#blurred in the background but you’d notice if there was a white mark of some sort blocking out just the one face.

[girlrotterr]

୨୧⠀⠀˙⠀leave without a trace⠀｡ ⠀꒱

artist!ellie x fashion designer!reader Summary: You attend an art exhibition where you unexpectedly lock eyes with your ex-girlfriend, Ellie Williams, whom you haven't seen in years. a/n: omg?! not me becoming consistent?! heavily inspired by "no one noticed" by the marias!!

The gallery is a cathedral of silence, punctuated only by the soft clicking of heels against the polished hardwood floor and the low murmur of voices echoing from every corner. The walls are a crisp, sterile white, meant to let the art breathe. But tonight, they seem oppressive, closing in on you as the weight of old memories seep through the cracks of time. You’re standing in the midst of it all, surrounded by strangers who admire Ellie’s work like they’re deciphering some abstract language.

But to you, it’s not abstract. It’s painfully familiar.

Your eyes drift over the crowd, catching fragments of conversation—chatter about technique, boldness, meaning—but they wash over you like background noise. Your mind is elsewhere, pinned in the past.

College felt like a lifetime ago.

It was chaotic, with you balancing late nights in the sewing lab, surrounded by mannequins and fabric swatches, while Ellie lived in the art studio, her hands constantly covered in charcoal, paint, or ink. There had been nights when you’d find her sprawled on the floor, sketching out her wildest ideas with frenzied energy, and you’d sit beside her, watching her create worlds you could only dream of.

Back then, you both were consumed by your passions and each other. She’d stay up late to help you finish a garment, sewing alongside you even though she hated it, just so she could be near. And you? You’d sit in on her critiques, quietly fuming when anyone dared to criticize her work, even though she could take it, even though she loved the fight. The memory of her smirk when she’d dismantle an argument from one of her professors—god, it still lingers.

But the fire that had burned so bright between you had also scorched everything in its path. 

You remember the late-night arguments, when both of you were too stubborn to apologize, too young to realize that passion wasn’t enough to hold everything together. The breakup wasn’t dramatic—no shouting, no tears. Just a slow unraveling, a quiet drifting apart until one day, it was done. She moved on. You moved on. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The years that followed had been a blur of fashion internships and city lights. You threw yourself into your work, traveling between studios, pouring every ounce of yourself into fabric, stitching your broken pieces into new designs. You hadn’t heard from her since. Not directly, anyway. You’d seen her name float around in the art world, her work gaining traction, and each time, you’d feel a pang of something you couldn’t quite name. Pride? Regret? A mixture of both.

And now, here you are, in her world once again.

Your gaze is drawn to the painting in front of you—a massive, turbulent landscape of violent brushstrokes and bold colors. The reds are fierce, like anger seething just beneath the surface, and the blues are deep, almost suffocating. It’s raw. Emotional. It feels like her. It feels like you. The two of you, tangled in something you couldn’t quite control. You step closer, your breath catching in your throat as you notice the delicate lines etched into the paint—small, subtle marks hidden beneath the chaos. You know those marks. She used to make them with the tip of her palette knife, carving out tiny details that most people wouldn’t notice unless they really looked.

You’re staring so intently at the painting that you almost miss the moment she walks into view.

Ellie.

The air shifts the second she enters your line of sight, like the whole room inhales in unison. Your heart stumbles over itself, beating out of rhythm, as if trying to catch up with the sudden rush of emotions flooding through you. You haven’t seen her in years, but it’s as though no time has passed at all.

She’s changed, but not in ways that feel unfamiliar. Her hair is still short, though it’s more trimed now, less uneven than you remember. She’s wearing that same damn brown jacket, the one she always wore like a second skin, only now it’s more worn, the creases deeper, the edges frayed. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, revealing the tattoo that winds around her forearm— you remember tracing with your fingers in quiet moments. There’s a confidence to her now, a steadiness that wasn’t there before, like she’s found some kind of peace, even if it’s only partial.

But then there’s her eyes. Still that piercing green, sharp enough to cut through glass, or in this case, through the crowd. You watch as she shifts her weight, one foot tapping lightly on the floor, her posture betraying a flicker of unease as she nods absentmindedly to whoever she’s speaking to. Her hands are deep in her pockets, her thumb worrying the edge of the denim, a sign that she’s restless. She used to do that when she didn’t want to be somewhere—when she was lost in thought, in another world entirely. 

You know her. You know her so well that it aches.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible string, her gaze lifts, scans the room, and lands on you.

It’s electric. The second your eyes meet, it’s like the ground shifts beneath you. Time folds in on itself, collapsing the years between you into this one fragile moment. You can see the shock in her expression, the way her brows twitch upward, just barely, before her features settle into something more controlled. But there’s no hiding the way her shoulders stiffen, or the slight parting of her lips like she’s forgotten how to breathe for just a second. 

You’re both standing still, two statues carved in the midst of a gallery filled with movement, but you may as well be the only people in the room. Her green eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something there—something that mirrors the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.

Recognition. Pain. Something unfinished.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the way your fingers tremble as you drop your gaze for just a second. When you look back up, she’s still watching you, her expression unreadable, a mask of calm that you know too well. But underneath it—god, you know there’s so much more. Years of silence. Years of things unsaid.

She doesn't move. And neither do you. 

You both just... stand there, holding onto the fragile tension between you like a thread waiting to snap. The air is heavy with what could be—what might’ve been—what still lingers between you like smoke from a fire that never quite burned out.

It’s your sophomore year, late spring. You remember because the air had that soft, electric warmth that made everything feel alive. You were both sitting on the edge of the campus fountain, surrounded by the sound of splashing water, the soft hum of people passing by, and the occasional flutter of birds overhead. Your fashion projects had been spread out between you—loose sketches and fabric samples fluttering in the light breeze—while Ellie’s hands were smeared with charcoal from a half-finished drawing she couldn’t quite get right.

“I don’t get how you do this,” she had muttered, frowning at one of your illustrations. She held it up to the light, squinting as if that would make the delicate lines make more sense. You had laughed, the sound coming out lighter than you’d intended, mostly because of how seriously she was studying your work. Like it was a puzzle she had to solve.

“It’s just fabric,” you’d teased, leaning closer to her to catch a glimpse of her concentrated expression. “You make art out of nothing but feelings—this should be easy for you.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Art out of feelings, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

You watched her for a second longer, your gaze tracing the familiar curve of her jawline, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the way her hair stuck up no matter how much she tried to tame it. There was a smudge of charcoal on her nose that she hadn’t noticed yet. You found yourself leaning in, almost without thinking, using your thumb to wipe it away. The moment your skin touched hers, her body went still—like you’d pressed pause on her every movement.

Her green eyes flicked to yours, and for the first time since you’d met, there was a shift. Something unspoken passed between you, heavy and undeniable, hanging in the air between your breaths. You were close—closer than you usually were. And you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, mixing with the spring warmth, making the space around you feel almost too small.

Ellie cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to your hand still lingering on her face. “You, uh… you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

The words came out before you could stop them. And then the silence stretched out, pulling taut as the world around you blurred and fell away. The distant laughter of students, the splashing water of the fountain—it all melted into the background until the only thing you could focus on was the way Ellie was looking at you.

It wasn’t a stare. It was deeper. Like she was seeing you for the first time, really seeing you.

You didn’t move. Neither of you did. Time slowed, and in that moment, every boundary you’d carefully drawn between friendship and something more started to dissolve. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, your chest tight with anticipation, with something you hadn’t let yourself name before now.

Ellie’s breath hitched, so soft you barely noticed. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” she murmured, her voice lower than usual.

“Why not?” Your voice trembled, betraying you.

Her eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and there it was—the thing you’d both been avoiding for months. The truth that had been simmering beneath every shared glance, every brush of hands, every late-night conversation when the rest of the world was asleep and it was just you and her, tangled up in each other’s lives without even realizing how deep it went.

“Because…” she hesitated, biting her lip as if searching for the right words. Her gaze softened, like she was caught in a struggle between fear and wanting. “Because I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

The air left your lungs in a rush, and before you could second-guess yourself, before the doubts and the what-ifs could pull you back, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first. Her lips brushed against yours, the faintest touch, as if she wasn’t sure you were real. But then—god—then she kissed you harder, her hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you in as though you were the answer to every question she hadn’t known how to ask. Her mouth tasted like spearmint gum and the faintest hint of cigarettes, warm and familiar. You melted into her, your hands gripping the edge of the fountain to keep yourself steady as everything around you spun.

In that kiss, there was no hesitation, no distance. Just the two of you, colliding in a moment that felt like it had been building for a lifetime. Her hands slid up your back, anchoring you to her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her fingers. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because you were kissing Ellie, and the rest of the world could’ve disappeared, and you wouldn’t have cared.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, you kept your forehead pressed against hers. The world had snapped back into focus around you—the chatter of campus life, the rustle of the wind in the trees—but it felt distant, muted, like it wasn’t quite real. Not compared to this.

Ellie’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at you like you were the only thing she could see. Her breath was still shaky, her lips swollen and flushed. She swallowed, hard, and whispered, “I… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”

But you silenced her with a gentle smile, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“You don’t have to explain.”

Because you both knew what it meant. You both knew that nothing would be the same after this, and you were okay with it. Maybe you were scared. Maybe she was too. But in that moment, wrapped up in the heat of the afternoon sun and the lingering taste of her on your lips, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was her.

The sound of your name pulls you back to the present. It’s bright and full of life, cutting through the thick haze of tension like a ray of sunlight. You turn just in time to see Dina pushing her way through the crowd, a grin spreading across her face as she practically bounces in your direction.

She’s the same as ever—sharp, effortlessly cool, with a wild energy that always made you feel like you were part of something big just by being near her. Her dark hair, tied up in a messy bun, hasn’t changed a bit, though there’s a new edge to her style—bold patterns clashing in a way only she could pull off.

Before you can even get a word out, she’s enveloping you in a tight hug, squeezing you so hard that you let out a laugh, the tension in your chest easing a little. She smells like lavender and cedarwood, familiar and grounding, and for a brief moment, the knot of emotions tangled in your stomach loosens.

“Oh my god, it’s been forever!” Dina practically yells, pulling back just enough to look at you, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. “I didn’t even know you were coming tonight! How the hell are you? You look amazing!”

You’re caught off guard by her energy, her enthusiasm wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You smile, shaking your head as you try to gather your thoughts. “I—yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I wasn’t sure I’d even make it, but, you know”

Dina snorts, rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, tell me about it. But seriously, I’m so glad you’re here! You—” she gestures at you with both hands, eyes wide as if she’s sizing you up, “—still killing it with the whole fashion thing, right? I saw your last collection! so damn chic! The textures, the layering—ugh, I wanted to steal every piece.”

You laugh, feeling a flush of pride at her words. “Thanks, Dina. I’m still trying to figure out what’s next, but I’m glad you liked it.”

“Liked it? Girl, I loved it.” Dina leans in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, between you and Ellie, the two of you were always the most talented people on campus. It’s wild seeing both of you making it big.”

The mention of Ellie’s name sends a ripple of tension down your spine, and suddenly, the room feels a little too warm again. You glance over Dina’s shoulder, and sure enough, Ellie is still standing there, watching the two of you. 

Dina follows your gaze, and when she spots Ellie, her face lights up even more. “Oh, shit, you haven’t seen her yet, have you?” Dina’s voice drops to a mischievous whisper, her grin widening. “This is gonna be good.”

Before you can protest, before you can even think of what to say or how to brace yourself, Dina’s already calling out, “Ellie! Hey! Get over here!”

Your heart skips a beat, your pulse quickening as Ellie’s eyes flicker to Dina. For a second, she looks like she might hesitate, like the distance between the two of you is a bridge she’s not sure she wants to cross. But then, with a slow exhale, she starts moving, weaving through the crowd with that effortless stride of hers—confident, but never cocky. 

And just like that, she’s standing in front of you.

Up close, the years between you seem even sharper. You can see the slight changes in her face— the way her lips quirk at one corner like she’s fighting a smile but doesn’t want to give in. Her green eyes, though, are as piercing as ever, and when they lock onto yours, you feel that same jolt of electricity you did back in college, the same spark that never really went out.

For a moment, no one says anything. The air is silent with unspoken words, with the history that hangs between you like a thread waiting to snap.

Ellie’s lips part, and she starts with something simple. “Hey.”

Dina, completely oblivious to the tension, claps her hands together with a grin. “Okay, this is weird for me. Two of my favorite people, standing here after all these years—this is like, full circle, right?”

You manage a small smile, though your throat feels tight. “Yeah. Full circle.”

Ellie shifts her weight, glancing at Dina with a wry smile before her gaze slides back to you. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, her voice soft, like she’s trying to keep things light.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Didn’t expect to be here either.”

But the words feel thin, hollow. Because standing this close to her, with the buzz of the gallery around you and the memories swirling like ghosts in the air, it’s impossible to ignore the truth.

This isn’t just a chance encounter. This is something you’ve both been avoiding for too long.

Dina shifts her weight, a perceptive glint in her eye as she surveys the two of you, the tension thick enough to slice through. She opens her mouth as if to say something—maybe to break the silence, to diffuse the moment—but then she pauses, that playful grin still dancing on her lips.

“Okay, you know what?” she says, clapping her hands together once more. “I just remembered I promised Jesse I’d check on him. He’s probably stuck at the snack table, drowning in mini quiches. So, I’ll be right back!” 

Before you can even respond, she’s off, weaving through the crowd with that effortless grace of hers, leaving you and Ellie standing there, caught in a moment that feels suspended in time. The sounds of the gallery fade into the background—the murmur of conversations, the soft clinking of glasses—until it’s just the two of you.

The silence stretches. 

Ellie shifts her weight again, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. You can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes, a whirlwind of emotions waiting to be unleashed, but the words seem to stick in her throat. 

“So, how’s the show been for you?” you finally ask, trying to fill the space, to ease the tightness that’s creeping in. Your voice sounds a bit steadier than you feel.

Ellie’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the corners of her mouth twitch up into a small, genuine smile. “It’s… good. Better than I expected, honestly.” She glances around, taking in the vibrant colors of her artwork, the way the lights catch the brushstrokes, illuminating the stories behind each piece. “It’s kind of surreal to see it all up here.”

You nod, watching her as she talks. There’s a light in her eyes that flickers with passion. 

“Your work is incredible, Ellie.”

She meets your gaze again, and there’s a flicker of something deeper in her expression—gratitude with a hint of vulnerability.

 “Thanks,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “I’ve been trying to push myself more lately.”

Your heart swells with her words, and the warmth of the moment wraps around you like a comforting embrace. But then, as if sensing the shift in the air, the gallery begins to swell with new energy. The crowd thickens, laughter and chatter rising, and the once-intimate space starts to feel almost claustrophobic.

Ellie’s expression changes slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. “I should probably go check in with some of the other guests,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” you reply, though a part of you aches at the thought of her leaving, of this moment slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

But before you can say anything else, she steps back, creating a small distance between you. “It was really good to see you,” she says, the words almost swallowed by the hum of the gallery.

You nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “You too, Ellie..”

It was winter. Cold, biting, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. You and Ellie were huddled in her tiny apartment just off campus, the one she’d insisted had “charm” but was really just a glorified box with bad heating. The windows fogged with condensation, and outside, snowflakes drifted lazily down onto the already blanketed streets. Inside, the space was warm and dim, lit by a single lamp in the corner and the flickering glow of a candle Ellie had lit for atmosphere.

But there was no warmth between you that night.

Ellie was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, her hands running through her hair, tugging at it the way she always did when she was frustrated, on the verge of losing control. Her movements were restless, sharp, filled with an energy that seemed like it would combust if she didn’t do something, say something. She wasn’t looking at you—she hadn’t been able to for the past hour. And you, sitting on the edge of her bed, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, could feel the distance between you growing with every step she took.

“I just… I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she muttered, almost to herself, her voice strained, barely holding together. She stopped pacing for a second, pressing her palms to her forehead, her elbows resting on the back of a chair. “I feel like I’m drowning. Every day, it’s like… like I’m waiting for something to go wrong, and I don’t even know what it is, but I can’t breathe.”

Her words hit you like cold water, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You’d been feeling it too, the unraveling, the way everything between you had started to fray at the edges. It wasn’t sudden. It had been slow, creeping in like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. Long nights turned into silent mornings. Conversations that used to be easy, light, now felt like stepping through a minefield. Every fight, every misunderstanding, left scars you hadn’t been able to heal.

But hearing her say it out loud… that made it real.

“Ellie…” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, like you were afraid of shattering the fragile air between you. “We can fix this. We just need to talk. We always work through things, right?”

She shook her head, her back still turned to you. You could see her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, as if she was trying to hold it all together. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, more broken. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve been working through things too much, you know? Like, we keep trying to fix it, but it’s not working.”

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening. The coldness of the room started to creep in, the warmth from the candle and the blankets no longer enough to fight it off. You stood up slowly, your legs shaky, and took a tentative step toward her. “Ellie, please—”

She spun around, and the look in her eyes stopped you in your tracks. They were red, bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept in days. And there was something else there—something raw, something you hadn’t seen before. Desperation, maybe. Or fear.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “But that’s all I’ve been doing, isn’t it? Every time we fight, every time I say the wrong thing or don’t say enough… it’s like I’m breaking you apart, piece by piece, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being the one who keeps doing this to you.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “You’re not—” you started, but she cut you off, shaking her head again.

“Yes, I am!” Her voice cracked, and suddenly, she wasn’t pacing anymore. She was standing still, facing you, her fists clenched at her sides like she was trying to hold herself together through sheer force of will. “You deserve better than this. Better than… than me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and final. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of the candle flickering in the corner, the distant rumble of a car passing by outside. You could feel the weight of what she was saying sinking into your skin, settling deep in your bones. She was pulling away, tearing out a piece of herself, a piece of you, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice trembling. You reached for her hand, desperate to hold onto something, anything, but she flinched, stepping back just out of reach. “Please, Ellie. We can fix this. We can figure it out, we always do.”

But she was already shaking her head again, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall. “No. I can’t… I can’t keep dragging you down with me. You deserve to be happy, and I don’t think I can give that to you anymore.”

Your heart broke then. It shattered, piece by piece, with every word she spoke. You wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, that you could make it work, that love was enough. But deep down, you knew. You’d both been unraveling for months, slipping through each other’s fingers like sand. And no matter how tightly you tried to hold on, it wasn’t enough.

Ellie took a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, barely audible. “I love you, but I don’t think I’m good for you anymore. And I can’t… I can’t keep pretending like I am.”

You stood there, frozen, as the words echoed in the small space between you. There was nothing left to say. Nothing that could change what was already happening. So, instead, you just nodded, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too heavy to protest.

She watched you for a moment longer, her eyes softening, filled with something that looked like regret, maybe even guilt. Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, leaving you standing there, the candle flickering weakly in the corner.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt like the final nail in the coffin. The room was suddenly too quiet, too cold, too empty.

And you were alone.

The night air cools your skin, but the warmth of the gallery lingers, wrapping around you like a heavy cloak. You take a few steps down the street, trying to steady your breath, trying to shake off the flood of emotions Ellie’s presence stirred up. But as you reach the edge of the block, something pulls you back—an invisible tether, tightening around your heart. You stop, glancing back toward the gallery, the soft glow of the lights spilling out onto the sidewalk, the hum of conversations still echoing in the air.

You’re not ready to leave. Not yet.

With a deep breath, you turn and step back inside, the warmth of the space enveloping you once more. The crowd has shifted, people moving around the artwork like currents in a river, but you’re not drawn to any of them. Instead, you find yourself wandering, letting your feet carry you through the gallery without any clear direction.

The pieces on the walls are beautiful—Ellie’s unmistakable style shines through in every brushstroke, every burst of color. But there’s something else here, something you can’t quite put your finger on. You continue walking, the noise around you dulling to a low murmur as you lose yourself in the art.

And then, you see it.

Tucked away in a corner of the gallery, slightly off the main flow of the exhibition, is a painting that stops you in your tracks. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything else falls away—the crowd, the noise, even the memory of Ellie standing just a few feet from you moments ago.

The painting is large, dominating the wall with its raw, unfiltered intimacy. The colors are rich, deep tones of reds and golds and shadows that dance across the canvas like firelight. And in the center, almost hidden in the interplay of light and dark, are two figures—tangled together, their bodies intertwined in a way that leaves no room for doubt. The lines are soft, delicate, but there’s a fierceness to the way the brushstrokes capture the curve of a back, the arch of a neck, the way two sets of hands grip each other as if holding on for dear life.

It’s you and Ellie.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a step closer, your pulse quickening with every detail that comes into focus. The figures are not exact replicas, not perfect portraits, but there’s no mistaking it—the shape of your body, the curve of Ellie’s form. The familiarity in the way your hands touch, the way your legs are tangled together, skin on skin, lost in the moment of sex.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as the memories flood back. The night in question comes rushing to the surface—one of those endless nights in college, when the world outside had ceased to matter, and all that existed was the space between you and Ellie. The way her breath had felt against your skin, the soft murmur of her voice in your ear, the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in a world of chaos.

It’s all there, captured in the brushstrokes. The vulnerability, the connection, the way you’d both been completely unguarded with each other in a way that had felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The memory is so visceral, it’s like being pulled back in time, your body remembering the touch of her hands, the feel of her lips against yours.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, your eyes tracing every detail of the painting. It’s beautiful, in a way that makes your chest ache, but it’s also unmistakably private. This moment was yours—yours and Ellie’s—and seeing it laid bare here, for everyone to see, feels almost too intimate, like a secret exposed.

Your breath hitches as your mind races. Did Ellie mean for this to be here? Was it a message? Or just a piece of her past she needed to exorcise, to let out into the world in the only way she knew how?

You take another step closer, your eyes fixated on the way the light plays off the figures—your figure—highlighting the delicate curve of your waist, the way Ellie’s arm wraps around you, pulling you closer. It’s so raw, so unapologetic, and the emotions it stirs up are almost too much to bear.

You stand there, your heart hammering in your chest, you hear the soft creak of footsteps behind you. You know, without turning around, who it is. Ellie’s presence fills the space before she even speaks, the air between you charged with an intensity that has been building all night.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You can feel her eyes on the painting, then on you, her silence heavy with meaning. She’s watching your reaction, waiting—maybe even bracing—for what you’ll say, for how you’ll respond. You want to say something, anything, but the words seem lodged in your throat.

Finally, Ellie breaks the silence. Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a vulnerability to it that makes your chest tighten. “It’s… from a long time ago,” she says, the words almost a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would see it and know..”

You swallow hard, still unable to tear your eyes away from the painting. “It’s us,” you say, the words barely audible, but Ellie hears them. You can feel her nod behind you, even though she doesn’t say anything.

Another beat of silence stretches between you, the weight of the past pressing down on you both. And then Ellie speaks again, her voice lower now, more grounded. “I didn’t know how else to… capture it. It was the only way I could make sense of everything.”

You finally turn to look at her, and the sight of her standing there, just inches away, sends a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you. Her face is softer now, the hard edges you saw earlier had smoothed away. Just her, standing there, vulnerable and exposed in a way that mirrors the painting on the wall.

For the first time all night, the space between you feels real. Heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid for years.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words are still out of reach. Instead, all you can do is look at her, your chest tight with the weight of everything this painting has stirred up. There’s a part of you that wants to step closer, to reach out and touch her like you used to, to see if the connection that once burned so brightly between you still lingers in the spaces where your skin meets hers.

But for now, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest, the memory of that night—of her —playing over and over in your mind like a song you thought you’d forgotten.

Somehow, you ended up here—Ellie’s apartment. You’re not sure how it happened. Maybe it was the tension in the gallery, the weight of the memories between you, or maybe it was Ellie’s quiet, almost tentative offer: “Do you want to come over for a bit?”

Now, the door closes softly behind you, and you find yourself standing in the small entryway of her apartment, the familiar scent of her space—wood, paint, and that faint earthy musk of hers—hitting you all at once. It’s like stepping back into a life you’d long since tried to leave behind, except everything feels slightly off now, like a song that’s being played just a little too slow.

The silence stretches between you, awkward and thick, as Ellie moves past you into the living room. Her apartment is small, but cozy. Messy in the way an artist’s space always is, with scattered paintbrushes, canvases propped up against the walls, and sketchbooks overflowing with half-finished ideas. It’s not much different from the space she had in college, except this time, the mess feels more intentional—like it’s been lived in, not just occupied.

You hover near the door, unsure of where to put your hands, unsure of where to put yourself. The air between you is charged, but not in the electric way it had been back in the gallery.

Ellie clears her throat, scratching the back of her neck as she moves around the space, avoiding your gaze. 

“Uh, you can sit if you want,” she says, motioning vaguely toward the worn, comfortable-looking couch that’s pushed against the far wall. “I’ll grab some drinks.”

You nod, grateful for something to do, even if it’s just sitting down. The cushions sag beneath you, and you can’t help but remember the nights you’d spent like this before, curled up together on whatever hand-me-down couch she had at the time, talking for hours, or sometimes not talking at all. Just being.

But this isn’t like before.

Ellie disappears into the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to look around. There’s an easel in the corner with a half-finished painting—a cityscape this time, vibrant with color and movement. The table next to it is cluttered with tubes of paint, brushes, and crumpled pieces of paper with rough sketches. It’s Ellie’s world, laid out in front of you, and yet you feel like a stranger in it now.

The awkwardness creeps up your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach as you wait, the quiet stretching on and on. You can hear Ellie moving in the kitchen—bottles clinking, the soft sound of the fridge opening and closing. It should feel normal, familiar. But it doesn’t.

After what feels like too long, Ellie finally returns, two bottles of beer in hand. She hands you one without a word, her fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through you, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

Ellie sits on the opposite end of the couch, as far from you as the small space allows. She takes a swig of her beer, her gaze flicking to the window instead of meeting yours, her posture stiff and uncertain. You take a drink, too, trying to focus on the bitter taste of the beer instead of the way the room feels too small, too quiet.

The silence stretches again, awkward and heavy, like neither of you knows how to bridge the gap. The weight of the past hangs between you—unspoken, but impossible to ignore. You’re both dancing around it, unwilling to dive in, yet neither of you knows how to avoid it.

“How long have you been working on the pieces for the show?” you ask, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything.

Ellie shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. “A while. A couple of years, I guess.”

You nod, not really sure what to say. 

You can feel her eyes on you—intense and heavy. 

“I don’t think I ever forgot how it felt.” she blurts out, her voice low and husky.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as the weight of her words hits you. You know exactly what she means. The memory of her hands on your body, the heat of her breath against your skin—it all comes rushing back, sharper now, more immediate.

Ellie leans back against the couch, her legs spreading just slightly as she sets her beer down on the floor with a soft thunk. She’s still watching you, the unspoken desire hanging thick in the air between you. It’s a look you recognize all too well—a look that used to drive you wild, that used to make you ache for her touch in a way that felt almost unbearable.

And now, sitting here in her apartment, that same ache is starting to stir inside you again.

“I know it’s been a long time,” she murmurs, her voice soft, “But I’ve been thinking about you. About us. ”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your body reacting, your skin prickling with heat as the space between you seems to shrink. You can see the way her chest rises and falls with each slow breath, the tension in her body barely restrained. It’s like she’s holding herself back—just barely—but there’s no mistaking the hunger in her eyes, the way her gaze keeps flicking to your lips, your body, like she’s already imagining what it would feel like to close the distance.

You know you should say something, should acknowledge the fire that’s rapidly spreading between you, but you can’t find the words. All you can do is watch as Ellie shifts closer, her movements slow, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t want you,” she says, her voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. There’s no hesitation anymore, no awkwardness, just pure, unfiltered desire. “Because I do. I always have.”

The confession hangs in the air, bold and dangerous, and it takes everything in you not to close the gap between you and her right then and there. Your body is already reacting, your pulse racing, your breath coming faster as the tension between you reaches a fever pitch.

Ellie leans in slightly, her face inches from yours, her lips so close you can feel the heat of her breath against your skin. Her hand moves to your thigh, the touch light but deliberate, her fingers pressing against you in a way that sends a jolt of heat straight through your core. It’s a touch that’s both familiar and new, reigniting the fire that had once burned so brightly between you.

“You remember how good it was, don’t you?” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Your breath hitches, and you feel your body responding, your skin buzzing with the memory of her touch, the way she used to know exactly how to drive you wild. The pull between you is too strong now, the desire too overwhelming to ignore. You want her—desperately—and you can see the same hunger reflected in her eyes, the way her hand tightens slightly on your thigh, her grip firm. 

“Ellie…” you breathe, your voice a whisper, but she hears it. She always hears you.

She moves even closer, her lips brushing against your neck now, the warmth of her breath sending a rush of heat through your body. “Tell me you want this,” she murmurs, her voice rough with desire. “Tell me you want me.”

Your mind is spinning, your heart racing as you feel the full weight of her body leaning into you, her hand sliding further up your thigh, her touch firm. You can barely think straight, the heat between you unbearable now, every nerve in your body on fire as she presses her lips against your neck, soft but insistent.

“I want you..” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. And as soon as they leave your lips, Ellie’s restraint shatters.

In an instant, her lips are on yours, the kiss rough and desperate, all the tension and desire that’s been building between you exploding in a surge of heat. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer as if she can’t get enough of you. The kiss is hungry, wild, like she’s been starving for you for years, and now that she has you again, she’s not going to let go.

Your body reacts instinctively, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer as you lose yourself.  It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, the intensity of her touch, the way she knows exactly how to make you melt beneath her.

Ellie pulls you onto her lap, her hands gripping your hips, and you can feel the hardness of her body beneath you, the strength in her arms as she holds you close, her lips never leaving yours. It’s rough, raw, and so intensely familiar, like falling back into a rhythm you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

Ellie pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and wild with need. “I need you,” she whimpers. 

In a rush, your hands find the hem of ellie’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head. You toss it aside without a second thought, your eyes immediately drawn to her bare torso—her tattoo twisting along her arm, her skin flushed with heat. For a moment, you pause, breathless, as you take her in. She’s gorgeous. Strong and lean, every muscle under her skin defined, her freckles scattered across her chest like stars in the night.

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling heavily as she watches you, her lips slightly parted, her eyes burning with want. But she doesn’t say a word. Instead, her hands move to your shirt, tugging it up in one swift motion. You lift your arms, letting her pull it over your head before it, too, is discarded in the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Her gaze drops immediately, her eyes sweeping over your body. 

There’s something in the way she looks at you—something intense,that makes your skin burn under her. Ellie’s hands rest on your bare waist now, her fingers brushing over your skin as she takes you in.

“Ellie…” you breathe, the sound a mixture of a plea and a gasp, urging her to continue.

“Fuck…” she mutters, almost to herself as she leans back slightly to get a better view. Her hands slide up your sides, fingers trailing over the curve of your breasts, the sensation sending a shiver through your entire body. She looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, her eyes dark with want, her touch slow, as if she’s savoring every second, every inch of you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Ellie whispers, she’s taking her time now, her hands exploring every inch of your skin, her fingers brushing over your collarbone, tracing the line of your ribs, before they move back up, cupping your breasts with a gentleness that contrasts the raw hunger in her eyes.

You reach for her, your hands roaming over her body, feeling the strength of her shoulders, the hard lines of muscle beneath her skin.  Your hands move lower, exploring the soft dip of her waist, the way her body feels beneath your touch—strong, every muscle tensing under your fingers as you stroke her skin. You let your fingers trace the outline of her abs, feeling the way her body responds to your touch, the way her breath hitches every time your hands move lower.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an sudden urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction sending pulses along your clit. You feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction making you pulsate. You can feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

“n-need to feel you,” she gasps, her voice wavering on the edge of breaking, raw and desperate. The intensity in her eyes makes your heart race, an unquenchable thirst that mirrors your own.

You begin to grind against her, your slick meeting her puffy clit, the sensation making you gasp as the friction builds. 

“Oh god, please..” you whimper, a moan escaping your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way your bodies move together, the way every roll of your hips sends ripples of pleasure through both your pussies. 

“Fuck,” ellie breathes, her voice low and filled with a mix of need and awe, her eyes locked onto yours as you move together, a slow, delicious rhythm that feels like it’s been waiting for this moment for years. 

“Come here,” she begs, pulling you closer, her grip tightening as you continue to grind against her. The slick sound echos in the air, mingling with the soft moans that slip from your lips.  Each sound you makes pulls ellie deeper, melody that makes her crave more. 

Ellie shifts beneath you, her body arching in a way that allows you to scissor closer. You can see the way her chest rises and falls, each breath heavy. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lost in the sensations, and ellie takes the opportunity to lean down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “You feel so fucking good, baby.” 

The sound of her voice makes your pussy pulsate, your eyes snapping open as they lock onto hers.  “d-don’t stop,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “I need m-more.”

“God, you’re s-so fucking good,” she whispers, her voice thick with desire, her gaze locked on yours, as if she’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment. 

Ellie’s hands slide down your body, exploring every curve, every contour as she pulls you closer, her fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks that will linger long after this night.

“Ellie...” you breathe, the name falling from your mouth like a prayer. “Please, I need to feel you closer,” you whisper, voice all shaky. 

Ellie gives in to the rhythm, moving faster, harder, each thrust sending shudders of pleasure racing through both of you. Your moans come out loud and whiny, mingling with Ellie’s desperate gasps. 

“Fuck, yes!” You breathe, your body arching into hers, your hands gripping her arms as she pulls you closer. You can feel the tension building between you, the way your body responds together, every roll of your hips bringing you both closer to cumming. 

“Don’t stop!” Ellie lets out a soft cry, her body tensing beneath you as the pleasure washes over her. You feel the way her body responds to yours, and it sends you tumbling over the edge, your own pleasure crashing down, pulling you both into ecstasy. 

You collapse against her, breathless and trembling, the world around you fading away as you savor the warmth of her body against yours, the softness of her skin, and the way your bodies still pulse. 

You turn your head slightly, your eyes catching a glimpse of the half-finished paintings scattered around her apartment, the abstract strokes, the splashes of color that seem almost chaotic, like her thoughts spilled out onto the canvas. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll be another one of those unfinished things—something she can’t quite complete, something left unresolved, a work in progress that she never intended to finish.

There’s a lump forming in your throat, but you push it down.

You won’t wake up to her. Not tomorrow, not ever. Ellie will go back to her life, and you’ll go back to yours, and this night will fade into the past, becoming another memory, another fragment of what you once had together.

With a quiet sigh, you press a gentle kiss to her shoulder. 

[beewolfwrites]

You write so well that I'm surprised you haven't been totally flooded with requests yet, but I have one for you :)). Couple of ideas, so either a) kinda angsty-but-in-a-fluffy-way slightly possessive/jealous Chishiya or b) Reader celebrates his birthday with him. No pressure to do either!! Love your work Xx

Okay, so this is extraordinarily late. Like a month or so late. But if you're still out there anon, I hope you enjoyed this little snippet of both jealous Chishiya and birthday-boi Chishiya.

(For those who still have the saint-like patience of waiting for my fic updates, I do have an update written, I just need to edit it. It will be coming, I promise!)

---------------------------------------------------------------

Chishiya had never cared about birthdays. It was just a day that marked a year’s passing, and nothing more. The sun rose and set like it always did, and the only reason it was considered ‘special’ was because society deemed it so.

And you.

You had wanted it to be special too. That’s why you insisted on taking him out to the Italian restaurant that had just opened up nearby. It was also why he’d quietly gone along with it, because even if this day was nothing much to him, it seemed to mean something to you.

‘How’s the pizza?’

Your voice brought him back to the tiny table for two, a small candle flickering between you in the ambient dim light. A smooth piano tinkled from hidden speakers, blurring the background conversations of couples and friends engrossed in smiles and flirtations.

‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘The tortellini?’

‘It’s so good! I’d let you try some but I kind of want it all.’ You grinned and took a possessive bite of your pumpkin tortellini.

He’d selected the first thing he saw on the menu - a seafood pizza - while you’d taken your time choosing. He wasn’t blind. You’d made a show of closely inspecting the menu, only to insist on choosing the cheapest dish. Typical. With some sly persuasion, he’d managed to get you to switch to one a little further down.

It was supposed to be a special day, after all. And it was, if not for one thing.

‘How is everything here?’ The waiter sidled up to the table, smiling cordially. ‘Can I get you anything else?

Chishiya really wasn’t blind. This man, this waiter, with his slicked back hair and neatly pressed white shirt, was starting to grate at his nerves. He consistently appeared just as the two of you were just beginning to enjoy a conversation, butting in at the most inopportune moment, smiling only at you.

It was as if Chishiya didn’t exist. A truly special day, indeed.

You beamed and shook your head. ‘We’re okay, thanks.’

‘Are you sure?’ The waiter had turned his back to Chishiya, addressing you alone. ‘I can ask the chef for whatever you’d like. We have a wonderful desserts menu.’

Ridiculous. They’d barely even managed to touch their main meal without being interrupted.

‘Really, we’re totally fine here,’ you insisted. ‘Thank you though.’

His eyes crinkled with something that definitely wasn’t professional. ‘Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need—’

‘I believe you’ve got customers to attend to.’

The waiter’s smile dropped. He blinked, as if noticing your partner for the first time. Chishiya raised an unimpressed brow and stared pointedly at a group of four waiting by the door to be seated.

The waiter muttered a quick ‘excuse me’ and left to attend to the new customers. Chishiya was almost grateful that they had arrived, as it gave him the perfect opportunity to draw a very clear line between you and the waiter. Something that hadn’t gone amiss.

‘Hmm. That was kind of rude.’

Chishiya took a sip of his water. Tap, as always. ‘And he wasn’t?

‘Okay, he was coming on a bit strong,’ you agreed, picking up your wine glass and swirling the deep burgundy. ‘Though I didn’t expect you to be so…’

‘So?’

You took a sip of wine and tilted your head. ‘So jealous. I’m surprised.’

Chishiya quietly snickered. You had completely misunderstood the situation. He was simply defending what was his, and that was all.

‘Jealous? No.’

He shifted forwards until the light threw glowing patterns in his dark eyes. His cool fingers wrapped around your wrist, and he pulled the wine glass away from your lips.

‘It’s my day, isn’t it? So keep your eyes on me.’

The heat of the candle warmed your skin as you leaned in closer, meeting him halfway with a teasing smile. ‘Don’t I always.’

[sergeantsporks]

Moving On

General Audiences

Gen, with some background Staja and Jlaire

Everyone seems to be moving on after the battle against Bellroc. Douxie seems to be the only one who can’t

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32747662

Or read under the cut

Jim had the chance to fix it all—to go back in time and keep everything from happening.

And he chose not to.

He said they had to soldier on. To carry the burden, respect the dead. He’d destroyed the time stone.

Douxie knew, in his heart of hearts, that he was right. That time travel would only bring more heartache—he knew that from experience. He knew that meddling with time was a bad idea. He knew that knowing the future was a responsibility, he knew that you couldn’t just “fix” everything. Jim was doing the right thing.

But JIM hadn’t lost everything.

Jim still had his girlfriend.

Jim still had his mother.

Jim still had Blinky, and AAARRRGH!!!.

Jim had lost Strickler, yes. And he’d lost his best friend. He hadn’t made it out unscathed, Douxie knew that. He knew he had no right to be angry at Jim for his choice, his RIGHT choice.

That didn’t make it any better.

That didn’t stop the raging, sick feeling in Douxie’s stomach as he thought about a future without Archie. Without Nari—even though he’d only been with the demigod a year or so, she was FAMILY. He’d put off his feelings for the fight—he’d moved on fast because he’d had to move on fast—but those feelings were catching up to him.

Claire was comforting Jim. Douxie stumbled away from the scene.

It wasn’t fair.

Krel and Aja hadn’t lost anyone—in fact, they’d gained about 7 someones. Good for them—at least they’d gotten out of this unscathed.

Jim and Claire had lost their friend. Jim had lost Strickler. But they still had others, their families.

Douxie had lost everything.

He still had Claire, of course, and Jim, and Steve.

But he’d never been their top priority—Jim and Claire had each other, and Steve had Aja, and Eli. And that had been FINE, he didn’t NEED to be everyone’s top priority. He’d had Archie and Nari, and he’d made them HIS top priority. And he’d been theirs.

But now?

Now, he’d lost them.

Nobody seemed to notice him go. They were mourning Toby. Of course they were mourning Toby, of course they SHOULD mourn Toby. It wasn’t fair to put his feelings over theirs—this wound was fresh. Of course they should have time to grieve. That was only fair.

Fair, fair, fair, fair.

Nothing was fair.

When he was far enough that he wouldn’t disrupt their mourning, Douxie finally gave out. He collapsed to his knees with a scream, a burst of magic breaking anything nearby that the titan hadn’t already destroyed. He pounded one fist into the ground, his vision blurring with tears and blue magic.

Nari.

Archie.

And he’d lost others, too, some time ago, but the new grief brought up old loss.

Merlin.

Morgana.

His parents, who he’d never known.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!

Douxie punched the ground again. His knuckles slammed into broken glass and stone, but he didn’t care. He screamed out a sob, pressing his arms to his stomach, bent over double. Magic was emotion—and his was out of control. Blasts of energy were pulsing out of him in random bursts, clearing the area of rubble.

The magic and screaming faded to ugly, heaving, sobs.

No one had noticed.

No one had come to see where he’d gone.

Nobody noticed that he was hurting, too. That his whole life had been torn to shreds in the last 18 hours, and there was no fixing it.

Well, there had been a chance to fix it. But even that chance was gone, now.

Douxie would have given it all up—his staff, Merlin’s approval, everything—to see Archie and Nari again.

But he didn’t have that option.

The funeral passed in a blur. When his friends asked what happened to his hand, Douxie shrugged and said it must have happened in the fight. Everyone cried when they talked about Toby. About Strickler. Even Nomura got a few tears. Everyone cried for Archie and Nari.

Everyone but Douxie.

He didn’t think he could.

They asked if he wanted to say a few words for them, since he’d been the closest to them.

He couldn’t do that, either.

That would mean accepting that they were gone.

Archie wasn’t even dead. He just had to find him, he just had to—

“Douxie?” Claire took his bandaged hand. “You know we’re here, right? You don’t have to do this alone.”

Right. But he was alone. Archie had been there for him before—Archie had been his confidante, Archie had been the one he’d brought his feelings to. Archie.

Douxie clutched Claire’s hand so tight the tips of her fingers turned white. “You can—Archie’s not dead, you can find him. We can portal in, we can—”

“Douxie—Douxie, we can’t. The den is protected against my magic. Remember?”

He turned desperately to Krel. “The wormhole—they wouldn’t know to protect against that, you can open up a wormhole into it, then, right?!”

But Krel was shaking his head, too, “Not without coordinates—which we don’t have. I can’t lock in on feelings like Claire can.

If Nari had been here, her empathy magic would have been able to find coordinates.

But Nari wasn’t here.

And neither was Archie.

Jim wandered over, wiping his eyes. “Douxie. I’m sorry. I know you lost people, too.”

That didn’t even begin to cover it, but Douxie nodded and said thank you, and left.

The world went on.

Everyone else seemed to be moving on.

They had a memorial service every anniversary.

Jim, Barbara, and Claire brought flowers to the graveyard every weekend. Douxie planted some live ones on the empty grave that marked Nari’s date of death and let them grow wild.

It was what she would have wanted.

Everyone else seemed to keep going.

They went to work.

They finished school.

The learned to laugh again.

Everyone but Douxie.

Douxie scoured Merlin’s grimoire for clues that could bring Nari back—bring back Nari, bring back Archie with a wormhole. Easy. But there were none.

So he raided what was left of the bookstore. He read and read and read until he was sick of words, until his eyes were strained and he couldn’t see far away anymore.

But there wasn’t anything in the bookstore, either.

He moved on to the Camelot libraries.

He forgot to eat most days. Even on the days Jim showed up and cooked for him, Claire would clear away untouched plates.

And who needed sleep anyway?

Years passed. Years. He’d made it halfway through the Camelot library.

Except he couldn’t summon the energy to climb the library ladder anymore. He brought books down from the top shelves with magic, and discovered it was easier. So he stayed at his table, magic cycling books through.

He had to tie his hair back in ponytails and braids to keep it out of his face. The blue color had faded out of it, leaving it its natural black.

He missed Jim and Claire’s wedding, despite the fact that it took place a few doors away.

He missed Steve and Aja’s children growing up.

But he’d waited 900 years for Merlin. Surely he could work at least that long on getting Archie and Nari back.

Some days, he broke down and threw books across the room, angry at himself, at the Order, at Archie and Nari.

Other days, he’d stare at the wall for hours at a time, his magic waiting to clear away books he wasn’t reading.

Some days, he ran through the empty halls of Camelot, sure he’d seen Archie’s tail whipping around a corner. Sure he’d seen a flash of green.

He never really had.

On those days, he couldn’t make it back to the library. He’d collapse in the hallway, trying to summon enough energy to get up and keep going.

It was on one of those days that a shadow portal opened underneath him, dumping him neatly on a couch. Claire was waiting, her arms crossed. When had she gotten so mature and beautiful? And when had Jim, who was standing next to her, gotten so tall?

“Enough,” Claire snapped.

Jim put a hand on her shoulder. “What Claire is trying to say,” he said gently, “Is we’re worried about you. We have been for a while.”

“We were giving you time,” Blinky said quietly, “Time passes differently for wizards and trolls than for humans. We thought if we gave you a few years, tried to support you, you’d move on. Like the rest of us have—even AAARRRGH!!! But you cannot go on like this.”

Looking at the troll made a revelation drop on Douxie’s head. “I’ve been looking in the wrong place! Blinky, I need all of your books, I need to find out how to get into a troll market without the bridge, there is a way, I just—”

“NO!” Claire yelled, “No more research! No more books! Stop! Just… stop.” Her voice broke. “Douxie, you’re not okay. You’ve wasted away, and you can hardly walk. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You just read, and read, and read, and for WHAT?! Archie and Nari wouldn’t want you to waste your life like this!”

“I’m fine!” he protested.

Claire swiveled a makeup mirror towards him. “Look at yourself! Do you look fine?!”

Douxie stared at the reflection. It was a stranger. Claire and Jim had gotten older, had changed.

He’d stayed the same age.

But he’d changed, too.

His face was pale, gaunt, cheeks sunken in. The shadows under his eyes had always been prominent, but now they were so dark Claire could probably use them to make portals. His hair had gotten long, and dull.

And his eyes.

They were desperate. Tired. Strained.

And so, so sad.

Claire sat down next to him, taking his hands. “Archie and Nari are gone, Douxie,” she said, her voice cracking again, “Toby’s gone, Strickler’s gone, Nomura’s gone—we get it. It hurts. But they’re dead, and they’re not coming back. It doesn’t matter how much you destroy your health. It doesn’t matter how many nights you stay up, how many meals you skip, how many books you read. They aren’t coming back. You can’t keep going on like this. You said you hoped Archie would be happy. Don’t you think he’d want you to do the same?”

And Douxie finally broke down crying.

He hadn’t cried like this since the day it had all gone wrong. Since he’d first realized that he was alone.

He sobbed into Claire’s shoulder, ugly, heaving sobs that made his chest hurt. He cried all of the tears he couldn’t cry at the funerals. He cried all of the tears he’d held in on frustrating nights when he’d nearly given up. He cried until he didn’t have any tears left.

And Claire let him. She hugged him tightly—she’d gotten older. His student had become an adult. And he’d missed it. He’d missed so much.

“What—what do I do now?” he hiccupped, “They’re gone—and if I can’t get them back, what do I do?”

Jim put a hand on his shoulder. “The same thing we all did, the same thing we should have helped you do at the beginning, instead of letting you go this far alone, the same thing we’re going to help you do now. Shoulder the burden. Heal. And move on.”

[rosecolouredmind]

Savior

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Three:

The Broken Boy

Now there were two.

Or at least, the only sounds being made now were the quiet sobs still being let out from the poor figure now in front of you.

You’d sent Lucifer away with a banishment sigil, though with how powerful he was and your lack of familiarity with your domain, he should be back soon. You felt a lot more drained than you did when you first came in, the spell taking a lot out of you. You now realized that your visit came with a time limit, and would only last as long as the remaining energy in your core did. The flesh acheron had you currently separated from the stars, so it was only natural that your power was unable to replenish itself here.

But at least, now you were alone with the boy.

You exerted a bit more power to make the space a more welcoming, eliminating the eerie red scenery in exchange for something milder. An endless white replaced it in a flash; you weren’t exactly a living human for long and didn’t know much about what comforted them, you realized glumly.

It seemed as if they boy didn’t notice the change in scenery, failing to even flinch. Back and forth, back and forth. He endlessly rocked as mumbled jargon poured listlessly from his mouth. Though it isn’t your first time pitying humans, this was the first time that you were face to face with the cruelty Fate was capable of. The sentiment fed into your growing discomfort with the situation.

Cautiously, you drew closer. Once you stopped in front of him, you slowly lowered yourself until you were truly able to look him in the face.

Dampened hair stuck to his forehead, pale and leaking a cold sweat. Raised goosebumps clearly visible over taught muscles were felt under your fingertips, gently stroking his arm in comfort.

A sharp gasp and a quick hand nearly made you yelp out in shock yourself, your wrist now held in a tight grasp. Panicked eyes met your own, dark and deep and boding. You felt your very soul tremble as if it were crying, as if you were crying.

It wasn’t until you noticeably felt a liquid drop culminate at the tip of your nose before splattering did you realize that you were.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you cooed, attempting to make eye contact. 

Your gaze meets frantic mirrors of desperation, anguish and torture reflecting in the muddy pools that stared back at you. 

As if it was natural to you, your hands rise to caress his face. His skin feels warm beneath your fingers, and you hold back a shudder. Concentrating, you focused deep on the constant thrumming of your soul and willed your core to mimic these pulsations through your body and out your fingertips, your hands now glowing the color of moonlight.

You can’t undo what Lucifer has done and possibly will do to him, but you were confident that you could make your presence a beacon and relieve some of the burden for him.

The boy leaned into your hands, and for a long while you just watched entranced as his eyelids fluttered while he took the time he needed to calm down. Finally, he looked up at you. The panic had now been replaced with sheer exhaustion, and you wanted nothing more than to protect him.

“Who are you?” he croaked, eyes flooding in tears. They flowed silently down his face, following familiar track marks of the rivers before them. His fingers tightened around yours, afraid of letting go. Afraid that if he let go, you would disappear. This was the first time he felt relief in what felt like an eternity, and all he could focus on was the figure in front him. You paid no mind to his tight grip, electing to settle yourself between his knees, getting as close as you possibly could.

“I’m here to help you, it’s okay,” you repeat softly.

“Wh-where did he go? The...the Dark Lord,” he quivered, muscles tensing up at the mere thought of the man. You felt your heart go out to him, your own eyes becoming misty as well.

“I sent him...away. He will return, but not for a while at least.”

Of course you couldn’t separate them completely, this was still in part Lucifer’s mind as well, and you had an inkling that although this wasn’t the actual place, the flesh acheron, this boy’s body, was somewhere in Hell. Your energies felt off, as if they didn’t belong. That would normally only happen in a territory outside of the scope of a stela’s domain, and Hell fit that description perfectly.

Your powers weren’t nearly as strong here, and you could only offer him temporary reprieve. But it is something, and that’s all that matters.

“What’s your name?” you question, intending on keeping him present and away from the dark, straying thoughts no doubt threatening to plague his mind. He stayed silent for a while, attempting to anchor himself while he focused on the near healing effect you radiated.

“...It’s Nick,” he eventually responded.

“Okay, Nick, tell me. What makes you happy?”

Nick thought for a long while, but couldn’t gather his thoughts. His mind had been ravaged so thoroughly by the Dark Lord that any notions of happiness had long since been replaced by terrors he could only have imagined before being tortured by Satan himself. He started to shake his head, then more and more vigorously. You reached for his face again, realizing your question set off another round of panic.

“That’s okay Nick, you don’t have to think about it. How about we go somewhere that makes me happy instead, hm?”

Your creativity and knowledge of the human mind was close to zero, but there was once place you’d always wanted to see.

You had Nick close his eyes as you closed your own, visualizing the sights and sounds you wanted to experience. Soon, the soothing crash of waves could be heard in the background, your eyes opening to an expanse of sand being gently eroded by the clear blue water of the ocean. You felt a bit weaker at the manifestation, but the boy in your arms was even more so, and your heart went out to him.

You shifted yourself so Nick’s forehead was now resting on your chest, giving him all the time he needed to settle before he opened his eyes again.

His breathing was deeper now, and less erratic. You waited for it to become completely even before you attempted to speak again, Nick lifting his head in order to study your features.

“I’ve always wanted to see the ocean,” you sigh gently. “I wasn’t able to when I was human.”

“Why not?” he asked quizzically, resulting in a smile from you. You were glad he was speaking, and continued to talk before he got distracted again.

“I died very, very young. I hadn’t really even started my life before the Fates took me for their purpose,” you explained. “And after that, well, I never really thought I’d see Earth again so there wasn’t much of a point.”

You tried coaxing more out of him, like his name, likes, dislikes. His answers were simple, and he had to think about some a lot longer than others, but he put effort into answering each question. You continued to describe your ties to fate to him as he patiently listened. He nodded along thoughtfully, before going quiet again.

“Nick?” you question, worry laced in your tone.

“Is this really what Fate had planned for me?” he asked quietly, looking down at his knees. Tears instantly blurred your vision once again, but you didn’t acknowledge them.

“No, sweetie, of course not,” you grab his face once again. His watery eyes mirror yours, yet you refused to let the first one fall.

“Your fate is so much more than this. This is only temporary. You have to believe me on that.” you urge.

“But I’m tired,” the sheer amount of hopelessness emitted off him in waves. “I don’t think I can make it,” the break in his voice was enough to collapse the dam on your tears, and you clutched him to your chest.

“No, baby, no. You can. You’re strong. I’ll be here for you. I’ll come back.”

“You promise?” he cracked.

“I promise.”

You held him for a while longer, shushing him against the rumble of the waves as you stared out at the water. You’d never felt more determined to do something in your life, but you will save this boy. You meant it with your heart and soul.

A while later you felt your figure start to fade, and you knew your borrowed time in Hell had reached its end. Nick frantically began clutching at you, using one hand to caress your face like you had his, “Will you really come back?”

Begging eyes pinned your soul down and for the first time in your life, you cursed the fates. Cursed how they could allow this boy to suffer far more than he deserved, and put you in a position to witness it. No one deserved this. Not even the fickle humans. If they were meant to suffer like this...

Maybe this was what you were sent to Earth for.

Visiting the flesh acheron, and by extension, Hell, for as long as you have took not only your power, but the power of the fates as well. If you came here again, it wouldn’t be for nearly as long, and would exhaust a huge chunk of power every time you did so. But as you face the boy in front of you, you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him.

You’d figure it out, you’d make something up, you’d lie; Tell them Lucifer was being an uncooperative dickhead, which isn’t exactly wrong anyway — anything to be able to make your way here again.

You had to.

With a few more whispered promises and broken sobs, you eventually fade away. It wasn’t until you noticed the sandy shore beneath you had been replaced with slowly moving constellations did you allow yourself to look up again, the impatient eyes of the council piercing through you.

You’d already gotten rid of any trace of tears, your mind going a million miles a minute conjuring up a plan to save Nick. You knew you had bigger priorities than one human, a single soul; Earth and her millions of souls were on the brink of annihilation yet all you could think about was one boy.

But something in you, deep in your core screamed that this was important to you, he is important to you.

Maybe it's because you’re soft, maybe it’s because he’s your first lost soul, maybe it's because it’s Fate, but as you waved an intricate web of truth and lies while you built your case with the council -- of how freeing Lucifer from the flesh acheron was of the utmost importance, of how often you’d probably need to be sent there to attempt to do so;

Your heart was nearly pounding through your ribcage at the thought of seeing that boy and his pitiful soul once again.

And as Lucifer, upon his return, ranted and roared and raged something mighty, Nick desperately held on in anticipation of your next arrival.

*

Author’s Note: Next part is out as well! They’re both shorter chapters so I did a double update as well. They would have been out a lot sooner if tumblr didn’t delete my damn editing progress when I tried to insert a photo — I nearly cried. Creating those secondary headers is WERK but not as much as editing this shit? I should sue. I got mad and stopped for a while bc I’m a petty bitch, so if you see mistakes blame Tumblr for crashing. I will also insert links to chapters later, I don’t feel like it currently 🤡

Please ask to be tagged! I’d appreciate reblogs, comments and asks as well 🥺

Tag list:

@insomniac-nerd-posts-things @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @sophia-of-sass-gard

[farfromsugafanfic]

Waiting For Superman

Genre: Superhero AU, Comic Book AU?, Journalist Namjoon, Journalist OC, best friends to lovers, Action, Angst if you squint, Fluff

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

Warnings: cursing, violence, injury, hospitalization, bombings, hostage situations, kidnapping, uses chloroform to make someone unconscious, alcohol, physics lol

Synopsis: After your father, one of the top antimatter scientists is killed in his laboratory by villain Outlier, you and your best friend, Namjoon survive the only known antimatter bomb, you both go on to be two of the top journalists in Metropolis. Only, there’s something off about you that most people can’t put their finger on. Namjoon is the only one who notices, not even you know your biggest secret. Hoping to protect you from Outlier, Namjoon also guards a secret of his own.

Note: This is the beginning of a new AU series. This is also in the same universe as my Jin imagine, Heartbreak Weather. This story will continue in the background of future installments.

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"Damn," you said, looking through the article proposals for the week. "I have five proposals to do a story on the two weathermen that got together. Is nothing else interesting happening in Metropolis?" Reaching into your desk, you pulled out your lunch consisting only of a slightly too brown banana. You frowned. "I hate to say it, but it's really too bad that Outlier has been so quiet lately."

Namjoon chuckled. "You'd wish for a little peril in Metropolis if it made a good story." His lips curled upward and he adjusted his slightly too large glasses.

You smiled at your head writer's sarcasm. "Just a little peril. Not too much." Turning around to place the accepted and rejected proposals in their respective boxes, you returned to find a bright yellow banana sitting on your desk. It made you pause, but you shrugged as you peeled it open. "Besides, Antimatter Man always stops whatever his antics are."

"It's not always Antimatter Man."

You hummed in response, already marking up an article in red pen. "Most of the time though."

The conversation lulled, but it didn't feel awkward. You'd worked with Namjoon for nearly three years now, but known him much longer. You were his soundboard and he was your common sense.

"Maybe we do a piece on his recent quietness?"

You looked up. Namjoon already met your eyes. He sat with one leg on top of the other, forming a triangle and his arms crossed over his chest. You'd noticed the way his clothes began to fit tighter, stretching over new muscles. It surprised you. Namjoon never seemed like the athletic type. You were more likely to find him studying physics at the city library for his newest piece on Antimatter Man than in the gym building a physique rivaling a marble statue.

"That seems like a good idea." The pen pressed to your lips you didn't notice the way the ink blotted against your lips. "You wanna take it on?"

"Sure." He pushes one leg off the other and stands up. "I'll try to have it to you by morning."

You nod, trusting him fully to have his piece ready for the morning edition. He moved towards the door and you felt as he paused. Even though you weren't looking at him, you could tell the way he stood, with his hand gripping the door frame, his body half in, half out.

"Don't stay too late, Y/N. He might be quiet now, but you know that won't be forever."

You did know. Maybe more than anybody.

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Outlier first started terrorizing the Greater Metropolis area when you were twelve. It started off typical. A few particularly successful bank robberies netted him more than enough money for a lifetime. If it were you, you would've taken the money and moved far away, lived out the rest of your days peacefully. But, Outlier didn't want just the money. 

When you were fifteen, however, it all changed. 

It was nearly 9 pm. Your father had not returned home from work. It wasn't all around unusual. He often pulled long hours at the lab. But you felt an itch at the back of your spine. Like a spider crawling up each vertebrae like a ladder. 

You called Namjoon. He was the only person you knew with a car, and the only one you knew wouldn't ask too many questions. Twenty minutes later, his headlights showed through the curtains of your bedroom. 

"Hey," he said. His voice greeted you, full of exhaustion and the buoy that had bounced back and forth in the water between you. 

Namjoon was your longest friend. You met in Kindergarten when you'd come across Namjoon in the back corner of the playground. Pushed against the pavement, two second graders tore off his glasses and put them on, mimicking his front teeth that stuck out before he got braces in high school.

You'd chased them off, managing to pick up his glasses off the ground. They were still broken, but you helped Namjoon tape them to get through the rest of the day. Since that day, you'd become almost inseparable. That was until you got a boyfriend.

You, of course, accused Namjoon of being jealous when he didn't immediately take to the idea of you and Vincent. Though, despite the accusation, you knew it was far from the truth. It wasn't hard to see that Vincent was bad for you. He was the reason your grades began to drop, why you knew the familiar burn of whiskey down your throat, and why were spending that night--Valentine's Day--alone.

"You haven't heard anything from him?" Namjoon backed out of your driveway before you even managed to get the seatbelt hooked. 

You shook your head. "He normally calls if he's running late."

It takes another twenty minutes to reach your dad's work. Located just outside the city, you could see Longevity Labs ten minutes before you reach it. Up on a hill, it was agonizing watching the building cycle in and out of view with every turn and switchback.

When you get there, you look up to the fourth floor where your father's lab was. The lights were still on and you felt the coil in your chest unravel a little. Though not completely. 

The elevators in Longevity Labs had been broken for years now and you didn't pay them any mind as you walked to the staircase and climbed the four floors. Namjoon stayed close behind, though you didn't speak. It wasn't the first time the two of you had come to the labs together when you'd become worried. After losing your mom when you were young, a burr of worry attached itself to your heart and poked you when your father wasn't home by eight.

The metal of the doorknob felt warm. There were plenty of reasons for that, you rationalized. Your father was one of the top scientists in Metropolis, he worked with all sorts of dangerous things that could need a warm environment, or cause one.

You pushed the door open and met your father's eyes. They were wide open and empty. A silent scream falling from his wide open mouth. Your vision blurred and the thing you remember next is feeling Namjoon's hand on your shoulder as his voice elevated. It was only then you noticed that you weren't alone.

"What are you doing here?" Namjoon asked, his voice like the bark of a guard dog. It surprised you. For a boy of barely sixteen at the time, it felt like he suddenly was a man standing beside you. You were still just a tiny girl.

The man wore a mask. Of course he wore a mask. It was white with two diamond shapes for the eyes, only revealing a small bit of his pupil. The man didn't speak when he opened his hand, a metallic orb drifting upwards. He didn't throw it, but the orb moved quickly, like it was falling.

It was only later you learned that it was rigged to move upward like that. Real antimatter would act just like regular matter, nearly indecipherable. This--while true antimatter--was meant to hold your attention long enough. 

The explosion pushed you towards the ceiling. You woke up to a firefighter reaching for your hand. It was only when you took it and tried to place your feet on the ground that you noticed that you and Namjoon ended up pushed through the wall and into the vent system near the ceiling. He wasn't fully awake, yet his arms still reached for you after you were peeled away from his body.

The two of you were the only known survivors of an antimatter bomb. Well, it was more like a grenade. Your father's lab, body, and work was largely destroyed in the explosion, but for some reason, you and Namjoon survived. It's wide believed that there was something wrong with the bomb. That it didn't attack your living cells. 

You and Namjoon did not come out unscathed. Somehow, you got off fairly easy with a broken collarbone, a concussion, and a few deep cuts around your body. Namjoon, on the other hand, never fully awoke for a week. He'd broken three ribs, one of his lungs collapsed, his head injury much worse than yours, permanent damage to his spine. When he woke a week later, you wanted to envelope him in a hug and never let go. 

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Namjoon found you curled up in the newspaper archives at midnight. He was the only one who knew your Valentine's Day ritual. He moved the papers from your lap and took the glass of wine from your hand before it spilled. Just like every year, the paper was open to your dad's obituary and the news coverage of the explosion.

The edges of the paper were brown and crisped as if they were sixty years old instead of ten. His brow furrowed as he touched them. Between his fingers, the brown edges lightened as he brought them towards the light. 

Ever since that night, your mission was to expose Outlier. You knew he wasn't some superhuman. Your dad worked with antimatter to harness its capabilities for good. For medical applications and using its destruction for renewable energy. Outlier wanted to use antimatter in the way everyone feared. To destroy. 

As he moved the paper with your father's smiling face, he saw another, a jolt running down his spine. The headline took up almost half the page, "New Hero Emerges In Fight Against Outlier."

Outlier's antics became more calculated. Everyone knew he had the capability to use antimatter, but his subsequent movements involved raids of laboratories outside the city and taking a graduate student hostage. No one else died.

It was during the hostage situation that Antimatter first saved the day. It was around a year after your attack and Antimatter Man successfully infiltrated the laboratory and got the hostage to safety before the entire lab exploded. It was only in his next act of heroism that the city realized he was more than just someone who risked his life to save someone. He had powers.

Next time, Antimatter Man disabled a device strapped around a victim's neck with just a touch. It was determined to be a miniature explosive that would've destroyed the man had it gone off. The hero could manipulate antimatter. Destroy it--and was later determined--create it. 

When Antimatter Man caused an explosion in an alleyway, he was lucky that only one bystander died. Like all the previous times he disabled one of Outlier's antimatter devices, he placed his hand on top of it. Instead of feeling the molecules burst like boba, he felt an energy build until it exploded.

Outlier purposely placed a more standard bomb that would explode in the presence of antimatter. It was a test. One Antimatter Man hadn't anticipated. In fact, it was rumored the hero had no idea the full scale of his abilities until that moment. The only reason he came out unscathed is because he was able to clock himself in antimatter to prevent the explosion from destroying him.

Namjoon knew that Outlier knew who Antimatter Man was. While the general public may not know that Antimatter Man was a victim of Outlier, or that he used chunky glasses and the Metropolis Daily to control the public's view of Kim Namjoon and Antimatter Man. Outlier was the only one who knew, not even you.

﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

The authorities always told you that Outlier may come back. Your father was the most prominent scientist working with antimatter technology and there were likely things Outlier had not figured out yet. He may come for your father's notes. Yet, he never did. 

You weren't too worried about it anymore. It wasn't as if Outlier had a personal vendetta against you or your father. You hadn't seen his face. You'd practically passed out when you saw him, and probably would've had he not dropped the grenade when you locked eyes.

Still, you always watched your back when you walked from the Metropolis Daily office to your apartment. It was only a few blocks, but normally traversed after dark. Sometimes Namjoon came with you, though most of the time you persuaded him to just go back to his own place. Especially this night, you did not want Namjoon to know you didn't plan on going home.

Normally, when you hid your plans from Namjoon, it was because you were heading somewhere dangerous for research. Like the time you drove out into the forest on your own in search of Outlier's supposed hide out, or the time you decided to follow a man suspected to be Antimatter Man. Even as an editor, you still wrote, tending to keep the most hard hitting stories for yourself. Besides, few of your journalists were willing to possibly get close to Outlier. You'd survived once, you felt you could again.

However, this night, you were headed to the club. There was no reason or ulterior motive. You simply wanted to let loose. You knew Namjoon wouldn't like it. He wasn't smothering, he let you make your own decisions and do what you want, but his disapproving and worried looks always cut you deep.

You knew it all came from a place of concern. He always told you how thankful he was that he was with you that night. But, you always fit a pit of guilt in your stomach. Namjoon nearly died because of you. There was no way you were going to let that happen again. 

You'd changed into something sexier before leaving the office, leaving your office clothes in your desk drawer. You always kept an extra set there any way in case you needed to pull an all nighter at the office. It was rare you got to go out and enjoy yourself on a Friday night and you already felt the contentment rising in you as you approached the club and heard the rhythmic thud of bass.

This particular club wasn't one with a line of people which was why you chose it. There was no wait. You could get in and out easily and without fuss. When you didn't get to do things like this often, you wanted to truly get to do them. 

It wasn't long until you lost yourself. In the crowd. In the music. In your thoughts. Or rather, lack thereof. This is why people liked clubbing and loud music. It drowned out your worries. Everything became a constant hum in the back of your skull, where, for once, you could ignore it.

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Namjoon had suspicions. It started when no fruit stayed ripe around you. The way that the microwave always sparked when you tried to make popcorn. And no matter what you did, it always ended up just a little too burnt. Nothing you did was ever quite right, but never quite wrong. 

He always found his way to you whether he wanted to or not. It was as if the particles in his body were attracted to yours. Recognized them like their reflection. You got into a car accident two years ago and Namjoon had left work early that day, having felt an aching in his lower stomach. Fearing appendicitis, his supervisor sent him home. 

He'd walked a block when he came upon it. You were sitting on the sidewalk, your hands pulling at the roots of your hair and your feet pointed towards each other. Something caused you to look up then. Namjoon wondered if you had the same uncanny sense he did, if you could put together when the other was in peril. When you saw him, your arms came around him and your shaking body burrowed into his for warmth.

When he was eighteen and you were seventeen, the two of you briefly shared an apartment. Namjoon had started taking classes at the university and you were in your senior year. While your dad had left everything to you--you were all he had--you sold the house a year after your dad died, unable to live there alone. 

You'd come home one night after a basketball game. Namjoon always encouraged you to go, wanting you to feel like a normal high schooler. Though, while he was well intentioned, the efforts were ultimately fraught. You'd left at halftime because you think the concession stand hot dog made you sick. 

Yet, when you came home. You found Joon spread out on the couch, bottles of alcohol spread around him like the crime scene markers around your dad's body. He'll never forget the light touches on his shoulder, then forehead, then bicep. The way it reminded him of feeling just a little too warm on a winter's night, pleasantly so.

His feet brought him to the entrance of the club and his heart sped up. You never came to places like this, but Namjoon knew you had the secret desire to. You'd always loved to dance even though you weren't particularly skilled at it. He walked inside, loitering at the edges of the dancefloor. 

Namjoon had to keep himself from sneering at the sweaty bodies and couples dry humping each other. He never really understood the appeal of clubs. His eyes flit across the crowd, spotting your hair first. Even though you'd worked all day, you looked beautiful still. Your hair a little frizzier than usual and he recognized the tiredness in the way your moved your body to the bet. It wasn't lazy exactly, but it didn't have the same gusto as some of the others around you. 

He wondered if his feeling had been off. Maybe he was just too on edge lately because Outlier had gone so silent. There was a parasite in the back of his mind that fed him anxieties. Was he planning something big? Had he finally figured out to build the bomb he wanted to? Was he committing lower level crimes Namjoon wasn't privy to? Did he know about you? 

Watching you dance, he shook his head. You weren't in any danger. It was just in his head this time. Turning with his hands in his pockets, he took two steps towards the door of the club when he looked back and caught a glimpse of your smile. It was rare these days and not something he wanted to ruin with his worries.

With a small smile of his own, Namjoon left.

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You ended the night at around two a.m. You'd had two drinks, not enough to make you stumble out on the sidewalk, but enough to make you feel like you were. Taking off your heels, you gripped them in your fingers as you walked back towards your place. The walk should take fifteen minutes, but in your current state, you found yourself sauntering along as if the streets of Metropolis were perfectly safe in the wee hours of the morning.

If it were not for the alcohol in your system, maybe you would've sensed the presence behind you. Maybe you would've seen the dark shadow lingering behind you for the last two blocks. It wasn't until a hand clamped over your mouth, the other clamped around your jaw to prevent you from biting down on your abductor's fingers.

It was then you tasted it on your tongue. The rough, bleached taste of fabric. Something mildly sweet. Like laughing gas at the dentist.

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Namjoon prided himself on his intuition. When you called him the night your father died, he almost ignored it. Nearly blinded by his teenage jealousy, it was a small pain in his stomach that made him answer his phone and rush to you that night. 

He had the same pain now. Just below his ribs this time, he rubbed his fingers along the cotton of his button down as he glanced at your dark, empty office. You hadn't come in for work this morning. No one heard from you last night or this morning. And, despite this being unlike you, no one else seemed concerned. 

You'd gained a reputation for your independence and ability to take care of yourself. You hardly ever asked for help--and while your own mind tended to think that an admirable trait--it only made Namjoon's mind race more. However, this made everyone else go about their day. 

A half hour later Namjoon stood in his boss' office. "I'm not feeling well. Would it be all right if I took the rest of the day off?"

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When you came to, you immediately noticed the lack of rough rope around your wrists or ankles. When you opened your eyes, however, you noticed the white cuffs floating half an inch from your skin. One cuff circled each wrist and another two around each ankle. You knew enough about how Outlier operated to know about these.

First seen in his second major hostage situation following your father's death, these cuffs did not touch the skin. But, if the hostage moves or tries to escape and their skin brushes the edge of the cuff, the invisible antimatter will attack the matter rich skin, flesh, and bone.

The first hostage to have worn these cuffs lost a hand before she understood how they worked. Now, Outlier gained easy compliance with even just the threat of his antimatter cuffs.

"Ah, so you've heard of them?"

Outlier sat across the room. HIs diamond slit mask shrouded in the shadows of the dimly lit room. It made your heartbeat easier knowing he still wore the mask. It meant he didn't plan on killing you. At least, not yet.

"You know--" Outlier paused, a soft lilt in his voice that annoyed you. Normally, the sort of singsong quality he had would make you flutter your lashes at him across the bar. Outlier's voice though, sounded like a children's song slowed down and played backward. "The technology for those cuffs I developed from some of your dad's research."

He stood up, moving closer. "The ability to suspend antimatter around a given object using the only gas in our world that antimatter cannot destroy. Quite brilliant, really."

As a teenager, you really did not know much about your father's research beyond its main goal: make the world better using the one thing that could destroy it. Your father had seen success in his lifetime. The use of antimatter in some medical technology aided the treatment of cancer and detecting major illnesses. It had saved lives. 

You'd looked over a bit of your father's surviving research, of course. The things you had mainly consisted of experiment notes, a few crude sketches, and one report about a failed experiment. Nothing of value, really. It's why you always brushed off Namjoon's worries that Outlier would come back for it. What did you have that he would want?

"I imagine you know why you're here." Outlier was now only a few feet away and he leaned leisurely against the wall as if he were an old friend visiting your new apartment.

"No, I--"

"But, my assistant has something they want from you first."

Your head turned to the darkness in front of you from where Outlier had originally come. You made out the figure of another man. Smaller in stature, he shuffled slowly into the dim light. He didn't wear a mask, his hair falling into his eyes. 

"My report," he said, his voice hesitant, almost scared. If you didn't know any better you'd believe he was the one being held hostage by Outlier. "Do you have it?"

"Your report?" Your brow furrowed as you thought about the one report you had. It detailed only the attempt to create an anti-oxygen particle. "I-I don't think so." 

The air in the room became stuffy. Outlier seemed not to believe you, his arms crossed. You had no idea who Outlier's assistant was, but you were certain that whatever experiment he was a part of, your father would never have done something to make this man resent him. You almost wished you had the report.

"My assistant, you see," Outlier began in his singsong voice. "Suffers from a particular ailment brought on by one of your father's experiments. It tends to leave people, breathless. Isn't that right, Yoongi?"

The other man--Yoongi--glared at his supervillain boss. Something turned in your stomach. Yoongi didn't appear to be overly loyal to Outlier. Maybe he would be your key to getting out of this. 

"Well, that was merely a favor. His report was never recovered and I thought there was a chance you may have it. But, now onto the real reason I've brought you here."Outlier crouched down, coming face to face with you. "Now, for an experiment of my own."

From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a short rod. Holding it above your bindings, the cuff fell limp and motionless against your wrist. You nearly flinched, worried it would begin cutting through the skin. But, it didn't.

Despite his mask, Outlier's form seemed to perk up at that. As if he had the first evidence that his hypothesis was true. With his thick, black gloves, that you were assumed were made of antimatterium--an element created by your father to make the handling of antimatter safer--Outlier slipped the ring off your wrist.

Reaching pack into his pocket, he pulled out a new ring and placed it around your wrist. It looked identical to the last, white, vaguely metallic with a visible field of matter--or possibly antimatter--surrounding it. Stretching it over your hand, he slipped it around your wrist. 

"It should only take a few minutes." 

Outlier stood back up.

"What's the point of this?" you asked, becoming more frustrated that nothing was happening. You knew you should be thankful you are still alive. It would be easy enough to kill you and rummage through your apartment for whatever he wants. Yet, for some reason, he refrained.

"I imagine you can figure that out on your own." Outlier watched the ring around your wrist carefully. "My biggest foe can only have a mind that rivals my own."

Biggest foe? Your mind turned over the possible meanings of his words until it clicked. "You think I'm Antimatter Man?"

Outlier didn't flinch. "Of course."

You laughed. You couldn't help yourself. While you'd never come to face to face with Antimatter Man himself, it was obvious that the superhero was easily many inches taller than you and his shoulders were easily the entire length of one of your arms.

"Me? Of all people?"

"It would make some sense, wouldn't it? Very few people survive the blast from an antimatter bomb. And those that do often acquire certain--capabilities."

You shook your head. "But, I'm not the only one who survived, Nam--"

You were interrupted by the sound of Outlier's surprise as well as the sound of banging from outside the room. Yoongi--who hadn't been paying attention--suddenly popped his head up and glanced towards the door to your left. With so many things happening at once, you chose to only focus on where Outlier's eyes went.

The ring around your wrist had begun to crumble like cheese. Bits falling off as they became too heavy or lost their support. Squinting your eyes you wondered how this was possible. You didn't get a chance to hop on your train of thought before the door burst open.

﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

Antimatter Man burst into the room. He never wore a specific costume like superheroes were often penchant to do. Normally, he just wore an all black ensemble and a mask, obscuring most of his face. A hat usually then kept his hair hidden, beyond the tiny wisps of light brown you saw peeking out from underneath.

"Let her go," he said, his voice matter of fact and deep and familiar. 

Outlier--to his credit--did seem genuinely surprised. Though, he bounced back quickly, ordering Yoongi to shut the door. The other man did so slowly and pathetically, letting it scrape against the splintered hardwood floor.

"Hmm, well, it would seem your presence here would confirm that my original hypothesis was wrong." A pause and he points down at you. "But I may have a new one."

For some reason, it took you this long to put together that you were destroyed the ring imprisoning your left wrist. Why hadn't the first one crumbled into nothingness like this?

"That ring is made of matter. Like most things in our universe. However, it is designed to crumble when it detects antimatter energy. She produces antimatter energy. Probably in small amounts which is why she and the world haven't destroyed each other yet." He looks back at Antimatter Man who's dark eyes are flitting between you and the villain. "Much like you, my nemesis. You destroy all antimatter you come into contact with through the latent production of pure matter. You really should correct the press on the name, you know?"

Your mind swirled. You created latent antimatter? Did this explain why everything in your life with a timespan seemed to die or wilt quicker than usual? Why people found you just slightly off?

"She has the potential to be my greatest weapon. If I can harness the antimatter inside of her. Determine whatever is producing it, I would no longer need to spend weeks producing such tiny amounts." You were certain that if his mask was off, his face would be lit up like a child's. His hand reached for yours and he pulled you up off the ground. The cuffs shifted with you since both you and the antimatter cuffs were under his control. Would they even work on you though?

Outlier held your back against his chest. It surprised you how much he felt like a normal man. Of course, that's all he was in the grand scheme of it all. Outlier was nothing more than a man desperate for something.

"No!" Antimatter Man sounded almost desperate. "Don't hurt her! She's been through enough. She didn't ask for it. She didn't even know about it. Please just let her go. I'll--" You can also hear the thoughts turning in his mind. "You can have me instead."

Your eyes went wide. Antimatter Man seldom placed himself directly into Outlier's hands. He was known for foiling the villain's plans remotely, sometimes even not showing up to the scene. And, even when they did come face to face, it was usually brief. What made this so different? What made you different?

Also, why did he talk like he knew you? Sure, your story had been in the papers a long time ago? You occasionally met a stranger who would recognize your name, but it was becoming less and less common with every passing year. How did Antimatter Man know you?

Outlier's grip on you tightened. One of his hands reached down for your wrist and held it up. Taking hold of the cuff, he brought it within millimeters of your skin. 

"Now, let's be civilized about this. If you were truly worried about this girl because of her past, you wouldn't have let me take her in the first place."

Antimatter Man gulped. His body was stiff and his hands opened and closed. It reminded you of how Namjoon kept a stress ball in his desk drawer for whenever he had a stressful day. He'd squeeze and release it a few times in time with his breaths, getting out of his head. 

"Yoongi," Antimatter Man said, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. "Open the back door for me would you?"

Yoongi didn't move. His gaze was hard, but not in a way that felt piercing or like he was looking through you. He was thinking.

"Yoongi," the villain said again. 

Yoongi didn't move.

Antimatter Man took the opportunity and lunged. It was a risk. The cuffs still encircled one wrist and both your ankles. As you fell backward, it felt as if the world moved in slow motion, you watched your wrist fling back, hitting the ring of the cuff and bounce back, completely unharmed.

You land on Outlier's chest, but his grip on you loosened. You got up but immediately felt your legs give out. Someone caught you and you looked up to see Yoongi looking down at you. He didn't speak, or really show any expression beyond motioning to the back of the room where there was a door concealed within the wall. Likely, this was the back door Outlier wanted him to open earlier.

Even though Yoongi was working with Outlier, you felt like you were free. Something told you he was helping you. The man obviously did not swear much loyalty to the villain. You reached and pulled the cuffs off, causing Yoongi's eyes to widen and you felt his arms waver as you tossed them in Outlier's direction, hoping one would at least chink his antimatter protective armor.

Someone winced. And you recognized it. It was the same pain you heard that night when the bomb went off and you felt Namjoon's body wrap around yours. When he woke up in the hospital and you couldn't help but hug him, forgetting he had multiple broken ribs. Even in his pain, he didn't stop you.

"Oh my God." 

You wrestled out of Yoongi's grasp. Outlier--seemingly not really wanting to fight--ran as soon as Antimatter Man fell to the ground. The cuff had sliced through his clothes and a gash opened on his leg. You crouched next to him and reached for the gash, applying as much pressure as possible 

"It's not as bad as it looks. It'll heal by tomorrow."

You looked up at him and met his eyes. It was him. It had to be. You reached up for the edge of the mask. He didn't stop you, his dark eyes watching your hand as you reached up and revealed his identity. 

Namjoon.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Galloping Date

🍒Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers!🍒

Many thanks to @stehkotori​ for the HD pics! <3

The morning sunlight faintly encases the awakening town. The aroma of coffee mixes with the sea breeze, ushering the start of a new day.

I stretch, looking at Gavin, who is seated in front of me.

MC: This is how a vacation should feel like.

Gavin: It’s very relaxing. The weather and scenery are nice as well.

Over the past few days, Gavin and I have settled in this town, backed by a cliff which faces the sea.

Gavin: We’ve stayed here for a week, want to change locations?

MC: Sure. Although it’s comfortable to stay here, it’s time to have a taste of our next destination.

I nod my head seriously, playfully looking at him.

MC: The most beautiful scenery will always be in our next destination!

Gavin: Already found it.

MC: What?

Gavin looks towards me, his eyes as direct and cool as the gentle wind of an early Summer.

His words enter my ears – clear, with nothing to hide, and without any embellishment.

Gavin: The best scenery is already in front of me.

MC: Gavin…

Gavin: Do you have any ideas for our next destination?

Gavin flips open the map, using an indifferent tone to shift the topic back to our usual casual chat. At the same time, he reaches out and gently places the back of his fingers onto my cheek.

Gavin: Why is your face red? Did you catch a cold because the wind was too strong last night?

MC: I… I’m fine. Let’s eat - the food wouldn’t be nice if it gets cold!

I lower my head, pushing the plate towards Gavin. My heart continues pounding from Gavin’s words earlier.

After breakfast, I sip my coffee contentedly. Lifting my head, I see a smile in Gavin’s eyes.

He is currently studying the map on the table. There are several scribbles and markings on it.

MC: This shop’s limited-supply croissant is truly perfect as it claims, as expected of something that’s handmade.

I split the final croissant into half, handing a piece to Gavin.

Gavin: Mm, I like it too.

Gavin takes the croissant from me while writing something on the map using a pencil.

Gavin: This island still has a few small towns worth visiting, and we don’t have to rush to leave.

Seeing us, the shop manager gives us a familiar wave – this kindly old man has remembered us just after a few times of patronizing his shop.

Looking at the map on our table, he seems to think of something, and searches for something behind the bar counter.

After a moment, aside from the bill, he also brings over a thin stack of papers, his eyes crinkling in friendliness.

Gavin: This is… a travel pamphlet?

The cover of the pamphlet showcases a watercolour drawing of a small peaceful town lined with two rows of lemon trees.

MC: This small town is beautiful…

Gavin: The map states that the lemon wine in that town is very well-known. I’ve checked – it isn’t far, and it’s convenient to go from here.

I lean over to have a look, and realise that apart from lemon wine, the town also has a restaurant that sells citrus-flavoured pasta.

MC: I want to try this!

Gavin: If we leave now, we’ll reach in the afternoon. Shall we go?

MC: Yes!

Gavin: I’ll go rent a car. I’ll have to trouble you to pack the luggage.

This trip has been very casual, and there is not much two people need to carry. Even after packing the luggage and waiting at the side of the road, Gavin has not returned.

MC: I wonder when Gavin would arrive. Should I buy some fruits nearby…

While I’m thinking, I suddenly hear two “honks” from a car. I respond with a lift of my head, only to see a red convertible in front of me.

Gavin: Get in.

Gavin is wearing sunglasses in the driver’s seat, a hand casually leaning on the steering wheel. He nods his head towards the passenger seat, looking valiant.

The pale golden sunrise encases him without reservation, outlining his frame.

For a moment, I am unable to avert my gaze.

It’s as though the breeze is ushering in the early Summer, caressing the green leaves, urging the Summer flowers to grow.

Gavin: What are you looking at?

Gavin lifts a finger, gently tapping the steering wheel.

MC: [blushing] You.

Unexpectedly, I blurt out my thoughts. Regaining my senses, I turn completely red.

Gavin blinks, then opens the car door. The corners of his lips are turned up slightly.

[Note] The EN translation used “wink” which is technically correct because 眨 can mean both “wink” and “blink”. But I just can’t imagine Gavin winking LOL

MC: I-I’m getting in… eh? What’s this?

On the passenger seat rests a bouquet of varying flowers. There are a few water droplets on the petals.

The colours are simple but elegant, yet bloom vibrantly and somewhat wildly. It exudes the aura of a Spring which has yet to morph into Summer.

Gavin: I passed by a florist and thought you’d like it.

Gavin picks up our luggage and stores it in the car. After that, he straps on his seatbelt again.

Gavin: Ready?

MC: Mm, let’s go!

With a slight movement, the engine of the race car starts up and propels down the road in a low growl.

The cooling air sweeps over the car, whistling in my ears. The city is left in the background, blurring into a block of colour.

The road gradually opens up, and the buildings are replaced with the vast blue sea. The sensation of flying accelerates my heartbeat, making me feel excited.

Although the car is going very fast, the windshield reduces the wind to a gentle breeze.

I sneak a peek at Gavin, who is concentrating on driving, and realise that he is quite similar to these types of machines – There is a certain inhibition deep in the bones, yet there is also meticulousness and gentleness in other areas.

Gavin: Is the car going too fast?

Noticing my gaze, Gavin asks.

MC: No, this is good.

Gavin: The journey will take around four hours. You can play some of the songs you like.

Gavin drives steadily, turning the steering wheel as we make a turn.

There are a few clouds in the clear blue sky. There should be good weather today.

~

While we appreciate the scenery of our destination, the small town is cloaked in the gentle glow of the afternoon sun.

The lush lemon trees and tangerine trees line the sides of the road, the green leaves sandwiching white flowers on quiet display.

MC: It’s just as pretty as the pamphlet! Picking this place was the correct decision!

Gavin: It’s still early, let’s walk around.

MC: Then… let’s start from the markings you made in the map? Our Officer Gavin’s “investigative skills” are top-notch. I’ll just follow you mindlessly.

I half-jokingly say this while alighting from the car and stretching.

Gavin: Sure. From where we are now, the shop selling lemon wine is nearby. We can buy some things first. A few streets after that, there are a few shops worth visiting, and the scenery is not bad.

MC: Mm, you have the final say today.

Similar to the small town earlier, there aren’t many tourists.

Next to the Central Plaza, Gavin and I stop at the entrance of the well-known shop selling lemon wine. On the wooden signboard is a plump pigeon taking an afternoon nap.

The shop has a small stall set up next to it, with lemon-related items atop it, such as handmade lemon soap and dried lemon biscuits.  

Gavin: It’s here.

Gavin shakes the bell, and it resounds clearly.

Store owner: Salve che cosa volete?

The store owner comes out from the store and pauses for a moment after seeing us. He proceeds to greet us in broken English.

Store owner: You are welcome, good afternoon. May I ask what you two need?

MC: Hello. We want to buy lemon wine.

I gesture while smiling at the store owner. Gavin follows, gently tapping on the wine rack at the side.

The store owner nods his head, and takes a few bottles from the rack.

Gavin: Is there a difference between them?

Store owner: They are different. This one, sweet. This one, sour…

It is rare to see tourists during this season, but the store owner is incredibly patient, even introducing and explaining the uniqueness of the different types of lemon wine.

Interested in what the store owner has to share, I look at the wine in my hands, paying full attention to the store owner’s “Lemon Wine Seminar”.

Gavin doesn’t speak, but his gaze on me is passionate and tender.

The pale golden sunlight gradually lines the Mediterranean coast. Along with the century-old stone road, the scenery is a romantic one.

MC: Gavin, should we get this refreshing one, or something sweeter?

I raise the two bottles that I have difficulty deciding between, asking for “help”.

Gavin: We can get one of each. We can drink the sweeter ones over these few days. When the temperature goes up, we can open the refreshing one.

MC: That makes sense… I’ll take these two bottles then, thank you.

The shop owner tosses us a thumbs-up, pressing a few numbers on a calculator to show us the price. He takes out a few sheets of oil paper and starts wrapping the bottles.

Just after counting the cash to pay the shop owner, the sound of shattering glass breaks the silence of the small town. The blare of an alarm follows.

In an instant, Gavin steps forward in front of me.

MC: What’s going on?

I get a fright and look towards the source of the sound.

Three figures emerge from the jewelry shop opposite. They’re holding on to a few bags tightly, and entering a car that is stalled at the side of the road.

Following them, the red-faced, enraged, small-built store owner shouts after them.

MC: It’s… a robbery?!

The car drives in a callous fashion, even going up the pedestrian pathway. The street suddenly becomes extremely chaotic. The people who are frightened by this sudden display run amok. Someone even trips on the stall outside the lemon wine shop.

The stall is knocked over, and the items are splayed on the floor. Aside from the stall, even our bottles of wine are broken. I rush to help the person who tripped and ask whether he is okay.

Gavin immediately takes the paper and pen off the counter, writes a series of letters and numbers and hands it to the store owner.

Gavin: Car plate number.

Initially in a fright and frozen to the spot, the store owner regains his senses and hurries to call the police.

While waiting for the call to get through, the store owner looks worriedly in the direction of the robbers.

Store owner: This place is too remote, they will get away…

The perpetrators of this chaos grow smaller in the distance. Along with the words from the store owner, I frown.

Gavin looks towards the escaping car, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Gavin: MC, get in!

As he says this, he walks briskly to where our rented car is parked. I follow him and jump into the car, strapping on my seatbelt.

Gavin: There are too many people here, so it isn’t convenient to use Evol. We’ll chase them directly. Ready?

MC: Mm!

Gavin starts the engine, enters the main road, and goes in the direction of the escaping car. After a while, the car of the robbers comes into view.  

Gavin: This is an island, it’s not far from town. They’re probably taking the highway to the pier, then leaving via boat. There aren’t any high-speed cars, nor a speed limit. As long as we can close the distance, it wouldn’t be difficult to stop them. But it’s clear that they’re more familiar with the road…

MC: So what’s most important now is that we can’t lose them, and try our best to find suitable roads to close the distance. Then we’ll chase them on the highway, right?

Hearing my words, Gavin gently smiles as he nods.

Gavin: MC, help me with navigation.

He hands me his phone. I look at the car in front of us and the digital map in my hands, and embark on my first experience as a “Navigator”.

MC: They’re going against the one-way traffic regulation. We have to turn left, take the fork, and go around the small alley!

Without a single shred of hesitation, Gavin follows my directions and turns into a small alley. Because of the change in roads, the escaping car disappears from our line of sight.

MC: Turn right at the second exit, then keep going straight.

My palms are sweating slightly as I do my best to find a plausible route that can close the distance.

Since we can’t see the escaping car, I don’t have much confidence on whether we can succeed.

MC: Make another right turn at the next exit and enter the main road!

Gavin: All right. Got it.

In contrast to my tense and anxious self, Gavin confidently and assuredly follows my directions, putting his entire trust in me.

After passing the fork, the escaping car re-enters our line of sight, and the distance between both cars has indeed closed quite a bit.

MC: That’s great…

Gavin: Don’t worry.

Gavin’s voice says this assuredly – somewhat relaxed even, a huge contrast to my flustered self.

Gavin: We’re doing well so far.

Even as the distance between the cars continues to lessen, Gavin’s driving remains extremely steady.

Sitting in the passenger seat, I never would have never expected to experienced such violent movements as we give chase, making a few more turns and reverses in direction.

MC: There is still 800m to the highway. With our current distance, can we reach them?

Gavin: It’s enough.

Gavin steadily lowers the speed as he makes a turn. The car speeds up once it re-enters a straight path.

Gavin: Leave the rest to me.

~

Both cars speed down the highway bordering the sea. The scraping of the tires and the roaring engines tears the peace and quiet of the road.

On one side of road is a cliff, and on the other is the clear blue sea. While it is obviously a pleasant scenery, we have no time to appreciate it.

Another bend is ahead, but the escaping car remains stubbornly in front of us.

My heart is thrumming violently, and I grip the inner handle of the car door tightly.

Gavin remains utterly confident, leaning his hands on the steering wheel in a relaxed manner.

In a few seconds, the front of the car rubs against the cliff, entering the same lane as the escaping car.

From my vantage point, I can see that the person driving is a man in his thirties or forties. Seeing that we have almost reached them, he flashes us a glare and loudly curses while leaning towards us, wanting to force us into a dead-end.

MC: Be careful!

Gavin: It’s fine, I can handle it.

Even before Gavin finishes speaking, he has already brought the car closer to the cliff, not forgetting to flash a signal.

The sudden acceleration makes me squeeze my eyes shut instinctively. The gusts of wind sweeping past my ears seem to be confidently declaring its victory.

Gavin: Hold tight. It wouldn’t be as steady after this.

He shoots a glance into the rear-view mirror, his eyes flashing in a predatory manner.

I hurriedly lean on the car door, gripping the handle tightly, and also pressing the flowers Gavin gave to me to my chest.

Gavin slams on the brakes. The tires rub on the asphalt, letting out a harsh noise.

The high temperature generated by the friction causes smoke to rise from the rear of the car. I can even smell burnt rubber. The body of the car skids and turns along with his movements, stopping in the middle of the road.

The robbers are unable to react in time, frantically slamming on the brakes. The car leans along the cliff and jerkily comes to a halt.

The cover of the engine is deformed from the impact, emitting a thick cloud of smoke, unable to operate any further.

MC: We’ve succeeded!

I can’t help but exclaim.

MC: Gavin, you’re amazing!

Gavin: Their car type wouldn’t have been able to keep up, and…

Gavin turns to me, tucking my hair behind my ears, his lips unable to suppress a smile.

Gavin: I have the best partner by my side.

Before I can respond, I hear the sound of the robbers cursing angrily and slamming the car door.

Despite their circumstances, they still come out of the car, holding their stolen items and wanting to escape.

Gavin frowns, and a strong gust of wind whips up, moving towards them.

The continually rising air current sweeps the robbers up mid-air. Even the fierce-looking driver goes pale as he kicks his hands and feet in the air.

Only after Gavin sets them back on the ground does he remain in place, trembling.

Gavin: Call the police. I’ll deal with them.

I toss out my phone while smiling and pointing at the bag in our car which stores camping materials.

MC : There are ropes in there!

I never thought that our items meant for camping would be used in such a situation.

Gavin nods. Before the gets off, he turns and leans towards me, reaching for the side of my neck. The calluses on his fingers are slightly ticklish.

He carefully fastens the ribbon I was wearing on my neck. This poor “necklace” has become crooked from the wind.

Gavin: I’ll be back soon.

He gently touches my forehead, then gets off. He lifts the robbers one by one, tying them up.

I look at the smoke rising from the front of the car and the battered engine cover, gauging the situation.

After detailing our current location and the situation to the police, Gavin sweeps dust off his hands as he returns to my side.

MC: How is it?

Gavin: They’re all fine.

Gavin pauses, turns back to look at the car, then shrugs.

Gavin: The front cover is beyond repair though, and there are several places that need repair.

MC: [deadpanned] I hope they bought insurance.

I look at Gavin, and he laughs knowingly.

The bouquet in my arms remains just as eye-catching as they were before, with not a single trace of that intense car chase. It sways lightly along with the sea breeze.

Gavin: Let’s go back. We haven’t finish what we planned to do today.

Gavin pulls the door open for me. In the sunlight, his fringe blows gently with the sea breeze. A faint smile graces his lips.

Gavin: Let’s hope the store owner helps us wrap the bottles of wine properly.

By the time we finish walking through the town to our heart’s content and drive back, it is already sunset.

MC: That citrus-flavoured pasta tasted very unique, but it’s really not bad.

Gavin: Want to go again tomorrow afternoon?

MC: Mm… it’s fine. I want to try the shop we passed by earlier – the one with the ham and smoked cheese.

The setting sun dyes the clouds a soft warm colour. We chat casually, driving leisurely on the highway.

Now, we finally have the time to appreciate the scenery along the coast.

MC: This hotel is pretty far from town…

Gavin: It’s fine if it’s a little far. Look.

As Gavin says this, the car slows to a halt at the side of the road.

I follow his line of sight. Like an open space of an observatory, I am able to see the entirety of the town we just left.

The small town is quietly nestled in the arms of the cliff, overlooking the expansive sea. Everything in front of me has been dyed a layer of faint gold colour.

MC: Wow, it’s beautiful…

Gavin doesn’t say anything, and only holds my hand.

He leans back in a relaxed manner, a hand on the back of the seat, as though encircling me in his arms. His breath softly and overbearingly overtakes my senses.

Whether it’s due to the warmth of the setting sun or the body heat from Gavin, my face starts to heat up.

Gavin: The weather should be good tomorrow as well.

At the sound of his voice, I turn to look at Gavin, who meets my eyes at the same time.

I always find that even the most brilliant and colourful sunset cannot compare to the reflection of the sky in his eyes.

MC: What are we going to do tomorrow?

I unconsciously lean closer to him.

Gavin: We’ll talk about it tomorrow.

Gavin shifts, taking me into his arms.

When I lift my head towards Gavin, he leans down.

A gentle kiss, like a lemon flower petal, descends on my lips.

The touch of sea breeze, the faint scent of leather, the breath that only belongs to Gavin - all the beautiful things one can imagine surround me.

I open my eyes, gazing directly into a pair of shimmering amber eyes.

Gavin: Shall we continue our journey?

I smile and reach out to rub his neck.

MC: Mm, yes!

Gavin removes his jacket and places it on me. He turns on the music, and the song I picked out earlier flows into the car.

MC: Gavin, let’s try the lemon wine tonight!

Gavin: Sure. Let’s hope we can find the small bites you mentioned you liked the last time.

Gavin steps on the pedal. With low purr, the engine starts up. The sports car once again sets out on the road.

The town and the sunset are left behind us, and flickering stars can be faintly seen in the sky - A new scenery is already awaiting us.  

Wind sweeps past, and the sunset elongates our shadows.

Our journey has only just begun.

🎐

Phone calls: First l Second

[baku-no-alt]

sriracha sauce | 10

bakugou x reader; in which Bakugou and some other students from UA are doing a work -study abroad in NYC. also Bakugou is nice to you for once

a/n: i am SO sorry this took so long. it’s been..........a time lately lmao 

cw: angst, slight mentions of gore

That night, it rains. 

You’re curled up on your couch, knees tucked as close as you can get them to your chest, hands wrapped around your shins. You press your fingernails into your skin, leaving little red impressions on your lower legs. 

The person in Katsuki’s bed was a villain from the group that kidnapped him. His quirk allowed him to copy the appearance of anyone he saw, but as his memory of their features faded over time, so did his ability to reproduce them accurately.

The villain is in police custody, and Kirishima and his friends, along with other Pro Heroes in the city, are out looking for Katsuki. 

And you’re stuck here, in your apartment, time passing by agonizingly slowly. You try to distract yourself with food, books, TV, your studies, but nothing can stop your thoughts from returning to worrying about Katsuki.

You wait and wait and wait for an update from Kirishima, but nothing comes.

He’s a hero, you try to yourself. He’ll be okay. 

But the what-if’s cloud your mind, pulling you into a haze of anxiety. You wonder if your kiss with Katsuki was the first and last time you’d ever kiss him. When you try to push the thoughts out, they take a stronger hold, digging into your brain and taking root. 

It starts to thunder, and every crack and rumble makes you jump. You try to imagine what he would say if he were here. 

“It’s just thunder, dumbass,” you whisper to yourself. You will yourself to hear it in his voice. You imagine him as close as he was the other night, lips on yours. 

You crawl out of your blanket just enough to grab your laptop. You open it up and squint against the harsh light it shines on your face. You almost go through your social media, but decide against it, as news of Katsuki’s kidnapping was probably all over your feeds. Instead, you pull up your email and sift through the thirty or so new messages in your inbox. 

It’s mostly spam, but a couple emails are job or study offers, and one is a response from a recruiter you’d been in contact with for a while. She’s asking you about your experience, which positions at her hero agency you think you’d best fit in. You peruse through them, weighing your options. 

Then, something in her signature catches your eye. The name of the agency, then it’s major locations - New York, Los Angeles, London, São Paulo, and Tokyo. 

You move your mouse to click on the link that would take you to their Tokyo website when the screen turns black. 

Confused, you smack the side of your laptop a few times. You check the battery indicator, and the flashing lights indicate your laptop is still on. 

Then, slowly, a message appears on your laptop screen. Green letters appear on a black background. Your heart races as words form themselves. 

Write this down. 

An address appears, and you hastily scribble it down on a receipt lying on the ground near you. 

No cops. No heroes. 

We’ll know. 

Then the screen goes back to normal, and you’re staring at your email inbox again. 

You wonder, for a moment, if you’re literally going insane. But you stare at the address you have written down and know that’s where you’ll find Katsuki. 

It could be a trap. 

You hold your hand over your phone, wondering if you should call Kirishima. If they - whoever they are - could hack into your laptop like that, surely they had enough surveillance on you to know if you were communicating with heroes? 

In the end, you just plug the address into your phone and hope Kirishima and the other heroes have the sense and capabilities to check your search history. You pull on a sweatshirt, rain jacket, and some leggings, pack a small purse with your phone, wallet, and keys, and pause in your entryway before you open your door to leave. 

This is insane, right? You were just going to leave to rescue Katsuki? By yourself? Sure, you’d had some combat training, but you couldn’t defend yourself against an entire group of villains. 

But, if you could find Katsuki, he could defend you. If you could find Katsuki, everything would be okay. 

You have to try. 

You take a deep breath, pull open your front door, and run down the stairs. 

--- 

Your phone tells you that the address is an hour’s walk away. Wind and rain whip around you as you run along the sidewalk, following the directions on your phone screen. Water soaks through your sneakers, and you feel it sloshing around in your shoes. 

Buildings fly by you in blurs as you run as fast as you can through the city, not allowing yourself to think, only focusing on breathing and doing your best to keep yourself alive. 

You make it to an apartment building in downtown New York in forty-five minutes, your adrenaline-fueled legs carrying you as fast as you can go. When you finally stop running and stand in front of the building, chest heaving, you notice the pain in your feet. Blisters have formed from running in your wet shoes. 

You look at the address on your phone again. They hadn’t given an apartment number or any other instruction. 

A man emerges from an alleyway on the side of the apartment building. 

“So glad to see you’ve come.” His words are covered in malice. When he steps into the light of the streetlamps, you can see his skin is scaly, and his eyes resemble the slitted pupils of a snake. 

“W-where’s Katsuki?” you whisper. 

The man doesn’t say anything, just jerks his head in the direction of the alleyway. You follow him, cautiously, looking around for items you might be able to defend yourself with. 

This was idiotic, you scold yourself. 

But it’s too late now. 

Once you’re in the alley, the man leads you through a side door into the building, and then up a service elevator. You stand in the elevator awkward with him. The scent of smoke wafts off of him. You manage a glance in his direction, and see that one of his arms is covered in burns. 

You wonder if they’re from Katsuki. 

When you reach the 37th floor, the man leads you off the elevator and into the hallway. The apartment building is nice - the hallways are beautifully decorated with mirrors and modern art. He stops at a room and unlocks it. 

You don’t immediately step inside, and the man glares at you. 

“You’d better go in and find your boyfriend,” he hisses, and when he smiles at you, you can see two large fangs protruding from his gums. 

You shudder and step into the apartment. 

The room is bare, with wooden floors and white walls. There are some tables and desks pushed up against the walls with computers and other equipment on them, but besides that, the only other object in the room was a large stone - taller than you - with markings and carvings on it. 

Standing around the room, or sitting at the desks, is a group of people who look like they don’t belong together. They all looked so different - and like they were from different backgrounds. 

One of them speaks to you, and you don’t recognize the language. You activate your quirk, and catch the last half of his sentence. 

“...all about your talents.” 

When you turn your head in the direction of the speaker, you see Katsuki sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. He isn’t bound, or gagged, or in chains like you expected him to be. He’s just sitting there, slumped slightly forward. 

Why isn’t he using his quirk? Why doesn’t he just get out of here? 

Your eyes travel from his head, down his arms, and then land on his hands. When you see them, you slap your hand over your mouth and a gasp escapes you. 

His fingers are bent at odd angles, some backward, some awkwardly to the side. 

A wave of nausea hits you. They’re broken. Every single one of his fingers has been broken. 

His head snaps up when he hears your gasp and his eyes lock on you. 

“No…” he growls, “let her go.” 

---

masterlist

@shareyourfandomfaves, @ha-tep, @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo, @ayeputita, @lookslikeleese, @alinakaisato, @loxbbg, @micheladakenzo, @bnhaismylife, @aurorahoneybuns, @anything-and-everything-here69, @overkill-is-underrated, @sizzlingbarbarianglitter, @squeaky-ducky, @hallothankmas, @thenezuko, @frenchspeakingfilipina, 

if i forgot to tag u it is bc i am garbage PLEASE remind me

[gikascontract1]

The Best Interior Paints and Color Trends for 2021

A new layer of paint is the most effortless, ease approach to spruce up your home. Some time before you break out your paint brushes and painter's tape, you should peruse the paint passageways to pick a shading that best suits your space. While it's essential to remember your present furnishings and style, take motivation from these moving paint tones from top brands like Sherwin-Williams, Behr, Valspar, and then some.

However, picking a tone is simply a large portion of the fight. There are huge loads of brands and inside paint completions to browse, making it hard to tell what's truly worth your cash and exertion. Fortunately, the specialists at the Good Housekeeping Institute exchanged their sterile garments for old shirts and went through about fourteen days testing the most famous inside paints available to track down the top generally speaking picks just as the most ideal choices for various rooms — kitchen, room, washroom, etc — in your home. Along these lines, when you scope out the current year's most blazing shading patterns, look at our master tried proposals to track down the correct paint to take care of business.

Bombay Pink

Inside Paint - Valspar 2020

VALSPAR

Following nature's never-ending magnificence, Valspar gathered together 12 ravishing shades that carry the serenity of the outside to any room. Portrayed by paint specialists as "a develop pink that is certainly merry like a spring nightfall," Bombay Pink is best dressed with gold accents. 

Franklin Lakes interior painting

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Maritime Blue

Inside Paint - Sherwin-Williams 2020

SHERWIN-WILLIAMS

A lot bolder than the other paint tones on this rundown, Sherwin-Williams' 2020 Color of the Year is a rich, proclamation commendable naval force. While exemplary and cool, this profound tone consolidates the force of nature with an immortal certainty directly from Art Deco plans.

SHOP NAVAL BLUE

Quieting Green

Inside Paint - Behr 2020

BEHR

In any event, when the climate outside persuades you in any case, this "quiet, thoughtful, and adjusted" green rouses you to get out in nature and embrace all that it has to bring to the table. Considered "nature's impartial," Behr's paint, suitably got back to Nature, accomplishes the knoll enlivened tone by the blend of light and dull greens.

SHOP BACK TO NATURE

Promotion - Continue Reading Below

Light Pink

Inside Paint - Benjamin Moore 2020

BENAJMIN MOORE

Ease up your space with Benjamin Moore's 2020 Color of the Year. An extraordinary option in contrast to exemplary white or beige, First Light is the "background for a splendid new decade." But on the off chance that you favor something with greater character, select another of their 10 motivating picks, including an unadulterated dark and a rich blue-green.

SHOP FIRST LIGHT

Porcelain Blue

Inside Paint - PPG 2020

PPG

To help make 2020 your most relaxing year yet, PPG named Chinese Porcelain the current year's Color of the Year. Roused by the sky and the ocean, this ideal mix of "cobalt and grouchy ink blue" expects to remove individuals from their screens and stresses of regular day to day existence.

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BEST OVERALL

Glorious Select

BENJAMIN MOORE

BENJAMIN MOORE

store.benjaminmoore.com

$54.99

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Benjamin Moore's Regal Select is an incredible for what it's worth. The pleasant, thick paint goes on effectively, which gives amazing inclusion that will last. It's likewise incredibly tough and cleans effectively, so it acquires excellent grades across all spaces. You will not have the option to discover it at retailers like Home Depot, so your smartest option is to search for it at paint or forte stores.

Commercial - Continue Reading Below

Next in line

Mark

VALSPAR

VALSPAR

valsparpaint.com

$4.50

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Valspar Signature paint was the sprinter up in our tests, so it's a strong option in contrast to our Top Lab Pick. In addition to the fact that it scored well in our stain evacuation tests, however it has great inclusion and finish quality, as well. Our customer analyzers thought this low-VOC paint in addition to groundwork looked great generally speaking, however there was some opportunity to get better when it went to the equality of its inclusion.

BEST VALUE

ben

BENJAMIN MOORE

BENJAMIN MOORE

store.benjaminmoore.com

$39.99

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Benjamin Moore's ben is a decent incentive for the nature of the paint that you get. Not exclusively is the paint and prep coating couple reasonable, however it likewise contains zero unpredictable natural mixtures, (or VOCs, a.k.a. gasses). It additionally comes in three distinct completions: eggshell, level, and semi-shine, so you actually have a lot of choices for painting without burning up all available resources.

BEST FOR KITCHENS AND BATHROOMS

Inside Premium

HOME DEPOT

GLIDDEN

homedepot.com

$18.98

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Glidden Interior Premium paint is shape and buildup safe, making it a savvy pick for high-dampness zones like kitchens and restrooms. At the point when we tried it, the paint dried quick and appeared far-fetched to blur. It likewise cleans effectively and was acceptable at opposing stains, so splattered food and cosmetics wrecks are no biggie.

Notice - Continue Reading Below

BEST FOR BEDROOMS

Natura

BENJAMIN MOORE

BENJAMIN MOORE

benjaminmoore.com

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Analyzers didn't discover a lot of amiss with Benjamin Moore Natura paint. Along withzero VOCs, it has blur and stain-opposition, making it an appealing choice for rooms or parlors. It likewise had incredible inclusion — making it an extraordinary pick in general. Simply note that we thought that it was somewhat muddled to apply.

BEST FOR LAUNDRY ROOMS

Paint and Primer In One

BEHR

BEHR PREMIUM PLUS

homedepot.com

$27.98

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Behr Premium Plus paint has all that you'd anticipate from a superior paint, similar to stain and UV obstruction. It is low-VOC and opposes the development of buildup, so it's appropriate for pantries, restrooms, and different spaces that might be moist.

BEST FOR BEGINNERS

Honor

PRATT AND LAMBERT

PRATT AND LAMBERT

amazon.com

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With extraordinary inclusion, simple stain expulsion, and a quick dry time, Pratt and Lambert Accolade paint is not difficult to apply. Its protection from form and mold settles on it an incredible decision for kitchens and showers. In our testing, its exhibition was marginally below average in holding up to mileage, so try not to apply it to high-traffic territories, similar to a thin corridor, flight of stairs divider, or carport.

Notice - Continue Reading Below

BEST FOR LARGE ROOMS

Length Home

SHERWIN-WILLIAMS

SHERWIN-WILLIAMS

sherwin-williams.com

$52.49

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At the point when we attempted it, Sherwin-Williams' low-VOC Duration Home went on smooth with practically no splatter. It held up to stains well, and the paint didn't blur during our sped up UV tests (which implies it will presumably keep its tone in a bright room). Our painted examples faced scraped area, as well. We discovered this equation offered extraordinary inclusion region and quality, so a gallon should cover so a lot, if not more, than numerous different paints.

[kangaroo-r00]

Keep Your Eyes on the Screen

You used to think that people complaining about their eyes being sore was an exaggeration but now you understood the pain. They stung and felt so dry, the pain only letting up briefly when you blinked sluggishly. The bags under your eyes were dark rings, bruises that pounded constantly. You longed to close your eyes and slip into a deep sleep but you couldn’t. Who knows what would happen if you did?

Loud music blasted from your headphones, drilling into your ears and assaulting your brain. Normally you played it softer though this volume was to keep you from passing out, but now even the loud rock sounded like a lullabye. The screen in front of you flickered faintly as you scrolled, jaw cracking as you yawn loudly. What else could you do? Taking your eyes off the screen for too long doomed one of them. They were relying on you like you had relied on them, and like hell were you going to let them get hurt because of your actions.

The screen went black and it took you a moment to comprehend what had happened, blinking slowly at the new development. What happened...? You tapped the mouse button a few times before picking it up and slamming it down on the mousepad agitatedly. Did this mean you won? Or lost?

Just before you were going to slap the computer and unplug it, a text box appeared, white words popping up inside, letters rolling leisurely across the screen.

Fee͢ļi̵ng ̶ti̛r͏ed?̴ Maybe ҉you̕ şho͏u͏l͠d҉ ͡re̕st ͏yo̕ur̵ ey͝e̷s,̸ ta͡ke a҉ ̢s͏h͠ơrt ̴na͞p͟.

Hitting the right keys was a difficult challenge (you had to backspace a few times and look down at the keyboard) but you were satisfied with your most certainly well-thought out answer. You giggled when you felt bad for the enter key after you smashed it down.

Fuck you, glitch bitch.

For a long minute the screen remained black, no new words popping up. Hopefully the fucker got the message and left—forever preferably. No dice unfortunately.

The screen glitched violently, an array of bright colors in chunks filling the screen. You laughed out loud at the realization that he was throwing a tantrum. It appeared to spasm, tired eyes straining painfully to absorb the flashing neon colors.

W͝ha͠t ҉wa̸s̶ ͠t̀hat, ̸pu͟p̡p͟et?͝ ̛S̶áy ̨t̛ha̛t͡ a͝gain.̕ I f́͟u͟c̴͡k͏̡i͜n̴g͡͏͠ ̧da̧r̛͟e̶̵ ̕͡yo̶u̕҉.

If you weren’t so tired you wouldn’t have made that mistake or (if you had anyway) you would’ve begged for forgiveness and groveled at His feet. But bad ideas were increasingly more appealing in this sleep deprived state and you caved in to your desires easily. With loud clicking of the keyboard you punched a similar answer in.

Piss off and die.

The letters that appeared did so slower than ever before.

O͝h͢,̴ ͠p͏u̧p҉p҉et,.̸ ͟you͘’l҉l ͝re͢g̀r͟èt ̛th͘at̨͠ ì͢͜m̵҉̡m̵̡͠eņs͢e̴̢̨l͞҉̀y҉͘.͢͠

The computer shut off immediately, whirring dying as the monitor went pitch black. After several minutes of expectant staring at a blank screen, you concluded nothing else was going to happen. For the first time in two days you slumped forward in relief, head tilting back and weary eyes falling shut. You pillowed your head in your arms, sighing happily. Your back would murder you when you woke up but that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was blissful unconsciousness. Within seconds you were out like a light.

A beeping noise roused you from your pleasant slumber. Shifting with a noise of discontentment, you raised your head, blinking the crust out of your eyes. You noticed several things. You had fallen asleep, your headphones were still on and turned up very loud, and your computer was back on. And something about the layout was very different.

The background had been changed from colorful fanart to a close up picture of some large, dried dark brown stain on concrete. All your files and icons on your desktop were gone except for one you didn’t recognize. It was a video icon labelled “your fault.”

Guilt immediately flooded you, the crushing sensation squeezing your heart like a stress ball. You couldn’t begin to imagine what had happened. Well, you could but you didn’t like any of them too much.

“No thanks; fuck that.” You really didn’t want to click on it. Turns out it wasn’t your choice to make anyway.

You͢'ŗe̷ n͠ot ̡gett̸in͝g ̷ou̢t̕ o҉f̶ ͘th̶is tha̴t ea̡s҉i͞lỳ.

The video file opened on its own.

The contents made your stomach churn violently, eyes widening in horror. People often talked about how something was so awful that you couldn’t take your eyes off it—like watching a trainwreck—and that’s what you were experiencing now.

You snapped out of your trance, turning your head to the side and cupping a hand to your mouth as the terrified wails made your ears throb. The final straw was the screaming pleads that came from both the beaten and witnesses. You ripped your headphones off and threw them at the monitor, watching as it tipped back and hit the wall. You could still hear the screams from the headphones, so you slammed your hand into the speakers, scrambling to twist the dial all the way down.

Squeezing your eyes shut, hands over your ears, and breathing deeply was all you could do to prevent yourself from spiraling into a panic attack. You could feel your body trembling. Your eyes stung again but for a different reason this time.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fucking fuck…” you whispered, your mantra only changing to add new words to describe your emotions.

Skin prickling static washed over your hunched over form, the noise unusually light and airy. Instead of burning, it cradled you, petting you softly. The atmosphere shifted and there was a presence looming over you, hands wrapped bruisingly tight around your wrists and nails biting bloody crescent shaped marks into your skin, wrenching them away from your ears.

"͏Yo̴u'̀re ͜n͢ot҉ w̢at̵ching.̷" The voice was uncomfortably soft, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You shook your head minutely.

"A͡ren'́t yo͝u ͏pr̵oud ̸of̵ w̵h̵a̛t̕ ͞yo̡u̢'v̀e͡ ̡d́on͟e̶?̨ Th͠a͘t̨'̛s wh̨y̸ you̡ d҉id͜ ́i̡t͡, isn̴'t ͜i̷t?̵ ̨B͢ecaus͏e ̕you̢ ͝w̶an̷t̀e̶d them̴ ҉to ́s͠u͞f͜f̵er͏?"

Proud was the very opposite of what you were feeling and he knew it. That was the last thing you had wanted. You shook your head again.

"O͡r i͡s͘ it̕ b̶ec͠au̴se̛ ͢y͏ou͝'̕ré ̢a śa̴d̷ìsti̵c̛, ̀att͢en̴ti̕on w͞hore̛? Did you w҉ànt ̷M̨a͏s̕t́e҉r͠'s̕ a̵t̷t̢e̡n͡t̨i͏on? W̶el̷l,̨ y̸o͝u͢ ̧h̷a͠ve i̸t ͏no̸w̛.͜"

This time you couldn’t repress your sob, shoulders shaking and chest tightening. All you could was the guilt, repulsion, and self loathing of what you’d done. Eyes welled up with fat tears, clumping your eyelashes together and running down your cheeks.

He was right: it was all your fault. It was all too much; you just wanted it to stop—the video, the feelings, the static, everything.

The static seemed to sink into your skin and into your bloodstream, infiltrating your brain and snitching your thoughts back to him. Maybe that was what was happening.

"Y͠o̴ú'r̀e̛ ͜ģo͘in͘g ̴to͜ i͠gn̢o͞r̡e͝ th͟e͟ gi̵f͜t͢ I͞ so gr̨ac̕ìơu̴sl͠y̷ ̢gave ̶y̧o͜ù a͠f͠te͟r͟ ̀ýou i͢n̷͟s҉̵͏ư̸̧l͠ţ͡e̵d̸͟͜ me?͘ How̡ in̢co̕ns͘id͠e̷rat̀e̡ of̴ ͘y̛ou."͟

It was hard to breathe by now, gasping and choking between your panicked sobs. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it…

"͡Ẃat̡c̶h̸ it.҉ ̕A҉l̴l͢ ͠o̡f i̧t.̡"

His hands were on your cheeks, smushing them and forcing your head back to the screen. The video glitched back to the beginning and the speakers cranked up to full blast.

"̢K̨e͢e̢p yo͘u͞r ͘e͏yęs͜ ̷o̶n t͟he scr̀e͞e̛n or ͜I'̨l̶l ͜r̶i͏p̡ ͢t̵hem̛ ͝out̡ ̷of their̶ f̡u͢cki̶n͏g̷ sock҉e͏t͡s͏ wit̕h my̛ ̵barè h̵a͢n̶ds.͡"̷  The hand carding through your hair gently and the thumb brushing your tears away conflicted with your fear. "Ún̢de͢r͏śtand?" He growled.

You nodded helplessly.

You just sat there and watched through blurred vision. L̨ik̢e a̴ ǵood,͘ ҉l͜it͢t͟le͏ pu̕p͞p̕e̛t͢.

Tag list: @melasong, @writerwithdepression, @normallyemma, @kitnkas, @iris-the-asparagus, @here-be-becquerel, @maybalator (tell me if you want to be added to the taglist)

(and @shadowstakeall because you were wondering which puppet fucked up)

[baekberrie]

✨e r e s  t ú ➼ bbh✨

Romance, fluff, one shot

Pair: Baekhyun x Reader

Warnings: maybe some errors like typos, i’ll edit later.

play song when marked later on ✨🎶

Hands were covering your eyes as you tried to peek through any possible space, but there was no use, Baekhyun's fingers were squeezed tightly together in front of your view.

"Baekhyun!" You chuckled breathlessly, "Where are you taking me?" The said male was standing right behind you, guiding your way with his chin resting on your shoulder. The past few days hadn't been the brightest, in fact, they had only been somber, black and white.  You had already lost the count of the number of times you had cried the past week. Baekhyun had announced to you that he was going to enlist the next year, the words had completely shattered your heart into pieces. The first reaction you had, had been going into denial, not being able to accept the fact that you weren't going to see your fiancee for a whole year or more.

It hadn't been the reaction Baekhyun had hoped for, and it would've been a lie if you said that you hadn't fought over it a few times. Eventually, with some time to spend for yourselves, you understood that it was inevitable and that there wasn't much of an option for Baekhyun.

But there he was, covering your eyes and taking you somewhere, you had absolutely no clue of what to expect since he was doing this in his own house, that you in fact by now knew like the pocket of your own jeans.

"You'll see," He eventually whispered into your ear, pecking your neck in the process. This whole situation was making a huge weight lift from your chest. After the few fights that you had gone through you had feared that Baekhyun was going to give you the cold shoulder, that the two of you would be living under a cold tension, but the fact that he was trying to surprise you reassured you so inexplicably much, making the growing anxiety in your chest die down. 

"Alright, we're here," Baekhyun announced, you could tell that he was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible just to make the surprise more impressive, but he was barely containing his own excitement. Your chest was pounding loudly, but it was such a sweet feeling that your lips curled upwards into a bright smile even though you were yet to see what Baekhyun had been up to.

In a few moments, the hand cream scented hands left your eyes and rested on your waist instead, your breath got caught in your throat when you saw everything that was surrounding you. Baekhyun had turned his little garden into a sparkling field. On the trees were hanging small yet bright lightbulbs, on the grass were arranged a couple of candles into the shape of a circle, leaving an open space, making it possible for you to step inside it. A little further away was an oddly familiar round table, a flowery tablecloth was underneath the neatly set plates.

There was so much to look at you had almost forgotten that Baekhyun was standing behind you, probably very nervous because you weren't saying anything, doubting that you were liking what you were seeing, in the end, he faked a cough and you snapped out of your trance, and faced him, he could tell from the look on your face that maybe he hadn't failed after all.

"When did you do all of this?" The words came out breathlessly and your man didn't give you the satisfaction to answer your question, but instead wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at you, taking your hand in his before you could beg him to answer. Without any words, Baekhyun fished the phone out of his pocket and as soon as he had tapped on the screen, he had already put it back where it had been.  Before you could question again, the soft melody of an acoustic guitar started to play from a hidden stereo and for a moment you tried to figure out where he had stuffed the device and without noticing, he had already dragged you into the candled circle.

You may play the song now ✨🎶

Hoy desperte con ganas de besarte 

Today I woke up wanting to kiss you

Two fingers enclasped around your chin, turning your head into another direction, your eyes meeting his soft brown ones. 

"My face is here, baby."He murmured, your heart fluttering at the unusually sweet tone of his voice as if there was honey dripping from his words. His hands were placed on your hips as he pressed your bodies together, you didn't hesitate to lace your arms around his neck as the two of you rocked slowly to the soothing music.

Tengo una sed de acariciarte

I'm feeling eager to caress you

The more you looked at him the more your heart swelled with love and affection, you were sure it was going to burst sooner or later, but you couldn't find it in you to mind any of that, now that you were in the protection of his arms, embraced by the unfairly addicting scent of his. You just wanted to press yourself closer to him and feel your heartbeats become one.

Enredarme a ti y no soltarte, eres tan embriagante

Entangle myself with you and not let you go, you're so intoxicating

His face was buried into your neck, you were into a comforting silence until he finally broke it with his low whisper against the skin of your neck.

"I wanted to make it up to you, you know, for all the fights." You assumed that he was feeling every so slightly shy since he wasn't looking at you at the moment before you could speak up he started talking again, this time bringing his gaze to yours, and within a second you were already getting lost into his brown oceans. 

"We don't have so much time left, we shouldn't fight, we should make the most out of it while we can." His words made you realize all over again how irrational you had been to him when you hadn't wanted him to go, it wasn't like he exactly wanted to go, but he wouldn't refuse an opportunity to honor his country. All you could do was nod in agreement.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have any right to start a fight and-" The number of times Baekhyun had stopped you from talking that day were starting to get too many, but you soon forgot about it when he shook his head with a small smile on his lips.

"Don't, it's okay."

Eres tú

It's you

How was he so precious, so perfect? With a single smile, he made you forget about any possible ugly fight you had had, anything that he'd done to hurt you were turned into dust because you loved him too much to even bother keeping a grudge, the two of couldn't just not forgive each other.

Quiero contemplarte sin contar el tiempo, dibujarte con mis puros recuerdos

I want to gaze at you without counting the minutes, draw you with just my memories

The only thing you wanted to do right now was to stop time in this very moment, so the two of you could just swing to this music forever, so you would never forget his dazzling smile, so that you could remember his scent, the feeling of his arms around you. So that he could be impregned in your memory. You decided to live this moment to the fullest, knowing that much to your dislike, time was short and unfair.

Baekhyun couldn't help but feel like he was already missing you, although you were there in his arms. The thought that he wouldn't be able to see you for a good amount of time brought him a big pain. He didn't want to forget how you looked like, what your voice sounded like when you laughed, whispered or screamed. He didn't want to forget how your lips felt upon his.

En mi mente marcarme tus labios, tus besos, 

Estar aqui otro momento, eres tú

In my mind accentuate your lips, your kisses

You're here once again, it's you

You barely heard his next words, because they were the lowest whisper ever, so small they were, yet they still managed to make your heart burst into fireworks, in your belly bloomed butterflies.

"Kiss me," he said, and you did. 

Slowly inching closer, until there were only a few millimeters apart, his breath fanned you face as your noses bumped ever so slightly. Your eyes were still locked until Baekhyun darted his own down to your lips, waiting for you to take the lead. A small sigh of satisfaction left his lips when you let yours land softly on his. There wasn't anything rushed in this kiss, you wanted this to last forever. As your lips molded and locked continuously you mentally remarked how sweet he tasted, reminding yourself to never forget this flavor. Small hums filled the air together with the clicking sound of your lips locking, the Spanish song blurring ever so slightly into the background.

Me encanta, verte, tenerte abrazarte... 

Quando estoy a un lado de ti

I love seeing you, having you, embracing you...

When I'm at your side 

Your foreheads rested against each other, each other's breaths melting together as you drew apart from the long kiss. Just right was one of the many time you realized how much you loved having him by your side, how much you loved seeing him smile, having him in your arms, it wasn't going to be easy to let go of him. Just the sound of his voice was something you needed a daily dose of to feel complete, how were you going to survive a year without him?

Todo lo bueno de mi, florece, eres tú

All the goodness in me, Blossoms, it's you 

He was the only person in this world that was capable of taking out the utter best out of you. The only person who'd manage to make you feel recharged on your weakest days, he was your anchor, he was your half. You had never imagined that you'd depend on him so much, but he was like an addiction, something that your body would keep on crave for.

Es imán de una presiosa energia, es tu alma que envia señales a mi cuerpo

Porque este sigue pidiendo ese aroma de ti,

Que me envita al acecho

Eres tú

That magnet of beautiful energy, it's your soul that sends signals to my body

Because it keeps on asking for that smell of you

That invites me lying in wait

It's you 

But even if the destiny was going to tear you apart, you had to keep in mind that it wasn't to be forever, he wasn't going to be in danger. That Baekhyun wasn't to be gone because he wasn't going to be there with you. He was always to be in your mind, together with every little memory of him, so that you could truly cherish what you had, and keep it sparkling inside of you.

Tenemos planes diferentes, pero tú siempre en mi mente

Pues mis venas tan sutilmente disfrutan tanto quirerte

Eres tú, eres tú

Eres tú

We have different plans, but you're always on my mind

Since my veins so subtly, enjoy loving you so much

It's you, it's you, It's you

So I've been loving this song for the past two weeks, I hope you liked it and this one shot as well.

I wrote this because I am really going to miss them, especially him.

I'm here trying to melt hearts, but I'm not helping myself preparing for their absence either. Sorry. Have a wonderful day/night, amores✨💖

(sorry for errors, i'll edit another day)

[breegullbeakreviews]

Summary: Take on the ultimate power at the ultimate cost in order to save your clan from destruction in the remaster of the previously XBLA exclusive 2D stealth action epic: Mark of the Ninja.

Overall: Mark of the Ninja is a must play game for fans of stealth games. It uses a 2D playing field to set the standard for what a stealth game can be while telling a great story at the same time. This game is worth its price tag on any platform.

Story: Mark of the Ninja is the story of a clan if ninjas in modern day Japan. In order to strike back at a group of mercenaries who sought to take them out, the nameless protagonist has taken on the Mark of the Ninja, a tattoo done with a special ink that grants extraordinary abilities at the cost of the individuals mind. The ink will slowly drive the wearer insane so it makes sense you have a partner joining you. Both in game play and in narrative this device is used brilliantly. For the narrative it gives an immediate ticking clock element and in regards to some of the late game revelations it allows for some unique twists and turns and moral questions as the player dances with what will remain once they are gone.

The game uses its few cut scenes in partner with a small cast of characters and dialogue to tell a rather effective story that follows the typical Hollywood three act structure. The tutorial is a fitting prologue and each act is partnered with a new setting. I wouldn’t call the story Hollywood quality or anything, but for what little story telling the game has, it pays off big time. The end of the story is great and something that lets successive play throughs have something more to look at. Good twists leave things just as interesting as they were prior if not more so.

Gameplay: As I stated earlier each act of the story has a new setting. On top of that you receive a new ink power during each act. Each has a catch however. At the very start of the game you can hold LT to stop time and aim up to three items to be deployed when you release that trigger. The catch is that one of the unlock-able costumes disables this ability. The second ability allows you to see enemies through any surface as well as the wires behind any traps or electrical circuits. The catch is time doesn’t stop when you use it. The final ability allows you to teleport, but it is only usable when you select a specific costume which removes your ability to use nonlethal items.

Now speaking of that last power I need to discuss its introductory level and how it is counter intuitive to the rest of the game’s design. Mark of the Ninja is about player choice. Outside tutorials and your targets, killing is optional, your approach to each objective is pretty open, and what gear you bring with you is also really open ended. The large exception is the mission the teleportation move is unlocked. You are stripped of all but this move and you’re throwing darts. Other levels may let you get around such restrictions on subsequent play throughs, but this level doesn’t let that happen. An early obstacle cannot be passed without teleportation. As a result I’ve never replayed this level. If the game has one misstep it’s this choice.

As for the gameplay it is a 2D stealth game where players navigate obstacles in the form of various security methods to complete objectives on your way to deal with targets. For instance the tutorial ends with you having to explore a building freeing our captures Ninja brethren while a later level will have you disabling power to a building or closing off exit routes. While these include a lot of simple get from A to B objectives, the areas and equipment load outs let the player explore with a great degree of freedom.

The player slowly unlocks a wide array of items, costumes, and maneuvers. The moves and items are mostly unlocked by spending medals. Each level contains 9. Three for achieving a certain score, one for each of the three scrolls, and one for each of the three bonus objectives. It is not to difficult to earn all 9 in one play through, though this will limit your options of play. The moves are mostly for killing, but the items are a balance between lethal and non-lethal. Almost all of these can be upgraded as well.

The scoring system is polarizing. The player earns a bonus for no kills or detections at the end of the level, and that’s usually equivalent to the amount of points you’d receive for killing everyone in the level. This means you get more points for sticking with one style of play for a whole level. That’s not particularly difficult to do in some levels, but in others it can be limiting. Certain enemy types require equipment to kill which makes a pacifist approach almost always the easier option if simply because it is always an option.

Now it may sound like I’m nitpicking a lot, and I am, but when it comes to the bones of this game I have no complaints. Mark of the Ninja has more or less perfected instant visual feedback in a stealth game. Part of that is because the game is built on a lot of easily visualizable true or false scenarios. The player is either in the shadows or he isn’t. While like most games this is shown via a character icon in the corner, here it is also shown on the player ninja. As soon as they step out of the shadows the ninja’s costume shows it’s vibrant blues and reds. All enemies have a view cone and their flashlights have the same. Anything that makes a sound creates a ring emanating out from the source and showing who will hear it. The player view is also limited to what the player could realistically see. So you can’t see through walls and doors or under ledges unless you peer over them which will limit your view in other ways. All of these are tweaked for further realism in the games new game plus mode. These systems all work together to let the player quickly know what’s what and it feels really empowering.

Art: The visual feedback wouldn’t work without the visuals, and even prior to the remaster they were stunning. The game is built using a series repeated tiles and interior objects, but I barely even noticed. Every environment is built in such a way that you instantly know your options and any reused assets always make sense.

The visual elements that give the player quick feedback also are brilliant in design. Sound rings are white or blur and always stand out from the background while the outline of where you last saw a guard is in a bold red. The area a guard is looking at is highlighted in a gold circle, and every one of these elements stand out from the background.

I’d also be remiss to not talk about the character art and cut scenes. They are gorgeous. It has a sort of cell shaded Samurai Jack vibe to the characters. The animation is super fluid and each level starts and ends with around 30 seconds of animation to set the stage.

Remaster: Mark of the Ninja was originally published by Microsoft. As a result the original title and its oddly named “Special Edition” DLC were exclusive to the Xbox 360 and PC. Now the game is finally available on multiple platforms like Nintendo Switch and Play Station 4, though owners of the original game will be happy to know that owning the base game will let you upgrade to the remaster on the same platform or it’s successor for $5, and if you own the DLC as well the remaster is free. The achievement list has also obtained updated game score values to double the total to a full thousand.

The visuals all around gave been updated to run in 4K on platforms that support it. This includes the cut scenes which considering they are animated wasn’t a guarantee.

Including the original’s DLC was an obvious choice. This added in a lengthy new level set in the past where you play as Dosan and defend the source of the special ink from the security force that discovered what they were protecting. The initial play through forces you to use this new non-lethal costume, but also unlocks a new distraction and attack item. Moths can stun enemies and block lights without breaking them while the fungus turn the body it hits into an instant kill for the first person to check on it. The level itself is great and the fact that all of these new tools can be brought into the main game is great. The other major addition is developer commentary. Once turned on in the options you can hit little speech bubbles in the environment to make the info pop up in game. You can also just read them in the pause menu, but that doesn’t work for the achievements. They can get into spoilers so leave them off for your first run through.

[thestudentwriteups]

White walls & Alcohol

Clutching the sheets of the hospital bed, I knew everything would go south, the once optimistic girl that found joy in the simplest times, the simplest days, and the wonderous crave for adventure, simply vanished, as I stayed in the white room, looking out into the city, watching as the days go by, forgetting how to speak, how to write, and how to hold onto anything. Everything I was supposed to know how to do, simply was forgotten, no longer able to remember a single thing that my motor skills were supposed to know. The day usually started out being bright, painless, and filled with smiles, and doctors coming in and out of my room, checking in on my progress as they tried to cure me, and make sure I was recovering. But I ate so little before I was admitted to the hospital, so little that my figure looked nothing like bones. my cheeks sucked in, my eyes popping, I looked sick, as I walked around and everyone stared, but I didn’t know, I could never had guessed what was happening as my condition was getting worse.

“You are not beautiful” Margarette said, her thin lips, and dark curls waving as she turned to face me, she had anger in her eyes, one where you would shrink, and slowly cave to the wall, hoping, praying that you’d be sucked in, and be hidden away from the world of judgement. Continuing her statement, she smiled, her nails digging deeper into my skin as she spat vile words that could make a sailor blush, “Who do you think you are to score higher than me on that test?” Margarette asked, she was angry, and annoyed. Her father was a teacher to fifth graders, at the time, and she smiled and took advantage of her fathers position as a fifth-grade teacher. She knew power, she knew the people that would kneel, and beg for her to leave them alone. Pushing me to the wall, she rolled her eyes, and left me to go into the classroom just for next period. It was English, and I tried my best to hide the scratch marks on my arms before anyone could find out, mostly my parents. I barely ate the lunch my parents would pack for me, I wasn’t hungry, my appetite was gone, as I watched held onto the scratch marks on my arms. They were deep, and painful, as if I were scratched by a cat. I sat on my chair doing the homework for the day instead, I barely understood

the things happening, but I knew I excelled in my studies when I was alone. Doing my homework, I highlighted, wrote, and tried to understand my homework. The bell finally rang, and I was still alone in the classroom, fiddling with my pencils, and trying to answer and mostly understand my homework. In a class of forty students, I was so used to being a background character all because I was never talked to, or even noticed by anyone. Coming home from school, I fall asleep in the school bus trying to block out the sounds of noisy high schoolers and middle schoolers. Finally blocking out the noise, I sit at home and try to rest alone with my sister. Finally, home I can rarely get a bite of my food, as I watch my family eat properly, and eat happily with their food. Taking in a bite after another, feeling full, and sick, right after the third bite, I close up my spoon and fork and place it in the sink. I rarely ate properly, I hated eating, I hated the feeling of wanting to throw up, and let go of the food I ate.

Days pass, and my appetite has yet to change, the bullying never stopped, and my figure was now stick thin. “Why aren’t you eating?” my mother asked, her face filled with worry, as I sat on the dining table watching my food, hoping it would disappear without me touching it. “I don’t feel hungry.” I said, as I started drinking my water. And those days turned to months, as my appetite did not change. My condition was getting worse, my words were rambled, and twisted. My train of thought was slow, and I couldn’t think straight anymore. My brain was swelling up and started rubbing on my skull. No one knew what was happening to me yet, no one even knew what was wrong. But as the days progressed, and I was going to school, I kept staring into nothingness, I can hardly hear anything as I started hanging and staring into space. I forget what was happening, I forget the lessons, and I started forgetting what to do right after school. I was always tired, and always begging to stay home. My condition finally became worse, I felt sick, I wanted to throw up right after eating food, my stomach hurt, and I rarely get a good nights sleep. Finally, went I would end up going down the stairs of the house, I would end up leaning on the wall as support to not fall down the stairs, not being able to contain, or control my emotions, having sudden emotional outbursts and always wanting attention from my mother, my father, and those that love me. I believe my

parents realized I had to be admitted to the hospital the moment, my body started being unproportioned to my body. Everything right after them bringing me to the hospital became a blur, and I hardly remember everything that happened to me. As if I was in a coma the whole time, I was sick. The doctors taking care of me smiled, but I knew it was filled with worry. My mother stayed with me the entire time, sleeping on the couch, praying, and hoping I would get better. Deep in the back of my mind, I hoped, and wished I would stop fighting for my life, hoping I would just be taken by death, and just enter the light. I remember watching television in my room, the sound of Disney channel around my room, as I watched the man switch bodies with a dog and talking about his horrible life as a lawyer. Fifteen minutes into the movie, I started hanging, everything went black, and I forgot the things that have happened in the movie. My mothers concern grew, as I did not blink for an hour on my bed and did not hear a single thing, she told me.

The doctors brought me to an operating room, to inject me, on my spine. My mind going insane as I saw all the people in the room with their masks and gowns, unable to distinguish anyone from the room, I started kicking and screaming. Finally, I was able to calm down, settle on the bed, and put to sleep by the doctors to inject something in my spine. Everything after that was darkness. It wasn’t long until I was visited by the nuns from my school, holding a bag filled with “get well soon” letters from my classmates. Some are from people I rarely know, and people I don’t know at all. To some degree, I tried to read the letters, but I can’t. I gave up, and the moment someone read them to me, I started falling asleep, or not listening at all. Through all the brain scans, blood tests, and heart monitors. From all the things you can hear and take, you mostly recall the strong scent of bleach and alcohol filling the air as you lie on the bed, and stay there, forgetting what you are, who you are, what to do, how to speak, and what time of the day it is. With ADEM (Acute Disseminated Encephalomyelitis) came the problems, problems that render you speechless, tired, and useless. You cannot write; your signature and penmanship go down, as you try to remember how to do, you’re ABC’s, count with your fingers, hold a pencil, count from one through ten, or

even speak. Your words, and letters start twisting, changing, you cannot write as your muscles are not used to holding a pen and applying pressure onto any surface or paper seemed like a taxing thing to do. But you move on, you are brought out of the hospital, prescribed some medicine, to keep you from going back and to help you recover, and you start going through different therapy treatments. Finally, brought out of the hospital, I was welcomed by my family from my fathers and mothers side, simply put, my entire family came to see me. How I was, what had happened to me and what was wrong. I wasn’t capable of walking, I had a difficult time, I came into the house in a wheelchair, and having to move around the house, my sister had to carry me everywhere until I was ready to finally stand on my own two legs.

I came back to school, the mean girls that bullied me, pulled on my hair, were nice and trying to get on my good side as I came back weeks after from the hospital, of course my drained and tired brain could barely handle the schoolwork, nor the time I had to stay in school and handle hours of listening to the teacher discuss the lesson. I remember my teacher calling me as I watched the outside world, spacing out, and going having a difficult time focusing on my studies because of it. My mother she thought the time was difficult for me, and it was. She transferred me to the school right in front of Ateneo De Manila, called “Kostka” the layout of the whole school looked as if it was a prison camp, rather than a school, where the students were inside grilled classrooms, and the office was divided by a gate to keep students out. It was quite a dark atmosphere, as there was minimal light for me to see around majority of the time. But then, I had to live with people who could, and I had to adjust to the dark hallways, and classrooms every time I walked around the school. Truly, Assumption had it’s perks of making young girls act so much like ladies, making them grow up to be graceful, and careful about the words that they say around people. But as I walked around Kostka, I have no idea what the appeal was, the boys were rude, and disturbingly loud, the girls were mean, and completely lacked poise and tact as they simply talked about little things such as people and why people shouldn’t be friends with them as they talked about the negative perks of that certain person. I have made friends, though fake friends, they were enough to keep me company. I have

dealt with my own problems during my time in Kostka, I had to be part of the group or I’d be ostracized and left out by the people there. It was a matter of finding my clique and making connections. Racism was big in that school, mostly in third grade, as we had a Korean classmate, I feel bad for talking about her behind her back, and right in front of her, as she was nothing but a sweet girl, that did her responsibilities as quietly as she could. She was a quiet girl, and I was influenced by people to talk terribly about her.

Kostka gave me issues, and have given me traumatic experiences with teachers, as they would fail you for no reason entirely, unless we their students gave them gifts would they then start giving us lines of eights and nines. I had an entirely different perspective in my time in Kostka, it was all wrong where you buy your way to get to the top of the class. As I was in Kostka, I noticed how majority of the teachers in the classroom were biased, and filled with aggression as my teachers taught, and spoke about their problems. I remember talking to one of my science teachers, asking me about transferring to a different school in third grade. her reply however was “Mabuti, nandito tito mo eh.” (“Good, your uncle is here”) as she placed her hand on my shoulders. The reference being her anger and aggression towards my uncle that I had no idea, or even a single thing to do with their little dispute. Because of that teacher, I wanted to leave, I left the school a year after, went off to Berea, and decided to forget all about Kostka, as I transferred. Kostka was not a fun environment, nor was it a good influence for young children to grow up in. Though the school did their duties of teaching the students, the teachers often put-up fake smiles, and looked at their students up and down as if they were below them or had more money than anyone. The students talk about each other, spread rumors about people we don’t even know fully, and try to change people just so they could be accepted by everyone else, in a sense, it was to shape everyone, and form them into the same mold. It was a scary place, mostly for students, and children, as they were growing up in an environment that did not care for the people, but for the money being brought in by the students to pass. The school was always dark, oddly scary for me to even be there as events happen once in a while, where the canteen area would be filled with stalls, and students chattering in the middle of the hall. I remember how you could buy your

way out of being bullied by the people in class, as you treat everyone you know and want you to plead on your knees so they would stop getting mad and screaming at you over anything you did.

Moving to Berea, was probably the best thing my mother and I have decided to do. As I moved to the school, my ideas, and opinions changed. I started being open minded to different things and wanted to improve on things on my own. I started wanting to be different, and I wanted to be a new person because is there any way people will like the old me? I wanted to be one of the people that gets placed on the honor roll, be a good student as I progress to the next level. Of course, we can’t have it all. I entered high school hoping I would find it easier on myself and everyone I know. But it wasn’t enough to hope, as grade seven was a difficult time to adjust to the new high school system. Math was much more difficult, and Science was something that became a weak point for me. Though no one was bullying me, I started being insecure, and scared of asking for help from my classmates or I might be ridiculed for not knowing. Of course, as you grow more and more in the school, you start realizing that you are not alone. You want to know more, because you are not the only one who wants or needs help. I enjoyed the consultations given by the teachers, where when you seek for help, they will gladly give it to you and help you. Berea is a wonderful place to grow and learn. Though it challenges you, gives you difficulty, and makes you want to cry as you fail repeatedly on your subjects, you end up growing with all the failures given to you and you start accepting failure, and learning from them. Math was never my strong suite. I’ve always had a difficult time at it, but of course, out of the things you can learn from a school, is how to be unique, and different from the people around you. You all may think alike, talk alike, and even do things the same way, but you start realizing things on your own as you progress, and grow up. As I am graduating this year, I am quite happy that I have made it, I have gone through school with so many hardships, and put myself in difficult places and positions as I grew. But I am quite sad to let go of the nest where my character approved and grew. I will never forget Berea as a place of knowledge, and Intellectual Growth. Though it leaves scars on the Emotional aspect of an individual, I do not regret that I went through the hardships of math and science,

because I wouldn’t want things given to me on a silver platter, and gold coatings. I think, the hardships given to me were a blessing I was too young to see and notice on my own.

[wallpaperpainter]

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PARIS — Amoako Boafo was already a ascent brilliant of the art bazaar back he met Dior men’s artisan Kim Jones at Art Basel Miami Beach aftermost December. The aftermost few months accept apparent the prices for Boafo’s assignment circling at auction, alike as the coronavirus communicable attenuate the bazaar for added accustomed artists.

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Speculation is acceptable to be fanned added by the Ghanaian artist’s accord with Dior on its summer 2021 men’s collection, apparent on Monday. Boafo’s portraits of Black characters set adjoin monochromatic backgrounds aggressive the bright outfits, in article of a full-circle moment.

“I’d been cutting Dior for some time afore I got alien to Kim,” Boafo tells WWD by buzz from Accra, Ghana. “It was amazing to abrasion article which is fabricated by someone, and again accommodated them in person.”

It’s alone the latest affiliate in a charmed aisle for the painter, who advised at the Ghanatta College of Art and Design in his home country and afterwards completed a Master of Fine Arts amount at the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna.

American painter Kehinde Wiley noticed his assignment on Instagram and alien him to his Los Angeles gallery, Roberts Projects, which staged the aboriginal U.S. exhibition of Boafo’s assignment in January 2019. “When Kehinde wrote to me on Instagram, initially I anticipation it was a joke,” Boafo confesses. “I was aloof afraid and surprised.”

Amoako Boafo’s painting “Boy in a Black & White Striped Shirt.”  Amoako Boafo/Courtesy of Roberts Projects

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His paintings additionally bent the absorption of Chicago gallerist Mariane Ibrahim, who now represents him. That Boafo should accept landed on the alarm of a arch artisan comes as little surprise: his sitters afford alone style.

“As a appearance lover, I get fatigued by the characters that I acrylic back they accept that affectionate of faculty of fashion. I get connected,” he explains, abacus that he is admiring to self-confidence. “I tend to attending at characters that are accomplishing article in the community. I additionally attending at colors.”

Boafo uses solid backdrops to draw absorption to the announcement of the sitters, whose bark he draws with his fingers, cartoon comparisons with the alive appearance of Austrian painter Egon Schiele. Lately, he’s been appointment patterns from European-sourced wallpapers to add added abyss to the paintings.

A screenshot from the Dior blur about Amoako Boafo.  Courtesy photo

While he has portrayed acclaimed asleep bodies such as Jean-Michel Basquiat and Tupac Shakur, best of his sitters are not well-known. Rather, Boafo brand to bless personalities like Thelma Golden, administrator and arch babysitter of The Studio Museum in New York City, who use their articulation to actualize amplitude for others.

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“I apperceive what it’s like to be in that minority, to not be able to say what you absolutely appetite to say,” says the painter, who struggled for accepting back he relocated to Austria to accompany his partner, artisan Sunanda Mesquita.

“I had to catechism my Blackness back I got to Vienna. You know, they accomplish it attending like it’s absolutely bad to be a Black person. For me, my painting is to appearance altered means of attractive at Black people,” he explains. The brace accept back cofounded We Dey, a belvedere for queer, trans, inter, nonbinary and BIPOC artists.

His advancing alternation of “Black Diaspora” portraits challenges absolute behavior about Black identity, while his self-portraits accept addressed baneful adulthood and anatomy politics. “The primary abstraction of my convenance is representation, documenting, adulatory and assuming new means to access Blackness,” Boafo has said.

Despite its able messages, he does not articulation the growing absorption in his assignment to the all-around activation triggered by the Black Lives Matter movement. “Maybe some bodies will affix or aces up on that,” he muses. “But the appeal for my assignment has been actual aerial alike afore Basel, and afterwards Basel it got crazy.”

In February, “The Lemon Bathing Suit,” a account completed alone aftermost year, awash for 675,000 British pounds at the “20th Century & Contemporary Art Evening Sale” captivated by Phillips in London, far beyond its appraisal of 30,000 to 50,000 pounds. Boafo is activity a bit feverish about the appulse of the Dior collaboration.

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“I mean, it is big,” he says, pausing. “Once in a while I get fatigued out because this is activity to change the way bodies attending at my work, and it’s absolutely activity to add some amount to it. So I’m actual abundant aflame about it.”

Amoako Boafo’s painting “Yellow Dress.”  Amoako Boafo/Courtesy of the artist

His admired allotment was seeing some of his portraits translated assimilate clothes, like the sweater abstract with “Yellow Dress,” a account that flirts with gender ambiguity. “To accept witnessed what they did is aloof amazing,” Boafo enthuses.

“People accept been allurement for means to be able to access a painting, not necessarily on canvas or paper, but whether I do prints, or if I accept shirts or things like this. So to accept the accord and to see them on shirts or clothes is absolutely nice. I anticipate we will ability added people,” he adds.

As he works on “I Stand By Me,” his aboriginal abandoned exhibition at the Mariane Ibrahim Arcade appointed for September, Boafo is answer the anticipation of introducing adornment into his aesthetic practice. In the meantime, Dior will accommodate its abutment to his activity of creating a abode of abode for adolescent artists in Ghana.

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“Fashion is a agent for art, and art can be a agent of empowerment for individuals. This has been a momentous artistic befalling for my career and for the approaching of my art,” he says.

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[i-donut-care-dot]

Burning Love

(Little something I worked on for the past two days - I hope it’s worth the effort of neglecting the rest of my responsibilities XD)

This little one-shot focuses on the background character of Valka - from How to Train Your Dragon 2 - and her feelings, thoughts, doubts… She’s a very complex and simply amazing character and her relationship with Stoick made me fall in love with the whole Haddock family and its portayal…

Anyway, it was inspired by Ellie Amaya‘s (@dearhoneylemon ) reprise song based on “Stoick’s Ship” from the HTTYD2 score written by John Powell. You can hear it right here:

http://dearhoneylemon.tumblr.com/post/98484486872/warning-spoilers-in-case-you-havent-seen-it

And I thank her with all my heart for sharing this small piece of her talent :D

It basically inspired THIS.

Enjoy!

People are not capable of change.

Some of us are just born different, built a certain way…

And Stoick the Vast was certainly built the Viking way. He has always been stubborn - unmovable like a stone - demanding, brave, awe-inspiring and strict. Features of a great chief, indeed. He was impulsive too - he could raise his tone just a tiny bit, but it was enough to make people listen to him. He had that resonant, commanding voice, that beamed from his impressive posture and cut the air, like a powerful gust of cold, northern wind. He was strong like a mountain and could break the trees in half, if he only wished to. But he had never used his strength for bad purposes, instead he used it to protect - protect me, our son and the rest of the village. He was firm, intimidating, authoritative - like the roaring ocean during a storm… He was everything from the man, who is standing before me right now.

As soon as he saw me and his eyes locked on me, he… dropped his sword. And Stoick never dropped his sword. I keep watching him with caution, as he quickly reaches for his helmet and takes it off carelessly. He continues staring at me with wide eyes, but does not say anything. And Stoick was never speechless. I quickly wash the expression of disbelief and sadness from my face, and look down to compose myself.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Stoick…” - I hear my own, calm words leaving my mouth, breaking the tense silence.“How could I have done this?” - this time my voice trembles as his gentle gaze meets mine. He stands there, perfectly still and not moving a muscle - completely frozen. And Stoick never froze. I feel the guilt welling up in my chest, so I breathe out to keep my emotions in check. “Stayed away all these years? And why didn’t I come back to you? To our son?” - my own words immediately start to turn against me. They are full of regret and… despair. No. I am not the only one, who should feel guilty. I take on my defensive tone again and begin to speak. “Well…” - I pause for a moment to see him finally move from his place. “What sign did I have that you could change, Stoick? That anyone on Berk could?” - he carefully and slowly approaches me, one foot after another… It melts my flawless, proud facade in seconds. I am afraid of this Stoick - he is too calm, to collected, too… stoic. I hear Cloudjumper’s growl behind my back and I know the dragons are responding to my sudden state of panic. “I pleaded so many times to stop the fighting, to find another answer, but did any of you listen?“ - my voice is far from being tranquil and my thin shield is breaking up every second - my confidence shrinking along with it. He should have said something by now. He should have stormed all the way to me and throw everything in my face - all the pain, grievances, anger, disappointment, heartbreak. I abandoned him. I deserve everything, but compassion, empathy… and his loving gaze.

"I know that I left you to raise Hiccup alone…” - I lift my staff and grasp it with my both hands as a gesture of defense. He is very close now… so close, that I can see the gray strands in his once-flaming-red hair and beard. He takes another step and another, and another… “…but I thought he’d be better off without me.” - he raises his brows in confusion at my words, but does not stop. I look over my shoulder and take a step back. There is no other way out and I feel trapped - trapped in my own emotions, that I carried in my heart through all this years… and they start to overwhelm me. I feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes as I go on with my cracking voice. “And I was wrong, I see that now, but…” - I stop suddenly, when my back hits the firm, icy wall behind me and a gasp escapes my mouth. I turn my gaze to look at his face - much older since I had last seen it and sort of tired… marked with a few visible wrinkles - and then right into his forest green eyes. There is no anger in them. “Oh stop being so stoic, Stoick.” - I slightly raise my voice in concern, as I notice him slowly reaching out his left hand. “Go on… SHOUT, SCREAM, SAY SOMETHING-” - my desperate words are cut off by the sudden touch of his huge palm, gently and delicately cupping my face. I shrink unwittingly at the unexpected contact and stare at him with wide eyes. I feel like the whole eternity is passing us by, as we look at each other with uncertainty. All at once, his expression softens even more and both joy and relief appear on his face. And then the time stops at his words.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you…”

I instantly feel the weight of these ten words. The amount of emotion they are carrying. I cannot take this any second longer, so I break. I close my eyes and let a single tear fall on my cheek, as I lower my head. The tight grip on my staff loosens and I feel every muscle in my body going numb. The day I lost you… - I hear his words echoing through my mind. His charity, calmness and a complete lack of anger are the worst possible tortures to me. Because now I sense and welcome the burden of all these past twenty years. And when he lays a soft kiss on my lips, they all come back to me, one by one. Everything becomes black and white and I finally understand, that I was wrong all along. As we break apart, I gulp the longtime guilt down my throat. Once again, I look deep into his eyes and I see the final proof in them.

People are capable of change.

 This realization hurts even more, when I see him approach his magnificent and imposing dragon. My eyes wander from the creature’s remarkable horns, over his armored neck and jackhammer-like maw to the strong, pointed wings and clubbed tail. The Rumblehorn. Impressive. I hear Stoick call him Skullcrusher, as he pets the dragon’s huge head and it puts a wide smile on my face - I could not imagine my dear husband not giving his fellow dragon a mighty name, truly worthy of a warrior. I see an extraordinary bond between them - based on mutual respect and trust - and along with Cloudjumper, I admire them from nearby. Our eyes meet and he beckons me over to join him by his dragon’s side. I take a few steps forward and let my hand slip into the palm of his outstretched hand, and I smile even wider when his fingers curl around mine in a loving gesture. I allow Skullcrusher to sniff my other hand and I watch as he confidently nudges it with his nasal horn. I tenderly stroke his lower jaw with my left palm, while keeping the right one in Stoick’s warm grasp. His hands, which once used to kill - are now caressing both his dragon’s and my skin.

Once again…

People are capable of change.

 These words are still echoing through my mind, even though I try so hard to focus on my son’s excited chatter. “Mom, you’d never recognize it.” - Hiccup starts babbling about all of his adventures on Berk for all of the past years, as he helps me prepare the supper. And even when he constantly keeps calling me Mom - which pours honey all over my love-hungry mother’s heart - I still cannot beat the feeling of shame, that I wasn’t there for him when he needed me. He forgave me. He gave me another chance. Still, it surely could not heal the deep wounds cast by his own mother, not in such short amount of time. “You wouldn’t believe how much everything’s changed…” - he goes on. You’re right, my son.. a while ago I wouldn’t believe, indeed.

“Your son’s changed Berk for the better. I think we did well with this one, Val.” - Stoick says and adds one more brick to my wall of blame. YOU did well, Stoick. Not me…

His enormous hands fall on both of my shoulders and it startles me to the point, that I drop all of the food from the plate right on the floor. I watch with embarrassment as in the matter of seconds, all of the fish end in Cloudjumper’s belly, after both he and Toothless quickly took care of the mess. I turn around in humiliation, but to my surprise I see, that this whole situation made Stoick laugh.

“I’m… a little out of practice.” - I explain myself to him and observe as he puts a new portion of fish on the plate, smiling all along.

“Well, y'know… I didn’t marry you for your cooking.” - And I smile at his teasing remark. For one brief moment I am able to draw my thoughts away and look back in time, to the happy days… If only it was possible in reality, not just in the memories…

“And once you move back in, with all your dragons, Drago won’t stand a chance. Everything will be okay!” - Hiccup’s words reach my ears as I walk away to fill the earthen pitcher with water, that’s dripping from the huge block of ice. I should stop dreaming. It is not possible for me to just ‘move back in’. I left Berk. There is no place for me there, not anymore. I cringe as my own dark thoughts cloud my mind and crash what’s left of the joy from reuniting with my long-lost family. Lost because of me. I can’t come back. Not after what had happened. Not after-

And then he starts to whistle. Not just any other song. It’s OUR song. Blurred flashbacks start to appear before my eyes. I blink a few times, but they feel so real…

The sound of his footsteps accompanies the cheerful melody when he approaches me from behind. He takes the pot from my hands and puts it away.

“Remember our song, Val?” - Stoick asks gently and I want nothing else, than to shout out ’Of course I do, my love!’. But no words leave my mouth. I stay silent, as he sings the first lines of our song.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas,

with ne'er a fear of drowning.

And gladly ride the waves of life,

if you will marry me.”

Word after word - I remember all of them perfectly. There is no way I could forget the song, that Stoick had sung to propose to me, long time ago. The song we danced to at our wedding, with the applause of the whole Berk. The song that accompanied us, in both good and bad days of our marriage. The song I used to hum to Hiccup to put him to sleep, when he was just a small baby. I missed it so much. I missed them.

Stoick goes on with the singing and I relax a little, when he delicately caresses my cheek with his palm and then slowly turns my face towards his.

“No scorching sun, nor freezing cold will st—”

“WILL STOP ME ON MY JOUR—ney. Sorry ” - Gobber interrupts him with his much more vivid tunes of the song - and probably earns Stoick’s famous disapproving gaze for this. I would have found it very funny either, in different situation…

“If you will promise me your heart. And love…” - Stoick proceeds and tenderly links our fingers together, as he reaches for my hand and brings it to his heart. His long beard is tickling the skin on the back of my palm and I realize how much I had missed his touch. He looks at me with anticipation. I close my eyes and drift away with the memories for a moment.

There is no harm in trying, right? So I will try again. WE will try again.

“ …And love me for eternity.” - I finish for him and I hear the instant relief in his voice, when he sighs deeply. I walk away from him, just a tiny bit, so there’s more room for both of us and I continue my singing.

“My dearest one, my darling dear, your mighty words astound me.” - I feel the weight of the past twenty years slowly load off my mind as I sing the next lines of the song. “But I’ve no need of mighty deeds, when I feel your arms around me.” - And then I cannot help, but smile when I reach out my bend arm and Stoick immediately does the same, so our forearms touch and we begin circling together in the familiar rhythm. The memory of the dance steps still fresh in our minds as we pick up the pace of our singing.

“But I would bring you rings of gold, I’d even sing you poetry!”

“Oh, would you?” - I cut in, as we bump into each other and I laugh it off instantly.

“And I would keep you from all harm if you would stay beside me!” - I smile even wider when he laughs along with me as he sings.

“I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry. I only want your hand to hold…” - I gracefully spin around in his arms, as the song goes on and our love is renewing before our own eyes.

“I only want you near me!” - his words alone are enough to me. There’s nothing holding me back right now. So our voices finally unite in one melody…

“To love and kiss, to sweetly hold! For the dancing and the dreaming! Through all life’s sorrows and delights, I’ll keep your laugh inside me!

I’ll swim and sail on savage seas with ne'er a fear of drowning! And gladly ride the waves of life If you will marry me!” - Stoick lifts me up with his hands and I feel complete again. There is no room for any more hollow thoughts, when we all laugh together and my husband is still holding me tight in his powerful embrace, as if he meant never to let go again.

“Ah… I thought I’d have to die before we’d have that dance again.” - he says with a dreamy voice, still panting from the dance.

“No need for drastic measures.” - I respond with a breathy chuckle and we both stare into each other’s eyes, when he kneels and speaks aloud the words, that I would never forget.

“For you, my dear… anything.”

People are capable of change.

We all are born different. And we die different.

We just cannot know when and where we die.

And Stoick the Vast certainly did not expect to die from his son’s dragon fire blast.

To tell the truth, nobody expected that. I would have never believed it myself. But when I pressed my ear to his still chest and I didn’t hear the familiar beat, and instead the rumbling silence, I knew…

Not even his bravery, stubbornness, impulsiveness, nor strength could save him today.

Because he did not think of himself, when he rushed to protect our son - the future of all Berk.

And it breaks my heart to see Hiccup like this - as if he already had the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, when we prepare the boat. Not even when we cover Stoick’s body with white sheet and place his helmet on top. I painfully see Hiccup grieving on the inside, letting only a few tears fall on his cheeks from time to time. He tries so hard to be strong - for his people… and probably for me. The spitting image of his father.

We let Stoick’s ship sail slowly and I watch as it flows to the open sea, with my late husband’s body on board. The mourning silence is broken only by the sound of the cracking fire, that’s devouring the remaining wreckages of the abandoned ships. We quietly observe as Gobber approaches with a bow and arrows in his hand, and opens the ceremony with an old, Viking funeral rite.

“May the valkyries welcome you and lead you through Odin’s great battlefield. May they sing your name with love and fury, so that we might hear it rise from the depths of Valhalla and know that you’ve taken your rightful place at the table of kings.

For a great man has fallen: A warrior. A chieftain. A father. A friend.”

A husband - I add in my head. My dearest one…

I raise up the bow and correct my grip, as I focus on the flaming arrowhead and its target. The tears blur my vision and I can only see the outline of the receding ship, at which I aim my arrow. As I release it, I can only think how the fire will separate us once more, the last time being twenty long years ago.

So we part again, my love…

If you want to share my work somewhere else, please leave credit and link to the original, thank you!

How to Train Your Dragon franchise (based on Cressida Cowell’s books) belongs entirely to the Dreamworks Animation Company.

[thenctcults]

High on You

Pairing: Yuta x reader Genre: fluff, smut Warnings: drug abuse Word count: 3,714

Sighing, you put your phone inside your bag, ready to head home for the night. Bidding the last remaining people at the office goodbye, you headed off towards the elevator. Heaving a sigh, your back slouched as you waited for it to come up, the tiredness of a very long day evident on every inch of your body. You had told yourself that this internship would be a fun and an educational experience, a sample of what your dream job would be like. 

However, it seemed that things didn’t really run so smoothly. Today, had marked one of the worst days here, yet. Mostly because your supervisor had made it their goal to make your experience here a living hell. 

Two more months, you thought to yourself. 

The elevator doors slid open, breaking your train of thought. Clicking the 0 button, you rested your back against the mirror, your bag resting against your thighs. A nice relaxing bath sounded great at that moment, maybe a nice massage too. You definitely knew where you could get the latter one, a smile inevitably creeping onto your lips at the thought of Yuta’s hands on you. 

Just that simple thought had your body tingling, your toes curling in eagerness and anticipation. Maybe what you really needed right now was to bask yourself in Yuta’s presence and mold yourself in his embrace. Mustering up any last remnants of strength, you quickly got out of the building only to be met with a raging storm that you were somewhat unaware of. 

“Fuck, I don’t have an umbrella with me.” You whined lowly to yourself, hugging your bag close to you; it was your most prized possession and you by no means could not let water ruin it. Trying to shield yourself with it would be pointless, you would end up looking like a wet koala regardless. Once inside your car, you slid the car key in the ignition, the car roaring to life. 

Driving around the city at nighttime was one of your favorite things to do when bored- you loved the way the city lights blurred as you sped down the empty streets - but not when it was pouring like this. On rainy days, you’d rather be at home curled up against Yuta. The thought is very cheesy, indeed, but you loved it. So, since the weather was more than suitable for a night like this, you drove towards his studio apartment, where you knew he’d be at this hour. 

The drive lasted longer than usual, not only was everyone driving extremely slow due to the terrible weather conditions but the ongoing traffic made things worse. Tapping your fingers along to the beat of the song that was playing softly on the car radio, you let out a sigh as you began to feel your patience running thin. If you could teleport yourself right inside Yuta’s apartment that moment, you most definitely would. Scoffing, you noticed that you had been excessively needy for him today; not only had he been on your mind all day but you made sure he knew of that, too; texting him every now and then, telling him how much you longed for him.   

About thirty five minutes later, you found yourself standing in front of his door. The already soft melodies echoing from his apartment grew fainter as he lowered the music down once you rang the doorbell. A smile impulsively made its way on your lips just at the simple thought of him. His effect on you was so intense that he had you turn into soft, gooey mush at just a simple touch or glance; it truly drove you insane. 

The door swung open to reveal Yuta’s form; black hair laying messily atop his head, his gray shorts hanging loosely on his slim frame. 

“Babe.” Yuta smiled at you; for it to fall just as quickly as it appeared. “Wow, don’t you look lovely.” He exclaimed, followed by a soft laugh, pulling you in by your wrist, the door closing shut behind you. 

Without uttering a response back, you opened your arms wide open, ready to flung yourself at him only to have Yuta dodge you expertly. 

“Oh, no. Don’t think I’m hugging you when you’re drenched like this. Let’s get you changed first.” He finished off with a smile once he noticed your disappointed scowl. Any hint of feigned disappointment fading away at just a mere smile. 

Yuta made a move to open the drawer designated for you, for when you stayed over so you wouldn’t have to inconvenience yourself with carrying your clothes back and forth. However, you stopped him from doing so, insisting that today you were in the mood to wear his clothes only, earning a smug smirk in response. 

Hugging the soft material of the shirt he handed you, you wasted no time in putting it on, enjoying the way you could swim in it. Placing the collar of his shirt under your nose, you inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet essence that defined your boyfriend. 

“Here.” He covered your head with a soft towel, ruffling your hair in an attempt to somewhat dry it, laughing at your squeals. “Much better.” he mumbled absentmindedly once he got the result that he desired, taming the tousled strands with his fingers. 

“Can I get my hug now?” You asked rather impatiently, tugging on his hands. 

“You can get more than that.” He responded mischievously, scooping you up in his arms and throwing both of you on his messy bed. You laid like this in silence, limbs awkwardly intertwined, arms tightly wrapped around each other’s torsos and your head resting against his firm chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

“Today was horrible.” Your whines broke the short moment of silence. 

“Want to talk about it?” Yuta asked gently, moving his head back to peer down at you. 

Humming softly in response, you began ranting about your day and mostly about your supervisor, Yuta nodding in understanding every now and then. Just the fact of knowing that he was there to listen to you vent was comforting enough. 

“So I thought,” you spoke, your rant now coming to an end. “the best way to for me to cheer up is stay over at Yuta’s and here I am.” 

“Well, looks like you made the right choice. Plus,” he paused, his voice trailing off. “I have something else that may be of some help.” He said, untangling himself from you and reaching out to his nightstand drawer, pulling something out before closing it again. He wriggled a transparent plastic bag in front of your face a devilish grin gracing his face. Upon noticing your shocked expression, his raised arm fell limb against his side in defeat. 

“It’s not like it’s our first time.” He pointed out and he was in fact right. It wasn’t like the two of you were perpetual smokers but there were a few times when you shared a joint. 

“It’s been long since we’ve smoked one, that’s all.” You took the small bag out of his grip, reluctantly taking one joint between your fingers before resealing it again. Motioning him with the joint in your hand, you ushered Yuta to grab a lighter. Wasting no time in his movements, he grabbed the bag out of your hands and put it back its in original place, hidden in the far back, and grabbed a lighter. 

Placing the joint between your lips, you stared intensely into his eyes, then your gaze falling on his lips, watching carefully as his pink tongue ran over his plump lips smoothly, leaving them glistening and ready to be kissed. But you held back and, surprisingly, so did he. Surprisingly, because knowing Yuta, he would never miss a chance to steal a kiss or two from you, if your faces were this close; whether it was the quickest of pecks or a longer kiss, filled with so much love and intensity it had your head spinning and toes curling. 

He took the joint that was in between your fingers, encircling the tip with his luscious lips and taking a long drag. A cloud of white smoke covered Yuta’s handsome features for a short second as he exhaled, before quickly dissipating; his face emerging from the now diffuse smoke, a lazy smile playing on his lips. As minutes passed, you took turns, taking drags one after another; the effect of the drug already having kicked in. Redbone was softly playing in the background, but the sound being loud enough to be heard throughout Yuta’s quiet studio apartment. 

Yuta hummed softly. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He asked, threading his fingers through your almost dried tresses. 

“Like,” you paused, eyelids fluttering shut at the feeling of Yuta’s hand lovingly caressing your hair. “all the time.” you giggled softly. 

“How about how much I love you?” 

“Hm,” you pondered, recalling all the times he’s professed his love for you in your hazy mind. “not as often.” You admitted, lips forming into a pout. 

“Then I’ll take this as a chance to let you know how much I love you.” 

A giggle bubbled from your chest once again. “How much is that?” 

“There’s no limit to it.” He replied, words coming out slightly slurred. Turning on his back, with legs splayed across the mattress and one of his hands rested against his bare stomach, he stared intently at the ceiling, the smile on his lips unwavering. Only now, you could detect a deep emotion behind it. 

Mimicking his actions, you now found yourself laying in the same position, the knuckles of your left hand brushing against his lightly, the miniscule touch of his skin against yours set your body ablaze. Even after all this time, still, whenever he touched you it felt as if it was the first time. The smooth guitar licks of The Night Me and Your Mama Met, gave this setting a more romantic feel to it - as romantic as it could get with the both of you intoxicated like this. 

“I still remember the first time we first talked.” He rasped out, casting a glance at you, before resuming to staring at the blank ceiling. His eyes skimmed over the stray dots on the wall above him, each connecting slowly with the other and intricate patterns taking form inside his mind. 

“Your cheek was smeared with sauce that none of your friends were kind enough to point it out. So, I did.” he recalled with a nostalgic smile, most likely tracing back to that day he had approached the table you were sitting at on the college cafeteria and bluntly informed you of the dried up sauce on your cheek. To say you had been embarrassed at that moment would be an understatement, but Yuta’s outgoing and flirty nature held no room for further embarrassment; in a matter of minutes you were a squirming and blushing mess due to his flattering words. 

His attention was now fixed on you blinking slowly at you with hooded eyes. The lower half of his body was somewhat turned towards you, knees awkwardly resting against your leg. Even though you could feel his kneecap digging in your thigh, you couldn’t be bothered to address the matter. “I think it was love on the first sight.” 

You let out an unattractive snort upon hearing his words. “There’s no such thing as love on the first sight.” you countered. 

“But I felt it when I saw you.” He retaliated faintly.

Despite the eye roll you granted him in response, your heart thumped frantically against your ribcage. You swore you could feel your heart swell, ready to burst from all the love you harbored for him. A soft pink hue rose to the apples of your cheeks, which you desperately tried to hide from him by covering your face with your palms. Seconds after, you felt slender fingers wrap around your wrists, prying your hands away from your face. 

Yuta heaved a sigh of content as he looked at you, taking in your every feature. Although, it was quite unnecessary, since after all this time every little detail about you was engraved in his mind so well. “I love you.” he mumbled lowly, a laugh slipping out of his lips as he heard you groan and hide your face in his side. 

“I love you.” He repeated his previous words, earning yet another whine from you. His side shook as he breathed out a low chuckle, obviously loving the reaction he got out of you, adoring the way those three words left you flustered. 

Loving the warmth that radiated off of his body, you made no attempt to move your face from his side. “I love you too.” You mumbled softly, your voice vibrating against his skin. 

Yuta shifted his position, his movements slow, and was now hovering over you, peering down at you with hooded eyes. Softly resting your palm open against his chest, you felt the once steady beat of his heart increase steadily. He lowered his elbows, bringing his body closer to yours. You whimpered softly, disliking the fact that your upper half was dressed and his wasn’t, yearning to feel his burning skin against yours. 

Your boyfriend shook his head in disbelief. “You’re so beautiful. God, I’m so lucky to have you.” He breathed out astonished, as if it was the first time he saw you, fingers reaching out to brush a few stray strands that lay on your face, the pads of his fingers sliding across your face, sending a tingling sensation from your face all the way down to your toes. 

“Yuta,” you sighed out his name, closing your eyes, basking yourself in his soft caresses. “I want to feel you. Take me.” You pleaded, wrapping your arms around his back, scratching on his shoulder blades, your nails leaving a trail of angry red marks in their wake. 

Without having to be told twice, his lips hungrily attacked yours, teeth awkwardly clashing together in the process. His lips molded perfectly against yours, his tongue slithering in your mouth when he found the chance. Your already clouded mind blurred, as Yuta’s fiery kisses made their way down to your jawline and all the way down to your neck, the tip of his tongue flicking over the protruding vein on your exposed neck. 

His right hand traveled south and paused at your hipbone, his fingers digging in the cotton material of his shirt on you, harshly applying pressure on your skin, eliciting a quiet whimper from you. Judging from Yuta’s angry kisses on your neck and his tight grip on your hip, his dominant streak was coming out. 

Yuta loved being in charge during your intimate moments and you couldn’t deny him, guilty of loving this side of him too. He slid his knee between your pressed thighs, pulling them apart so as to position himself between you. Wasting no time, he ground his hips against yours, the friction making your mind go haywire; already feeling your underwear pooling with your essence. 

The pace of his hips against yours was uneven and sloppy, unable to concentrate well enough on his movements. Every now and then you’d try lifting up your pelvis to meet his halfway, only to be forcefully pushed down by his hands. 

Yuta let out a guttural noise. “Stay down.” He growled, his voice laced with a hint of authority. Barely gasping out a breathy reply in the affirmative, you complied without any complaints. 

Moving the hand that was once gripping on your hipbone towards your inner thigh, he indicated you to open up your legs wider by giving it a light slap. Lowering himself on the bed, he positioned his face down on you, pressing soft open mouthed kisses on the soft expanse of your skin and littering your skin with a few bite marks here and there.

Long fingers slipped through the boxers you were wearing, running smoothly along your folds. Yuta’s lips parted at the feeling of your essence dripping from your core and onto his fingers, loving the way you became putty in his hands. 

A stream of whimpers slipped past your parted lips as he entered two fingers inside and began pumping slowly. Faintly urging him to pick up his pace, you felt your walls clench around his slender digits as he quietly complied to your request. His hand moved in an inconsistent manner, but it was enough to bring you in a state of euphoria. 

Breathy moans drowned the soft melody of the music emitting from Yuta’s speakers. With a shaky hand, you reached down, grabbing a fistful of his hair and gave it a soft tug. Yuta hummed against your stomach, from where his lips were placing slow kisses on you, the vibrations of his voice on your skin increasing the pleasure. 

Much to your dismay, Yuta removed his hands from inside of you, bringing his fingers up to your mouth, asking you to get a taste you you. A raging fire rose on your cheeks at his lewd request, but you still did as you were told. Your eyes were set on his as you licked yourself off of his fingers, watching him closely as he parted his lips the moment your tongue licked on his fingers. Groaning out your name, his hand reached down to his crotch, palming himself through the fabric of his pants. 

The sight of him touching himself in front of you had you trembling in pleasure, it being enough to get you off. His movements halted and he resumed to pleasuring you, this time, sliding the boxers down your thighs and past your ankles. His hungry lips found your thighs again, prepping you for what was to come next. 

You could feel his breath getting closer to your core slowly and yourself growing impatient of his teasing. 

Whimpering, you latched onto his hair, bringing his face closer to where you wanted it to be. “Yuta, please.” you begged faintly. His lips grazed you slightly as he smirked at your words. Not bothering to say something in return, he got straight to the point, his lips encircling your clit, making you to let out a loud cry of pleasure. 

Yuta worked his way on you just like he always did; knowing just what to do, where and how. His tongue glided across your slit, getting a taste of you. Yuta hummed in content, not once stopping his actions. His tongue delved inside you, moving in and out in a way that only he knew how, in a way that drove you to the edge so easily. 

His front teeth grazed your hardened nub and had you clenching around his tongue. The tips of his hair tickled your inner thighs as he moved, his fingers digging into your skin as he unsuccessfully tried to pin you down. Your hips rose up a little, craving for more friction. 

In a matter of seconds, his fingers replaced his tongue; skillfully pumping in and out, hitting the right spots inside you that had you chanting his name like a mantra. His lips remained around your clit, sucking on it lightly. 

The grip on his hair tightened and he groaned in slight discomfort, but you paid no heed to it as you felt your climax approaching. Your moans turned into shallow gasps, when you felt Yuta add a third finger inside you and picking up his pace. Albeit sloppy, it was more than enough for you in that state and moment. 

Your eyes were trained on him when he looked up and met your gaze with bloodshot eyes. The sound of your soft moans and his hand hitting against your wet skin mingled with the soft music in the room. 

Yuta held your gaze and watched intently as your jaw slacked open, nothing but choked gasps coming out of your mouth. You felt the wave of pleasure starting to pool in your lower stomach and you let out a silent scream right when you reached your high; a whole other different one from the one you were in that moment. This felt more intense, deeper and sensual, given the state you were in, everything seemed amplified. His fingers stilled inside you for a second, before moving slowly, dragging out your orgasm. 

Your head fell against the pillows, chest heaving as you came down from your high. If your mind was hazy before due to the weed, right now it was cluttered, your thoughts all over the place. Yuta got up and disappeared into the bathroom, before he came back with a wet towel in his hands. Slowly cleaning you up, he threw the towel across the room, where it fell on top of some strewn dirty clothes of his. 

He climbed up on the bed and flopped next to you, resting his head on your chest with a relaxed smile. The pair of you laid in silence for a few minutes, neither of you bothering to speak up. He hugged you closer to his body, his grip tight around your waist. 

Yuta was the first one to break the silence. “Do you feel better now?” 

“I feel like I’m in nirvana.” You replied truthfully; that moment you felt so calm, so serene. It was the best you had felt in a while. 

You ran your fingers through his hair absentmindedly, humming soft tunes. Yuta craned his neck to look up at you from where he was laying on your chest. 

“I love you.” he flashed you his signature dazzling grin. Groaning once again at his sudden display of affection, you pushed him off of you, causing him to whine like a little child. 

“Goodnight, Yuta.” 

“I...” Yuta paused for a few seconds, returning to his previous position. “love you.” he snickered. 

“Goodnight, Yuta!” 

[bts-dontknowher]

Best Friends Don't Do This || Park Jimin

Bestfriends Don’t Do This || Park Jimin 

 Words: 2,159 (fuuuuuuck)

 Genre: SMUT 

 A/N: oh my god I’m back at it someone stop me someone send me Jesus bc I need it. I am trashhhh. Anyway, lol, requests are open! Send us some of your deepest desires and we will get to it! ^.^

 -admin courtneycat

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 Spending time at Jimin’s always meant something would go down that night. Whether that would be a movie night, a sleepover with lots of icecream and snacks, or random bruises from mini fights you two would have. Jimin is your bestfriend, has been since you guys were just ten years old. You’ve seen everything about him- from the bad to the good. Bad hair cuts and breakups, to movie nights and prom dates. Now, sitting at the early ages of twenty, you guys both are realizing the differences between then and now.

 A piece of popcorn was thrown at your face, hitting you dead smack in the middle of your forehead. Jimin giggled at your cross eyed glare you had given him.

 “Excuse you, sir, could you fucking not?” He only laughed harder. The Captain America movie was no longer being paid attention to, as it only seemed to turn into background noises.

 “It’s movie night ma'am, get off your damn phone! This is our tiiiiiiiiiimeeee,” he wailed at you, throwing another piece of popcorn at you. His missed this time. Glaring at him, you threw a Twizzler at him. Though not at his beautiful face- wait, what? Shaking your head from that bizarre thought, you messaged your friend to stop bothering you- that you were with Jimin. She messaged you a few dirty emojis back. Rolling your eyes, you locked your phone and placed it on the cushion next to you.

 “Sorry, Y/F/N is messaging me weird shit,” you told him. His eyes scrunched up and a smirk took over his lips.

 “What kind of weird shit? Tell meeee!” He demanded. You shook your head, “Nuh-uh! Not telling. Just weird stuff you don’t need to know, trust me,” you laughed it off. You curled yourself into the couch more, resting your feet onto Jimin’s lap. He made a face at you again, but ignored it, paying attention to the movie finally. Poor Chris Evans. 

 The room felt quiet. Which was extremely odd because Jimin is almost always making some sort of noise- humming, singing, muttering, snoring, and lets not forget… yelling. Yes. The amount of times Taehyung has come over during our friendship nights is astounding. And whenever he does come over it’s constant noise times five because Taehyung. Yes, you probably understand.

 Taking a peek over at Jimin, you see that his eyes are focused on the movie. You mentally shrug and continue to watch the movie. Suddenly, he grabs your feet and tugs you down the couch. You let out a squeak of surprise and grab onto the side cushion for dear life. 

 “What are you doing, asswipe?!” You screech out at him. He only smirks and climbs on top of you. Sitting on your legs and pinning your arms to the couch. He then grabs at your phone, making your eyes widen in fear. Shit.

 “No no no no no! Hey, put that down!” You yell at him. You knew he was going to find those text messages. Your friend is extremely dirty and you guys would talk about interesting topics. By interesting topics, you mean sex. And by sex, your topic of the day was thigh riding. And somehow your friend had mentioned Jimin’s thighs and you had somehow agreed that he had nice thighs. And now here you are. Being encased by said thighs and you couldn’t help but quickly glance at them… because he was coincidentally wearing shorts. 

 Jimin only smirked as he clicked the home screen button. The lock screen showed the selfie of you and Jimin at the carnival from the last time you guys were hanging out. Thank god you had a passcode on it. “Hah! That’s right, so get off me ya lard butt-” you started but,

 “Hahaha!” Jimin had figured out the passcode, “now let’s take a look at those messages.. mhmm…ah! Y/F/N..” he muttered.

 “Please no, please I’ll do anything! Just give me my phone back! Please!” You begged out. He stopped what he was doing and glanced down at you underneath him. Your hair was sprawled out around your head and in your face a little. Your eyes looked at him as you chest heaved up and down because this whole time you have been fighting and struggling to get loose from his grasp. What you didn’t know is that Jimin liked this. You beneath him, sweating, begging. Yes, he liked you. And he definitely knew what those texts were about.

 Still smirking at you, he locked your phone and tossed it to the ground. You looked at him and noticed something much different about him, yet you couldn’t tell. He let go of your arms and slowly trailed his hands down them, and to your back. His trail left what seemed to be fire as your back arched by itself. Jimin then lifted the top half of you up and soon enough you were face to face.

 “Uhm, uh thanks. For-for ya know. Uh not looking at the messages,” you stuttered out. He nodded in acknowledgement, but his hands never budged, but to be honest, you didn’t want them to move. You almost whined when you felt his right hand move up to the back of your neck. Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes looked into his. What was he doing? And why weren’t you stopping this?

 “You’ll do anything? Anything for me?” He asked you. Too caught up in the moment and paralyzed from his touch, you just nodded back at him. He softly chuckled and went with his gut for the first time in a while. He lowered his face close to yours and instead of backing out, you closed your eyes and just went for it.

 Soon enough, his luscious lips were attached to yours. Your mind went blank and nothing around you seemed important to you anymore. Not the movie, not the time and definitely not your phone. You cupped your hand to his cheek and shimmied closer to him. He dipped you back down to the couch and lowered himself down with you, lips never detaching. Holy hell you were kissing your best friend and you liked it. You liked it a lot. 

 You two separated for the briefest of moments and looked at each other. You were both breathing heavily and as you looked back down at his lips and back to his eyes, he reattached his lips to yours again. You were in heaven. And he thought the same. He slipped his tongue out and ran it against your bottom lip. Moaning, you parted your lips and let his tongue in. Never in your life have you ever thought about French kissing Jimin in his apartment. 

 Too caught up in the moment again, you gasped as Jimin flipped you around. This time he was underneath you and you groaned at all the dirty thoughts that ran through your mind. Jimin’s hands trailed down to your waist and quickly pulled your sweater over your head and threw it somewhere in the room. A low moan rippled though the back of his throat and you could feel the heat pool in your stomach. His hands attached themselves to your breasts and massaged them, casually tweaking at the perky buds. You were a mess at this point.

 “Ah, Jimin, I think, oh god, I think you’re wearing too much,” you moaned out. You tugged at his shirt, and he got the hint. He pulled the t-shirt off. You didn’t holy your moan in at all when you saw his upper half. Dear god, you ran your hands down his tanned skin and lowered yourself down to kiss his torso. 

 “Fuck, baby,” Jimin moaned out. His hands moved down to your waist and rubbed his hands around. As you began to suck small little marks onto his collarbones and neck, he lifted you up off him.

 “Okay, baby. You said you’d do anything, right? You can’t go back,” he told you. You didn’t care at this point. You nodded. He could get you to do anything and you would care. He propped himself up on the side cushion and smirked.

 “Ride my thigh, baby.” He patted his thigh. You just blinked. So he did read the messages. Fuck. But looking at his thigh, you threw all caution to the wind and straddled him. His smirk got wider and his hands gripped you hard against him.

 “You ready, pretty girl?” He asked you. All these pet names got you off and you were more than ready for this. Nodding, you bent down and kissed him again. His hands moved your lower half back and forth, the rocking motion sending your mind into overdrive. The amount of pleasure you were received was insane.

 If Jimin were to be honest right now, the vision of you, getting yourself off only by the sheer friction of his thigh, could have him cumming himself in no time. Your body glistened with sweat and mixed with his, and he thought that must have come second to things that make you incredibly hot. Just everything about you could get him off.

 “Oh, fuck, Jimin. Oh god, you’re so good,” you moaned out. His shorts would bundle up and run at your clit and send you into overdrive. Sure enough when you looked down, you notice the wetness that was slowly running along his thigh. Fuck was that a sight. You looked back at Jimin and notice his eyes were screwed shut. You decided to help him out a bit. Running your hands down his chest again, you let your hand trail into his shorts and grab his dick. His eyes shot open and stared into yours.

 “Oh baby girl,” he groaned out. You swiped the precum that gathered onto his tip and brought your fingers to your mouth and sucked. “Fuck,” he dragged out, flinging his head back as he moved you faster along his thigh. You squeaked out at the friction and nearly cummed right there. 

 You grabbed his length again and ran your hand up and down. The moans coming from him pushed you further to your orgasm and you tried moving even faster to help him reach his. One of his hands reached up and brought your face down and kissed you hard again. And just in seconds you were sent into oblivion as your orgasm ripped through you. Your sight blurred and gasps left your mouth. The sight of you jerking and gasping, pushed Jimin to the edge and right after you, he let go and white spurts spotted his chest and your hand.

 You collapsed onto his chest, not caring about his mess sticking all over the place, cause really- you left a mess on his leg anyway. Who cares right now. Breathing hard you managed to speak out, 

“Oh shit, Jimin. What the fuck… just happened?” His hand ran up and down your back as you leaned a bit back to look at him.

 “Something that should have happened a while ago, ahh,” he was now blushing and you couldn’t hold back the grin on your face, “this is so backwards but uh, do you wanna go on a date sometime?” You leaned your face back into the crook of his neck and gave him a peck. “I would love to,” you whispered into his skin. You could feel the shit eating grin on his face and he snuggled you closer to him. Resting there longer, you could almost fall asleep. 

That was until- 

 “Hey guys! Guess what Jungko- WHAT THE HECK GUYS. Did I come at a bad time- oh my god!” Shouted Taehyung. Jimin threw the nearest pillow at him.

 “Get the fuck out, Tae!” 

You heard the door slam back shut, loud yells of disgust still being shouted down the corridors. You couldn’t help chuckling a little as you knew that Taehyung will always be Taehyung in the end. Jimin shifted a bit underneath you and you looked down at him curiously. His face looked a worried.

 “Umm, I’m not so worried that my dick was hanging out for Tae to see, but uh, I got a second confession for you,” his voice was small and scratchy, but you just shrugged and let him continue, “okay, so this was kind of planned?” 

 “What does that mean? What do you mean plan, Park Jimin I will end you!” You started grabbing at his bare chest with your hands. 

 “No no no! It’s not what you think really! What I mean is is that Y/F/N was basically trying to get you to think about me like that because I told her that I liked you…” he trailed off, a bit embarrassed.

 “Park Jimin… I have liked you for a very long time,” you giggled a little, “uh, thanks for finally doing something. But, oh is Y/F/N is a dead man.”