#helps with characterization to know background)

[unnounblr]

...Like, this might be. Problematic of me, as an opinion.

But, like, Leed is firmly a secondary character, so she doesn't have a lot of characterization. But I actually think Leed being Laios's queen, in a post-series thing. Whether an official continuation or a fanfic. Could be interesting?

There's maybe. So, in one of Ryoko Kui's extras, there's a comic about where Laios puts Kensuke, after the end of the series. And in that, it's briefly shown that Laios gets information on the Elves from Kabru, and information on the Orcs from Leed. Meaning, she's his main point of contact, and he's not meeting with Chief Zon directly.

That doesn't mean that much, but it could fit with her being his consort. It wouldn't contradict.

Mostly I just think it's funnier if she spends the whole time dreading the wedding, and maybe her brother (who, sent her to maybe see a dragon) freaks her out more by talking about how Laios said he likes orc tits and fat orc asses, and on the wedding night Laios doesn't even try to sleep with her, maybe she even has her own separate bedroom. Which isn't uncommon for royal families, they might have sex to procreate, but sometimes things are passionless and they sleep (literal sleeping) separately.

The things we know about Leed are that she's got military leadership skills, she's very emotionally intelligent, when she was able to help Chilchuck realize he actually cares about his friends, and needs to tell them how he feels, and she knows Orc medicines and herbal remedies, like the one she gives Laios and Marcille that cures their mana sickness.

So I think her being part of the kingdom's government, and her being able to apply those skills. Wouldn't be the worst thing? And could also be very funny, comedic. Like, her organizing a fancy ball or dance, but it's organized the way an orc captain would organize a raid.

And she's mostly been separate from the party and the story, so she doesn't know. Any of these people. All that well. Except maybe Senshi, who definitely isn't living in the castle full-time. And then she would suddenly have to deal with them, with Laios, Marcille, Yaad, and Kabru, and Falin, when she comes back from her traveling, and Thistle if he ever wakes up and doesn't die in his coma, and their different cultural backgrounds combined with the way that they're all outcasts of their respective cultures and alienated and. Weird. In some way.

And she thinks she's selling her body to some gross creep, but he actually, genuinely, could not possibly be less interested in her, sexually.

Her cultural expectations make her think she'd be just one of many wives, that there would be a harem, but that's not actually the norm for Tallmen, and Laios doesn't particularly care that much about having any wives at all. If the marriage with Leed happens at all, it's because the orcs insist, strongly, and because they were the earliest allies Laios had when rescuing Falin.

The hinted at strife and prejudice between Orcs and Elves would make her tense with Kabru and Marcille, but both of them are also trying to keep the Elves from having too much influence. Kabru because he wants Tallmen (and Orcs, and the country in general) from being a vassal state subservient to the Elf Queen. Marcille because she really doesn't want to go to elf jail for her Black Magic crimes.

In short. Like, because of her age, I don't necessarily want Leed to be Laios's queen in a shipping or sexual sense, I don't really want them to have sex, maybe ever, but. I think her ending up as the Queen, has some genuinely good storytelling potential, from the perspectives of Comedy and Political Intrigue. Her as the fourth member of Laios's court, along with Marcille as court mage, and Kabru and Yaad as his main advisors.

Leed is a Minor!!

“I suppose she would be around her third year in middle school.”

This comment from Daydream Hour is the only info we have for her age/maturity, or orcs' age of maturity in general.

The whole "Bride of Laois" thing doesn't automatically mean that she is mature, it means that orc culture mirrors plenty of real-world cultures that also let women marry at 14/15.

She must be protected at all costs!

[silence-caravan]

Have this old sketch while I ramble in the tags (they are going to the hot honey concert :^D)

actually you know what. put your thoughts on archie sonic in the tags and reblog this with an explanation on why you like/dislike it. this is for science and i might argue with you if you say you dont like it

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Describe Clothing in Writing

Creating vivid descriptions for a story or character is a mark of a great writer. One specific form of descriptive writing that particularly affects setting and characterization is the portrayal of characters’ clothing.

Writing Tips: Describing Clothes

Clothing descriptions work best when they appear organically in the course of the narrative. The story should never halt in place so that you can shoehorn in a bunch of sartorial descriptions. Here are some writing tips to help you use clothing descriptions in your creative writing:

Integrate clothing into your initial character description. The first time readers meet a character, they should get a sense of how they dress.

Study articles of clothing to make sure you know what they look like. This will help you choose the right words to describe them. For example, it would be appropriate to describe a chiffon dress as “sheer” or “thin,” but it would be clumsy to describe it as “threadbare” because chiffon is not cheap.

Pick outfits that fit the setting you’re writing about. If you’re describing an elegant ball, you might want to place a character in a form-fitting strapless evening gown, as this is a common piece for formal dances. Describing the clothing reinforces the setting you’ve chosen.

Blend clothing into job descriptions. If you’re describing a monk at work, you could note how the loose-fitting sleeves of his frock draped onto a table. If you’re describing a superhero in an action scene, describe the flow of their cape or the stiffness of their boots.

Let your characters change outfits. Show a character arc by marking how a character’s clothing changes over the course of your story. If a character in a YA novel starts out wearing ill-fitting khaki slacks with enormous pleats and ends that same novel wearing a denim jacket with an “anarchy” pin on the lapel, we know they’ve undergone some major changes.

Use clothing to set characters apart. Represent the difference between two characters by describing the differences in their clothing. Let’s say you’re describing two characters interviewing for the same job: One wears a sporty, ruched, A-line dress, and the other wears jeans and a sweatshirt. The reader can infer aspects of both characters’ personalities and make a comparison between two characters.

Reasons to Describe a Character’s Clothing

A character’s clothing is a window into so many aspects of their lives. From a character’s clothes, readers can make inferences about the following:

Clothing reveals a character’s personality. A knee-length fur coat and a corduroy jacket are both forms of outerwear, but it’s quite unlikely they’d be worn by the same kind of person. Readers can deduce a character’s style and personality from the clothes they wear.

Clothing implies a character’s wealth. Is your novel’s main character comes from a working-class background, it’s more likely they’d wear a t-shirt and jeans than a lavish and expensive piece of clothing. Just as in real life, clothing indicates status and wealth.

Clothing shows a character’s point of view toward the world. Clothing can reveal a character’s views on the world. If someone puts on a graphic t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, it implies that they could hardly care less about offending other people. Meanwhile, a character who wears a dressy button-down shirt with a single-breasted plaid jacket seems like the old-fashioned type. Maybe they’re heading to a mixer at the country club?

Clothing suggests the time and place in which a character exists. As part of your worldbuilding process, you’ll want to be as precise as possible about your book’s setting and time period. This doesn’t just apply to historical fiction; it applies to all forms of writing. For instance, if you’re writing a battle scene set during the Revolutionary War, you might need to study the physical descriptions of britches and pantaloons. But if your scene is set in a present-day battlefield, you might describe a soldier as wearing camouflage with a tag hung from a necklace. Simply by changing the clothing description, you’ve marked a massive distinction between these two war stories.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ References: Fashion

[mysnoopyvalentine]

can't help myself

kim doyoung x reader

word count: 12.3k

genre: soulmates!au, fluff, parallel universes, strangers to lovers (ish)

warnings: implied sex, kissing, swearing

playlist: Can’t Help Myself (NCT 127), I’m In Love with You (the 1975), Say Yes (Loco, Punch)

summary: In a skeptical culture where soulmates don’t always live happily ever after, you begin dreaming of your ideal man long past the average age of soulmate visions. You may love Doyoung in every universe, but does that really mean you’re meant to be? Even when the Doyoung of your reality is an idol?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It happens when you least expect it.

You get ready for bed early on New Year’s Eve without the intention of staying up late to ring in the new year.

Your phone vibrates on the nightstand, displaying the contact picture of your best friend Meg.

It would be easier to ignore it and pretend like you’re busy, but you know that Meg is nosy enough to check your location. She’ll see you’re at home in an instant and call you a million times anyway.

“Hey,” you feign ignorance as you pick up. “What’s up?”

“I know that your ass is not at home right now,” she groans. “You should’ve told me! I would’ve taken you out with me and David!”

“Come on, you know I don’t really go out for New Year’s anymore.”

You stopped doing so a couple of years back due to the fact that it just made you feel more hopeless for the upcoming year. You have plenty of luck in your career and general day-to-day life, but the men you encounter in the dating pool are horrendous. New Year’s was just one of those holidays that made you feel lonely even in the midst of a fulfilling life.

“I know you hate third wheeling on New Year’s Eve, but I still feel like it’s a good opportunity to try meeting someone. Come out and meet us downtown!” Meg insists.

You look at the clock. 9:59PM. That’s not nearly enough time to get ready, uber downtown, and desperately try to ensure a New Year’s Kiss. You don’t have the energy to flirt with strangers these days, anyway. “Hell no. I’m good.”

Meg tries to persuade you for the next five minutes, but no amount of free drinks, food, or money can convince you to leave your place. At the end of it all, she finally concedes. “Fine, stay home.”

“That was the plan,” you say coolly. You love her, but her persistence in treating your singleness as a condition to be cured grates on your nerves.

“Want me to manifest a soulmate vision for you tonight instead of a New Year’s kiss?”

You snort. “Now you’re really being delusional. I don’t think my soulmate exists, considering that I’ve never had a single soulmate vision in all these years.”

The concept of your soulmate was the fallback argument of most people as a last-ditch effort to prevent you from giving up on dating. Usually it comes off disingenuous, like they’re just dangling a carrot above your head for romantic motivation. Meg and David, however, are soulmates—meaning they serve as a genuine reminder that soulmates do work out. Sometimes.

Everyone knows the common signs of a soulmate bond. First, the visions: 90% of all soulmate pairs report experiencing a series of visions about a stranger. They don’t appear as a background person either—soulmate visions are vivid experiences characterized by their extreme detail. Most of the time each soulmate experiences the other’s memories. Rarer, some soulmates would even share visions, allowing them to interact before meeting in the real world.

Dreams are the most common manifestation of this phenomenon, but there’s enough people that don’t have theirs linked to sleep to justify the term ‘vision’ instead. Most pairs start seeing their other half during their teenage years; others, like Meg, meet their soulmate so early that they barely experience any visions at all.

For those who do experience them, one fact is absolute across the board: all accounts of soulmate visions end once you see them in person.

The second, less pleasant aspect of having a soulmate is the intense physical reaction towards seeing them physically for the first time. Symptoms appear spontaneously with fainting, vomiting, and migraines being the most common. Around 30% of soulmate encounters end up with at least one party requiring some form of medical attention.

On this night, experiencing dreams of a stranger or feeling violently ill don’t sound like the most appealing things on the planet. You’ll pass.

Meg says your name, snapping you to attention. “…You really don’t have to ice me out for a soulmate joke, I can just stop.”

“No, you’re good. The soulmate thing is funny.” You force out a laugh. “If I happen to have a soulmate vision on New Year’s Eve, maybe that’s a sign that things will actually work out.”

“Oh, shut up, there’s no way for him to resist if you do have one.”

If. The word bounces around in your head. Of all people, even Meg wasn’t sure that you had a karmic link waiting for you.

“Well, you shouldn’t let my singleness ruin your night with David. I’ll talk to you guys later.” You hang up the phone before she can answer.

You see a text notification pop up on your phone, but you place your phone facedown on the nightstand instead. You lean onto your side and turn off your lamp.

The quiet of your apartment has your mind churning. Even if you do have a soulmate, would it even work out?

While a good number of the population encounters their soulmate in real life, the amount of successful relationships resulting from that encounter are surprisingly low. Confidence in soulmate pairings had lowered with the younger generations, especially with researchers studying the science behind soulmate dreams and reactions. Hopeless romantics believed wholeheartedly in soulmate pairs, while more pragmatic people posed the same question—if scientists are able to explain why dreams and physical reactions happen between two people, is there anything truly fated about it?

You’re not certain where you stand on the matter. Scientists aren’t close to discovering anything concrete anyway, so you deal with this big philosophical question in the best way you know: ignoring it.

No use thinking about it anyway, when you’re long past the average age of experiencing initial soulmate dreams.

You let your mind wander elsewhere as you close your eyes and drift slowly to sleep.

That’s when he appears.   

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Flowers surround you in an open field. The sunlight warms your face, and the breeze carries the soft, fresh scents of springtime. You balk as you look down at your hands; you’re holding an artist palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.

An easel right at the edge of your vision catches your eye. You turn towards it in hopes of making sense of the situation—maybe this dream was fulfilling a brief childhood dream of becoming a landscape artist—but you feel your heart drop.

The painting lacks any landscape at all. Instead, it depicts a near-finished portrait of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

His eyes, dark but warm, catch your attention first. Combined with his pouty lips and slender face, he’s the epitome of your type. What’s the most striking to you, however, is the gentle nature captured in his expression. The pose you’ve chosen depicts his shoulders turned away from the viewer, yet his gaze stares at you directly. His lips are curved slightly upwards in a playful smile, as if he’s just teased the viewer. Unequivocally handsome features softened in all the right places.

There’s a quiet sound of shoes shuffling on the grass. A tuft of black hair peeks up from over the canvas.

“Do you need anything else from me?”

After a beat of silence, a full head pokes out from the side of the easel, and everything stops. It’s the man from the painting in front of you—smooth skin, soft smile, and perfect everything in all. He says your name once in the tone of a question, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Is everything okay? Are you upset because I moved?”

You open your mouth to speak—to clarify that no, everything is not okay and ask who are you, anyway? —but something else emerges from your lips entirely.

“You can move. I’m almost done. Do you want to see it?”

The words are yours, technically. You feel and hear yourself saying them, but your thoughts and emotions are completely disconnected from your body. The same goes for your movements; this artistic version of you mixes paint absentmindedly.

The man from the painting fully emerges from behind the canvas, revealing his full height. He’s dressed in jeans and a simple white button-up. His face in the spring daylight looks otherworldly; it’s clear why you’d chosen to paint him in this lighting. You’re certain that you’ve never seen him before, in your real life, but something about him feels familiar. Comfortable. He walks up beside you, peering at his likeness from over your shoulder.

You shift your weight from left to right. “Do you like it?”

He hums. “Well…”

You scoff. “You can be honest.”

“I’m kidding,” he laughs. It’s the kind of good-natured laugh that’s both contagious and friendly.

You’re about to say something else when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“You know I think you’re a genius,” he says softly in your ear. “That’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead as you feel your dream fade away to consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Light passes through a gap in your curtains and warms your face, waking you up from your springtime dream.

You sit up, blinking out the sleep from your eyes.

Your phone is in your hand and Meg’s number is dialed before you can even think by yourself.

“Happy New Year, bitch!” Meg’s voice chirps over the phone. “What’s up?”

“I think I just had a soulmate dream,” you say, breathless.

Silence. Then, her scream peaks the mic on her phone and nearly makes your ears bleed. You wince and move your phone away from your face to put her on speakerphone instead.

“You’re messing with me!” She shrieks. “There’s no way!”

“That’s the thing.” You rub at your temple, as if that will stop the ringing in your ears. “I’m not completely sure. Most people see their partner’s past memories, right?”

 There’s some clicking on her end. “I wouldn’t really know, but I can look it up for you.”

“Most soulmate visions involve seeing past memories from your soulmate’s perspective,” she reads. “However, at least 20% of soulmate bonds report experiencing a vision of their futures instead. Does this sound like you? Did it seem like you were seeing something from the future?”

“Not unless I suddenly gain enough art skill to become an artist.”

For once, Meg is speechless. “You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding. I was painting his portrait. A very well done, professional looking portrait.”

“That’s crazy,” she snorts. Like you, she doesn’t even try to entertain the delusion that it could be a future version of yourself. You can barely draw a stick figure. “Well, some people see parallel versions of themselves, apparently?”

“Parallel versions?” You echo.

“Apparently some pairs claim that they see each other, but in other versions of reality,” she reports. “Sounds kind of romantic to me.”

“What’s the percentage of that?”

“No official numbers on it because it’s so rare. Mostly anecdotal stories.”

You snort. “Yeah, right. Sorry to get your hopes up. All that soulmate talk before bed probably just made my brain a little overactive.”

Meg’s line is quiet. “Well, I don’t think we can really rule it out yet.”

You don’t let yourself dwell on it. As many soulmate skeptics as there are, there’s an equal amount of people embellishing stories to try to strongarm others into believing. You’d believe in the idea of parallel universes when there’s something more than an online reddit thread to go off of.

“You can hold out hope. I’m moving on.” You rack your brain for other topics. “I still have that date tomorrow with that guy, if that makes you feel better.”

Meg floods you with questions—What are you wearing? Where did you decide? Can you send me his profile? You would normally regret opening yourself to too much questioning prior to any date, but you’re just relieved to steer her away from the concept of your soulmate.

The rest of your day goes by normally. You’re a little more fatigued than usual, but with the day off from work you’re able to finish all of your errands with extra time to rest.

You’re relaxing in your room as you watch YouTube videos on your TV with a face mask cooling your face. You open your laptop absentmindedly to parse through your emails.

One promotional ad catches your eye – Try a Spring Art Class for Free! You click it; the ad is for a local crafts store that you’d visited for a friend’s birthday gift. The store lists five promotional classes. You hover your cursor over a hyperlink titled Fundamentals of Portrait Drawing.

You nearly slam your laptop closed as you come back to your senses. One beginner class wasn’t going to turn you into an artist. You don’t have time to balance a whole craft with the demands of your full-time job, anyway.

Your phone vibrates. It’s Evan—your second date for tomorrow.

Excited to see you! He texts.

You type back a similarly empty message before turning off your phone. Your first date with him had been fun enough to warrant a second, but you don’t expect much this time around. That was a recurring issue Meg didn’t let you live down—every person you talked to seemed to be lacking in at least one area. Your ideal partner needed to be communicative and emotionally intelligent. They also needed to be ambitious with their own goals and community. All while having romantic chemistry with yourself.

Evan was lacking in the communication department, and you’d felt your interest wane since the first date. You wouldn’t have even considered the second date if it wasn’t for Meg in your ear to nag that your standards were too high. Sometimes, although you’d never admit it out loud, you wondered if you were even capable of a romantic love like that. It seemed too easy for everyone else.

At least your time with Evan would be mindless and relatively expectation-free. With that in mind, you drift off into an easy sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Lips brush against your forehead as light as a feather. “Are you awake?”

You grunt your assent without opening your eyes.

A huff of laughter followed by another peck. “Very convincing.”

You blink your eyes open at that. A pair of dark brown eyes gaze back at you in the dim light. Your heartbeat, already strangely fast for someone asleep, quickens in your chest at the sight.

It’s the man from the painting. He’s propped his head up on one arm as he smiles down at you in open affection. His bangs are pushed away from his forehead, although the black hairs still cling slightly to his skin. His bare chest heaves as he breathes in deeply.

You sigh. “See? I’m awake.”

He laughs louder this time. His eyes crinkle when he laughs and his smile—his real smile—exposes a faint pink line of gums over his teeth. You understand why another version of you would be compelled to capture his likeness through art. You couldn’t explain it to someone if you tried; there’s something about his presence that’s ethereal.

“Why are you smiling?” He asks.

You kind of look like a rabbit, you want to tease, but, again, you’re unable to move your mouth on its own accord.

“Just looking at you,” your voice responds nonchalantly.

His smile softens at that. He reaches his free arm over and caresses the side of your face. His hand follows the length of your neck before travelling further down your back. Your bare back. It dawns on you that, underneath the silk covers, you are completely naked.

Your breath catches as his hand rests on the curve of your hip. His thumb draws small circles around the skin, which makes the nerves underneath electric to his touch.

“Hey now,” you laugh shakily. “What are you trying to do?”

He only raises an eyebrow before pressing light kisses down your neck. “What do you think?”

Your heart flutters. Against your thoughts, your mouth mutters, “I think I’m going to be extra tired taking care of the kids tomorrow morning.”

His kisses drift back up and stop with a final peck behind your ear. “I’ll look after them in the morning. You sleep in.”

“That may be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He huffs a laugh but pulls away from you.

You lean forward to re-close the space and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m joking. What’s wrong?”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Do you need me to pick up more things around the house? Leave work earlier? I know having two under the age of five is rough already…”

Your heart warms. You run a hand through his hair, smiling as he leans into your touch. “I love you and our kids more than I’ve ever loved anything else. Our life together is perfect.”

He presses a kiss into your open palm. His eyes turn playful. “You know what could make it more perfect?”

“What?”

He catches your lips in his, kissing you deeply. Your lips move against each other in a way that’s clearly familiar—soft to the touch but intense enough to take your breath away.

“Well...” He murmurs against your lips in between kisses. “What do you say we turn two into three?”

You’re pulled out of the scene before you can hear yourself respond.  

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You hear the wind rattling against your office windows as you leave for the day. It’s a chore to even get outside in the first place, on account of the wind pushing back on the lobby door.  When you finally manage to exit the building, the wind threatens to blow you over with each gust.

You curse under your breath. It’s just another inconvenience added to today.

You’d shot out of bed with your heart pounding through your chest. Even someone like you couldn’t deny the obvious truth of the situation—you had officially experienced soulmate visions. While it’s unclear why your visions manifest this way, you cannot ignore the magnetic pull and strange familiarity tugging at your core whenever you see him. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

And you hate the idea that people might be right; that someone’s entire universe could halt and re-align at the drop of a hat with no rhyme or reason. Bitterness lines this worldview for you—clearly, you had been able to make a name for yourself without the promise of a fated partner. You love your job, you love your friends, and you’re at peace. All possible because of the time and effort you invested into yourself.

You’ve considered cancelling your date with Evan multiple times to fully sort out your emotions, but you push on. Your date with him feels like something bigger–a loose end that might tie all the chaos in your life together in a cohesive picture.

Evan leans against the brick walls of the restaurant. He straightens his posture as you approach. He’s much taller than you remember; you’d basically been sitting the entire time during your first date, and honestly you’d begun to forget specific features about him.

“Hey!” He grins as he holds the door open for you. “How have you been?”

“Pretty decent, all things considered,” you say as you duck under his arm. “Same old stuff.”

He laughs at that–a little too hard, considering what you said was not meant to be funny at all. “Come on. Nothing exciting on your side of the city?”

Yeah, let me tell you about the sensual yet also incredibly domestic dream I had about another man, you think. He’s probably my soulmate too, by the way.

“That weather is probably the most exciting thing about my week,” you lie with a pinched smile.

Evan lets out a laugh that’s again too loud as he pulls out your chair for you.

Throughout all of the small talk and pleasantries, you can’t really fault Evan for anything specific. He’s polite, relatively cute, and likeable. He actively listens and remembers the small details from your stories while also contributing to the conversation. He also seems really into you; his gaze lingers on your features and hangs on to every word you say.

You try to be an attentive date, but your mind keeps drifting elsewhere. You order another drink, but each sip of alcohol seems to make your mind swirl away even farther.

What do you say we make two into three?

Considering you don’t have a serious partner, you hadn’t thought about the possibility of kids in a long time. The caring tone that he used towards you still makes your heart race when you think about it.

Our life together is perfect.

Your own voice feels like a weapon stabbing at you over and over. It’s one thing to exist in these visions already; experiencing them without free will seems to shove all the possible outcomes down your throat. Is there really someone out there that can make you feel that way?

“Ready to head out?”

You snap back into attention as Evan stands by, waiting to pull your chair out for you. You appreciate his acts of chivalry even when you don’t deserve it.

Partially out of guilt, you let him take your hand as he walks with you through some nearby Christmas lights that the city has failed to take down. The atmosphere is perfect; there’s hardly any other people nearby, the weather has calmed down, and your date is kind and attentive.

Yet everything still feels wrong.

When you draw closer to your initial meeting point, he strokes the top of your hand with his thumb. “May I kiss you?”

Under normal circumstances, you would not kiss him right now. But another part of you urges you to try it. You technically know Evan more than the mystery man from your dreams. The likelihood of you feeling something with him should be just as high.

You nod with a swallow. Evan leans forward and presses his lips to yours. It moves too quickly, at first–he’s so nervous that he nearly misses your mouth, and you’re so on edge that you almost forget to reciprocate.

All to say that your first real kiss in forever is a complete dud. You move your lips mindlessly and calmly against his until you withdraw with a polite smile. Evan, for his part, looks mesmerized.

“Thanks for today,” you say with a smile.

“I…” He runs a hand through his hair. “My offer to drive is still on the table, you know. I could drive you back to your place. Or mine.”

Your stomach drops. “I–”

You must have a look on your face because Evan cuts you off before you can say anything else. “I’m just joking.”

It’s not a joke, clearly, but you accept the out. “I have some errands to run, and I don’t want to make you go all over the place for me.”

“Right,” Evan says after a pause.

The moment lingers another beat too long.

“Today was a lot of fun,” you lie. “I’ll talk to you later!”

You turn on your heel and walk away casually until you turn the corner. Then, you duck into the nearest convenience store and call an Uber.

Later, you hear the disappointment dripping from Meg’s voice.

“No, it was the right call to do what was comfortable for you,” she hums. “But did you really have to be thinking about your soulmate the entire time?”

“It’s hard not to when I just found out that I actually have one!” You frown, as if she can see you. “I tried.”

“I know,” Meg sighs. “Well, let’s hope you see him in your dreams again soon.”

An entire month passes. Specifics about the contours of your soulmate’s face and details of his body start to blur from your memory, but what you remember most is the kindness dancing in his eyes. The care in which he spoke about you and your little family. You fall asleep early each night in anticipation only to be let down in the morning.

Instead, it happens next on an irrelevant day. Your shoes are kicked off after a long day of work, and you’re halfway across your living room when a bright light sears behind your eyelids. You throw yourself onto the couch with what little consciousness you have left before plunging into darkness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meg brushes a stray hair into place. “There you go.”

The soft tones of a piano drift through the glass doors in front of you. You see the blur of a crowd outside, although it’s hard to discern through the frosted glass panes.

“Does everything look okay?” Your throat feels tight and your voice comes out breathy.

“Beautiful.”

“I’m scared,” you hear yourself whisper. “What if I’m believing in soulmates too blindly?”

Meg snorts. “A little late for that, don’t you think? If anything, you’re giving me the hope that I’ll meet my person. The two of you are absolutely disgusting together; if this doesn’t work out then all the rest of us are fucked.”

You don’t respond.

Meg rolls her eyes, tugging your arm to turn you to the left. A floor length mirror leans against the wall. It contains a lettered seating chart for all your guests with some names familiar and some foreign. You swallow at your reflection through the text.

It's truly an image out of a dream. Fabric drapes and hugs you in the ways you’ve always wanted. Your bouquet is made of elegant white flowers apart from a few blossoms popping out in shades of light pink. You’d so long put romance in the back of your mind that it’s jarring to see yourself like this. You smile at your reflection, embodying the image of elegance.

“It’s time then,” your voice rings, more confident than before.

The doors open in front of you, causing the crowd outside to rise from their seats. The piano transitions into a slow melody. The flower girl, waiting by the entrance with her mother, steps a few paces in front of you to begin dropping pink petals.

You walk down the aisle with your head held high. If you’re still shaken by your cold feet minutes prior, it doesn’t show anymore.

You’re not surprised to see a familiar lean figure at the end of the aisle. You are surprised, however, when he sees you for the first time.

His face lights up in pure elation. His smile broadens so big and wide that his gums peek out a little. There’s a light shine to his eyes that makes your heart clench. It’s as much your reaction as it is for this version of you. It’s almost too much to bear. He already looks ridiculously handsome in his wedding tuxedo, but the open emotion in his face (for you) makes him all the more mesmerizing.

You stop in front of him. This version of you has grown a little shy; your face warms as you raise your eyes up slowly to meet his.

You barely hear the officiant over the sound of your pounding heart. It’s only once the vows start that you catch what’s being said. What he’s saying.

“One thing I want to start off with is saying that we weren’t supposed to meet that day. I was helping my best friend, Taeyong, who was too hungover to pick up his phone that he’d left at a girl’s house…”

There’s a slight pause as a chuckle passes through the crowd. One groomsman—presumably Taeyong—rolls his eyes with a smile. It’s clearly a story that everyone knows well.

“The last thing I ever expected was for the girl’s very cute roommate to open the door. Let alone have the realization that they were the soulmate I’d been seeing in my dreams.” His eyes lift up, sparkling and happy. “Meeting you that day changed the entire course of my life. You are the best thing to happen to me…my best friend, confidant, and greatest love. Your love and endless faith make me a better man. I promise to protect you and be there by your side when things get hard. I promise to show up for you in all of the little moments—not just the big ones. I choose to love you in this lifetime and all the others that may be. I love you.”

You feel your mouth moving, but your mind races from the realization. This lifetime. All the others that may be.

This, like the dream of yourself as an artist, was not your life. Was Meg right? Were these glimpses into other versions of yourself?

You’d been completely different in the first vision. There is no chance of you becoming an advanced artist at this point, that’s for sure. The second dream had no identifying differences, other than the fact that you had two children with this man. This version of you seemed more like yourself, but Meg was the biggest outlier. She clearly hadn’t met David and doesn’t even fully believe in soulmates.  Additionally, you’d been out of college for years—meeting him during school could not be a future possibility. Soulmate visions of other universes seemed so rare and far-fetched that you’d found it easy to dismiss it as a tall tale, but you didn’t know what else could explain this.

“I…” You startle back into this reality as you speak your own name. “…vow to take you, Doyoung, as my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

Doyoung, you think as he slips the ring onto your finger. I finally know his name.

“By the power vested in me by the support of this community and strength of your love, I now pronounce you wed. You may kiss.”

Doyoung squares his shoulders to yours. He’s a little too stiff in the movement, which makes you giggle. The sound of your laugh relaxes a smile to his face. He tilts your chin up with his hand so that your eyes meet his.

“I love you,” he whispers before pulling you, finally, into a deep kiss.

His lips are velvet soft and fit perfectly to yours. The crowd erupts into whoops and cheers that begin to fade into the background.

Not now, you think, distantly. It would be nice to stay here. For a while.

You’re pulled out against your will. You let yourself be lost in Doyoung’s touch until the end.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You type and erase strings of characters on your phone.

“…I enjoyed our time together, but I think we should see other people,” you read aloud. “Too dramatic?”

Meg waves a hand dismissively. “Who cares? You’re not seeing him again.”

“He’s a nice guy, Meg.”

“He’s boring, and you’re being toonice,” she replies. “Just send it.”

You do a quick onceover of your message before pressing the send button. You immediately turn your phone off and flip it upside down.

“Now that was dramatic.”

You glare at Meg from your position on your couch. She sits on the other side, scrolling through something on her laptop.

“So!” She says with a flourish. “What’s the plan?”

“…The plan?”

 “Do you want to meet Doyoung?”

You’d had a handful more soulmate visions since learning Doyoung’s name. Your lives together spanned endless locations intertwined with different professions—from what you gathered from your visions, other versions of you had met Doyoung through school, work, and even a particularly strange meet-cute of being his regular barista. The peek into these various lifetimes left you curious and a little bit weary; each subsequent vision was harder to leave than before, and you’d experienced so many that slipping in and out of these other realities felt like second nature.

Without fail, however, Doyoung stays the same. Each version contains the same kindhearted nature you’d glimpsed ever since the first. You’ve never seen the same version of Doyoung twice, but you feel like you’ve known him your entire life.

Yet even so, the idea of hunting down your Doyoung sends a wave of uncertainty through you. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you.

“I…don’t know if I want to meet him,” you admit out loud.

You expect the worst reaction from Meg—a shriek, gasp, or even straight up shouting—but instead, she purses her lips. “Why?”

“I’m not sure he’ll be very impressed with me,” you say. You try to pick up your phone to look busy, but you glimpse Evan’s name on your screen instead.

Thanks for letting me know. I hope you find—

You put your phone back down.

Meg stares at you. “You think he’s going to be unimpressed because you have your shit together?”

“Well—”

“What if he’s a loser?”

“He’s not!” You shriek. In truth, you have no idea what your Doyoung does or where he is.

“Then what do you know about the Doyoung here that’s so larger than life?”

You don’t answer.

Understanding flickers across Meg’s face. She groans. “You didn’t even look him up?!”

You cross your arms. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“You’re so impossible,” she types furiously into her computer. “Do…young…”

You roll your eyes. “Like you’re gonna find him by googling his first name only.”

“It’s unique enough,” she protests, whirling her laptop screen around toward you. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Imagine if a guy this hot appeared in your dreams?”

Everything muscle in your body freezes. A strangled noise rips out of your throat.

Meg’s jaw drops, and she looks between you and the screen with open disbelief. “You’re fucking shitting me right now.”

Doyoung’s picture smiles at you clear as day from Meg’s laptop. Singer and Actor.

Wordlessly, you reach over and click the images tab. Pictures of Doyoung—your Doyoung—flood the entire page. He’s photographed in various styles, even modeling with big brands. You’d known that he was ridiculously good-looking, but you hadn’t expected something like this. You even recognize his friends Taeyong and Johnny that you’d seen in some visions; they’re clearly friends in this universe too, seeing as they’re posing in many group pictures together.

“That’s him…” you whisper.

“Holy shit.” Meg regains her senses and starts clicking through different website links rapidly. “Holy shit, dude! He’s famous!”

“I can see that!” You say as panic rises up your chest. Of all the perfectly normal Doyoungs you’d seen, your Doyoung had to be a celebrity?

“I was going to tell you to find him anyway, but this is insane!” More clicking. Meg shows you a digital tour poster that reads NCT 127 – THE MOMENTUM. “Dude. They’re touring. I’m buying tickets.”

Your head spins. You’d meet him by buying tickets amongst all of his fans. Your soulmate has a fanbase.

“Don’t,” you choke out.

“How else are you going to find him? Stalk him?”

She’s right. Regardless, you feel tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. Your voice comes out so quiet that it’s barely audible. “I’m scared.”

Meg’s expression softens. She sets her laptop aside as she envelops you into a hug. “I know. Let me just buy the tickets for you for now, and then we can think about it more. It’s in two months, so you have some time.”

You nod with a sniffle.

“Besides,” Meg smiles as she pulls back. “All of your visions have pretty much been sickly sweet, right? I doubt anything will change now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung pulls you out of a restaurant through a gathering crowd. Flashes go off all around you.

Most of the group is made up of women shoving their cameras in your faces while completely hiding their own. There’s a slight murmur amongst them that’s still eerily quiet.

You pull the brim of your hat down lower, the fabric of your mask higher as you try to shield yourself from the attention.

Security opens the door to the black SUV first, ushering Doyoung inside first. It’s a brief pause that’s long enough for a fan to get you within her sights while security is distracted.

“Ugly whore!” She screams as she arches her arm back. You react too late as a plastic cup hits the back of your head. A cold liquid drenches you starting from your face and drips down your entire shirt.

You stand there in shock. Flashes and shutters sound off rapidly around you. The only thing that moves you, finally, is the security staff member physically lifting you into the backseat. The door slams after you, drowning you in silence.

The driver turns to hand you a towel, which you accept with trembling hands.

“Looks like our whereabouts got leaked, again,” you laugh, but the sound falls flat into the silence.

Doyoung’s eyes rake over your appearance. His expression contorts into hurt.

You want to massage the deep frown from his face, but you can already feel the tears threatening to surface. Instead, you dab at your clothing to dry what you can. The fan must have thrown a soft drink of some kind, since the drink leaves behind a sticky residue on your clothing and skin.

Doyoung looks like he’s on the brink of tears himself. “This is my fault,” he says simply.

You expect your voice to come out weepy, but it comes out hard instead. “It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s not! This is the work of people who don’t understand boundaries! You should be able to enjoy your free time without being stalked!”

It’s clearly a point of contention that’s been hashed out before. He settles into silence for the entire drive. The car eventually stops in front of a high rise building that the two of you walk into together. It’s clearly your shared apartment, traces of him and you strewn throughout the space.

“You should go shower and clean yourself off,” he says absentmindedly as he types something into his phone. “I’m going to make a quick call.”

You still hear Doyoung’s voice through the door when you emerge from the shower.

“Right. I was just hoping….yeah, you’re right. I’ll talk to…No, that won’t be necessary. Thanks.”

 You pull on your clothes and exit your bathroom into your master bedroom in the most nonchalant way you can manage. You falter still when you see Doyoung sitting at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

You join him on the edge of the bed. “Doyoung?”

He looks up at you; his eyes are rimmed with red. “Hey.”

“You talked to your manager? How was it?”  

“As expected,” Doyoung says while avoiding your gaze.

“Is your company going to take any action?”

He frowns, then takes a deep breath. “They said they’ll do what they can.”

“Which means?”

“Just that. They’ll ‘do what they can,’” Doyoung's voice drips with sarcasm, “but it’s unlikely to actually deter anyone. These things might still happen to you as long as you’re with me.”

As long as you’re with me. Alarm bells ring in your head.

“Don’t.” The you of this reality must pick up something more because your concern swiftly rushes into anger. “I know this fuck-ass company is recommending you some fuck-ass solution. I thought we said that we would handle this together. We survived the leaked photos in the media—we can handle this.”

Doyoung doesn’t look at you. “It’s my idea.”

For the first time, the weight of this reality’s emotions flood over your own. You feel her shock down to your core, which is quickly replaced by raw heart ache. Your throat is so tight that you’re barely able to choke out the words. “Okay. Say it, then.”

“I can’t keep watching this happen to you because of who I am. There’s still three years before my contract ends. Who would want to go through any of this for that long?”

“I would,” you say quietly, “I will for you. What we have is too special to throw it all away.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Doyoung’s shaking his head. “It’s not fair to you.”

“Who decides what’s fair to me? Isn’t that my choice?” You snap, your temper flaring up again. “It’s pretty unfair that you’re disregarding my entire opinion in this.”

“We’re soulmates,” he murmurs. “Meaning you felt a biological pull when we met.”

Your heart drops. “What the hell are you saying?”

 “You didn’t have much of a choice but to be drawn to me. Despite my lifestyle.”

“You don’t believe that. You believe in soulmates more than anyone.”

He avoids your eyes by opting to stare at the ceiling instead. “Well, maybe I’m starting to think differently.”

“So this is it, then?" Your voice trembles. “After all it took to just find each other in the first place?”

“I’m leaving tonight." He still doesn't meet your eyes. "This apartment is yours, but I won’t be coming back.”

You’re still absorbing his words when he rises toward the door.

“Doyoung.” Your voice is laced with despair. Still, you force out the words. “Say you don’t want me.”

“What?” His brow furrows.

You stalk after him, only stopping when your noses are nearly touching. “Say you don’t want me. Say that all of this was a mistake, and you don’t need us anymore. If you’re going to end it like this then you need to take ownership of it.”

Doyoung's mouth flattens and his bottom lip quivers. He takes a deep breath before exhaling and meeting your gaze. “We might be soulmates, but I no longer think that we belong together in this life. I wish the best for you, and the best for both of us is separating.”

It’s the worst he could say. Agony swirls in your chest. You collapse to the ground in a mess of sobs before he’s even left, but he continues out the door without looking back.

This version of you haunts the rooms of your house in a broken haze. You take to combing through every drawer, cabinet, and shelf as you search for anything that belongs to Doyoung. Nothing is safe; everything from clothing to picture frames get thrown onto the ground between bouts of hysterical crying.

Internally, panic courses through you. You’ve never felt stuck in a vision like this. Or felt the emotions of a vision so strongly. Everything about this vision is too real; this version of you feels everything so poignantly that you struggle to differentiate between your emotions and the emotions of this reality. You can barely think for yourself. Every sob comes equally from your soul.

Finally, when it’s deep into the night and your eyes can’t swell up any further from crying, you’re released from this nightmare. The you of this reality is left alone in a dreamless sleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That’s only the first of a month-long string of visions. You’re thrown into visions at least once every day. They change between elated moments of intimacy to tormenting heartbreak at the flip of a coin. Destined to be together one day, doomed to fail the next. It gives you karmic whiplash.

The hardest part is dealing with the other versions of you. It’s increasingly difficult to separate your thoughts and emotions from whichever reality you’ve entered. Sometimes you stay so long that you think that you’ll be trapped in another body forever. Even when you finally return, all of the emotions follow you out.

After the latest nightmare, you wake up gasping for air. Not real, you remind yourself. You dig a nail into your palm until it bleeds, just to confirm that you’re in control of this body. Not my Doyoung.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes, pausing as the back of your hand comes back wet. God, were you crying?

Shaking your head, you get up despite the heavy ache of your muscles. Your neck is so tight that you feel like it could snap off your shoulders.

Your phone lists a barrage of text and missed call notifications from Meg. A series from an hour ago that starts with a brunch request and ends with I’m coming over.

Sure enough, Meg sits at your dining table. There’s some take out containers on the table in front of her along with two cups of coffee.

“Sorry I missed your calls,” you sigh while taking your seat across from her. “Visions.”

Her eyes scan over everything from the deep bags under your eyes to the gaunt lines underneath your cheekbones. You ignore it and bite into a piece of toast.

“I’m worried about you,” Meg says.

You grunt and take a swig of coffee. “Why?”

“You look like you haven’t slept in ages.”

Your tone comes out too harsh. “Well, no one told me that soulmate visions during nighttime actually take away from any REM sleep. I’ve been having them almost every night for the past, you know, two months, so I don’t think I’ve really slept in a while.”

“I never really had many,” Meg mumbles from her spot. “So I didn’t know.”

“Sorry.” You know that you’re behaving like a colossal asshole, but you can’t help it. You’re haunted by what could come next. Visions of Doyoung plague you night and day. You still have yet to achieve full autonomy within a vision, which means that you’re trapped inside another’s body as you witness interactions that you will never have—different people, different universes, and different outcomes. It’s terrifying.

“There is a way to end it,” Meg starts again. “I have the tickets.”

You tighten your hand on your cup. “No.”

“Why not?”

You slam your hand down on the table. “Because sometimes it doesn’t work out, Meg!”

Her eyes widen.

“I’ve seen so many universes where it does work, but I’ve seen the pain and hurt that’s possible when it doesn’t,” you continue. “I love him in all of them, but better versions of me still fail to make it work. There’s no way that I stand a chance when Doyoung’s literally an idol with a million options at his fingertips.”

“You never know,” she reminds you softly. “He could be seeing you too, for all we know.”

“And with his infinite number of resources, he’s never tried to find me?”

That shuts her up.

“I’m starting to lose it, Meg,” your voice is barely louder than a hush. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not half of the time because of these visions—it’s like my soul is fighting to be outside of this reality. Isn’t that a sign? All these other versions of me have so much more to offer. I’m the worst version of myself, and he’s the best.”

Meg reaches to grab your hand. “You’re not the worst. Not even by a landslide. Your soul is just trying to be helpful by showing your amazing connection.”

“For this life it’s only an amazing outcome for me,” you say, sourness oozing back into your voice. “I can’t do that to him.”

“You can’t do this to yourself, either. Have you considered that you’re already doing something to him?”

This time, she’s lost you. “What do you mean?”

Meg sighs, a sure sign of her patience finally running out with you. “There’s no way in hell that he’s not experiencing some sort of vision himself. Isn’t that worse for him, since he’s touring? You’re probably disturbing his practice and rest time.”                                                         

You’ve been so caught up in living these alternate lives that, admittedly, you hadn’t considered the insane work demands of an idol. For all you know, he could be experiencing all of these visions at the same time. You had no way of knowing if your Doyoung was also witnessing everything without a chance to speak for himself.

 “It’s definitely worse for him,” you mumble.

“Exactly! And what’s the way to relieve you both of this? Meeting! Taking the chance of this concert in our city to let you both free!”

You hang your head in your hands. “Why do I have to ambush him like that? Isn’t that a lot?”

“You…” Meg stabs a finger in your direction. “…are not a celebrity.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Doyoung…” Meg pulls up the promotional images of him to show you on her phone. “…is an idol with crazy fans. He doesn’t know where to find you. I’m more than sure he has fans all up in his DMs claiming to be his soulmate on the daily. This is the only way you won’t get tackled by his security guards.”

You consider it. Even if he was guaranteed to not want you, even if he is universes above your league, you could at least free the both of you from these relentless interruptions.

I’ll miss it, a small part of you thinks. Being able to feel what we could be. What we are, just in different lives.

You push those thoughts to the back of your head. “Fine. Let’s end it.”

“Finally,” Meg exhales.

“You do realize that we’ll have to fight all of these fans to be as close as possible, right?”

“Don’t worry,” your friend says with an evil smile. “I have my ways.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meg lives up to her word. After a series of begging and bribes to other fans, you’re at barricade on the far right. To your horror, she’s brought a sign with your name on it in bright neon green letters. You’d try to dissuade her, since there’s no guarantee that Doyoung’s even seen you in visions, let alone heard your name, but she refused to back down.

“Maybe it’s so strange that it’ll catch one of their eyes,” she argues.

It’s certainly catching the eyes of other concertgoers, who glare at you.

Past the surrounding people, you find it hard to remove your anxiety from the situation. You’d tried to influence the tone of your visions leading up to the concert by consuming NCT 127 variety content and their overall discography. In reality, it made the visions worse. Watching Doyoung’s public image in action grated at your psyche; instead of heartwarming, it reminded you painfully of the talent disparity between you two. Not only did it make your visions more taxing, but it also made them more likely to occur. With any hope, even if he didn’t see you, you wouldn’t go unconscious into a soulmate vision.  

Your heart hums with anticipation as the lights dim and the low bass reverberates through your body. The monitor displays a brief, pre-recorded video of the members wearing and removing gas masks. The scene switches to the faces of the six members in a row. You lock onto Doyoung’s image on the screen.

The fans around you scream at the top of their lungs. Your ears ring and numb your senses. Amidst all of the energy you suddenly feel a panicked flush of shame.

Had you really paid this much money for this experience based on what could be hallucinations? Wasn’t it a little…egotistical to assume a man at this unattainable level of fame could be your soulmate?

You swallow the lump in your throat as the big screen splits to reveal the members standing in glass boxes. The box closest to you is Jungwoo on the far-right side of the stage. Your eyes scan down the line, skipping over Mark, Yuta, Johnny, then—

Doyoung

Your first kiss, different every time, yet always leaving sweet fulfillment.

Torn apart by circumstances outside your control.

Finding each other despite all odds.

A soft breeze as you say I do.

Kids, seemingly in every timeline—

It’s as if the world stops. You nearly fall over in place as memories flood your head. They’re both yours and not; movies of past lives—together, good and bad—superimpose over the other. It’s much, much more than what you’ve experienced in your visions. No one has properly prepared you for the feeling. Your head spins and throbs as the memories tuck and cram themselves into any available space.

It’s as physical as it is emotional. Your body writhes as your head feels like it will explode at any second. You’re panicked, overrun by the happiness and sorrow and confusion clouding your judgment. You can’t even tell which of these emotions are yours or theirs. The bright, flashing lights make it so much worse. Bile climbs up your throat before you force it back down with a swallow.

“Hey!” Meg pulls at your forearm. “Are you alright?”

“…Yeah,” you stammer, gasping for air.

She pats the top of your hand, which is paling from the intense grip on the barricade metal. You release your hands and rub at your tender palms.

She processes your appearance for a brief moment before her eyes widen. “No way.”

You nod, too exhausted to reply.

“We were right? Holy shit!” She screams, which ignites the searing pain behind your eyes.

You sway a little. “Did he react at all?”

“I couldn’t tell because of the smoke,” she frowned. “It seemed like he came out a little late.”

Doyoung performs on the stage in front of you. He doesn’t seem disoriented in the slightest. You do notice his eyes flit over the crowd occasionally, but it seems in line with what the other members are doing.

She quickly drapes your arm over her shoulders to stabilize you. “So what, now is the time for the sign?”

You don’t answer; regardless, she unfurls the poster. Her attempt to massage out the wrinkles are largely unnecessary—it’s already past the point of no return—but you can appreciate the effort. You’re barely able to stand up without her help.

Nearly half of the concert passes without any progress. Doyoung has stayed mostly away from your side of the stage, and when he is on your side his line of vision seems to skip right over you.

“How does he not fucking see you?” Meg shouts.

You shrug. Strangely enough, this is the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks. It’s as if all of your usual nerves have left straight on vacation.

All the snippets of memories are too much to sort through now, but there’s now two sentiments that are finally crystal clear to you throughout all lifetimes.

First: Doyoung must want you too. Either of you can choose to not pursue this connection.

Second: If it is meant to be, love will find a way.

Clearly, your Doyoung exists in an entirely different plane of existence from you. Sure, you might be soulmates, but that didn’t mean that he would choose you. That was his right, as was yours. At this point, you’re ready to accept any outcome.

Still, when the unit has transitioned to a series of ballads, you feel a flicker of annoyance. While your chances of being with him are slim to none, a small part of you craves that acknowledgement.

Can’t Help Myself, your favorite from the album, starts playing. You’ve thrown all expectation to the wind and start singing to the lyrics, even as Doyoung crosses back to your side of the stage.

Meg, on the other hand, raises the sign even higher while she screams Doyoung’s name in a way that is completely inappropriate to the tone of the song. It’s incredibly embarrassing but also endearing.

You’re half-laughing, half-cringing, until it works. Doyoung’s eyes rake over the sign, squint at Meg, then drift over from her to lock onto you.

Mine, your mind says.

Doyoung collapses onstage.

You’re even less prepared for this than you were before. The memories return and suppress all other thoughts. The terrified cries and shock of the crowd completely overtake your senses. It’s all too much.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your body folds over the barricade and hangs there like a ragdoll.

“HELP!” Meg’s voice screams over all the others. “PLEASE, MY FRIEND NEEDS SOME HELP!”

You feel someone grasp your shoulders and pluck your body out of the crowd. Then, you lose consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung sits on your living room carpet with your daughter in his lap. He flips through the thick pages of a children’s picture book, sounding out words for her and pointing at each picture.

You stare at his side profile. You’re not under any other will; you’re completely you, from the present day, down to the neon green outfit. The same version of you that’s presumably passed out at his concert. Most importantly, visions should stop once you’ve finally seen your soulmate in person. You shouldn’t be here at all.  

“What’s wrong, my love?” Doyoung mumbles.

You startle. Then, you blurt: “Are you real?”

He laughs softly. “Am I real?”

Cautiously, you settle down to sit on the floor next to him. He says nothing, stroking your daughter’s hair as he waits for you to speak first.

The fact that you can speak unsettles you. After months of visions, why is this the vision that lets you have full autonomy? Why in a moment like this, with Doyoung and your daughter relaxing in the living room?

“How did we meet?” You ask suspiciously.

He raises an eyebrow, but answers regardless. “Through work.”

“Which is?”

Thankfully, he’s much more patient. “Well, I was a trainee,” he starts, “and you were about midway through your rookie year.”

Your mind goes completely blank. “Me, an idol?”

Your daughter rests her head in Doyoung’s lap, eyelids fluttering with sleepiness. Doyoung puts a finger up to his lips.

“Am I your soulmate?” you ask in a lower tone, even though you already know the answer.

“Yes.”

“Was it always obvious that we would end up…like this? Together?”

He snorts. “We broke up after I didn’t debut.”

Your heart stops. “You didn’t become an idol?”

“We were broken up for six months before you reached out to me again.” His slightly sour expression softens. “You were going through a lot of things at the time. There’s no resentment there. You asked me for a month to get to know each other again as friends, then the rest is history.”

“Weren’t you mad that I ditched you once I debuted?”

“No.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe at first. We all know that line of work is demanding, and you continued to show up after we worked everything out. You proved to me that you’d choose us over everything, and we haven’t looked back since.”

“Choose this, choose that…” You grumble as irritation pricks at you. Then, you hang your head back and wail like a child. “I’m so confused! I don’t know what all these visions are trying to tell me…”

Doyoung doesn’t respond.

“I’m not sure where I end and their memories and feelings begin,” you confess, as if this Doyoung will know what you’re talking about. “They’re not really mine, but they feel like a part of me. I’m scared that I’m getting swept away by the soulmate bond. How am I supposed to choose? What if the skeptics are right, and this whole thing has been a physiological or psychological reaction that can be explained by science?”

You expect him to be offended; by now, you know that his deep belief in destiny and timing are at the core of his being.

Instead, he says, “What if it is?”

You blink. “I don’t think a soulmate is supposed to say that.”

“Well, when we’ve talked about this before, it always comes down to the same last questions.” He thinks for a moment. “Say we get to the end of our lives and find out that the concept of ‘soulmate’ can just be explained as a physical reaction. Will you feel like you wasted your time? Your life?”

“God.” Your eyes flit to your sleeping daughter. “That’s heavy.”

Doyoung shrugs. “That’s kind of what it boils down to. What do you want to happen, regardless of fate?”

“I don’t know. I just want to be happy.”

“I see,” he says noncommittally. Doyoung’s expression is neutral. Your daughter has other ideas as she whimpers a soft cry in her sleep, which prompts him to pick up your child and cuddle her in his arms. “Do you think I can make you happy?”

The sight makes your heart clench. It triggers an ache for a life that isn’t yours; you feel guilty for intruding on this version of life. This Doyoung doesn’t belong to you.

You open your mouth to reply, but the dream lightens and fades around you. This Doyoung smiles at you one last time before you’re ripped out of this reality.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Doyoung’s first soulmate vision occurs on his eighteenth birthday. It’s something that he can’t forget even if he tries. A dream of the two of you, childhood best friends, experiencing the flutter of a first kiss. He remembers the shyness in your face along with the grounded sense of familiarity; even at eighteen, he feels that he’s known you for his entire life.

Doyoung holds your existence close to his chest. He’s already teased enough for being a romantic as it is, and he treasures your connection too much to let others weigh in. It’s only deep into his trainee period that he even divulges anything to Taeyong and Johnny in the late hours of the night.

Visions of you shimmer in and out of his life in ephemeral flashes. Sometimes you’re the only thing holding him together when his throat burns from vocal training and his muscles ache from dancing. He clings to the borrowed memories from these other lives like a promise. There’s no doubt in Doyoung's mind that your life will touch his eventually–it’s not if, it’s when.

Then his visions stop right before the tour. You’ve been such a constant in his life for the past decade that the absence of you leaves a gaping hole behind. He misses you. He’s always tried to find you, but with only your first name to go off it’s nearly impossible. Added onto the fact that, as an idol, maintaining his privacy is of the utmost importance. He doesn’t want to even think about the entities that would exploit the knowledge of Kim Doyoung’s soulmate. 

He retains his professionalism while panicking on the side. What did it mean for his visions to disappear? The disappearance on New Year’s Eve specifically feels like an omen–Doyoung swears to himself that he’ll find you once and for all when the tour ends. All his performances are dedicated in his heart to you and your safety.

So when he registers a poster with only your name on it, he can hardly believe his eyes. The girl attached to the poster is certainly not you, so he keeps looking. 

When Doyoung sees you for the first time–finally, sees you in this life for the first time–all he feels is relief and elation. You found him.

Then a wave of nausea overtakes him, and he collapses on stage. 

After the fact, staff tell him that he laid unconscious for ten minutes. To him, he spends lifetimes. 

He’s inundated with visions of this reality, for once. Doyoung sits through the nightmares with you and sees your health deteriorate with each one. It pains him to see you so overwhelmed. Sure, he had the occasional vision where the two of you didn’t work out, but ten years had given him more than enough time to parse through the philosophical questions of it all. He can’t imagine experiencing this sudden influx so late or needing to decide so quickly. There’s a rush of guilt in knowing that you’ve experienced far more negative visions of him than positive.

It’s his first time seeing you in this universe, too. You’re different from all the other versions, of course, but the core things that make up your identity are as clear to him as ever. Your ambition and drive to make things work despite all odds. Your tenacity. Your deep loyalty and care to your loved ones. 

Doyoung feels at peace. It’s still you.

He wakes up with the wide eyes of the staff all around him. They immediately have someone check him out, and even the medic is perplexed when his only symptom is a mild headache. 

“So strange,” he frowns. “Someone in the front row of the crowd fainted around the same time.”

Doyoung's heart races. “Are they alright?”

“I believe the patient is being held in one of the medical tents.” 

When he’s cleared to perform, Doyoung pops a painkiller, drinks some water, and adjusts his outfit to go out there and finish the show. Before he leaves, however, he pulls his manager aside to whisper some instructions in his ear. He raises an eyebrow but then nods.

Be there soon, Doyoung thinks as he runs to join the others.

Doyoung leaves it all out on the stage. It’s his best, most earnest performance to date.

It’s easier than usual to slip away from the main group, since today’s show had been particularly exhausting. Most of them assumed that Doyoung felt sick and told him to go rest. It’s only Johnny who eyes him sidelong, but he doesn’t say anything in the moment as he heads out to eat.

Doyoung’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he paces in front of your hotel room. He’d met Meg, thanked her for the sign, and questioned her relentlessly on your condition. Meg, from what he could tell, seemed amused as she answered each of his questions. No, you weren’t awake. Yes, the medic said all of your vitals were normal. Yes, it was likely just a fainting spell similar to his own. Yes, you would probably want to see him.

Meg emerges from the hotel room with a nod. Doyoung’s chest tightens as he takes a deep breath to open the door. 

You’re sitting upright in one of the hotel beds while focusing on alarm clock next to your nightstand. 

“Meg, this is much nicer than something you’d usually choose–” You stop mid-sentence as you turn your head to find Doyoung in Meg’s place instead. “Doyoung.” 

Sure, he’s heard you say his name before but hearing it in the flesh makes goosebumps prick up along the surface of his skin. “Hi,” he breathes your name out loud for the first time.

Your expression is wide and dazed in shock as you stare at him. “Is this a vision? Or am I dead?” 

He feels tension between his shoulder blades relax as he laughs. “We’re both very much alive. Together,” he adds at the last minute.

You look down at your hands. “...I see.” 

Your sudden shyness reminds him so much of his first soulmate vision that he wants to gather you into his arms and never let go. Instead, he asks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you pause. “How were you after collapsing?”

“I was only out for a bit, then I woke up pretty much good as new.” He leaves out the part about seeing your entire soulmate realization journey. “Did you see any vision while out?” He sits in the hotel-provided office chair and rolls it forward so he’s hovering next to your side of the bed.

You grow shy again, this time at his proximity. “I did.” 

“Me too,” he admits. “It’s hard to believe that we won’t see any more.” 

You snort. “Not that we saw them for very long to begin with.” 

Doyoung’s breath catches. He knew the differences between your visions but explaining it out loud to you in person feels extremely different. “...I actually saw my first one just over ten years ago.” 

“Ten years ago?” You nearly shout.

“Frequency of them is on and off, but I started getting them when I was eighteen.” 

He watches your face twist in different expressions as you process the information. Shock and confusion appear first before it settles into something resembling guilt. He lets you get lost in thought. To Doyoung this is just a part of his story that he’s long since accepted, but he knows all of this is brand new for you.

When you finally speak, it’s something that he doesn’t expect. “I’m sorry!” You blurt out. “I hope you know that I don’t expect anything from you.” 

He tilts his head in confusion. “Expect anything from me?”

“I would’ve tried to find you even if you weren’t famous,” you’re talking so fast now that your mouth can barely keep up. “I’m not trying to take advantage of your fame.” 

“I didn’t think that.” Doyoung’s taken aback. Did you see him as the kind of person who would assume the worst? “I tried to find you a few times, but the visions weren’t exactly helpful in finding specific details about you. Meg’s sign was the first time I’d seen your full name.”

“Oh.” 

Your nervousness is palpable. He wishes he could transfer all your bad experiences to himself. Anything to take your pain away.

“Would you prefer it if I left?” He asks softly. “I can give you more time to— “ 

“No,” you cut him off firmly. You hesitate, just for a second, before reaching for his hand.

Now you’re both embarrassed, but you force your words out. “I don’t really understand what any of this means, still. I also don’t hold it against you if you’re disappointed. There are probably a million more interesting versions of me.”

If anything, he’s disappointed that you feel the need to self-deprecate. He sorts through his mind for a way to encompass how he’s felt about you for the past ten years, but it all seems too long winded.

Finally, he settles for a simple squeeze of your hand. “I’m happy it’s you.”

You squeeze his hand back. “I’m happy it’s you, too.”

Doyoung feels the blush blooming onto his face. The space between you is warm yet fragile. Through the haze of his giddiness, he tries to reign himself in before he scares you away. “I know this is still a lot for you, so I can meet you wherever you need me to be.”

The edges of your mouth twitch upwards in amusement. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

He blinks. “It is?”

“You’re the one who’s seen soulmate visions for ten years with no closure, but you’re more concerned about me,” you lean forward, eyes sparkling like you’re withholding a secret. “Even though I’m the reason why you collapsed at your own concert.”

“It’s not your fault!” He huffs, but you’re already laughing at his pouting. “It’s not!”

You wipe a tear from your eye. “It just made me feel relieved that it’s really you. I’m happy.” After recovering from your laughing fit, there’s a streak of makeup smudged along your upper cheekbone.

“You said that already.” Without thinking, Doyoung wipes the mark away with the pad of his thumb.

Your breath hitches. Doyoung freezes, which means that his hand effectively freezes on your cheek in turn. Then, finally, you turn your head toward his hand and press your lips on the skin. You smile.

The bashfulness in the air is replaced with something thicker and more intense than before. Doyoung’s eyes drift down to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” The words come out low and raspy. It’s surprising to even him. It’s probably too soon. He should have more self-control, damn it, but he can’t help himself. Every cell in his body craves to be closer, closer, closer.

Instead of a reply, you close the distance between you.

He’s lost track of how many first kisses he’s witnessed through other versions of himself, but this one tastes sweeter than all the rest. It’s more than just a kiss; it’s acceptance. As you lose yourselves in the other’s touch, it feels like a vow.  

“Doyoung,” you mutter between kisses.

“Mhmm?”

“Doyoung!” You pull back briefly, chest heaving for breath. “I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

His heart drops. He knows this risk-averse and self-sabotaging behavior of yours. If not addressed, you’ll convince yourself to choose the safest route to protect yourself. It’s now or never.

He clears his throat. “As I said, I will meet you wherever you need me to be. It’s okay if we start off slow or just as friends. Regardless, I would love to finally get to know you. This you.” He clears his throat. “So I hope you’ll consider it.”

“Of course I want to get to know you,”you say without hesitating. You bite your lip. “Without a doubt, I know that I can care for you and fall in love with you. The last few months have convinced me of that, but I’ve also seen that love can only carry us so far. You want to try pursuing something, even knowing that other versions of us have failed?”

“We won’t fail,” he says with a calm confidence.

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m choosing you—this reality with you. I will do everything in my power to take care of you.” His voice drops to a low tone. “So please trust me. Choose me too.”

With those words, you’re a goner. Truth be told, you aren’t sure if you stood a chance in the first place. He’s too easy to trust and fall into. Doyoung is everything you’ve dreamt of and more.

“Okay,” you say with a smile. “I’ll choose us too. As long as you’re really sure you want to be stuck with me.”

To know you is to love you. Doyoung’s decision was made from the moment he first saw you in his dreams.

“Of course I want to,” Doyoung says as he pulls you into another kiss. “I’ve loved you in every lifetime.”

[dokidokitsuna]

GameSwap!AU #2

Thank @earthykinous for this idea; I saw it in the tags of the first GameSwap and immediately knew I had to give it a try ^^

-Taranza seems like a very ‘devoted’ character, the kind who very easily latches on to personal influences…so as part of the HWC, I think he would be just as involved with the Mother Computer as Haltmann, maybe even more so, just to be able to share something with him. Just in general, he’d be agonized about his father not recognizing him anymore, and desperate to prove his worth despite it, trying to replace familial love with company loyalty in a VERY toxic-positive way. ^^ And besides, if he uses that control helmet often enough, maybe he’ll lose all his painful memories too… And in this scenario…maybe the reason Haltmann dies is because he sacrifices himself to Star Dream to save Taranza somehow, finally recognizing his son when he realizes he’s about to lose him again. OR, maybe he just feels like Taranza is too important to lose without knowing why, leaving only Taranza to bear the true emotional weight of that sacrifice.

-I think Susie is a more mature character than Taranza– despite her sad backstory, she seems to handle her situation well during the game, and doesn’t even seem that affected by Haltmann’s death post-game. If it’s not maturity, at the very least it’s a much lower level of emotional attachment.

So how would she go about dealing with her crush mutating into a tyrannical insect queen? I think she would actually just lose respect for her, and end up turning on her.

Despite staying by her side and aiding in her conquest, she would secretly be plotting her downfall: praising and obeying Sectonia to her face, while trying to undermine her in the background…keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as they say. Rather than mistakenly capturing the wrong ‘Hero of the Lower World’, Susie would’ve picked Dedede on purpose, knowing that Kirby was the ‘real’ hero who would come to save him AND defeat Sectonia. She’d then pretend to oppose him throughout the game, throwing challenging bosses his way to prepare him to face the Queen…and finally, she’d reveal her true motivations once Dedede has been freed.

But maybe, just to bring back the stakes and drama…maybe Sectonia overhears this reveal, and enters the scene. Through the ensuing argument, we could learn a bit about how Sectonia became evil in the actual game, and have Susie basically call her out, admitting to her treachery and daring her Queen to do something about it. To throw away the last shred of their former friendship, once and for all.

Which Sectonia does, of course, and from there the rest of the game could proceed like normal. Only, I think Susie’s characterization as a tough-yet-caring friend and a twist-hero would make her return with the Miracle Fruit a lot more satisfying. Rather than failing to see how evil Sectonia had become until it personally affected her, she knew exactly how far-gone she was, and put her life on the line to try and wake Sectonia up.  And despite losing that gamble, despite witnessing her friend choose to become a monster in more ways than one, she survived and came back to help us end the battle. ^^ I think that would be really heartwarming~

[exoticdox]

ah, I see, I see!

i'd suppose you'd have had a few interactions with the previous librarian in that case, but that's a question for another time =w=

being a doctor must be stressful as all hell :( do you ever regret making the decision to have become one?

pardon the questions, but i am a bit curious:

were there doctors before you? if not, who taught you? and lastly, what did you do before becoming a doctor?

thank you for your precious time /^\

Don’t apologize, I don’t mind questions. They make me reflect on things.

I don’t know of or remember any doctors before me, I’d have to ask Kongo. Good question, though.

I don’t remember too much about my life before I was a doctor, for I was a doctor for a majority of my life. But to answer your question, I was a librarian before it became Ghost’s job. I self-taught myself medical skills and such from books, and became a doctor.

[brunchable]

It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆.

《 Chapter 5: Your Crying Shoulder. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: When everything falling apart, you found yourself in the arms of the person you least expected. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. This will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). I can't help but place a TikTok meme in here somewhere lmao. Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

Mission Report - J. B. Barnes To: N. Fury Subject: Family Dynamics

Key Findings

1. Family Structure

Y/N Y/LN: CEO of The Emporium NYC, handling New York operations, public relations, and key corporate responsibilities.

Jonathan [Half-Brother]: Oversees Miami branch expansions and operational strategies. Professional but distant relationship with Y/N, characterized by mutual respect and a clear division of responsibilities.

2. Operational Observations

Financial Irregularities: Offshore accounts linked to Emporium subsidiaries display significant fund transfers with unclear purposes. Investigating their potential connection to Hydra-related activities is a priority.

Board Affiliations: Certain board members are linked to political figures and tech firms specializing in advanced security technologies. Their involvement requires further investigation for possible ties to Hydra.

Employee Turnover: Leadership restructuring followed Y/N’s promotion. Several former executives now hold external consulting roles, potentially redirecting focus from Emporium’s internal operations.

3. Personal Relationships

Rhys: Y/N’s boyfriend and the son of a global luxury hotel mogul. While not directly involved in Emporium operations, his influential family ties and potential connections to Y/N's network merit attention.

4. Behavioral Insights

Y/N demonstrates dedication to her role but shows signs of frustration with corporate pressures. She appears unaware of financial irregularities within the organization, suggesting compartmentalization of information.

No evidence connects Y/N directly to suspicious activities. Monitoring her relationship with Rhys could provide additional context, as his background and resources may intersect with Emporium’s broader dealings.

Recommendations

1. Background Checks: Investigate board members, financial consultants, and Rhys’s family business for any links to Emporium's offshore holdings and potential Hydra connections.

2. Monitor Relationships: Subtly observe Y/N’s interactions with Rhys and board members for indirect insights.

3. Enhanced Financial Scrutiny: Deepen analysis of offshore accounts to establish potential links between Emporium funds and Hydra-backed projects.

End of Report

× × × ×

Figaro pranced confidently into Bucky’s apartment, his tail held high, a familiar item clamped between his teeth. Alpine looked up from her spot on the windowsill, tilting her head as she watched him strut across the room.

“Alpine,” Figaro greeted, setting down the item—a soft, worn scarf that unmistakably carried your scent.

Alpine sniffed at the scarf, then looked at Figaro, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Your human let you out with… that?”

Figaro settled down next to her, casually licking a paw. 

“Oh, she doesn’t know I took it,” he replied with a lazy flick of his tail. “But I thought you might appreciate a little reminder of her.” He gave her a knowing look, lowering his voice. “She was patching up your human’s busted lip the other night, by the way.”

Alpine’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “Did she now? And did you happen to notice the way he was looking at her?” she asked, her whiskers twitching.

“Oh, I noticed. He was all ‘I’m tough, but not too tough for you,’” Figaro said, imitating a dramatic swoon, then rolled his eyes with exaggerated flair. “Honestly, he’s got it bad. She was fussing over him, and he was eating it up like a kitten with a saucer of cream.”

Alpine purred thoughtfully. “Well, it’s about time. But he won’t admit that to himself.”

“Yeah, well, the issue,” Figaro continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “is that there’s another guy in her life. Rhys.” He spat out the name with as much disdain as a cat could muster. “Total bore. Calls her ‘baby’ like it’s some kind of magic spell. And he smells like cheap cologne. Honestly, his existence is an insult to felines everywhere.”

Alpine’s ears perked up. “So he’s competition?”

Figaro scoffed. 

“Please. He’s like the knockoff toy they keep at the bottom of the discount bin. My human doesn’t even smile around him anymore; she just tolerates him. But every time your guy shows up, she lights up like it’s Christmas morning.” He stretched, his claws extending as if to make his point. “I’m telling you, we’ve got to get rid of him. For the sake of all that is right in the world.”

Alpine let out a thoughtful meow, eyeing the scarf Figaro had brought. “You know, if we could just keep nudging them together, maybe they’ll take the hint. They’re not too bright, but they’ve got chemistry.”

“Exactly!” Figaro said, his eyes gleaming. “Our owners are hopeless without us. This is a mission, Alpine. A noble mission. A mission to save her from that pathetic excuse for a partner.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “And frankly, if I have to listen to him call her ‘baby’ one more time, I might cough up a hairball on his shoes.”

Alpine let out a low chuckle, nudging Figaro with her paw. “Well then, Mr. Matchmaker. What’s the plan?”

“Oh, I’ve got ideas,” Figaro said, eyes narrowing as if deep in thought. “Plenty of ideas. After all, I’m doing the world a favor.”

× × × ×

There was cold silence since that tense encounter with Rhys, and though you’d pushed it to the back of your mind, his apology text had come through late tonight, begging you to talk. You decided, almost against your better judgment, to go. Maybe it was a habit, maybe just closure. But as you reached the hotel and made your way up to his office, a cold, uneasy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

The hall was dimly lit as you approached, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Then, as you neared the frosted glass door of Rhys’ office, you stopped in your tracks. Two silhouettes were visible through the blurred glass, close, intimate. You watched as Rhys pressed a woman��with a golden hair clip—against the glass, their forms locked together in a kiss that left little to the imagination.

Your throat tightened, a dull ache building in your chest as the weight of the betrayal hit you. To be honest, I felt like I already knew it, you thought, the silent admission somehow worse than the scene unfolding in front of you. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. You tried to swallow down the emotions swirling within you—anger, sadness, and that unmistakable pang of disappointment. Being cheated on hurt, even when you’d mentally checked out of the relationship. It chipped away at something deeper, a quiet part of your self-worth you hadn’t realized still cared.

Water rimmed your eyes, but you blinked it back, refusing to let him take that from you too. You inhaled deeply, straightened your shoulders, and turned away from the office door, leaving as quietly as you’d arrived.

× × × ×  Fews days after

Bucky squinted, utterly baffled. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he muttered. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling absurdly judged by a cat.

Alpine huffed, letting out a short, dismissive meow, clearly unimpressed with whatever answer she’d decided on. She trotted off toward her food bowl, pausing just once to throw him a final, critical look before bending to eat.

“Alright, sure, just go back to ignoring me,” Bucky grumbled, watching her. But as he leaned against the counter, glancing down at the faint trace of your scent still on his sleeve, he couldn’t help feeling like Alpine had silently decided something about him that she wasn’t going to share anytime soon.

Bucky watched Alpine chowing down on her food, her tail flicking in satisfaction as she devoured each bite with gusto. He allowed himself a moment of peace, but then came the unmistakable sound of someone struggling with his lock.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, his mind flashing back to the night you’d drunkenly tried breaking into his apartment, mistaking it for yours. Swinging the door open, he was prepared for a repeat performance, only to be met with Sam, frozen in mid-action, his hand clutching a spare key. Behind him stood Steve, holding two large bags of takeout, and Nat, arms crossed with a smirk.

“Uh… hey, Buck,” Sam greeted, attempting a casual tone while quickly tucking the key behind his back like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“Why are you trying to break into my place?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at Steve and Nat for backup. 

“We’re, uh… your backup! Sent by Fury.” He flashed a grin that looked anything but innocent.

“Backup?” Bucky repeated, deadpan, as the three of them filed in with the casualness of seasoned intruders. “Fury said it was a simple assignment. Barely a mission.”

Steve rolled his eyes, giving Bucky a pitying look as he passed by to set down the bags on the table. “You really believed that? Seriously?”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but before he could get a word in, Nat had already made her way over to Alpine, who blinked up at her with the smug satisfaction of a cat who’d been expecting her. Nat scratched Alpine’s ears as Alpine purred, looking even more at ease than Bucky had ever seen her.

Just as Nat leaned down to pet Alpine, her gaze flicked up, catching sight of Bucky’s busted lip. She raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Nice lip, Buck. Trouble on the way to the door?”

Bucky’s hand instinctively went up to his mouth. “Oh, that? I… tripped over Alpine.”

Steve’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing as he tried to keep a straight face. 

“You tripped… over Alpine?” He looked down at the serene, not-at-all-menacing cat sitting contentedly by Nat’s side, then back up at Bucky, clearly struggling to hold back a laugh.

Bucky crossed his arms, his expression turning defensive. “It’s possible, alright? She’s tiny but lethal.”

Sam let out a snort. “Yeah, sure. I’m sure the Winter Soldier can handle a battalion of Hydra agents but gets taken out by a house cat.”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” Bucky just rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as Sam already raiding the fridge like he owned it. 

“Oh no, please, make yourselves at home. I’ll just find somewhere else to live, shall I?” Bucky’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he watched the scene unfold. 

“Buck, you have got to keep better beer in here. This stuff is practically water.” He settled on a bottle anyway, taking a long swig before glancing back at Bucky. “We’re just here to help, man. Think of us as… extended housemates.”

Bucky crossed his arms tighter, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “Extended housemates?” He gestured at the room. “You act like you already live here!”

Steve, entirely unbothered, started setting out the food, carefully placing burgers on plates and arranging napkins. “We thought you might need a little company. I mean, it’s a Friday night, after all.”

“I’m perfectly fine alone, thanks,” Bucky replied, his gaze narrowing as he watched Sam polish off half a beer in one go. “How about you go keep each other company?”

Steve chuckled, handing a plate to Nat. “You said the same thing last time we showed up. Yet, here we are. Again.”

Nat, now comfortably settled on the couch with Alpine, flashed him a wicked grin. “Let’s not be dramatic, Bucky. Just think of us as… spontaneous visitors.”

“Visitors don’t usually come with their own keys,” Bucky grumbled, his gaze settling on Sam, who was busy rifling through his cabinets for snacks. “And they certainly don’t bring takeout to make themselves at home.”

Sam shrugged, unfazed. “You think of it as invading your privacy; I think of it as improving the vibe around here.”

Bucky let out an exasperated sigh. “I swear, one of these days, I’m changing the locks.”

“Good luck with that. We’ll just get new keys.” Nat smirked, scratching Alpine’s head as if she were orchestrating a coup. 

Bucky glared, but Steve was already setting a plate piled with ribs and a burger in front of him. “Eat up, Buck. Before Sam devours everything like the human garbage disposal he is.”

Sam waved his beer bottle, looking completely unbothered. “Hey, I resent that. This is strategic eating. Besides, with your ‘barely-a-mission,’ we need all the fuel we can get.”

“I’m starting to think Fury set me up.” Bucky rubbed his forehead, exasperated but clearly losing the battle.

Steve just grinned, popping open his own beer. “I’m sure Fury thought you’d appreciate the backup.”

“Or at least tolerate it,” Sam added, grabbing a handful of fries and popping them into his mouth.

With a resigned sigh, Bucky sank into a chair, shaking his head. “You guys are impossible.”

“Impossible is our specialty,” Sam shot back, raising his beer in a mock toast. “To back up, and to Buck finally admitting he likes having us around.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” Bucky snorted. 

Alpine purred louder, clearly pleased with the lively atmosphere, while Nat smirked at Bucky. “See? Even Alpine agrees. You’re just a grump with a soft spot for us, admit it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. But next time, bring your own key.”

“Oh, we will,” Steve assured him with a smirk. “And maybe a couch, a pillow or two.”

Sam, now munching contentedly on fries, raised his beer again. “To crashing Bucky’s place—where every night is a mission, and the food’s free.”

Bucky took a reluctant bite of his burger, trying to ignore how comfortable his “guests” had made themselves. Just as he was starting to think the worst was over, Steve casually leaned over to Sam, as if sharing a quiet plan.

“We’ll grab the rest of our stuff from the car when Buck’s asleep,” Steve said, completely deadpan.

Bucky nearly choked on his burger, staring at Steve like he’d lost his mind. “The rest of your stuff? What are you talking about?”

Sam, without missing a beat, grinned. “Perfect. Nat can take the bedroom, and the three of us can crash in the living room. It’ll be like a sleepover.”

Nat raised her eyebrows, feigning delight. “I called dibs on the bed, anyway. I always knew Buck had the fluffiest pillows.”

“Hold on, hold on! This isn’t some youth hostel! You all have your own places!” Bucky’s face twisted in horror as he looked around the room. 

“Yeah, but none of our places have a view of you panicking about your personal space.” Steve looked unbothered, casually unwrapping another burger.

Bucky glared. 

“I’m not panicking! I just—” He waved a hand in utter frustration. “This is my place! You can’t just... commandeer my bed!”

“Don’t worry, Buck. We’ll all be snug as bugs on the floor, reliving those good ol’ days in the barracks.” Sam leaned back, looking way too comfortable for someone who’d apparently just broken in.

“Except Nat,” Steve corrected, “who will be enjoying Buck’s luxurious mattress.”

Bucky looked to Alpine, almost pleading. “You see what I deal with? Even the cat respects my space more than you three!”

Alpine simply blinked, looking rather indifferent to her owner’s plight as she happily settled on Nat’s lap.

“Oh, come on, Buck,” Sam said, reaching over to ruffle Bucky’s hair. “We’ll make it fun! Popcorn, ghost stories, some embarrassing truths about Fury… just like old times.”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve added, grinning. “Think of it as team bonding.”

Bucky threw his hands up. “This isn’t bonding! This is trespassing! And I don’t want to hear any ghost stories or truths about Fury. I want my bed, my couch, and my fridge not raided!”

Nat sighed, patting Alpine who purred louder. “Look, Buck. Clearly, Alpine’s on board. You’re outvoted.”

“Traitor.” Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking at Alpine in betrayal.

Steve chuckled, leaning back with a smug grin. “Face it, Buck. Tonight’s already decided.”

Bucky let out a resigned sigh, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath. “Next time, I’m leaving the country.”

× × × ×

You strode into the dimly lit restaurant, greeted by a chorus of cheers and mock applause as Serena, Mei, and Jane raised their glasses, voices rising in unison. "Woooo, here comes the CEO!"

You shook your head, laughing as you took your seat, subtly glancing around the table. Your gaze caught on one unfamiliar face, though it took a split second longer for the memory to click into place. Carly. She was Rhys' new assistant, a realization that caused your brow to lift just slightly. You’d thought she looked familiar from somewhere else, but with her new polished appearance and newfound confidence, it was hard to tell right away.

Chloe, ever the instigator, nudged Carly forward with a smile that held a hint of challenge. 

“Ladies, meet Carly. You might remember her, Y/N. She used to work at The Emporium,” she said, her words smooth but her gaze pointed.

You kept your expression cool, a practiced smile settling on your lips. “Ah, that explains why she looks familiar.” You gave Carly a nod, and she responded with a forced smile, her eyes holding something less friendly beneath the surface.

The evening moved along, filled with laughter and a few rounds of drinks. Serena, Mei, and Jane offered congratulations, and Sarah, as always, played the role of your unwavering cheerleader, throwing a few enthusiastic compliments your way. But as the night flowed, it was Mei who leaned in, her voice dipping into a sympathetic tone.

“So, I heard Rhys de Armande cheated on you.”

You blinked, not expecting the topic to surface so bluntly. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, though a subtle flicker crossed your face.

“You forced a light laugh, though your jaw tightened beneath it. “Oh, it was probably because I told him to take his bare minimum and keep it out of my sight. Pretty sure he wanted to vanish into thin air after that, especially since his entire office got to witness it.”

Jane, Mei, and Serena burst into laughter, clearly picturing the scene as you animatedly relayed the story.

“Oh my gosh, that’s incredible,” Serena giggled, shaking her head. “He absolutely deserved every bit of that.”

You let out a faint laugh, flipping your hair back and letting it settle over your shoulder as you raised an eyebrow. “Ugh, I’m too busy with work to be hurt by this kind of stuff,” you replied, feigning a casual air as you took a sip of your drink, though the words had a hard edge underneath.

“Do you know who the woman was?” Serena leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

Chloe’s lips curled into a faint smirk.

“I mean, with Rhys’ type, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s someone… eager to climb the ladder, if you know what I mean,” Mei said.

Sarah’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth, ready to retort, but you discreetly squeezed her hand under the table, keeping your expression smooth. You didn’t need her stepping in right now. 

“You should’ve grabbed her hair!” Jane piped up, half-laughing, her fist in the air as if she were ready to throw a punch herself, “I respect the way you’re so laid back, because honestly I would’ve gone apeshit.”

“Oh, forget it. He’s the one who cheated. I couldn’t care less about her,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “She’s probably no different from him—anyways! Enough about him!”

As the words left your mouth, Carly’s face visibly tightened, her forced smile slipping as she pushed back her chair, muttering under her breath as she walked off toward the restroom. Her eyes flickered with a glare that lingered on you as she departed, barely concealing the frustration bubbling beneath her cool facade.

Serena raised her eyebrows, catching the shift in mood. “What’s with her? She was glaring at you the whole time.”

“Oh, who knows,” Sarah murmured, watching Carly’s retreating figure with a slight smirk, her hand still entwined in yours beneath the table, a sign of solidarity.

Chloe glanced after Carly, a subtle, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Probably just adjusting to her new… surroundings.”

You glanced down at your phone, barely containing the irritation rising within you as you took in the image on the screen: Rhys and Carly, cozy on a beach, his arms wrapped around her as if he hadn’t been apologizing to you just days earlier. It was from an unknown number, but there was no doubt in your mind who had sent it.

With a measured breath, you slipped the phone back into your bag and stood, offering your friends a polite excuse before following the path Carly had taken. You found her just outside the restrooms, leaning casually against the wall with a smug smile, almost as if she’d been waiting.

“Why did you send me that?” You stopped in front of her, gaze steady.

She didn’t bother hiding her grin, crossing her arms as she looked you over. “Because I wanted you to know.”

“Know what?” You raised an eyebrow. “That Rhys cheated on me?”

“No,” she replied with a sickeningly sweet smile, crossing her arms tighter. “That I seduced your boyfriend. You seemed completely fine with it.”

A scoff escaped you as you let out a dry laugh, crossing your own arms. 

“Did you expect me to crumble just because I was cheated on?” You tilted your head, studying her. “Alright, let’s say you two ‘fell in love.’ Then you should be apologizing to me—”

Her smile faltered as she cut you off, her voice raising a fraction. “I felt guilty at first. But then you acted like it wasn’t a big deal. You weren’t curious about me, didn’t even acknowledge what I did. So my self-esteem? It just kept plummeting.”

You looked at her, incredulous, and chuckled coldly. “Wow—seriously? You’re such a loser—You’re blaming me for your self-esteem issues?”

Her lips pursed in irritation. “Why shouldn’t I? Why do you think I can’t do what you do? I can seduce your man and be just as successful—be just like you. But you never gave me the chance. Not only that, you took my opportunity at The Emporium away from me.”

“Ah,” you murmured, amusement in your voice. “So this is about me firing you?”

Her jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t deserve to be in that position. You act so high and mighty, like nothing can shake you. You have it all, don’t you? The job, the influence, the respect. But guess what? I can take what’s yours. I already did, didn’t I?”

You laughed, unbothered, shaking your head slowly. 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You stepped closer, gaze locked on hers. “If you couldn’t handle the job, that’s on you. Throwing this little tantrum only proves I was right about you. As for Rhys…” You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You can keep him. My ex cheating doesn’t affect my work—but you? You do. So maybe I’ll have a word with his parents and see how your career fairs then.”

You turned to leave, but her voice came out sharp, dripping with venom. “You can’t pretend you’re not bitter about it. That’s why you’re here, right? To confront me?”

Pausing, you glanced over your shoulder, an icy smile on your lips. “Ever step on something nasty on the sidewalk? Hmm I don’t know like shit? It’s a pain, but you don’t let it ruin your day. You wipe it off and move on. That’s what you and Rhys are to me—Shit—something I’ll be glad to scrape off my shoe.”

Without another glance, you strode back to the table, your head held high. Your friends glanced up as you approached, a few eyebrows raised.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked, eyeing you with mild concern.

You forced a polite smile, nodding as you picked up your bag. “Actually, I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. I should get going.”

With a few quick goodbyes, you left, satisfaction settling over you as you stepped out, knowing you’d left Carly exactly where she belonged—behind you.

× × × × 

“Sarah! Open the noor! I know you're in there, Sarah! Open the noor!” Your drunken voice slurred through the quiet hallway, louder with every knock.

Inside, Bucky froze, instantly recognizing your voice. His eyes widened, and he shot a panicked look at the mountain of files scattered across his coffee table—the very files on you and The Emporium that he’d been piecing through with Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Everyone! Gather the files, now!” he hissed, immediately jumping to action.

“What? Why? Relax, man, we’re not under attack or anything.” Sam raised an eyebrow, lounging on the couch with a half-eaten sandwich.

Bucky shot him a glare, practically yanking the files out from under Sam’s plate. “One of our ‘subjects’ is outside the door, Sam! Now MOVE!”

“Wait, you mean her?” Steve asked, eyes widening as the banging on the door got louder.

“Yes!” Bucky hissed, shoving an armful of files into Steve’s hands. “Now stop talking and start hiding!”

Nat rolled her eyes, stacking papers hastily. “Isn’t this a little dramatic? She’s probably just lost.”

“She’s not ‘lost,’ she’s drunk!” Bucky snapped. “And I’d rather not explain why I’m reviewing her life story with three nosy intruders!”

“Oh, we’re the intruders now?” Steve muttered as he clutched a bundle of files to his chest. “Could’ve sworn we were here for your mission!”

The banging grew even louder. 

“Sarah! Don’t you ignore me, woman!” Your voice was muffled but determined, sounding like you were one step away from kicking the door down.

“Go, go, go! Get in there!” Bucky herded them like sheep, arms waving wildly as he tried to push them toward the bedroom.

“Ow, Bucky, stop shoving!” Sam complained, elbowing Bucky back as he tripped over a rogue sneaker. “Seriously, why are you acting like we’re about to be raided?”

“Because she’ll see this mess and ask questions!” Bucky shot back, pushing him forward again. “Just get in and be quiet!”

Nat stumbled as Bucky prodded her toward the door, muttering, “Why are you so panicked? Did you do something wrong, Buck?”

“Would you all just move?!” Bucky whispered furiously, practically bulldozing them all through his bedroom door. “I’ll explain later. Just don’t make a sound!”

Steve stumbled, catching himself with a loud “Ow!” as Bucky finally got all three of them behind the door. He shut it firmly and leaned against it with a sigh, only to hear a loud “Shh!” from Nat, Sam, and Steve bickering in hushed whispers.

“Move your elbow!”

“Steve, that’s my foot—ow!”

“Could you three not sound like an entire stampede?”

Outside, your voice grew louder, slurring but stubborn as ever. “Saarah! Come on, I brought sushiiii!”

Bucky took a breath and opened the door, his expression calm yet barely holding it together. There you stood, wobbling slightly, hair slightly mussed, and an unmistakable grin on your face when you saw him.

“Oh! Sarah, you changed! You look so much taller… and more... Bucky-like.”

“Uh, hi,” he said as he steadied you. “I think you might have the wrong door, trash panda.”

You blinked, frowning, and swayed a little closer. “Wrong door? But I brought sushi! And, wait—” You squinted at him, leaning in. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, Bucky,” he confirmed, holding back a chuckle as you gave him a suspiciously scrutinizing look.

“Ohhh…” you drawled, clearly trying to process it all. “Well, if you see Sarah, tell her the sushi is... sushi-ing.”

He nodded, keeping his tone light, even though his friends were probably eavesdropping as best they could. 

“Will do. And, uh… maybe we should get you home?”

“Good idea. But you keep this. Looks like you could use some fish.” You nodded, albeit unsteadily, handing him a stray piece of sushi. 

You gave Bucky a wobbly smile, one that looked a little too determined for someone in your state. Before Bucky could stop you, you swayed forward, making a beeline past him and into his apartment.

“Wait, Y/N—this isn’t… Sarah’s place!” he said, barely catching up as you staggered into his kitchen.

“Close enough,” you slurred with a grin, swaying dramatically from side to side as you reached for the fridge handle. Alpine, sensing a new friend in distress, trotted over, rubbing against your legs with enthusiastic little chirps.

“Oh! Hey, kitty!” you cooed, reaching down to pet her, then looking up at Bucky with wide, innocent eyes. “Sarah’s cat never welcomes me like this. See? She gets me.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, half-amused, half-panicked. “Right. Because Alpine just loves guests raiding the kitchen.”

You opened the fridge door, inspecting the shelves as if on a mission. 

“Where’s the… the ice cream?” you muttered, voice muffled by the refrigerator door. “Sarah always has chocolate fudge swirl, and I need it.”

“Seriously, you’re in the wrong apartment,” Bucky tried, sounding both exasperated and entertained as he reached out, but you sidestepped, one hand still on the fridge door, the other now waving vaguely in the air.

“Shhh, Bucky,” you chided, squinting as you leaned in further, peering deeper into the fridge with a sense of deep concentration. Alpine padded around you, her tail curling around your ankle, clearly thrilled to have you there.

“Listen, Bucky,” you slurred, not even glancing up, “all I want… is chocolate ice cream and maybe… maybe a good laugh. Do you have tissues? I feel like I’ll need them, like, a lot of them.”

Bucky couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He tried his best to guide you away from the fridge gently, but you shot him a mildly annoyed look, shoving a stray pack of carrots aside as if they were personally offensive.

“Don’t you dare hide the good stuff behind the veggies,” you said, mock-scolding him as Alpine hopped onto the counter, watching the scene with wide, curious eyes, tail twitching.

“Really, Alpine?” Bucky muttered at his cat, who was clearly rooting for you and even pawed at Bucky’s hand as if to say, Let her have the ice cream!

“I knew you’d understand me, Alpine,” you cooed at the cat, as if she were your personal support group. “See, Bucky? Even she gets it. She knows.”

Bucky sighed, half-heartedly resigned. “You know what, fine. If Alpine says so, who am I to argue?”

Finally, you pulled out a random tub—yogurt, not ice cream—and peered at it in disappointment. 

“Greek yogurt? Bucky, are you… are you okay?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, perfectly fine, thanks.”

You blinked at him, still clutching the tub. “Well, clearly, you’re living a sad existence if this is all you’ve got.”

“Or I’m just not prepared for unexpected trash pandas who raid my fridge,” he replied, crossing his arms, trying not to burst out laughing as you clung to Alpine for support, who purred loudly, delighted with the chaos.

“Fine, then!” you declared dramatically, patting Alpine’s head. “Alpine and I will fend for ourselves.” You turned on your heel (or tried to, at least), your balance giving out just slightly as you wobbled with an exaggerated sway. Alpine gave an encouraging “mrrp!” as if saying, Yes! Go forth!

Bucky finally took pity on you, grabbing a pint of actual ice cream from the freezer, waving it like a peace offering. “This? Will this make you happy, your highness?”

You lit up, the joy on your face as radiant as if he’d handed you a crown. “Now that’s more like it!” you cheered, taking the tub, your steps still swaying as you made your way to his couch.

Bucky followed you over, shaking his head as you sat down, giving Alpine a spot next to you. He sat down nearby, stifling a chuckle as you dug into the ice cream.

“So… just gonna crash here tonight, then?” he asked, leaning back with a smirk.

You waved the spoon dismissively, barely even looking up. “Obviously. And you, Bucky Barnes, need to get more ice cream. Greek yogurt’s just… depressing.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Noted.”

You tore into the box of tissues, your frustration boiling over as you whipped open the plastic bag for trash with the precision of someone handling a life-or-death task. In one hand, you wielded the spoon like a weapon, in the other, a tissue you’d already shredded halfway. Bucky sat a few feet away, wide-eyed, clearly out of his depth. Alpine perched on the coffee table instead, her tail swishing in judgment, shooting Bucky a look that all but screamed, Fix this.

“You good there?” Bucky asked cautiously, his voice hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether he should move closer or start looking for an escape route.

You let out a short, sharp laugh—bitter, too loud for the small space. “Good? Oh yeah, I’m great! I mean, how could I not be? My ex-boyfriend cheated on me with his assistant, who, surprise, also happens to be the same girl I fired for being utterly incompetent.”

Bucky, sitting stiffly on the couch, could only blink as you laughed. Not a gentle laugh, but one that bordered on hysteria, punctuated by short, sharp breaths. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that came from something funny; it was the kind that cracked through the tension when words couldn’t quite hold the weight of everything you were feeling.

“Oh, my God!” you exclaimed, raising your spoon as if to make a toast. “It’s just perfect, isn’t it? Fired her for being terrible at customer service, and what does she do? Rebounds as my boyfriend’s personal assistant. Like, how poetic is that?” You gestured with the tissue, accidentally flinging it onto the coffee table, but you didn’t stop. 

“And then—get this—she blames me for her low self-esteem! Like, excuse me for not sending her a gift basket after she slept with my boyfriend. I mean—” You let out a bark of laughter, shaking your head as tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t make this stuff up!”

“And then tonight?” You gestured wildly with your spoon. “Tonight, I had to sit there, all smiles, pretending like everything was fine, because God forbid I let anyone think I’m not. And Carly—oh, Carly—had the audacity to act like she’s the victim. She felt bad about it! Isn’t that just hilarious?” You scooped another bite of ice cream, your laughter spilling out, sharp and brittle, filling the air like broken glass.

Bucky sat frozen, his jaw slightly ajar, his heart twisting as he watched you spiral. You leaned forward, still laughing, the sound echoing unnaturally in the quiet apartment. You looked absurd, sitting there with a tub of ice cream and tissues in hand, trying to force humor into something that was clearly tearing you apart.

“Y/N,” Bucky said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t seem to hear him, your laugh rising in pitch as you tilted your head back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s hilarious, really. Just the perfect little tragedy. I kind of saw it coming, you know? Rhys was always—”

“Y/N.” Bucky’s voice was firmer this time, cutting through the haze of your spiraling thoughts like a blade.

He moved off the couch, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his steady blue eyes locking onto yours. The laughter caught in your throat as you met his gaze. There was no judgment in his expression, no pity—just an unwavering presence that felt like a lifeline. His gaze softened, like he was offering you something you weren’t sure how to accept.

“Just cry,” he said, his voice calm but resolute.

Your lips parted as if to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. The lump in your throat tightened, and for a moment, you thought you could hold it together. But the way he was looking at you—like you were the only person in the world—broke down every defense you’d spent the evening building.

“Don’t force yourself to laugh,” he added gently, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s okay to cry.”

Your smile wavered, trembling at the edges before fading completely. You looked away, the dam bursting as tears spilled over, hot and relentless. A shaky breath escaped you, and your hands fumbled with the tissue box, but they were trembling too much to hold anything.

Bucky let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the closed bedroom door. He rarely, if ever, allowed anyone to see this side of him. Vulnerability wasn’t something he was used to sharing—especially not with his friends only a room away. But for you? He didn’t hesitate.

“Ah, screw it,” he muttered under his breath.

Alpine let out a soft “mrrp” of approval, watching as Bucky leaned forward, wrapping a careful arm around your smaller frame. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting you bury your face against his chest. His touch was gentle but grounding, the steady rhythm of his breathing anchoring you as you finally let yourself break.

He rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his other hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back. The weight of your head against his chest grounded him as much as he hoped it comforted you.

Alpine, perched on the coffee table, watched with what could only be described as smug satisfaction, her tail flicking contentedly.

Bucky’s awkwardness melted away bit by bit as he felt your breathing begin to even out against him. He let out a soft sigh, glancing down at you. Alpine’s watchful gaze was fixed on him, as if daring him to get this right. Bucky cleared his throat, searching for the right words, feeling more vulnerable than he’d admit.

“You know… you’re stronger than you think,” he said, his thumb grazing your shoulder without him realizing. “You take on so much, and you do it with so much grace. Even when you don’t have to.”

Your breath caught, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, his blue eyes soft but unwavering.

“I know you don’t need me or anyone else to tell you how incredible you are. But, just… let someone see it, will you? Because you… you deserve that. And I mean every damn word.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you felt a rare sense of peace, your heart light in a way it hadn’t felt in so long. Bucky looked at you, his expression softening further as he took in the sight of your smile, his own heart skipping a beat.

Just as the warmth of Bucky’s words started to sink in, your phone erupted with an insistent buzz, breaking the peaceful moment. You glanced down to see Rhys’ name flashing on the screen. You groaned, but before you could even react, Bucky had snatched the phone from your hand, holding it up as it vibrated relentlessly.

On the fourth ring, Bucky pressed "answer," bringing the phone to his ear with a calm confidence that sent a thrill through you, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm.

“Rhys right? You know, she’s a little busy right now…” he greeted, the single word laced with a tension that could cut glass. “Here’s the deal: you’re gonna stop calling her. Got that?”

You watched, wide-eyed, as Bucky ended the call without waiting for a response and promptly shut off the phone. He set it down with an air of finality, his gaze meeting yours. Before you could form a coherent thought, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, making you both jump slightly.

“Y/N? I know you’re in there.” The voice outside was unmistakable—Rhys.

Your stomach churned as Bucky’s eyes flicked to the door, his jaw tightening.

“What the hell?” he muttered, standing up, his posture instantly tense.

“Bucky…” you started, but he raised a hand, silencing you with a look.

The knock came again, harder this time, followed by Rhys’ impatient voice. “Come on, Y/N, open the door! Let’s talk.”

Alpine, perched on the coffee table, let out an annoyed hiss, her tail flicking sharply as if she shared Bucky’s distaste for the situation. Bucky moved toward the door with deliberate steps, glancing briefly at the bedroom where Sam, Steve, and Nat were undoubtedly eavesdropping.

“Stay here,” Bucky instructed, his voice low and commanding. You watched as he reached for the door, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring.

The door creaked open, revealing Rhys standing in the dim hallway, his expression a mix of desperation and annoyance.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s voice was dangerously quiet, but the threat beneath it was clear.

Rhys crossed his arms, his gaze darting past Bucky into the apartment. “I’m here to talk to Y/N. This is between me and her, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, I mind,” Bucky shot back, stepping further into the doorway, blocking your view. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“You don’t speak for her,” Rhys snapped, his voice rising. “Y/N!” he shouted, his voice cracking with frustration. “You can’t avoid me forever!”

The tension in the room was palpable, and you stood frozen, torn between staying put and stepping in. But before you could decide, Rhys’ voice dropped, and the words that followed sent a chill down your spine.

“I know what you’re hiding.”

Bucky’s entire body stiffened, his hand tightening on the edge of the door. His head tilted slightly, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the shift in his demeanor. The calm before the storm.

“Excuse me?” Bucky’s voice was low, deadly.

Rhys scoffed, his tone dripping with false confidence, voice low while glancing shortly at you. “Don’t play dumb. I know about the Emporium. And I know about you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your breath catching as Rhys’ words hung in the air like a grenade waiting to explode. Alpine let out a sharp, warning hiss, her tail flicking wildly.

“Y/N,” Bucky called over his shoulder, his voice steady but laced with coldness that made your blood run cold. “Go to my room.”

“What? Why—”

“Now.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument, and with a wobble in your step and the slight haze of alcohol still clouding your mind, you retreated into the hallway. 

You staggered slightly, catching yourself on the wall as your eyes darted toward the only other door in sight: Bucky’s bedroom. Your curiosity—or perhaps your drunken instincts—propelled you forward. You weren’t sure why, but something about the tension in Bucky’s voice and the way he’d so urgently told you to leave made your heart pound faster.

The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as you approached the door, your hand reaching out hesitantly toward the doorknob. You heard a faint shuffle from behind it—too faint for you to process fully in your current state—but enough to make you pause. Your fingers hovered above the cool metal, trembling slightly.

The voices from the other room grew louder for a moment before falling eerily silent, the tension almost palpable even through the walls. Your breath hitched as you gripped the doorknob tighter, the faintest click of the mechanism echoing in the stillness of the hallway.

The door began to give under your push.

Inside, Steve, Sam, and Nat froze mid-whisper, their eyes darting toward the door as it inched open.

tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1 @xunquish-blog

@ppbhquinn @ziawbarnes @scott-loki-barnes @let-it-sn0o0ow @seven0714

@lostinspace33 @clockworkballerina @bonnie-bun

[firingstars]

neighborly advice | ch. 10 [FINAL]

bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky finally discuss what your relationship is.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, oral (male receiving), riding, language, bucky's kinda? submissive, angst, fluff, happy ending! yippee!, no use of y/n, alternating pov's, bucky briefly gets in his head with the self loathing, he stalks for like two seconds, peter is your best friend now!

word count: 7.8k

a/n: its over :') what am i to DOOOOOOOO i will miss this characterization of reader i thought she was so funny lmfao idk if anyone does this but i legit made myself giggle more than a few times

previous chapter | masterlist

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to approach her in the upcoming days. He was home, and realized quickly that he shouldn’t be avoiding the apartment he paid for to hide in the compound because he was afraid of a little confrontation. Or rejection, actually. Bucky was very clearly hellbent on the fact that this was a rejection waiting to happen.

Even when he was in his apartment, he stayed silent. He didn’t want her to know he was home. He knew it was foolish, stupid, that he was just delaying the inevitable, but he couldn’t help himself. Bucky was at a loss.

It wasn’t difficult for Bucky to find out that she had finally gotten a new lab and new sponsor– both of which were long term commitments written out by contract that would not be broken any time soon. It also wasn’t that hard to find out that Peter was her only teammate helping her work on her technology. 

How close were the two of them able to get in his absence? They had to be close enough, he realized, for her to have gone out drinking with the guy then bring him home.

Bucky didn’t even want to imagine what happened once they crossed the threshold of her apartment door. Did anything else happen where he couldn’t hear? Did things progress quickly between the two of them? Was there someone else that she looked at with that fond smile and sparkling eyes that he adored?

Bucky was never an insecure man. Though he had baggage and some self loathing issues, he had no issue with himself in terms of appearance. Sam never stopped reminding him, either. Yet, this boy, this other man seemed to fit her side much better.

Another university student, much closer to age to her than he would ever be. This kid understood technology, and the two of them would be able to bond over their shared love of science on a level that he wouldn’t be able to converse with her on. Peter looked softer, kinder, and seemed much more gentle than he could ever be. Bucky even looked into Peter’s background, just to make sure that he wasn’t secretly a criminal. Bucky’s heart dropped when he realized he couldn’t even hate the kid. There was nothing that he had done wrong in his entire life.

So, Bucky watched from afar. He felt like some sort of fucking stalker doing this, but he couldn’t help himself. If she was happy with someone else, then who was he to deny her of that happiness? He watched as the two of them would grab lunch together in between research and classes. He felt every inch of pain radiate through his body when she would laugh at something that kid said, and hate seeing the smile on her face– hate that it wasn’t him that she was smiling for.

Peter was a stable choice for her, Bucky decided on his own. Perhaps it would be better for her to find someone normal, he thought. Someone that wouldn’t leave her behind for days to weeks at a time because the world needed him, when all he wanted to do was stay by her side. Bucky realized that he wouldn’t be able to provide her the stability that she deserved, no matter how hard he would try to provide it to her. 

“So your boyfriend–”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“So your not-boyfriend, hot neighbor that you’re sleeping with goes on business trips that call for absolute silence, and you’re still pining for him? Am I getting this right?” Peter asked you with a raised eyebrow.

You let out a deep sigh, burying your face in your hands. “You make it sound so bad.”

“I’m not gonna lie… I think that’s kinda bad. Really bad,” Peter said, giving you a look from across the lab table. You groaned deeply.

“Why did I even ask you for advice if you were just gonna point out the obvious?” you asked him with a frown.

“Well, hold on. I’m still trying to process this,” Peter said quickly, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat up straight on the lab stool. “Have you tried texting him first? Calling him?”

“I mean– I did. The other day,” you admit– because you did. You texted him in the middle of the day, hoping that wherever he was the sun was also out. It wasn’t anything large or grand, but just a simple question.

Are you doing okay?

Your phone alerted you that your message was not delivered almost immediately. Multiple scenarios were running through your mind at the time. Maybe his phone was dead or turned off. Dead, since Bucky’s possibly always on the move during his missions. Turned off so there would be no signal interference, or maybe someone was tracking his phone and he needed to go off the radar.

Or maybe, he blocked your number. He didn’t want to talk to you anymore. 

You didn’t even think of the possibility that he was dead somewhere. It was the most unlikely scenario to you. Bucky, in all his glory and strength, couldn’t die. Maybe he would sustain one bad injury every once in a while, but the super soldier was resilient. 

You were more than certain that he blocked you.

“And what? Nothing in return?”

“He can’t have his phone with him during these… business deals…” you said slowly, trying to find the right words to describe his job. Honestly, you might be making Bucky sound like even more of an asshole by not being truthful about his job, but you can’t just expose him like that. 

“Right… Why? Did he ever say that? Tell you why he can’t?”

“It’s sensitive information that he deals with.” You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant about the fact the man you have a crush on has a metal arm, and was recently a wanted criminal all over the world. 

“Do you realize how insane you sound?” Peter asked, giving you a look of concern.

“Yes! Okay, God– Can you be better at girl talk? Why do all guys try to solve the issue at hand when girls complain? I just want you to listen to me, agree that it’s a problem, and then whine with me!” you exclaimed at him. 

“I’ve never had girl talk before, so I’m also learning the fundamentals on how this works,” he quickly said. 

“Did MJ not ever complain to you about issues she had with her friends?” you frowned at him.

“Well, MJ was kinda a self made loner,” Peter said, a small smile coming onto his face as he recalled memories of his maybe-ex-girlfriend. “She became friends with my best friend because I introduced them. Otherwise, it was just the three of us together. She didn’t really have other friends to complain about.”

“Why don’t you get Dr. Strange to undo the spell he did?” you sighed, running your hand through your hair.

“Because it would destroy the multiverse. Weren’t you listening when I told you?” Peter asked, frowning.

“I mean, I was, but I still think you’re full of shit,” you tell him. “Come in here with the suit on and then I might believe you.”

Peter sighed deeply and rolled his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. 

The two of you had gotten especially close after that night you went drinking. He crashed on your sofa after you dragged him up the five flights of stairs, and thankfully did not throw up everywhere. When you woke up, he seemed to remember what he had told you the night before and looked absolutely horrified that you knew his ‘secret.’ 

After telling him that you didn’t really believe a drunk man’s words, he ended up confessing to you about the whole situation. You’d be lying if you said you understood everything right away. The multiverse? Different versions of him coming to Earth, along with other enemies that were going to threaten the collapse of all universes?

Then again, you remember Thanos and being snapped out of existence, so maybe it wasn’t such a far fetched story in the end. 

Either way, it seemed like a weight had been lifted from Peter’s shoulders after he confessed it to you– to somebody. You still weren’t sure if you believed it, but the look of desperation on his face was enough for you to tell him that you were someone that wouldn’t forget him. He cried that morning, saying that he’d felt so alone for so long.

You felt a sort of kinship with the guy.

“How many times have you contacted him since he left?” Peter asked, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Just… once,” you muttered, looking away. You can feel the weight of Peter’s eyes on you, taking in the two words that you managed to force out.

“Are you sure that you like him?” 

“I don’t like your accusatory tone right now, Parker,” you said, head turning to look at him again. The boy raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to explain yourself. You sigh deeply. “I– I’m not his girlfriend, you know? What if I’m clingy about it? If I start texting him all the time when he’s gone, then what does that look like? What if I bother him?”

Peter sighed deeply. “I honestly don’t even know what to say about this. I’m bad at relationships, but this just seems messy in a way that I can’t help.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, dropping your head onto the lab table. 

At the very least, finally being able to talk to someone about all of this made your shoulders feel lighter. Peter, despite his comments, had no judgement in his eyes. Honestly, you think he’s just worried for you. Which, you can’t even be mad about. If this were someone else’s situation, you would be reacting the same exact way that Peter was.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said with a sigh, standing up.

“Where?” you asked with a sad frown.

“To the deli. I realize that girl talk makes me hungry.”

You let out a scoff at that, but move to grab your things as well. You shove some notebooks into your bag as well as a couple of other trinkets that you’ll work on at home tonight, and you pick up your phone. You swallow as you tap on the screen, watching it come to life.

You can’t hide the disappointment on your face.

No new notifications.

Your phone gets shoved to the deepest part of your bookbag as you follow Peter out the door. You have no appetite to eat. You haven’t had an appetite the past four weeks at all. You know that Peter would break down your apartment door if you didn’t join him to eat at least once a day whenever you guys were together– which was almost every single day at this point. You were certain that you saw his face more than you saw your own in a mirror. 

“What if he hates me?” you suddenly asked him.

“Oh my God. Please, no more,” he begged you, sincere.

Peter walked you back to your apartment after the two of you ate at the deli. The sun was going down, and it was a common occurrence for him to bring you home on the late nights that you guys worked together.

“Spider-Man things,” he said with a shrug. “I feel better knowing that you got home safe.”

“Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, huh?” you chuckled as you got up to the fifth floor. You’re unlocking the door when Peter grabs your arm, stopping you.

“You said your neighbor isn’t home, right?” he asked, frowning.

“He normally texts me when he is,” you nod. “Which he hasn’t.”

“I can hear movement on the inside of his apartment,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he stared at Bucky’s door. You pause, trying to focus on your own hearing. You don’t hear jack shit. You turn back to him with a frown of your own, and he lets out a deep sigh. “Spidey senses.”

“Spidey senses,” you repeat, your voice dry. “What’s next? You're gonna tell me the deli meat was two hours from expiring because of Spidey taste buds?”

“Okay, founder of regenerative nanotechnological medicine, I’m sorry that I don’t have long scientific names to explain what my abilities are!” he hissed at you.

“It’s just a little hard to believe that you’re fucking Spider-Man when you refuse to stick onto the wall like a spider!” you hiss back. You’re not even sure why the two of you are whispering. Bucky isn’t here.

“Oh my God, is that what it’ll take for you to believe me? For me to hang upside down on the ceiling?” 

“Wouldn’t that make you Batman?” you asked, fighting a grin.

“HA! HA!” he laughed sarcastically at you, with just those two syllables. 

You’re about to burst out into real laughter when the door beside yours opens. You both freeze, turning to the door. Your mouth falls agape, staring. Bucky’s there, staring right back at you– staring at where Peter has a hand on your arm.

“Buck–”

“Your boyfriend is the Winter fucking Soldier?” Peter asked, cutting you off. Your head whips over to him now, eyes wide in panic and shock.

“What the fuck! Keep your voice down!” you whisper-shout at him. “How the hell do you know that–”

“Holy shit! You got a vibranium arm now, too? I thought King T’Challa hated you,” Peter continued, ignoring you to stare at Bucky’s metal arm. 

You’re staring at him, more confusion painting your features as you do. Then, Peter turns to face you, pointing at Bucky.

“I fought him, as Spider-Man. Do you remember that Sokovia Accords bullshit? I was on Iron Man’s side,” he quickly tells you, and there's a notable excitement in his voice. “I was like, fifteen years old, and he punched me real hard a couple times. Steve, too. I had a black eye for like, two weeks.”

You take a deep breath, your mind spinning. “Peter. What the fuck ar you talking about?”

“Don’t Peter me!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “You made him seem like such an asshole, ignoring your texts for a business trip? You could’ve just said it was the Winter Soldier and I would’ve understood why he has to fucking ignore you when he’s on those so-called business trips!” 

“Peter–”

“You texted me?” Bucky asked, his voice soft, cutting the two of you off. Your breath hitches as you turn to look at him again, and you nod wordlessly. Bucky blinks at you, eyebrows furrowing. “My phone… is in the ocean, somewhere. I have a new number– just got a new phone the other day.”

“See!?” Peter exclaimed. “The Winter Soldier– oh my God. You’re insufferable, you know that? You really could’ve just said it was him–”

“You’re so fucking loud, we’re in the middle of the hallway, Parker,” you hissed, pushing your door open to shove Peter inside. “Why don’t you just announce his identity to the rest of the damn building?”

“Sorry, Sergeant!” Peter called out to him from inside your apartment. Then, he takes the door from you, and gently pushes you further into the hall while taking your bag and keys from you. “You go talk to him though. I’ll work on the regenerative piece.”

Then, he’s closing your own door in your face, leaving you in the hallway with Bucky still staring at you. Your mind is still spinning at how fast everything just happened, the amount of information that was just thrown at you, and you bury your face in your hands. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. 

“Do you want to come inside?” Bucky suddenly asked, his voice still soft. You lift your face out of your hands to look at him. He’s already opened the door wider for you to come in, and stepped to the side as well.

He looks… exhausted. It’s not the same sort of tired that he usually looks when he comes back from a mission, either. This is different. It makes your chest hurt to see him like this. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, and move to enter his apartment.

You can’t help but feel a bit awkward in his apartment. You’re not sure why. The air is different for some reason. Tense. You try to be natural, moving towards his couch like you always do, and sit down. You try not to notice the way that he’s basically dragging his feet to join you, avoiding your eyes. 

“I’m sorry about… him. Peter, I mean,” you finally speak, clearing your throat. Your leg is bouncing up and down, your throat feels like it’s about to close in on you, and your hands are becoming clammy. 

Bucky’s quiet. He’s leaned forward, elbows on his knees, flesh and metal fingers interlaced tightly. His gaze is trained on the wall, the coffee table, his feet. Everywhere but you. You begin to feel a bit restless. 

“I didn’t– I didn’t tell him anything about you like that. I mean, I talked about you to him, but I didn’t tell him who you were. I was talking about us, and how worried I was that you were gone and that I haven’t heard from you in a while– I never said that you were an asshole,” you quickly said, and you feel like you’re rambling. Your voice dies out on your tongue as you stare at your own fidgeting hands.

“You told him that I was your boyfriend?” Bucky asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s still not looking at you. Your heart quickens in your chest. Did he hate it? Hate the idea of it?

“No!” you exclaimed immediately, feeling your face turn red with embarrassment. “I said you were my neighbor and we had something going on and that I wouldn’t mind if you became my boyfriend but I– I didn’t say…”

A strange silence fell between the two of you. You didn’t necessarily feel uncomfortable, but you would be lying if you said that you felt comfortable, too. This was the longest that you had ever been in Bucky’s presence and he hadn’t looked at you. You were used to being under his constant watch, every movement and shift of your body being quietly recorded into his head.

“Bucky?” you whispered, swallowing thickly. “Was… Did the mission go well?” 

You can’t think of any other reason for him to be acting like this, truthfully. Something must have happened for him to be acting like this.  He said he got a new phone the other day, meaning that he was home. He was home, and he just didn’t want to see you. You lived right next to him, and you didn’t even know he was there. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” you tried next. Your eyes scanned his body. You didn’t see any wounds on him, but then again he had already been home for a couple of days. He would have already healed all the minor injuries.

You felt like you were talking to a wall. There was no response from him. He didn’t even move to indicate that he had heard your words. Nothing about this was natural or normal behavior. You wanted to be upset that he didn’t let you know that he was here– ask why he didn’t think to contact you immediately.

But you didn’t have that right to demand that from him.

So, you sat there silently. Waiting. You watched him carefully. The only telltale sign that he was even here in front of you was the slight movement in his chest to let you know that he was breathing. Every second that passed felt like an hour in the room. Yet, you decided you would hold on, and patiently sit there until he gathered his thoughts to be able to speak to you.

“I thought you and that kid were involved.”

You recoiled at his words, eyebrows furrowing. “Peter?”

“I saw you both. Saw you bring him to your apartment when he was drunk,” he confessed, burying his face in his hands. “I thought you replaced me while I was gone, so I didn’t want to bother you. Then today, I heard you two talking outside– and I just… I wanted to see your face.”

“Wait,” you said, blinking. “You avoided me because you were jealous?”

“I thought you were dating him, doll. Not just jealous,” he corrected, sighing deeply.

“Dating– in just three weeks?” you asked, even more confused. “We’ve been seeing each other for almost much longer than that, and we aren’t even official–”

“That’s why!” he exclaimed, finally turning to look at you. “That is exactly why!”

“There’s no way you’re trying to say that I deserve better. Are you?” you ask, eyebrows raised. The way Bucky’s jaw clenched told you all that you needed to know. “Bucky. Are you serious?’

“He’s a good kid,” he dismissed, looking down. “Smart. Bright future. A bit of a tragic past, but you seem to attract people that are mildly to severely depressed anyways–”

“You did a background check on him?” you cut him off, eyes wide.

“I needed to make sure that he wasn’t a psychopath with mental issues that would kill you!”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” you asked.

“Yes, so that’s what I’m saying– he would be a much better fit. He helps you with your research and he’s apparently fucking Spider-Man which has yet to be proven–”

“I’m not attracted to him! Did you not hear any of that conversation out there? I talk about you to him. Extensively! He listens to me complain and whine about the fact that I miss you!” 

“That doesn’t change the fact that he is a much better choice!”

“Is that what you want? You want me to walk out of here and choose somebody else?!” you demanded, standing up. You were heading towards the door, trying to prove your point when he grabbed your arm, forcing you to stop. 

“No! I don’t! Why would I ever want that?!” Bucky shouted back at you. He looked scandalized, as if you’d asked him to wear a maid costume in the middle of Central Park.

“Then what do you want?!”

“You! I want you!”

“I’m yours, Bucky! I’m already yours, what don’t you understand?!”

“What– just like that?” 

“Yes, just like that!”

“Fine!” he scoffed.

“Fine!” you mocked.

The exchange happened so fast, so quick. You two were staring at each other, breathing heavily. Then, he released your arm, dragging a hand down his face in frustration as he took a deep, controlled breath. His eyebrows were pinched close together as he tried to gather himself.

“This isn’t how I wanted this to go,” he murmured.

“How you wanted what to go?” you frowned. “Your self deprecating, loathing speech or this stupid argument?”

“Well, I didn’t want either of these to happen at all, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head as he dropped his hands to his sides. “I… God. I just– I missed you.”

“And I missed you,” you said, your body relaxing from tension you didn’t know you were holding. 

Bucky clenched his jaw, and swallowed. “You weren’t mine. Officially, at least. So if you found someone else while I was gone, then I figured that I couldn’t have a say in it. That it was my fault for just… disappearing this time for three, four weeks.”

“The way I looked at it,” you sighed, “I couldn’t be mad that you didn’t tell me anything. I figured the silence was for your safety.”

“Yours, actually,” he shook his head. “There was a possibility of my phone getting tracked, and I didn’t want anyone being able to get back to you. Which is why my phone ended up in the ocean– it was compromised. Took the battery out and removed the SIM and threw everything out after shattering it.”

“But other than that?” you asked softly, feeling worry course through your veins. “You’re okay?”

“Mission’s over. Chapter closed,” he reported, letting out a breath. “Minor injuries, but nothing that hasn’t already gone away. I’ll be home for a while. Nothing’s on the books right now.”

You nodded slowly, sighing in relief. That was all you wanted– not him staying home, but just knowing that he was safe. 

“And… us,” you said softly. “What about us? Where do we go from here? Because I really don’t know if I can handle another month of silence like this. I’m not asking for daily updates or classified information. I just want to know that you’re alive, Bucky.”

“I can do that,” he quickly said, hands reaching for you. They rested on your arms, and his eyes locked with yours. “We can get encrypted phones that send scrambled data so even if there were someone trying to track messages, they wouldn’t be able to trace ours– no one would be able to get to you. I already have a few people keeping an eye on a couple of your lines to ensure your safety, and will have them report to me if there’s a flag somewhere.”

You blinked. “What– Right now?”

Bucky paused, his mouth falling open briefly he closed his eyes tight. “I… also needed to make sure you were safe while I was gone. My line of work isn’t the best thing, doll. I might be doing good things, but there are some fucked up people that would do anything to stop me and the people I work with.”

“No, I mean… We’re not even… together. Why would you go that far for me?”

“So?” he frowned at you. “You’re important to me. I don’t want anything to happen to you regardless.”

“Bucky, how deep are your feelings for me?” you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Doll, I’m falling so hard for you and I never want to stop,” he answered immediately. “I think you’re it for me.”

“And you were going to let me go?”

“I just want you to be happy. With or without me– and with what I do for work, I can’t blame you if you end up choosing to walk away from me. I know you plan for the future, and everything you do is carefully thought out. I just… I don’t want to hold you back from anything.” 

You were at a loss for words. He was sincere. Both the tone of his voice and the look on his face let you know that. You couldn’t even conjure up a simple sentence to reply to his confession– the feelings that you wanted to hear from him. So, you reached for him instead. You pulled him down to you, angling your head up towards him into a devastating kiss. He reciprocated immediately.

You missed him so much.

One arm wrapped around your waist, the other one snaking up your back to have his hand cradle your neck to deepen the kiss as he held you even tighter to him. You sighed against him, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your lips. 

“Doll? Does this mean–”

“You’re mine, Sarge,” you confirmed, a little breathless. “Lost your chance to get rid of me.”

“Wouldn’t ever dream of it,” he chuckled, a smile ghosting on his lips as he caught you in another kiss. 

You both tumbled into his bedroom, clothes being haphazardly shed as you two made your way there. His shirt came off first. Yours followed quickly after. While you undid the ties of his sweatpants and began to shove them down his legs for him to step out of, Bucky unclasped your bra and threw the underwear somewhere off to the side that you weren’t even sure that you would find later. Your jeans came off last, and you were thankful you wore something baggier today to be able to shimmy off easily. 

Your hands ran all over his body, feeling for any cuts, maybe any swelling. To your relief, you saw none. You squeezed his sides experimentally to test if he would flinch slightly under your grasp, and quietly thanked every deity out there when he didn’t react. 

He laid you down onto the bed, only for you to use every ounce of your own strength to flip the two of you over. You straddled him now, but did not sit fully on top of him. You simply hovered, keeping your weight off of him.

“What are you doing, baby?” he chuckled, hands resting on your thighs.

“I’m still mad,” you said with a fake, deep sigh. A hand rested on his neck, then slowly trailed down to his collarbone. “I don’t really think you get to touch me tonight.”

“No?” he asked, eyebrow raising.

“No,” you echoed, a small smile playing on your lips as your hand continued its journey down his sternum, moving to feel the ripples of his abdomen under your fingertips. You hummed in approval, stopping at the waistband of his briefs. “If you touch me, I might just pack up and leave. Go back home. Peter’s waiting for me, after all. We were supposed to finish the antiseptic release component of our second prototype for the regenerative nanotech. I’ll probably just send him home early and use that vibrator that you hate so much.”

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered. Your hand moved slowly, just ghosting over the length of him. He was already hard.

“You always get so excited for me, so easily,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

“What can I say? You have that effect on me,” he grunted, his hips bucking up to meet your hand. Your other hand moved, pressing against his thigh. 

“Nuh uh,” you clicked your tongue at him. He groaned, closing his eyes tight. 

“Doll.”

“Just relax, Sarge. Let me take care of you for once. The mission was long, right? I made you stressed out and jealous, right? I wanna show you how much I really like you,” you hummed, grinning at him. 

Bucky let out a shaky breath, “You said no touching?”

“No touching,” you confirmed.

“Fuck,” he grunted, removing his hands from your thighs. You beamed at him, pressing your hand against his length fully now. At the same time, you pressed your chest against his as your lips attached to skin where his neck met his shoulder. Bucky let out a soft groan, moving his head to the side to grant you more access to him. 

You had to admit, this was different. You hadn’t expected him to let you just take over like this without a fight. All the other times you spent with Bucky, he never gave you the impression that he would want to be in this position. Maybe today was just a special day. 

You left a dark bruise on his neck. Happy with your work, you gave him another one on his collarbone, and another one on his chest. Then, you slipped your hand under the waistband of his underwear to touch him directly. Bucky moaned softly at the first contact, eyes closing shut as you took him in your hand, slowly spreading the precum from the tip of his cock down the sides and starting a lazy pace. 

He was so pretty like this. You never really had the chance to admire him while he was in such a vulnerable state. Bucky was always so focused on you, getting you to be in this kind of headspace. You could see why. You could get addicted to seeing him like this.

You moved once more, kissing lower and lower. 

“Buck, help,” you murmured, tugging on his briefs with your free hand. He opened his eyes to look down at you, where you were. His eyes went wide, just slightly.

“Jesus, doll,” he moaned. “You gonna suck me off?”

You gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Wanna taste.”

“Shit,” Bucky whispered, but lifted his hips up slightly for you to help remove the last piece of clothing off of his body. The thick length of him hit his stomach with a soft thud, and you stared for just a moment, feeling your stomach jump at the sight. Your own walls clenched over nothing, but you ignored it for now. 

You reached for him once more, holding him at the base loosely. You watched him as you licked a thin strip up from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip, seeing his eyes close tight, watching him fist the sheets by his side. Then, you licked up the cum that had leaked out as you had stroked him earlier. You moaned at the saltiness of him– he tasted exactly like you thought he would.

His chest was falling and rising at a faster rate now.

Bucky’s jaw clenched as your lips closed around the tip of him, and he swallowed thickly as you started to take him in deeper. You may have been way over your head. You thought you knew the length and size of him from him being inside of you multiple times, but fuck he was large. You opened your mouth wide to take him in, your jaw already beginning to ache as you sucked your cheeks in to create a seal.

When you finally fit him, you started to move, bobbing your head up and down while keeping your tongue flat against him.

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” he praised from above you, his voice coming out as a wrecked noise.

You hummed from beneath him, his hips jolting in response to the vibration. The tip of him hit the back of your throat, and you choked, freezing in place as you tried to calm yourself down. Bucky, on the other hand, reacted positively to the feeling of being in your throat. His thighs clenched under your hands and his abs tensed. 

You forced your throat to relax, and you reached for one of his hands. You could feel the hesitation when you touched him, but he allowed you to guide him to your head– and he weaved his fingers through your hair as you took him deeper into your mouth. Your eyes prickled with tears that ran down the sides of your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to care with the reactions that he was giving you.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky moaned out your name, his hand tightening around your hair as he pushed. You moaned into him, eyes falling shut as you kept moving. You didn’t want to stop, not when he was this responsive. He was damn near trembling underneath you, moaning like you’d never heard before. You were high on endorphins and he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

Then, you felt it. The jump and twitch in his cock that you often felt inside of you– the telltale sign that he was going to cum. You heard the broken moan fall from his lips next, another indicator. You wanted it. You wanted to taste all of him.

“I can’t– Shit– Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he warned you, his voice coming out broken and desperate. You moaned around him, trying to tell him that it was okay and to please cum. You weren’t sure if it was the vibration from your throat or if he understood, but he was moaning your name a moment later.

You always loved the feel of him filling you up to the brim. This was a different feeling, and you loved it all the same. The salty bitterness of it was delightful, and you swallowed up every drop greedily. It came out in thick, hot spurts, filling your mouth so full that you thought you were going to leak out from the corners of your lips.

When you finally released Bucky from your mouth, he looked down at you, breathless. 

“You okay?” you asked, your voice coming out slightly hoarse from having him in your throat. Bucky stared at you for a few moments before you were both sitting up. 

You were pulled into his lap, legs on either side of his hips, his mouth on yours. If he cared about tasting his own release, he didn’t voice it. His tongue was on yours, licking into your mouth like a man on a mission.

“Gotta be inside you, doll. Please? Let me touch you now?” he begged, kissing down your neck. A shiver ran down your body at the sound of his voice. He was so needy.

“Wanna ride you,” you told him, reaching between your bodies to feel him– he was already hard again, as if he didn’t just release a fat load into your mouth. His refractory period was always short.

You pushed against his chest next, his back hitting the headboard as you quickly moved. You took off the final piece of clothing that separated the two of you, discarding your underwear somewhere to the side. Bucky groaned at the sight of your pussy glistening, exposed to him. 

You positioned yourself over him, both of you letting out a soft moan as you let him slide against your folds, wetting him with your own juices for a few moments. His hands rested on your hips as you did, but he took no charge in moving you. You finally shifted properly, catching the tip of him in your entrance, slowly sinking down on him.

You hadn’t had him in a month. 

The stretch was delicious, your eyes falling shut, your moan mixing with his as your forehead rested against Bucky’s. His hands tightened on your hips, letting you know how much he was being affected by just the feel of you surrounding him like this. He waited for you to be ready, to move first. 

You grinded against him experimentally, whimpering at the feeling. Then, you started. You lifted your hips, then slammed back down onto him. You watched as his head hit back against the headrest, his eyes closing shut as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, your head dropping onto his shoulder.

“Yeah? Let me make you feel better, baby,” he grunted. “Let me fuck you even better.”

You weren’t the most athletic person ever. Your thighs were beginning to burn, your legs were getting tired, your core was getting sore– and you wanted Bucky to fuck you. But you wanted to watch him like this just a little bit longer. 

“Mm… Not yet,” you said, letting out a breathy giggle as you ground your hips against his again. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, leaning his head against yours. He started rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs, trying to coax you as you continued to ride him. “Come on, baby. I know you love it when I fuck you– when I play with your clit and press against your stomach. You want me to do that for you? I’ll fuck you through your orgasm, make you cum again and again for me. It’ll feel so good, doll.”

You whimpered at his words, eyes rolling back. You were breaking. You did want that. 

“I’ll put a pillow under your hips, too. It’ll let me hit inside you deeper. You always ask for me to go deeper, don’t you?” he continued, voice low and lips close to your ear. “Always want me so hard and deep– never fast. Just always wanting to feel all of me.”

“Bucky,” you moaned, gripping onto his forearms.

“Just let me know when, pretty girl. Tell me when, and I’ll take such good care of you,” he promised, squeezing your hip again. 

You let out another breathy moan, contemplating your options, recognizing your burning hips… Then nodded. A moment later, you were on your back with a pillow folded in half under your hips– and Bucky snapped his hips into you with enough force to move the bed a couple inches. 

“There you go,” Bucky whispered, eyes roaming all over your figure as he set a slow, yet punishing pace. He fulfilled everything he said he would. 

His fingers were dancing on your clit, another hand was pressed against your abdomen, he was fucking into you hard and deep– everything to make you fall apart as quickly as possible on his cock.

“It’s too much,” you gasped, eyes falling shut.

Bucky chuckled from above you. “Too much? You wanted this, doll. Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head violently, unable to find the words. You gripped at the pillows at your head, feeling the thread within you begin to pull taut as Bucky continued to play your body like a well tuned instrument. At this point, he might as well be a master at your body. 

Bucky knew your body better than you knew it. 

You didn’t even need to tell him that you were about to cum– he was already moving faster, trying to get you to the end quicker. He never stopped fucking you as your body tensed under his. Bucky moaned, hips stuttering as your walls clenched and fluttered over his cock deliciously.

“Bucky, please,” you moaned, grabbing at him as your hips moved to meet with his. “More–!”

“Don’t worry, doll. I’m not finished with you yet,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. 

“Personally, I think it would be smarter for both of you to just move to the compound. Safer, too,” Sam said as he helped carry the last of the boxes into the truck downstairs. 

“And see you every single day? No,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. 

“The new apartment is closer to the lab, anyways,” you said, smiling at Sam. “Bigger place than either of these spaces, so it’ll be good!”

“Which means you won’t have to bring work home then,” Peter said, sounding hopeful.

You made a face at that. “If anything, I think I might end up at the lab earlier and later because I live closer.”

“Peter, change the codes in the lab every once in a while,” Bucky told him. You froze. Peter nodded immediately. “Don’t let her do that.”

Neither man would listen to your protest as Bucky escorted you into his car– Steve’s old car. Both Peter and Sam piled into the back as Bucky got into the driver’s seat, the moving truck driver following behind you guys as you moved to your new apartment.

The space was definitely bigger, and it was a nicer place. You found out there were some great financial benefits to whatever mission Bucky had last went on, and even more financial benefits that Bucky hadn’t even touched that the Wakandans had given him when he had left their kingdom to come back to the states. You had originally protested the idea of using the savings, but he insisted, saying that he didn’t have anything to spend it on to begin with and there was nothing more that he wanted but to spend it on you.

Besides that, the two of you were already living together already. If you weren’t at his place, he was at yours. There was no logical reason for the two of you to be paying for two apartments at this point, so you looked for a bigger space. One that would allow you to be able to do some work from home if you ever ended up without a lab, and a space for Bucky to be able to have some peace and quiet away from the world that he lived in.

Sam and Peter were here just to help bring boxes up to your new place, which had an elevator. Most of these boxes were yours, anyway. Other than the couch, coffee table, and the bed, all of the furniture was yours.

It took the two of you the entire weekend to unpack, and another weekend to decorate . 

“This is why I didn’t decorate before. Takes too damn long,” he murmured.

“Is that it, or you just didn’t know what to add?” you asked with a grin. 

You didn’t want to make the space look like a museum, but you wanted to bring back pieces that you thought Bucky would appreciate. You had an old record player that was rigged up in a way to be able to play both old record vinyls and connect to bluetooth, as well as forties vinyl records to match it. You included a copy of The Hobbit on the bookshelf next to your textbooks. There were some plants around as well, something to brighten up the space and give Bucky something to do and take care of when you were at the lab. 

As you placed the last picture on the wall– memorabilia of Captain America– you felt Bucky’s arms slide around your waist. Then, his lips were pressing against your shoulder, your neck, and your cheek. 

“Hi,” you hummed, leaning into his touch.

“Hey,” he whispered back. 

You paused at the tone of his voice, and turned in his arms. Your eyebrows furrowed in worry when you saw his face. His eyes were glassy, his own eyebrows knitted together as well.

“Buck?” you asked, holding his face in your hands. “What’s going on?”

“I love you.” 

If he wasn’t already holding you, you were sure you would have fallen over at his confession. Fainted even. However, there was still something else to address at this moment.

“You’re crying because you love me?” you asked, blinking. The confusion must have been evident on your face because he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“No, doll. I'm crying because I’m happy. Overwhelmed. I didn’t think that I would be able to get this in my life. Get someone like you,” he said, smiling. A tear slipped down his cheek, colliding with your thumb. “I feel so damn lucky to have you in my arms every day. I just… I love you so much. You don’t know how much I love you. I think I’ll spend the rest of our lives together trying to prove how much I love you.”

You let out a soft sigh, eyes scanning his face. You smiled back at him, feeling your own emotions begin to get the better of you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you grinned at him. “Thank you for taking care of me when I was drunk that night.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at your words, then pushed his forehead against yours. “You are an awful drunk, you know that?”

“Can’t be too bad though, since you fell for me,” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

Bucky scoffed, “Yeah, sure. That’s what made me fall for you.”

“Looks like I can’t go out drinking anymore. Wouldn’t want more people falling for me,” you joked.

“Mm… Let them fall, doll,” Bucky hummed. “Doesn’t matter. I’m never letting you leave my side.”

masterlist

taglist: @iyskgd @falconxsoldier @1967barracuda @retrxgreyde @lemonpiegurl @lokiofasgard616 @local-crazy @tor-tor8 @shortandb1tchy @mxgcalvi @dixondystopia @thesmolishbean @againnagainnagainn @im-feeling-blue-today @theycallmemaniac @sebastians-love @oliviamitchy @angelli14

please let me know if you would like to be added to a general bucky taglist for when i post other fics for him :)

[pinkbeanii]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝓡𝓸𝔂𝓪𝓵 𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

-green flags & sweet gestures-

Summary: how the boys would give you the royal treatment and how you'd make sure they know they're loved as much as they love you.

Warnings: mentions of food, social anxiety, and showering together (soul's part)

a/n: I love the "princess treatment" hcs, so I wanted to make one for p1h. I say royal treatment bc that just feels more gender neutral for me. Also, this is probably ooc or bad characterization, but everything here is fictional so it isn't a big deal lol.

-keeho-

{giving} drives you everywhere

When he's free, this man is so so insistent about driving you around.

He loves spending time with you, and if he has the time in his busy schedule to be with you, he's gonna take advantage of it.

Even if it means having to deal with rush hour traffic, bad city drivers, or sacrificing sleep for late night rides.

Keeho just loves to be around you, and loves to do things for you. Very much an acts of service lover. He feels good just turning on some background music and listening to you ramble as he keeps his eyes on the road.

{receiving} shoulder & back massages

Please, for the love of everything good in this world, massage his shoulders!

Keeho has so much stress and tension stored in his upper body, mostly neck and shoulders.

If you randomly start massaging those areas he will actually melt, it might hurt a bit at first bc there's so much tension there, but you both can feel the muscles loosen within seconds.

The first time you did it Keeho thought he fell in love with you all over again.

theo

{giving} fixing your clothes

Whether it's tying your shoes, pulling your shirt down if it's riding up, or untangling your accessories, he's on it.

He's pretty observant, definitely notices any outfit, malfunctions or little things before you do. It's also because he is looking at you almost 24/7.

Theo is pretty quick at fixing little issues with your outfit. Half the time you wouldn't even notice till after he's pulling his hands away. He's discreet with any malfunctions and has such a gentle touch.

It gives him an excuse to touch you as well, and he loves being able to help you with the little things.

{receiving} soft flirting

Theo isn't flustered easily, putting up a pretty indifferent face and attitude, which doesn't change much when it comes to you. Ofc he's sweet and shows he loves you, but he's not the most vocal about it

However, the moment you compliment him, he's gone. It's not always obvious, but you can tell by the raised eyebrows and twitch in his lips.

It works the same with pickup lines, specifically cheesy one liners, he will sometimes let out a little giggle if you catch him off guard.

You're never too outwards and aggressive with flirting, neither of you are like that. But soft words and teasing lines are something Theo really likes coming from you.

juing

{giving} good night & good morning texts

It doesn't matter when he goes to sleep or wakes up, this man has your schedule memorized.

Jiung will text you good night and a sweet message around the time he knows you get home from your day.

And get ready for a "good morning sweetheart" text with some encouragement while you're getting ready for your day.

He's so sincere about it too, it's not a chore for him, he genuinely wants to send you little messages to remind you he loves you.

{receiving} surprises & dates

Please please please surprise him with a date! He will have the cutest and biggest smile as soon as you tell him your plan, and it's a gift to see.

It doesn't have to be super fancy or for a special occasion, just plan a little something to do while you spend some time together and he's so happy.

Maybe it's a late night movie marathon with both of your favorite snacks, or a little picnic in the park that you threw together last second. As long as he's with you he'll love it.

It reminds him that he doesn't have to take on every single responsibility, that you care about him and wanna be with him as much as he wants to be with you.

intak

{giving} gentle touches

Intak loves to show affection through touch, pda is his shit {within reason and your boundaries ofc} but he's also so sweet about it.

Loves to hold your hand and play with your fingers, or if his arm is around your waist his thumb will be rubbing little circles on you hip.

It also serves as a good reminder that he's right there next to you, that he's got you no matter what. It's grounding to have him hand gently squeeze yours periodically.

He thinks of you as something precious, he knows you're not breakable yet he still treats you with so much care.

{receiving} sharing foods

You know the saying "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach"? This is basically that, except you don't have to be the one making the food or anything like that.

If you just share a bite of what you ordered, a snack that you so happen to have, or a sip of your fancy cafe drink, he is so grateful.

Even if it's new to him, if you like it he'll try it if you're offering. And if you're the one feeding it to him he will get so giddy and giggly.

He thinks it's so romantic to share food, and also feels like it shows how well you take care of each other. He definitely shares his food too!

soul

{giving} little gifts

He is a trinket connoisseur and collector, so he definitely has a good eye for little gifts, especially if they are for you.

It isn't always silly, a large number of his gifts to you are sentimental. But the silly ones are just as sweet. But he basically always has you on his mind and it shows.

It could be as simple as "it reminded me of you!" to "I remembered that you said you still needed this version, and I thought I'd grab it!" or "This is from where we first met, maybe we should collect things from all the important dates we've had?"

Soul is almost kinda like a crow, he will find something shiny and cute and bring it back to you as a way of showing affection.

{receiving} washing his hair

Y'all have seen that video of Soul walking through the hallway with the dramatic he turns, and how frizzy and puffy his hair is? Yeah, that's what happens a lot of the time if you aren't washing his hair.

Not only does it help the look and health of his hair, he finds it so relaxing when your hands are in his hair, gently working the products into the strands.

Whether it's you showering together or him laying in the bath with you kneeling to the side, it's a sweet experience. One you both treasure.

Also, if you just wanna play with his hair, stick it straight up when it's all soapy or make it into fun shapes, he's so down. Very laid back and cool with whatever you want, just as long as your hands are in his hair.

jongseob

{giving} ordering for you

It doesn't matter if you have anxiety about ordering/talking to strangers or not, he's ordering for you. Not because he thinks you can't, if you really wanna you can, but because he wants you to be relaxed and not have to lift a finger.

It's not even a big deal at this point, y'all will walk into a restaurant and he can rattle off your order in a heartbeat. Seobie memorized stuff pretty fast, and when it comes to you it stays firmly in his head. You're important to him, ofc he remembers everything about you.

And if you are going to a new place and are having trouble deciding what to get, just look at him. Once he knows what he wants, he's looking for stuff he thinks you'd like.

It's a show of care for him, remembering the little things and making sure his lover doesn't have to do any extra work.

{receiving} sharing clothes/accessories

Doesn't matter what size you are, if your sizes are bigger or smaller than his, you're sharing. Either clothes or accessories, or both.

It's an unwritten promise to each other, what's mine is yours. You guys haven't ever really addressed it either, just asking where something is or if you're planning to wear something the other wants that day.

It's a natural thing, and it honestly feeds into the small possessive part of you. Almost like you're staking a claim, but more in a "we belong to each other" type of way

He loves it bc it reminds him of you. Jongseob gets especially happy when your scent lingers on the soft fabric of what was originally his shirt.

[knight-a3]

Adam, the First Man

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Adam is one of the characters I did not like the portrayal of in canon, so there's a fair amount I'm doing differently.

More notes under the cut

--Character--

I hate the crude misogynist characterization, because it feels disrespectful to Abrahamic faiths. I can't help but feel Christians in particular are targeted, even though Adam is a character is Jewish and Islamic traditions as well.

Adam will still be on the arrogant side, but not nearly as insufferable. I want him to portray traditional, positive aspects of masculinity. Loving and protective husband and father, hard-working, and protective. But, has a bit of a temper that can lead to a tendency toward vengeance. Act first, questions later. Eve was a calming influence for him, but she has mysteriously disappeared and he suspects hell had something to do with it. He'll exterminate every demon if it means he can find answers and bring her home.

--Background--

He and Eve were the first humans and were tasked with cultivating the garden of Eden. Abyss wanted them to Fall so it could consume them, so it created Lilith. Lilith befriended them, then offered the forbidden fruit to Eve. Eve, realizing she'd be kicked out, ran to Adam. So he could stay with her, he ate the fruit as well. The fruit gave them the ability to understand morality, and ultimately the ability to choose good and evil, aka sin. Now that they could sin, they could Fall.

Abyss instructed Lilith to seduce Adam to sin. She tried to force herself on him, to get him to commit adultery, but he rejected her. The friendship between the three of them was broken by this. Lilith hadn't eaten the fruit yet, so she didn't really know what she did wrong.

Adam and Eve were banished from Eden, while Lilith was cast to hell with Helel(Lucifer). Adam and Eve had a family and lived happily ever after. Until Cain killed Abel. I don't have that aspect of their story totally worked out, and I'm not sure how relevant it will end up being.

Children-- The Bible only names three children. Cain, Abel, and Seth. But it says they had "more sons and daughters". There's no definitive numbers. It's not even clear if Cain was actually the firstborn. The true firstborn may have gone unnamed because Cain had a more prominent role to document. No daughters are named in the Bible, but some traditions and apocryphal writings mention a few. Aclima, Awan, and Azura.

The bible story basically goes like this: Cain and Abel offered sacrifices to God. Abel was a shepherd and gave the best of his flock. Cain was a farmer and gave some of his crop. There is no specification to the quality of his offering. So the implication is that he was selfish and kept the best for himself and either gave an average or sub-par offering, maybe even as an afterthought. So when God favored Abel, Cain killed him out of jealousy. Seth was born to essentially replace Abel, so I'm assuming that means Seth was also a shepherd.

History or myth?-- I personally think the Adam and Eve story is largely symbolic, not literal. The method of history keeping during the early biblical days was through stories, often using symbolic imagery to portray a general idea of an event. Which is why there will be other stories across various cultures with similar themes and plot elements. I think the story of Adam and Eve is representative of the evolution of ape to human. While Cain and Abel is about how humans can sin.

Afterlife-- Adam became the chief saint, the highest rank of the archangels, and leader of heaven's army. The army was tasked with protecting heaven and earth from threats, particularly from hell. Demons would sometimes escape and wander earth, so they had to either be sent back to hell, or exterminated.

When concern over hell's growing population and risk of an uprising became prominent, the exterminations began. Recently, the exterminations have been more brutal. Turns out Eve has gone missing, and Adam thinks hell is to blame somehow. So he's furiously searching for her.

--Design Notes--

Appearance: I wanted Adam to look like he could be the first man. Which I felt meant he needed an actual beard, darker skin, and more textured hair. I used Moses from Dreamwork's Prince of Egypt as a model. I figured a more middle-eastern look would be fitting for a Hebrew character.

I had his halo positioned to resemble horns to reference the canon design, and allude to the halo as his helmet's wings.

Apple: Canon has apples be a symbol for the Morningstars, especially Lucifer. But I think it would be more fitting for Adam and Eve instead. "Adam's apple" is a real term, after all. So I wanted to incorporate that.

Crusader: I do not like the demonic looking uniforms for the exorcists. Why would they want to look like the people they are killing? It doesn't make sense to me. It's not even a disguise.

I thought a Crusader theme would be more fitting. So I gave him a Great Helm. Specifically a style of Great Helm referred to as a Sugarloaf, which has a conical shaped top. Domed and conical shapes were better at deflecting blows than flat topped versions. Great Helms did not typically have a movable visor, and experts disagree on if they ever did. Some bascinets have a visor that can make them look like a Sugarloaf Helm, I guess.

I'm just leaning into my nerd side now, but breathing holes weren't always on both sides. Sometimes it was just the right side, since the left was typically the side presented toward the enemy.

The wings on the helmet do have historical precedent. It's called a crest. They're an indication of status and identification. There's two situations were you might see them. 1, in tournaments where participants want to be identifiable and show off. 2, in battles where looking important means the enemies would rather ransom you than kill you. They weren't generally built into the actual helmet, but were removeable. The example to the bottom right of the above set is not-- as far as I'm aware-- a historical example. But it did serve as inspiration for me.

People can get pretty creative with them.

This helmet piece is specifically what "crest" refers to. It's only a piece of the "coat of arms." There were and still are some specific customs to official heraldry, and I won't claim to know all the rules, just that it isn't as simple as googling the your family name's coat of arms, because sharing a name doesn't guarantee it belongs to your family. Heraldry is recorded and officially verified by governments.

Priest: The priestly garb is to reference his high status as an angel, and the religious implications. For official church vestments, what is specifically used and how it looks can vary by denomination, position, event, etc.

The staff is based on a crozier. Which is symbolic of a shepherd's crook. My sheep nerd side is going to come out with this one. There are two basic sizes of crook: Neck sized, and leg sized. Herding sheep is one thing, actually catching them is another. They often don't want to be caught, but they need to be checked on. I've had this struggle when trying to look at my ewe's hooves when she was limping.

I think that's all I have for now.

(Edit notes will go here as needed)

[anghraine]

[Note: this post is grumpy and eventually also about Star Trek, it just takes longer than usual to get there and is generally rambling.]

There's something tickling my brain about how my main fandom—to a large degree, sole fandom—for years was Pride and Prejudice, and one of my most intense and long-lasting, yet niche grievances with Austen fandom fanon was over Lady Anne Darcy. It was specifically around the fandom image of her as this absolutely idealized mother, a sort of Madonna figurine brought to life.

I've talked about this many times, but: we know little about Darcy's mother in the book, and that little doesn't really suggest this ideal modest, easy-going, selfless, soft maternal figure. Multiple people in the novel allude to her teaming up with her sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, in arranging the betrothal of Lady Catherine's daughter to Lady Anne's son to consolidate the status and property of the sisters' husbands, as well as their own aristocratic ancestry. Lady Catherine is really the only one who goes out of her way to mention Lady Anne. Late in the novel, Darcy very carefully talks his way around filial respect towards his dead parents while also trying to explain how they affected him, insisting they were good people while adding that they not only allowed, but encouraged ("almost taught" him) his arrogance and narrow preoccupation with his family circle. He also specifically says that his widely beloved father was the more generous and pleasant of the two.

It's a small thing in some ways: Lady Anne is an incredibly minor character who is dead before the novel starts and whom we only hear a little about that's easy to overlook. At first (long ago), I didn't care about individual fics or headcanons or whatnot working to distance her from Lady Catherine (and even Darcy himself), and instead envisioning her as a sort of generic maternal ideal. But it was impossible to avoid noticing what seemed an oddly pervasive fannish investment in this quasi-Madonna image of her, even though a) we hear so little about her and b) it doesn't fit very well with what we do hear.

And honestly, Lady Anne being the more abrasive and haughty parent, whom Darcy resembles more closely, makes perfect sense with her background and with the structural mirroring of Elizabeth-Mr Bennet and Darcy-Lady Catherine (each parental figure embodying extreme versions of each lead character's flaws and in some ways, warped versions of their virtues).

But it's not just that there's no reason to assume she was so utterly dissimilar from and superior to Lady Catherine, and that both Lady Catherine and Wickham are independently manufacturing the Pemberley family's cooperation with the planned marriage between Darcy and Anne, or to think that Darcy's implication that Lady Anne was the more difficult personality is mistaken. The thing that always puzzled me is why so many P&P fans want to idealize her this way in the first place, when she's barely referenced in the novel. Why would so many fans care so much about this dead offstage aristocrat being defined entirely in terms of Being a Good Mother (maybe even a perfect mother) despite the obvious unnecessary complications this creates around the characterizations of her sister and son?

It was never a universal fanon, to be clear, but common enough that I couldn't help noticing it and finding it strange. Like, did this whole weird fanon arise solely because Lady Anne is Darcy's mother, and marginal and ambiguous enough to allow fans to default to the most comfortably gendered image of female parenthood? Is it related to the hyper-gendered interpretations of Elizabeth and Darcy themselves, even though both are most strongly associated with cross-gender parental figures in Mr Bennet and Lady Catherine?

(A tangent, but for the record: I'd also argue, and have before, that Elizabeth is most temperamentally similar to Darcy's male friends, while Darcy himself is far more like Jane and Charlotte than like Bingley or Fitzwilliam. And just about every time that either Elizabeth or Darcy makes an assumption about the other based on generalizations about men/women rather than particulars of each other's personalities, they get proven very wrong. So understanding either of them wholly in terms of masculinity/femininity seems dubious in the first place.)

There are probably other possibilities for why there's this investment in idealizing Lady Anne, but in any case, the reason I'm rambling about this is because a lot of the sense of Amanda Grayson's character post-"Journey to Babel" that I've seen reminds me a lot of Austen fandom's representation of Lady Anne.

It's not as baseless with Amanda, for sure. She is initially somewhat set up that way only for that image to get painfully undercut later, when she tells Spock she'll hate him forever if he doesn't step down from his responsibilities to risk his life for Sarek's (she also hits Spock in this scene, though "I'll hate you forever" feels worse to me! ymmv!). And later official ST productions have moved more and more aggressively towards this "Madonna" image of Amanda (while Spock himself has also been increasingly stripped of the messy, complicated ways that TOS Spock himself interacts with gender, in-story and out of it).

But even versions of Amanda that appear almost exclusively based on TOS Amanda seem to lean heavily into an image of her that reminds me much more strongly of fanon Lady Anne Darcy than the Amanda of "Journey to Babel." And I guess it's one of those things that I not only disagree with but don't really get the appeal of. I like both Lady Anne and Amanda quite a lot, despite all of the above—or rather, because of it. They seem to be difficult, imperfect figures within messy family dynamics—great! Messy family dynamics are a lot of fun, and being good mothers is not the only metric by which to engage with female characters who have children.

I don't think either Lady Anne or Amanda are good parents, but they're no worse at it than their husbands, and I find both of them more interesting to think about than their husbands. One of my first fanfics ever was a trollish little fic about Mr Darcy cheating on his wife, who has returned to her father's house with a premature baby nobody expects to live, only to increasingly hint and then reveal that the betrayed wife is Lady Anne and the supposedly doomed premie baby is Darcy himself. There's a TOS-only concept that regularly plays in my head about the cut "City on the Edge of Forever" scene where Spock invites Kirk to Vulcan to rest and heal for some indefinite length of time, only it happens at the end of the five-year mission when Kirk is even more ground-down than he transparently is becoming in S3, but this becomes interwoven with Amanda as this personable but ambiguous figure, and with the complications around how she relates to Spock, Sarek, and even Kirk.

Anyway. I don't know if there are other fandoms where people have noticed that drive to idealize rather than villainize flawed mothers, but I was very struck by how much the cleaned-up Amanda reminded me of cleaned-up Lady Anne.

[4linos]

whispers of the heart

bang chan x gn!reader, (+ slight han jisung x reader)

synopsis/request: caught between two people who matter most, one person must navigate a sea of jealousy, love, and confusion to find a way forward.

wc: 3178 (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥)

It was late, and the practice room was dim save for the glimmer of exit signs and a few scattered lights that remained on. The group had ended their practice minutes before, yet the enthusiasm lingered in the air. The members were relaxing, cooling down, and talking casually. You were sitting on the floor with your legs crossed and your phone in your hands, attempting to catch up on messages from your friends. The low murmur of voices was almost comfortable, a sense of familiarity that you had come to like since starting your relationship with Chan.

But tonight… something felt off.

Jisung had been quieter than usual, his attention seemingly divided between the group and you. You hadn't noticed it at first, but now when you notice the way he looks at you, something makes your stomach tighten. It was a different lingering, softer than the typical fun taunting that characterized your friendship. Your glance briefly met his, and he quickly averted his sight, but not quickly enough for you to notice the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. You grimaced slightly, pushing off the emotion, but your eyes couldn't help but return to him. Jisung had always been friendly to you, just as Chan was, and you had never doubted their friendship until now.

However, Chan hadn't missed a single thing. He had been watching you and Jisung from the corner of the room for the last half hour. And with each passing second, the gnawing feeling in his chest intensified. He'd seen how Jisung laughed at you when you made a joke, how his hand lingered on your shoulder as he passed by, and how he laughed at your every word as if you were the only one in the room. Chan had always trusted Jisung and knew that your bond was unbreakable but today it felt like everything was shifting.

He sensed something was wrong when Jisung made a comment about how cute you looked when you smiled, which was far too intimate for someone who was supposed to be a friend. Chan's fingers tightened into fists at his sides, and the talk around him faded into the background as his mind raced.

No. It couldn’t be. Not Jisung.

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Lingering glances. Jisung constantly found a reason to be near you. You and Jisung talked to each other with the ease that Chan had always assumed was only reserved for him.

He had to know.

"Y/N," Chan said, his voice cutting through the noise like a sudden chill. You looked up, startled by the change in his tone. His eyes were hard and guarded, and he couldn't get rid of the knot in his stomach. "Yeah?" you asked, your voice rising with anxiety as you noticed his demeanor shift. "I need to talk to you," Chan began, his eyes narrowing in a way that made your stomach turn. He approached you without waiting for an answer, his posture tight, and the air between you two felt thicker he signaled for you to follow him to another room.

You stood up following behind quickly, your heart racing. "Is everything okay?" you said, fully aware that something was wrong. "Is it true?" Chan asked simply, his stare piercing yours. "Is what true?" You took a step back, the confusion rising in your chest. "That Jisung... he has a thing for you," Chan murmured, his words sounding forced through tight teeth. His voice, which had before been steady and comforting, now had an edge you hadn't heard before.

You blinked, stunned, as the weight of his words sank in. "Chan, what are you talking about?" you said, your heart sinking as the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place.

"I saw the way he was looking at you. The way he talks to you," Chan continued, each word heavier than the last. "You can’t deny it. There’s something between you two. I feel it. What is it, Y/N?"

Your mouth went dry. You could feel the panic rise in your chest as you tried to comprehend what he was saying. "Chan, you’ve got it all wrong. Jisung’s my friend. He’s always been my friend."

But Chan wasn’t listening. His eyes were burning now, the jealousy creeping into his voice. "Friend?" he scoffed, voice rising slightly. "Do you think I’m blind? You two are too close, Y/N. It’s been happening for weeks, and now it’s like he can’t even hide it anymore." His voice cracked on the last word, and you saw the pain etched into his features.

You felt a rush of guilt and confusion. What exactly was happening here? Why was this happening right now? "I'm not… I'm not doing anything wrong," you said, your voice shaking. "Chan, you have to believe me. Jisung is just a friend. He's always been just a friend.” Chan's expression faltered for a second before he let out a bitter laugh. "Can I trust you? Do you think it’s that simple? I've been watching him look at you like that, and you expect me to just pretend everything is normal?"

You stepped closer, desperate now. "I swear to you, Chan, there is nothing between me and Jisung. I love you. Just you." You reached for him, but he drew back just enough that your hand barely touched his arm. "I don't know," he said quietly, his voice cracking now. "I don't know if I can believe you anymore." The words hit you like a slap. "What?" you gasped, your heart breaking as the reality of the situation hit home. "Chan, you need to understand. It's just you.”

His eyes softened for a minute, but he quickly looked away, raking his hand over his face in annoyance. "I don't want to hear it right now," he said quietly to himself. "I need some space, Y/N." You had the sensation that the ground underneath you was giving way. "No… Chan, please." But he didn't look back at you. He simply continued walking toward the door, his steps heavy and his body tense with emotion. You stood there, frozen, as if your reality was gradually dissolving. Everything you thought you understood and trusted was slipping away. And you could not fix it. Not now. Not like this.

The door snapped shut behind him, leaving just the echo of your own heartbeat hammering in your chest. Alone. In that instant, you were left with only the crushing weight of uncertainty. And the dreadful, gnawing feeling that you might have lost him. The seconds stretched like hours, the silence stifling and thick in the aftermath of Chan's departure. You stood there, stuck in place, still attempting to grasp the weight of the encounter. The words hung in the air, filled with unspoken emotions and confusion.

I need space.

You couldn't get over the sight of Chan walking away from you. The expression in his eyes, which was a mix of pain and anger, lingered in your mind like a ghost. The door clicking shut was the final nail in the coffin, ruling off any chance of immediate reconciliation. You pondered chasing him, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the realization that the damage had already been done, or you understood that pressing him right now would not benefit either of you. You sank back onto the floor, your knees pulled up to your chest, the phone still in your hand. but it suddenly felt useless. The screen was a flurry of unread messages from your friends, who had no idea what was happening.

You’d never imagined this happening certainly not with Chan, and certainly not with Jisung. But here you were, caught in the middle of something that felt so fragile, so broken.

What had you missed?

Your thoughts drifted back to the moments with Jisung. His lingering glances. His subtle touches. Was it possible that you had been blind to it all? Could it be that his feelings for you had evolved into something more, and you hadn’t even noticed? No. You shook your head. You couldn’t have known. Jisung was always playful, always teasing. You never thought that it could mean something deeper. And now, facing the consequences of that assumption, you didn’t know where to begin to fix things.

Your phone buzzed in your hands, the screen lighting up with a new message. It was from Jisung.

Jisung: Y/N, I need to talk to you.

Jisung: You have a minute?

You looked at the message for a long time. Talk? You weren't sure whether you were prepared for another conversation like the one you just had with Chan. But Jisung's message caused you to hesitate. Maybe, just maybe, you'll get answers. But what if what he said made matters worse? What if he confirmed what Chan was scared of? Your thoughts went in circles. What was the right thing to do?

Before you could decide, you heard the door to the room creak open again. You tensed, half-expecting it to be Chan, maybe returning to apologize. But instead, it was Jisung, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He stood at the threshold, his posture stiff but not unwelcoming.

"Y/N," he started, his voice softer than you expected, as though he too didn’t know how to approach the situation. "Can we talk?"

Your heart sank. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear him out, but you weren’t sure if you could.

Jisung took a step forward, his expression earnest, as though he was aware of the delicate nature of the moment. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear. I never wanted to cause any tension between you and Chan." He paused, taking another step closer. "But I’ve been feeling… something for a while now. And I think you know that. I know it’s confusing, and I should’ve said something sooner. But I didn’t want to make things weird."

You swallowed and spoke with a shaky voice. "Is it true?" He froze, his eyes widening slightly in response to your question. "What do you mean?" "Do you... do you like me, Jisung?" You weren't sure you could handle the response, but the question needed to be asked. The uncertainty was oppressive, and you required clarity. You needed to grasp what, if anything, was going on between you two. Jisung's eyes softened and the tension in his body dissipated as he took a gentle breath. "I... I do. But I didn't mean for it to be this way. I'm not trying to get between you and Chan, Y/N. I just—" He stopped, then added with a sheepish smile "I'm just not good at hiding things."

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded slowly, processing his words. "And Chan?" you asked, your voice small and vulnerable. "I know it’s messed up," Jisung admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never wanted to hurt him. He’s like a brother to me. But things have gotten complicated. I should’ve told him. I should’ve told you, too."

You felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, confusion, and yet a strange understanding that perhaps none of this was entirely Jisung’s fault. It wasn’t just about him, it was about all three of you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jisung's phone buzzed, and he immediately glanced at it. His eyes flashed with something unreadable before he put it away. "I think I need to talk to Chan," he said quietly. "And I think you should, too. We have to work this out. All of us." You nodded and stood up slowly. The weight of the moment seemed heavy, yet something about Jisung's sincerity made you believe that there was still hope for understanding, for mending the torn threads of your relationships with both him and Chan.

"I'm scared, Jisung," you said gently, your voice shaking. "I don't want to lose either of you." "I don't want to lose you either, Y/N," Jisung whispered quietly, moving closer. "But I think we all have to face this. Together." You nodded, wiping away a tear that had fallen down your cheek. Maybe the truth may sting. But maybe that was the only way to fix what had been damaged. With that, Chan, Jisung, and you would have to confront the difficult conversation ahead. The path forward remained unclear, but for the first time that night, there was a glimmer of optimism that things could be fixed.

The tension in the room was palpable as you and Jisung exchanged a short glance, both of you knowing that whatever followed next would be a turning point in your lives. Your heart was still heavy, and Chan's words echoed in your mind.

“Do you think I'm blind?”

“I don't know if I can believe you anymore.”

You needed to fix this. You couldn't just let things fall apart until you completely understood what was going on. "I'll talk to Chan," you responded calmly, your voice solid despite the fluttering in your chest. "You should, too. You can't let this get worse between you two."

Jisung nodded, his face a mix of regret and determination. "Yeah. I will do that. I don't want things to get weird between us, Y/N. I didn't mean for it to go this far. You gave him a faint, timid smile. "Me neither." He paused for a bit before saying, "I’m sorry Y/N. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable by putting you in the middle of this. I didn't know what else to do." "I understand," you said softly. "I just need to talk to Chan." "I can't lose him."

Jisung’s eyes softened as he met your gaze. "You won’t lose him. But you’ll need to be honest with him. And with yourself. Just… try to make him see the truth."

You nodded, knowing he was right. Whatever was happening between you and Jisung, it had to be addressed. But Chan was the one who mattered most. You needed to make him understand. You walked to the door, heart pounding with each step. The hallway was quiet, eerily so, and the air felt thick with anticipation. You found Chan just outside the practice room, standing with his back to you, his posture tense as if he were still wrestling with his thoughts.

You stood there for a time, unsure what to say. But you couldn't stay silent any longer. You needed to be really honest with him. "Chan," you said gently, your voice shaking as you moved closer. He turned, his face still etched with frustration and hurt, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed you. "Y/N," he responded coldly, almost as an accusation. He tried to keep it together, but you could see cracks in his resolve. "Please, just listen," you urged. "I understand this seems horrible, but please understand. I love you, Chan. Only you. It’s always been you."

Chan's jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak right away. You could see him weighing your words, the pain in his eyes conflicting with his feelings of betrayal. "Then why… why does it feel like you’re slipping away from me? Like you’re closer to him than you are to me?" The question hit you like a blow to the chest.

How could you explain this?

"I never wanted to make you feel that way," you said, your voice breaking slightly. "Jisung is my friend, Chan. He’s always been my friend. What you saw… it wasn’t what you think."

Chan’s gaze hardened. "But it wasn’t just tonight, Y/N. It’s been weeks. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way you laugh when he talks to you. It’s different. You’re different when you’re around him." His voice cracked, and it was clear that whatever strength he had left was rapidly crumbling. "I don’t know if I can compete with that. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore."

You took a step forward, your heart in your throat. "I’m not asking you to compete with Jisung. I’m asking you to trust me. Trust us. There’s nothing more between Jisung and me. But I can see how it might look like that from your side. I didn’t know how to handle it, Chan. I didn’t know how to talk to you about it because I didn’t want to hurt you."

Chan ran a hand through his hair, frustration laced with pain. "And now it’s too late. You didn’t think I’d notice? I’ve been with you through everything, Y/N. I thought I knew you. But now it feels like I don’t know anything anymore."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "Please don’t say that. Please. I never wanted you to feel like you weren’t enough. You are enough. You’re everything to me."

He swallowed hard, eyes avoiding yours for a moment as the silence between you grew unbearable. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now, raw. "I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to believe."

You could see the cracks in his armor now, his vulnerability beneath all the rage and pain. He was as terrified as you were. "I don't know what to do either," you said quietly, taking another step closer and softly grabbing for his hand. He hesitated for a while before allowing you to take it, his fingers quivering in your grip. "Chan," you murmured softly, "I want you to believe me when I say I love you. And I am not going anywhere." For a long time, neither of you spoke. You could feel the weight of the situation hanging between you, but the contact of his hand offered you a small glimmer of hope. Maybe it was not too late. Maybe it wasn't the end.

"I need some time," Chan finally said, his voice heavy but more gentle now. "To think. To figure it out. But I do not want to lose you, Y/N. I'm not sure if I can handle this." You nodded, feeling tears fall down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them at away. "I understand," you replied softly. "Take as much time as you need. But please know that I'm here. I am not going anywhere." He nodded and squeezed your hand gently before drawing away. “I will be around. When you're ready, we can talk more…about everything."

With a heavy heart, you watched as he walked away, disappearing down the hall. The air felt lighter, but only just. You weren’t sure where things stood with Chan or with Jisung, but at least you had started the conversation. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to begin mending the fractures in your relationship.

You took a deep breath and wiped away your tears, knowing that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. But for the first time that night, there was a glimmer of hope.

Now you just had to figure out how to rebuild everything, starting with the two people who meant the most to you.

//

asks are always open if you have a question, concern or request!

💡masterlist wip request list.💡

[vynxwave]

tf skybound issue 14 thoughts / analysis / connections n whatnot. spoilers for the issue 15 preview too.

absolutely gorgeous art

VERY G1 starscream vibes in some places xD... i could practically hear his voice

more of starscream's origin and a bit more of megatron! i like megatron's characterization in skybound so far plus the decepticon cause's. i think skybound's decepticon ideology's gotta be my favorite, it just meshes their violence with their believed righteousness in such a great way.

this issue gives starscream quite a different initial approach to morality than seen in previous continuities (iirc) where here in #14 he is against killing prisoners of war while being a decepticon (often he's with loose morals even before becoming a decepticon).

megatron has the ability to mentally coerce the one wielding him to bend to his will (painfully), which i think is a really cool concept.

this makes starscream's evil directly caused by megatron from prolonged exposure to his influence conditioning/corrupting him. as seen in the mini background panels, over time blasting many Autobots to scrap, starscream grows to enjoy it

i've personally always loved starscream's evil to be completely independent of megatron('s) (as it has been) so i'm a bit conflicted on this aspect of skybound starscream... but i do understand its purpose/role in the story though.

issues #13/#14 run a parallel between then starscream & megatron and present starscream & those humans: both purport to Starscream they want to help him, but in reality they just want to use him for their own benefit. with that then story running parallel to the present one, starscream's dialogue about those humans also reflects upon how he felt under megatron's control

megatron forcing starscream to wield him definitely felt like it was expounding upon a question one might have had watching G1 — "why would megatron let someone who openly covets his position wield him?" of course, skybound isn't g1 and takes the idea and angle quite differently than the show did. with this it also supplies the reason of why starscream resents megatron and wants to overthrow and kill him.

and of G1, the Decepticons siding with starscream are ones who have sided with him once in the cartoon — the Combaticons in Starscream's Brigade and Astrotrain in Triple Takeover (and of course, Astrotrain was also the one to crown Starscream in the 1986 movie).

with Soundwave having the Constructicons and Starscream the Combaticons, a cool fight between Devastator and Bruticus is sure to ensue (vol 3 [collects #13-#18 + the story from the 2024 special] is called "Combiner Chaos" anyway)

i will be delighted to see soundwave and his decepticons vs starscream and his decepticons.

soundwave looks to be a megatron loyalist in this continuity and shares a bit of his sentiments (a bit below).

neat how then starscream and present thundercracker both had objections to the treatment of prisoners of war.

not the first time there's been a similarity between them, here's panels (#1 & #8) that parallel each other:

and how they differ:

not 1:1, but megatron's words to starscream reminded me of soundwave's to thundercracker — a subordinate's objection met with a reminder of their place and that their objection is irrelevant to their superior.

also worth noting, soundwave keeps thundercracker by his side despite his continual disagreements with how things are going, which is similar to megatron keeping starscream (who resents him) by his side.

i'd guess these similarities serve to build up to thundercracker possibly eventually actively opposing soundwave (as opposed to just going along with it) — here in the #15 preview he gives the humans warning to flee before blasting the building

now, knowing megatron's gunmode has the ability to mentally coerce the wielder to bend to his will... looks like this is what's happening with optimus wearing megatron's cannon arm!! xD. "megatron's cannon arm is influencing prime" has been built up and noticed, but it's nice to have megatron's ability now explicitly shown.

In #5 Starscream comments on Optimus having Megatron's cannon arm, and Optimus has a bit to say to him before blasting him with it.

Many noticed the parallel between Megatron & Optimus's fight in the Energon Universe Special 2024 and Optimus & Shockwave's in #12 as well as his tinged eye color.

Now with #14 we can also see a a similar thing that happened to Optimus happen to Starscream — Megatron's influence practically forcing their hand, going against what they wanted. Note the green-yellow background gradient suggesting Megatron's mental coercion in Starscream's panels, and in Optimus's panels (above) when his eyes are tinged there's yellow or yellow-green used in the background.

[xylo-art]

Regarding the tags left on my previous post ↓

YES this is something I really wanted to explore actually :3 so I hope you don't mind me rambling

Transcript and rambling beneath the cut

[Swap AU Hollow]

- closed off at the start, cares a lot, wants to know what happened post-abyss

- much more timid and wary

- over time gets braver

- fights until the other party is weakened, dislikes having to kill but will if they must

- extends to lesser bugs

- Not really resentful towards Ghost, more so sad and confused

- post-game/recovery period is similar to normal Ghost

[Normal Ghost]

- closed off at the start, almost apathetic but not quite?

- over time they start to care more and more

- adventurous

- fights until the other party backs down (or dies)

- extends to lesser bugs

- some resentment towards Hollow early on that fades as they progress

- post-game/recovery period they start learning to express more and are given more opportunities to be a kid

[Swap AU Ghost]

- fatigued post-game but more curious and adventurous now that they're free

- struggles to express emotion

- takes up drawing post-game as an outlet

- quiet but more investigative, more social

- complicated feelings towards WL, leans towards some bitterness

- Radi(?) fed into said bitterness to break them

- LOTS of guilt about leaving Hollow

[Normal Hollow]

- mostly tired post-game, lots of guilt/self-hateed

- hesitant to express emotion

- takes up cooking post-game as an outlet

- timid and shy, prefers to fade into the background (very difficult)

- complicated feelings towards PK, still loves him while understanding he wasn't. the greatest

- radi fed into their love to break them

---------------------------------------------------------

OKAY WOW, long transcript

I'm thinking a LOT about this AU now even though I mostly drew it as a joke when I first came up with it.

This gives me an opportunity to ramble about how I characterize the vessels! Even in my base-version of how I interpret them, I imagine when they were still in the abyss, Ghost was.. Generally the one who lead the two of them. Hollow usually just stuck by their side, being the more anxious of the two.

I imagine this is still the case in the Swap AU - So when Ghost is the one who makes it to the top, Hollow feels.. Betrayed, and confused. Why wouldn't their sibling, who they've depended on before now, help them?

Both I imagine are led on by their care for the other - Hearing them cry out in pain in the beginning cutscene. However, whereas normal Ghost at first treats the whole thing with a layer of resentment, Swap Hollow treats it more with.. Wanting to know why.

Meanwhile with the older siblings, I imagine Swap Ghost keeps some of those feelings of resentment - However, instead of at Hollow, it's more towards WL and themself for what she's done to their siblings, and they to Hollow. Post-game in the recovery period, they try to express more emotion, but struggle with it. They want to explore more once they're free! Both explore Hallownest, and explore the life they never got to live, whereas I imagine normal Hollow takes their recovery a lot slower and with more hesitance.

I'm still figuring this au out but, it's really fun exploring this stuff :D

[yanyandam]

hey it's me again! i hope you're having a great day. im so thankful for the last time youve granted my request (bonten comforting) i felt energized after reading that! that scenarios would be my go to read whenever im feeling exhausted. thank you sm! last time i commented under your haitani bros bf hcs that i love how you characterize those two, esp. rindou-it was written beautifully. so i was thinking if i can request a short fic of rindou (final timeline toman!rindou) where he's a tsundere or in denial of his feelings to a girl who obviously likes him. the girl would do silly things to make rindou notice her but he's just 'nah' outside but panicking inside hehe. and one day the girl thought that rindou didnt like her so she'd just stop but toman or ran will help her to make rindou admit his feelings. (im so sorry that this is long, and i hope i dont sound so demanding. you can always take your time and thank you if you ever granted my request <3 i love reading your works, it makes me forget about bad things. take care always!)

YOYO im so glad u enjoyed the hcs! Ty for the support and sorreyy for the long wait: here, did my best, hope it fits your expercations and sorry for not really insisting on the 'toman' aspect lmaoo

SCARFACE - Rindou Haitani

It was during a party, because that’s where most stories with Rindou Haitani began.

The bass was heavy, pulsing low through the floorboards like a second heartbeat. The room swam in dim neon light and perfume. Rindou leaned against a wall, fingers loose around a half-empty glass, the edge of a smirk playing on his lips. His thoughts were fuzzy, blurred by alcohol and smoke and the thick buzz of a room full of strangers pretending to love each other. That’s when she showed up. She stopped right in front of him, eyes flicking up and down like she was sizing up a painting she didn’t quite like.

"Funny haircut," she said casually, sipping from her glass.

Rindou’s brows drew together despite the haze in his head. “You got a problem?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t say bad. I said funny. There’s a difference.”

He tilted his head, the corner of his lip twitching in amusement, or maybe confusion. “Same thing if you squint.”

“Only if you’re insecure,” she shot back, deadpan.

For a second, Rindou didn’t reply. His brain tried to do the math: comeback? flirt? threat? But all it managed was: pretty girl, sharp tongue. “What’s your deal?” he muttered, standing a little straighter, suddenly more awake.

“Just passing through,” she said, her eyes already drifting past him like he was background noise. “You?”

Rindou decided to turn up the charm. Or at least, what he thought was charm when the room was spinning. He ran a hand through his hair and gave his best lazy smirk. “I’m kinda in the music scene,” he said, stretching the truth like it was gum.

Her eyes narrowed, unimpressed. “You look more like a delinquent.”

He raised a brow, more amused than offended. “One doesn’t cancel out the other.”

“Sure,” she said, tone flat. “And I’m a ballerina-neurosurgeon.”

He chuckled, despite himself. “Alright, alright. Don’t believe me, then. Want proof?”

She blinked once, slow. “Actually, no. I was just killing time.” Then she glanced at her phone and gave a short nod to no one in particular. “My friends are getting bored. We’re ditching.”

Rindou straightened, a flicker of something restless in his chest. “Wait—at least give me your number.”

She tilted her head like she was thinking. Then smiled. A little too sweet.  

And just like that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, hips swaying to a beat that had nothing to do with the music. Rindou stood there for a long moment, drink still in hand, the lights too bright now and the noise suddenly irritating. He wasn’t used to being left hanging. Not like this. He didn’t even know her name. And that annoyed him more than it should’ve. “She was cute though…” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “What the fuck just happened?” He didn’t get it.

—

He spotted her just as he was about to step out of the building where the Toman meeting had just ended. There, across the street like it was nothing, her. The girl from the party. The one who had casually shut him down, drink in hand, attitude sharp as a blade. Her.

Rindou froze for a second. She was standing there, scrolling through her phone with big headphones slung around her neck, her brows slightly furrowed. And, yeah, she looked even better in the daylight. That was definitely a problem.

Behind him, Ran was rambling. “Seriously, Mikey’s so damn annoying—he’s like the size of my thumb and still acts like—”

“Hold up, bro. I gotta handle something,” Rindou cut in, already heading down the sidewalk.

Ran blinked. “Man, short dudes really get bold sometimes.”

Rindou ignored him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and crossed the street like it was no big deal, trying to keep his face neutral while his mind spun. What the hell am I gonna say? She looks even better in the afternoon. Maybe I should act like this is some random coincidence? Play the bad boy. Cool. Distant.  He stopped a few feet away from her. She still hadn’t noticed him. Okay. Just play it cool. Let her come to you.

“Do you always hang out around here, or is the universe just messing with me?” he said, voice casual but pointed.

She looked up, surprised at first. Then that familiar smirk spread slowly across her lips. “Oh hey. The guy with the ‘funny but not ugly’ haircut.”

He rolled his eyes like he was already tired of her. “See, I figured I’d give you another chance to give me your number. I’m generous like that.”

She laughed, genuinely, brightly. “Did you practice that line while crossing the street?”

“…No.” (Yes.)

She stepped a little closer, her eyes locked on his. “You know, Rindou…yeah, that’s your name, right? You’ve got a weird way of flirting. You act all uninterested, but I can see it in your eyes. You’re clearly thrown off by–”

“You look like a side character.”

“And you look like the villain everyone falls for in season two.”

“I’m not a fucking drama character.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You kinda are. But in a charming, ‘he’ll break your heart but he’s got reasons’ way.”

“Stop talking bullshit,” he muttered, but he didn’t walk away. If anything, he was leaning in closer.

She leaned her back against the wall and gave him a soft, playful smile. “So if I offered to buy you a drink, would you run away? Or admit you’ve been hoping I’d ask since the moment you saw me?”

He clicked his tongue, ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re that desperate.”

She laughed again, pulling off her headphones and taking a step closer. “Perfect. Because I am.”

And Rindou, the “bad boy” who swore he wasn’t phased by anyone, felt something warm and stupid flicker right beneath his ribs. That crooked little smile of hers. Yeah. He was already in trouble.

They ended up at a dim little bar tucked into the back of a narrow alley, the kind of place that didn’t ask for IDs and had its own brand of dusty charm. Rindou had chosen it on impulse. Or maybe out of habit. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but the lighting was low, and the music was mellow, and she looked good under the flicker of neon. Too good.

They sat across from each other in a small booth, one cracked vinyl seat between them and a table that smelled faintly of cheap rum and something citrusy. He sipped his drink slowly and she raised an eyebrow the moment he did. “Oh? Drinking again already?” she teased, swirling her own drink. “You sure you’re not trying to impress me?”

Rindou shot her a flat look. “You think I need alcohol to deal with you?”

She grinned. “No. I think you need it to survive your own awkwardness.”

Still, his fingers tightened a little around the glass. He didn’t like how she saw through him so easily. Most people didn’t. Most people saw the cold stare, the tattoos, the sharp lines and stayed away. But she walked in like she owned the inside of his head. “I’m just saying,” she continued, sipping her drink with a mischievous glint in her eye, “you act so tough, but here you are: coming to a bar with a girl you barely know. What’s next, Rindou? Candlelight dinners? Long walks in the rain?”

He scoffed, glancing away to hide the fact that she’d gotten to him. Again. “You’re doing a lot of talking for someone who doesn’t even know what I like.”

“Well then, enlighten me,” she leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped in her palm. “What does the mysterious Rindou Haitani like? Besides judging people and brooding.”

“I don’t brood,” he said too quickly.

She smiled wide. “You literally just sighed into your drink like a washed-up poet.”

He took another sip. He needed it. Meanwhile, her smile faded a little, just for a second. She watched him with quieter eyes now, thoughtful ones. The teasing was still there, but buried under something else, something like doubt. Or curiosity. Maybe even exhaustion. Was she really this desperate?

The thought hit her in the silence that followed. He was cute, sure. Dangerous in that detached, probably-bad-for-you way. But she barely knew him. She didn’t know if he was just messing around, or if this was some twisted game he was playing. Hell, maybe she was the one playing herself. Falling too fast, too easily. Again. “I’m not that complicated,” she said, a little softer this time, eyes drifting to her glass. “But you… I can’t tell what you want.”

Rindou looked at her, really looked. His eyes narrowed, his mind already spiraling again. What do you want? he thought. What are you playing at? You flirt like it’s a language, but what are you really saying? He imagined breaking into her head and rummaging through it like a library of answers. Pulling out the books and reading every chapter. Not to expose her, but just to understand.

Because right now? He didn’t. And he hated that. “You don’t need to know what I want,” he muttered.

She blinked. “That’s convenient.”

He leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Some things are better when you figure them out slowly.”

She raised an eyebrow, considering. “You say that like you’re not the most impatient person I’ve ever met.”

He looked down at his glass, then back at her. “Only when it’s worth it.” There was a pause. Then she laughed, quiet and uncertain. “Well damn… that almost sounded romantic.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Sure it wasn’t.”

And yet neither of them looked away.

She twirled her straw between her fingers, then looked up at him again with that same crooked smile, half amusement, half resignation. "You didn’t even ask for my name, you know."

Rindou blinked. "Huh?"

She tilted her head, voice lilting. “We’ve met twice now. You brought me here. You’re drinking in front of me. But you still don’t know who I am.”

“…That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah? What’s my name then?”

Rindou hesitated for just a second too long, and it made her grin grow sharp. “Exactly,” she said, standing up, brushing nonexistent lint from her skirt. The scraping of the chair on the floor felt louder than the music for a moment. She leaned slightly forward, close enough for him to catch a trace of whatever perfume she’d worn, it wasn’t sweet, but strange and warm, like spice and mystery.

"It’s (name)," she said, voice steady, like she was signing a forgotten letter. “Since you clearly weren’t planning on asking.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing coherent came out. She was already slipping on her jacket. “Fine, gotta go,” she said, just like she had at the party. No explanation. No glance back.

And just like that, she was gone. Rindou sat frozen for a second, his drink halfway to his mouth, hand paused mid-motion. The words still hung in the air. 

It hit different now, knowing it. She was just outside the bar now, sitting alone on a low brick wall, scrolling through her phone, head tilted slightly down. Her face was lit up by the bluish glow of the screen, expression unreadable.

She didn’t seem upset. Just distant. Calm. A quiet that made Rindou feel weirdly loud inside. And maybe that’s what scared him the most, how she always slipped away before he even realized she was going. How she knew how to vanish even while sitting in plain sight.

He watched her from behind the glass for a second, completely still. Then he muttered to himself. “Fuck.” Because he didn’t want her to go. But she already had.

–

Rindou had always won because he had to. Lived like he could die any second. Spent money like it rained from the sky. But love? He never lived that like it rained. And lately, it had been nothing but drought. Bone-dry desert, with not a single damn cloud in sight.

The last time he saw her, it was at that tiny record store with the cracked windows and faded posters of bands half the city had forgotten. He hadn’t planned on being there. Walked in just to kill time.  But then she was there, standing by the jazz section like she owned the damn place. She didn’t notice him at first. She was flipping through vinyls, head tilted, lips moving ever so slightly as she read the back covers like a prayer. That weird habit of hers. Like music spoke to her in ways people couldn’t. Then she looked up. “Rindou?” she asked, surprised, as if she were seeing a ghost.

He raised his chin slightly, playing cool. “Yo.”

She blinked, then smiled lightly. “Still into sad trap beats and aggressive techno?”

He scoffed. “That what you think of me?”

She turned toward another crate, casually digging through it. “No. I think you like…this..!”

He froze. She didn’t look at him when she said it. She just pulled out A record, held it up, then handed it to him. The cover was soft and nostalgic, hazy pastels and melancholy. It was too accurate. Way too accurate. He took it without saying a word.

“Thought so,” she said quietly.

He tossed the vinyl into his other hand. “It’s alright.”

“You’re lying.”

He gave a half-shrug, the one that was supposed to say whatever, but in his chest something cracked a little. She looked at him now, really looked, eyebrows drawing together. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like nothing touches you. Like nothing matters.” Her voice was low now, not angry, but not soft either. “Even when I know you’re… burning inside.”

Rindou’s jaw flexed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her eyes dropped for a second, then she put her hands in the pockets of her oversized coat. “You’re right,” she said. “I probably don’t.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“Anyway,” she added, backing away now, eyes dimmer than before, “guess it was a mistake to think I did.”

“Hey—”

But she was already near the door. “You can keep the record,” she said, not turning around.

And then she was gone. Just like every time before. Only this time, it hurt more. Because she got it right. And he still let her walk away.

She walked fast, hands buried in her coat pockets, the record store already behind her like a bad memory. Her heart was still pounding, though she couldn’t tell if it was from frustration or… something else entirely.

Then— "Well, well, well..." (oh this was corny)

She froze mid-step.

Ran Haitani. Leaning against a lamppost like it was placed there just for him, one brow cocked, his smirk as polished as his rings. “Didn’t expect to see you walking out of that sad little vinyl graveyard.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you just materialize out of nowhere to be annoying?”

Ran tilted his head with that same easy, lazy elegance. “Only when the universe tells me something interesting’s going on.”

She huffed and kept walking, but of course, he walked beside her like they were co-stars in some old noir film.

“Second time I catch you with my little brother,” he said, tone laced with amusement. “You sure you’re not trying to get into the Haitani family?”

She stopped and glared. “Excuse me?”

Ran smiled wider, then casually reached into his coat for a lollipop and unwrapped it, popping it into his mouth like this was a stroll through the park and not her real life unraveling. “Relax. Just pointing out patterns. First the party, now the record shop. That’s not nothing.”

“That’s a coincidence.”

“Mmhm.” He sucked the lollipop thoughtfully, then leaned in slightly. “Rindou’s a tough shell to crack, I’ll give you that. But you know what his problem is?”

She crossed her arms. “Please. Enlighten me.”

Ran leaned back, tapping the candy against his teeth. “He doesn’t know what to do with someone who’s real. He gets scared. So he acts like he doesn’t care until he’s drowning in it.”

She paused. That hit too close.

“Wanna know how to get to him?” he asked, eyes gleaming.

“No,” she said flatly. “Not if it’s coming from you.”

He chuckled. “Too late. You want Rindou to show up? Stop showing up.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Pull back. Go ghost. Give him that beautiful silence that drives a man nuts. Nothing spooks him like realizing he actually misses someone.”

She stared at him, unconvinced. “That’s manipulative.”

Ran shrugged with a grin. “That’s men.”

“I’m not playing games.”

“Then you’ll lose.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to walk away again, and he called after her: “Or… you can just keep doing what you’re doing. Look pissed, walk fast, leave him guessing. That also works.”

She didn’t answer. Just kept walking, her steps a little heavier this time.

Ran watched her go, twirling the now-finished lollipop stick between his fingers, muttering to himself with a smirk: “Rindou, you idiot. She’s gonna eat you alive.” And deep down, he kind of hoped she would.

—

The rooftop of the Haitani apartment complex smelled like rusted metal and faint cigarette smoke. Rindou leaned against the railing, hoodie pulled over his head, staring blankly at the skyline. The sun was setting behind Tokyo’s buildings, all gold and fire, but he wasn’t seeing any of it. Ran pushed open the door with his usual dramatic flair, holding beer. He tossed one at Rindou, who caught it with barely a glance.

“Y’been brooding here for an hour. Not even checking your phone,” Ran said, cracking open his can and taking a sip. “Should I call the cops or just assume heartbreak?”

Rindou rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”

Ran took a seat on the ledge like it was a damn throne, legs crossed, smugness oozing. “So. The girl.”

“No girl,” Rindou muttered, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Liar.”

Rindou stayed quiet. That was his thing. Silence. Indifference. Ice. But Ran could read the cracks better than anyone. The way his jaw clenched. The way his fingers twitched like he wanted to hit or hold something, maybe both. “I saw her earlier,” Ran said casually. “Looked real mad. Pretty as hell though. That angry beauty type. Dangerous.” Rindou didn’t react. But his shoulders stiffened. That was enough.

Ran smirked. “You let her walk away again, huh?” Still no answer.

“Damn,” he continued, “y'know, for someone who used to throw hands at guys twice your size, you're weirdly afraid of a girl who flirts better than you do.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” Rindou snapped.

“Then why you act like she’s holding a bomb every time she talks to you?”

Rindou turned his head slowly. “Because she is.”

Ran blinked.

“She’s got this… thing. I dunno,” Rindou muttered, eyes darting away. “It’s like, when she looks at me, I don’t know if she wants to kiss me or kill me. She talks like everything’s a game, like she’s just passing through and I’m some random side quest.” He looked down at the can in his hand, shaking it slightly. “And when she walks away, it’s like—fuck, I feel like I got sucker-punched.”

Ran let out a low whistle. “So, you do like her.”

Rindou glared. “I didn’t say that.”

“You just described heartbreak poetry like you’re in a shojo manga, bro.” A pause.

“Shut up,” Rindou muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

Ran grinned. “Well, damn. The Ice Prince has fallen.” Oh damn Ran what are those lines.

Rindou let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t do anything right. When I talk to her, I feel like I’m trying to solve a riddle I wasn’t meant to get.”

Ran shrugged. “That’s how you know it’s real. If it was easy, you’d be bored already.” Another long pause. Rindou cracked open his can, took a sip, then murmured:

“…I think I’m in love with her.”

Ran stood up, brushing off his pants. “Took you long enough.”

And as he turned to go back downstairs, he added with a smirk, “Now grow a pair and tell her before she finds a guy with a working vocabulary and balls.”

Rindou didn’t respond. But for the first time that day, he smiled.

—

It was outside the same damn record store.

Rindou wasn’t even sure if it was fate or masochism at this point, but she was there again, leaning against the wall, earbuds in, arms crossed, that face like she was plotting a revolution in silence. Her foot tapped slightly to whatever beat she was listening to. She looked mad.

No, she was mad. At him.

Rindou stood frozen across the street for a second, the bouquet sweating in his palm through the plastic. It wasn’t even that nice of a bouquet. Last minute. He asked the lady at the stall what looked “apologetic but not pathetic.” She’d laughed and handed him this mix of lilacs, carnations, and eucalyptus. Said it smelled like honesty. Whatever that meant. He walked over, slow and casual like his heart wasn’t doing parkour in his chest. She looked up as he approached, then rolled her eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t Tokyo’s favorite emotionally unavailable delinquent.”

He flinched. “Yo.”

She yanked one earbud out. “What? You here to ignore me in person again?”

“Look—”

“Nah, actually, don’t start. I’ve had a long week and I don’t wanna hear another cryptic ‘I dunno’ or see you vanish like Houdini after dropping one word replies.”

“I brought you something.”

That shut her up. Rindou held out the bouquet like it might explode. “Here.”

She stared. “What is this?”

“…Flowers?”

“No shit.” She blinked, arms still crossed. “For?”

“You.” His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat. “Obviously.”

She didn’t take them right away. Just narrowed her eyes.

“You owe someone an apology?”

“No, I—” He exhaled hard. His hand was still extended and this was starting to feel really fucking dumb. “I like you, alright?”

Silence.

“I don’t know how to do the smooth shit,” he continued, voice gaining momentum like a train about to derail. “You piss me off and confuse me and I think about you when I’m trying not to. And I tried ignoring it but I can’t. You’re in my head all the damn time. And I get it if you don’t feel the same, I probably ruined everything already—”

She plucked the flowers from his hands.

He stopped. She held them up, sniffed them slightly, then looked at him like he was a glitch in the matrix. “You said you liked me?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

“…You realize I’ve been flirting with you for weeks, right?”

“I thought that was just your personality,” he mumbled.

She burst out laughing. Loud, unexpected. “Haitani, you are the dumbest romantic I’ve ever met.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, face redder than he’d like to admit. “So… that’s not a no?”

She stepped a little closer, flowers still in hand. “It’s not a no.”

Then, with a sly grin:

“But you owe me a real date. And an explanation why it took a whole brother-shaped intervention to get here.”

Rindou blinked. “Wait. You talked to Ran?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t need to. His smug face said it all.”

He had managed to get inside her brain without fright. And for the first time in a long while, Rindou laughed, too. Awkward. Rough around the edges.

But honest.

Just like the flowers.

[curseofbunny]

things on my miraculous rewatch that i am noticing that are just. funny and help make things make sense in my brain

chloe and alya are both reaaaaally big into superheroes, alya with majestia as we all know and chloe not seeming to have had a favorite until ladybug/replacing her previous favorite entirely with ladybug if she had one, and chloe and sabrina being cosplayers.

it also seems like chloe is really good at making props and pretty passable at video editing, given malediktator and her 'lair' up on the roof/balcony. all of that background props for her little documentary (which is as endearing to me as it is lightly cringe-worthy, i love chloe so so much) were handmade and honestly looked really good, they must have taken aaaaages to make. me and my friend were also noticing that max looked upset during the 'making fun of chloe' scene in malediktator after chloe got hurt by sabrina laughing at her, and we were joking that he was disappointed it got turned off because the editing was good

kim really liked the alec cataldi's show 'alternative truth' in kwamibuster. him liking and looking up to alec cataldi makes so much sense for why his character is the way it is, why he does the dares and the teasing. it's really interesting seeing how the childhood bullying/harassment alec went through shaped his life, and then he in turn continued the cycle on a massive scale to the point where it could be said that he influenced more people to act just like him. i am not even coming into this from a salt perspective, it's entirely just fascinating that in that little bit from a s3 episode we can see part of why he is the way he is

chloe watching the news is such a common experience she's a news girliieeee i love that for herrr

accidentally got a fixation on how the tv studio in universe works. alec cataldi is a catty gay guy who runs a bunch of random slot-filler garbage tv. nadja chamack is a (seemingly single) mother, friend of sabine's, who is the primary news anchor. clara contard is her primary correspondent, who according to the wiki has an unnamed boyfriend/husband (i'm going to go with boyfriend) and unnamed son. obsessed with these three they're so good i love the ~vibes~ of the station crew

all problems in the later few seasons of the show would be lessened greatly if we let Luka Murder Bob Roth!!!

psychomedian should have been a season 2 episode. the plot, the vibes, the marinette characterization. everything besides the flashbacks in the beginning scream earlier actions. also they used flashbacks from the puppeteer 2 in that episode. which makes me confused. so the end lesson for mari in that ep was that adrien isn't good with jokes, and kind of wants to try being more serious because the girl he liked wasn't into funny guys. by using a clip from that episode, and specifically the clip where they're talking from the end of it from that same conversation where he says he doesn't get jokes very well, mari in psychomedian then extrapolates from a single video mention that nino showed adrien that clearly adrien is a huge huge superfan of harry's, and proceeded to hype herself up to try and do a comedy routine that is so specific and embarrassing that i physically couldn't watch that. girl do you even listen to the words from his mouthhh. i would have had less issues with this if that flashback didn't make me go "huh whats that from i've never seen that episode" and paused in the first minute of psychomedian to go watch the puppeter 2, then circled back to psychomedian, and only one of those episodes felt like they deserved to take place in the latter half of the show. on god.

back to the news crew tee em but this retroactively gives a lot of insight to me on how chloe and kim could have been friends and how their friend group was structured before a combination of marinette/ladybug and rampant akumatizations and teenage hormones destroyed the friend group over the course of season one and beginning of season two, but like. chloe and sabrina long term friends with their own particular dynamic and sabrina's crush on chloe. chloe is a news girlie and a superhero fan but keeps her cosplays on the low, only sharing that part of her life with sabrina. kim likes watching tv, specifically the more gossipy/gameshow type things. max is glued to kim's side and is his very close friend, and probably also liked working on nerd stuff with sabrina. alix was probably lumped in because she's athletic and friends with kim, and even if she isn't chloe's biggest fan they can still commiserate about being rich girls together. i know i'm extrapolating and halfway just wishing this was how it was, but it really did feel like that was the it group until they started slowly breaking off and chlobrina got isolated and then chloe got further isolated. in a perfect world this friend group would have stuck together and lila just joined the fold as a baby it girl trying to show off.

i'll shush for now but those are some babbles thank you for letting me refuse to shut the fuck up *bows* *bows*