“Is this not an acceptable home?” König asked, “I can change it for you. Would you prefer something more bohemian? Maybe more modern?”

“No, no it’s not that,” you waved him off, “it’s about my friends. My family. What’s happening to them? Are they okay?”

“From what I understand they are,” König told you.

“But I’m not sure,” you frowned, “I can’t just pretend everything is fine. Fuck, I don’t even know if I can go home at all. What if the military came after me?”

“They do not control all corners of the earth,” König reminded you.

“But they control my friends and family,” you said, “and maybe they’re fine for now, but what about tomorrow? The day after? I don’t want all this to hurt anyone else. I don’t want to choose between the people I love.”

“You won’t have to do that,” König assured you, “I will make things right for you.”

“My friends in the military are still there. What’s going to happen to them?”

König shrugged, “Nothing really. They weren’t the ones your superiors were interested in. When you left, they tried to ask them where you went, but what could they say? They didn’t know where you’d gone.”

“And my parents?” you pressed.

“Again, they knew nothing of where you’d gone. All your superiors know is that you’re with me, and they couldn’t find me if they tried,” König shrugged, “if anything, I imagine they’re terrified of what will happen to them.”

“Are you going to do anything?”

“If you ask, I’d be delighted to demonstrate what I can do,” König offered cheerfully.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you closed your eyes and relaxed into his lap.

“Are you certain?” he asked, “wouldn’t you like to show them what it was like to grovel at their feet? You could make them pay for all they’ve done. You could change the world.”

“I don’t want to do that though. I just want to…” you frowned, “I don’t know. I just don’t want to deal with any of it right now.”

“Then we won’t.”

“Thanks.”

“However, I do have some creative ideas I’d like to explore. Are you sure you’re not interested?”

“Later,” you groaned, “just let me enjoy the moment.”

König sighed, but he petted your hair and looked up at where the galaxies once swirled above. If nothing else, this was nice.

Konig Dump

Konig Alternate Universes

Summoned!Konig