#bts x van gogh

[ahundredtimesover]

Untitled | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: idolverse (no explicit mentions of BTS), strangers au; angst, smut

Warnings: foul language, inexplicit smut (making out, non-descriptive penetrative sex) (18+)

Word count: 16k

Summary: For years as a sculptor, you felt detached from your own work - unable to title them, describe them, name the most basic emotions that artists should be in tune with. A chance encounter with a man one winter night finds you in a journey of finding your own meaning. And as you slowly discover what it means to create and to feel, you find out that this might also be what pulls both of you far apart.

A/N1: It’s been tough being on a writing slump and not being able to come up with something new, but then Indigo happened. I’ve been so into Closer and been wanting to write something that would encapsulate the song’s emotions, but the more I listened to NJ talk about his album (especially Yun), the more I got to reflect on so many other things. So here we are. This was a quick write (and an experiment, too!) filled with my own ramblings and questions that only one Kim Namjoon would prompt me to have. Please enjoy.

A/N2: I’m not an artist, but I’m fascinated by them and what they create (Van Gogh’s Digital Art Exhibition in the LUME, Melbourne from last September just blew my away). In another life, I probably would’ve been a collector. But the essence of humanity in my professional work links to my own appreciation of art in that sense. All the things that I wonder about life and the essence of being human are reflected here. I’ve taken from Namjoon’s reflections and insights as well, and once again, I was reminded of his brilliance and his heart.

2020, early winter 

A little boy with a bucket painting stars in the sky.

That’s what this season’s artwork on the side of the building is. Just this fall, it was a girl raising a paper airplane on this exact spot; in the summer, it was another kid on a swing, and in spring, it was a child with an opened suitcase, their toys falling out and drifting into a stream. 

Lost childhood, perhaps. That’s what happens when the world stands still, Namjoon thinks. He’d written a song about it - the things we lost during the time when time froze, and maybe just like these paintings, life continued to go on. The yearning remains, though, and he can see it on the piece that he’s been looking at for minutes now. 

Maybe the artist is young, mourning their own youth that slipped from their fingers. Maybe it’s someone a little older, mourning it for others. Maybe it’s just a person who’s trying to understand the situation through a child’s eyes - with innocence, confusion, trust. Maybe it’s—

The sound of footsteps disrupts Namjoon’s thoughts. It’s 2AM and he’s a little surprised that someone is in the area at this time. It’s a busy street during the day and the crowd falls away early. It’s completely deserted by this hour; it’s why he likes taking this route from the office to his apartment. He’s always liked walking home regardless of the distance, but it’s at night when he feels most free, and it’s become something he looks forward to everyday. 

He’s about to turn away when he notices a figure run up to the small building where the painting he was just admiring is. The individual lays their bag on the floor and retrieves a paintbrush and a pail, seemingly about to continue their work that Namjoon didn’t even realize was still unfinished.

“Fuck,” the voice curses out. “Fuck fuck fucking shit. Why do I always forget my hot packs!”

The person removes their mask and blows into their cupped hands, rubbing them after in hopes of sustaining the heat from the friction. 

“Just a bit more,” they continue, gloved hand now pointing ripples by the boy’s legs as he stands in a body of water. “Just a bit more.”

As chattering teeth and the blowing of air on hands continue, Namjoon decides to make himself known. The stranger is clearly trying to finish their work - and he’s curious to see this all unfold, finding amusement in watching an artist in action - but the cold air is quite uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” he says, as the figure stops their movements. “I’m not a creep, I promise. I was just looking at your work but you’re freezing and I… I’ve got some extra hot packs with me.”

You slowly turn around with furrowed brows. This is the first time you’ve come across another person during the early mornings you paint on this specific building. You’ve gotten used to the emptiness of this street at this time, but somehow, hearing this man’s deep, rough voice is giving you comfort. Especially since he’s offering something you need.

“Sure, that would be great,” you say, blowing into your hands again.

He slowly walks forward - clad in a thick hoodie and beanie, his mask covering half of his face. He looks familiar, but you don’t have much time to place where you know him from. You take the hot packs he offers, squeeze one with your free hand while the other continues on with the piece that you want to finish tonight.

“Will it take much longer?” He asks, his voice kind. “I didn’t know it was unfinished and it’s quite interesting to see an artist complete their work. So, uh, can I watch?”

You turn towards him. On a normal day, you’d turn him away. You’re not too keen on anyone on your ass while you finish something, but he doesn’t seem like a creep and he was kind enough to give you hot packs at a time like this, so you nod. 

It doesn’t take long. It’s just some ripples and a few strokes left anyway; you were freezing too much last night so you put off the final details for tonight. And then the last bit. You sign your name on the bottom corner, and a gasp leaves the stranger’s mouth.

“Wait, you’re Blue…” he says, the realization dawning on him. “

“Surprise,” you reply, standing up from your squatting position. 

“I mean, I figured since you’ve been painting children and their lost youth this past year but… the man in the rain, the distorted face on the mirror, the hand on the neck… those were you, too.”

Namjoon can’t believe he’s finally face-to-face with the artist whose work has been haunting him since he first came across one on an electric post 3 years ago. 

They were in other parts of the city. He remembers seeing them on walls and buildings during his walks home or when he was in the car, and then some weeks later, they were gone, either replaced with a new piece of work or just painted over, as if it never existed. He’d seen the signature a few times, and seeing it again reminded him that it was you, too. The one who’d created those masterpieces that got him thinking, feeling, wondering.

“You have a good memory,” you simply smile at him, realizing at this point that you’ve left your mask off. You put it back on and take in his domineering form. “Those were years ago; I’ve almost forgotten about them.”

“I haven’t. I mean, sort of.”

“Good. That was the point,” you reply. “I mean, sort of.”

“The point being? That I find something that speaks to me and then the next minute, they’re gone?” He says, quite defensive. It bothered him for a time that he never got to see those pieces again.

“What did they make you feel?”

“Desolate? Alone? Confused? Desperate?”

“Then you forgot about them, didn’t you?”

“The paintings, sort of. Not the feeling, though,” he frowns. “I still think about them but… I think I’ve forgotten exactly what they look like. Is that what you wanted?”

“Pretty much,” you hum, starting to pack your things. “The stuff I leave on for a few weeks are mostly sad, and I paint over them because I don’t want people to dwell on them. I want people… to forget, to move on.”

“But they don’t, not really. I’m sure they’ve taken photos if it spoke to them so much. At least I did, but then I deleted them because…”

“Because you got over the sadness,” you smirk, knowing that somehow, he proved your point, and he lets out a chuckle at the realization. “It may be on their phones but it’s not the real thing. The image may be distorted, the colors different, the strokes a lot smoother. It’s not the same.”

“They should be preserved,” he voices out. “It’s art. Those things are meant to be immortalized, no matter how they make people feel.”

“Not always,” you counter. “At least for me, I make those to forget. The feelings fade once the art does. I created them that way.”

“Hmm,” Namjoon hums, taking this time to observe you, as you’d rendered him speechless. 

There’s this softness in your eyes that contrasts the words you say. He doesn’t want to imagine what you might’ve gone through to create hauntingly beautiful pieces inspired by feelings you want to forget. 

Whatever those are, he truly does wish you’ve let those go. He knows he has. But he still disagrees - he doesn’t think art ever fades. Perhaps feelings do, but he’s come to learn that visual art is eternal.

“So how long will you keep this up?” He asks, wondering when he’d see you again; the allure and intrigue from your words makes him want to know more.

“Until the next season,” you say, picking up your bag now. “It’s been a tough year and I hope the spring brings more hope.”

“But you also don’t want them to dwell on this… the loss of childhood, of youth,” he continues. “You want them to move on from this, focus on what’s to be gained after losing something important.”

“You’re a fast learner,” you wink, and Namjoon surprises himself by the way his heart jumps at the sight. “You must be a genius or something. Or an artist yourself.”

“Neither,” he lies. “I mean, I’m barely anything, really.”

“I doubt it. A guy like you being affected by all this means you’re something, whatever it is.”

There’s something validating about your words, and he smiles behind his mask, something you see, as you smile back. 

It’s odd, feeling a sense of connection with a stranger like this, something he’s never really experienced, most times because he’s always wary of who he meets, especially at this time of the night. But you don’t seem to know who he is. And if you do, you don’t seem to mind or want to make a deal out of it, something that he appreciates. 

There’s comfort in your smile, and he wants to discover what other things cause it. There’s a dearth of experience in your words, and he wants to know more. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that he wants to mirror; he wishes he can give comfort to someone just by looking at them. 

Maybe it’s the cold breeze. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the end of the year and he’s spending it alone again. Maybe it’s spending an entire day cooped up in his studio only to go home to an empty apartment. Maybe it’s knowing what a year it was and what’s about to come. He didn’t think that a stranger in a yellow puff jacket who cursed so crisply would be the one to make his walk back home not feel so lonely. That the woman who’d casually painted some ripples and splashes on the wall was the one who’d make him feel a little less alone.

“So, uh, do you usually paint at the start or end of the season?” He wonders.

“Are you trying to ask when you’re gonna see me again?” You look at him with an arched brow.

“Maybe,” Namjoon chuckles. He’s also just trying to delay your departure, seeing as you seem to be ready to leave. 

He doesn’t want to ask your name, not ready himself to share who he is. But perhaps the next meeting won’t be as serendipitous as this. 

“It depends,” you tease. “But maybe I’ll see you again, either here, or elsewhere.”

“I hope it’s soon,” he confesses. He’s being bold, but his eyes light up when you reply.

“I hope so, too.”

Namjoon walks the opposite direction of where you are headed, turning back once to look at you, and catching your eyes when he does. 

Winter passes. His busy schedule doesn’t permit him to take this route for a while, and it’s mid-spring when he sees a new painting that’s been completed - a young girl looking through a glass window to a world outside, her fingers holding onto the latch as she readies to open it. A small smile forms on his face; he at least sees something of you, even if it isn’t you.

The next time he’s able to pass by, it’s the end of summer, and all he sees is a gray wall - empty, undisturbed, as if there was nothing there to begin with.

2021, autumn 

The bell rings as Namjoon enters the building, an art gallery that he’s been frequenting the past few months. There are new pieces, he’s been told, and one of the curators that he’s become friends with informed him that some of the artists are in town. 

He nods in greeting at familiar faces - employees, artists, casual visitors. He walks around, taking in the new paintings and sculptures displayed. As he turns towards one of the smaller rooms, a piece catches his eye.

It’s something he’d seen before, a piece of ceramic sculpted in such a way that it looks like a flower in one angle, a seashell in another. And, dare he say, a vulva from a little farther away. 

He reads the label. Untitled 56, Samantha Lee.

Namjoon goes through the photos on his phone, knowing it was a trip to LA over 2 years ago where he’d encountered something similar. 

And there it is. Untitled 48, Samantha Lee. 

He took the photo from an angle that looked like flowers, thinking about the simplicity and beauty, the choice of colors, and how they hung on the wall as part of the installation. It was one of many pieces he documented, but was the only one he didn’t get much story from. There was no description, no background. He wasn’t quite sure what to feel.

“Find something that interests you?”

Mr. Hong is one of the founders of this gallery, and he spends much of his time getting to know the regular visitors and the artists. He’s definitely someone who knows when something strikes Namjoon, like right now.

“Samantha Lee,” Namjoon responds. “Are they a local artist? I think I saw their work in LA some time ago.”

“Ah, yes Ms., uh, Ms. Lee. She’s a local and has her pieces displayed in several galleries. She’s here, actually,” Mr. Hong excitedly shares, noting how important it is for the Kim Namjoon to meet one of the artists. “She was supposed to come yesterday but decided to drop by today instead. Would you like to meet her?”

“Ah, that would be great,” Namjoon smiles back. “If she is fine with that, of course.”

Mr. Hong is never sure if the said artist is, but Namjoon is a special guest, he thinks, so the older man nods. “I’ll lead you to her.”

Namjoon is led up a small flight of stairs and out to a patio with more installations displayed. He spots several people outside, and he tries to determine which one of them is the artist he wants to meet, perhaps ask why she’d untitled all her pieces, and why there’s nothing of her at all that she chooses to share.

He stops in front of two women as instructed by Mr. Hong.

“He’s a fucking asshole, that’s what he is,” a familiar voice spits out. “The next time he harasses you, I’m going to impale his dick with my heels and—”

“Ehem,” Mr. Hong clears his throat, prompting both women to look at him. “Ms. Lee, one of our patrons would like to meet you.” 

He shares a look with the woman before she nods and smiles. She turns to Namjoon where he’s met with familiar tender eyes, eyes he’s been yearning to see since that cold winter night.

“Blue?” He asks, surprised.

“My favorite color, yes. How did you know?” 

You look at the man in front of you, tall and broad with caramel skin and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. You’ve seen this smile before. Even behind a mask, you could tell it’s him, the man who’d saved your ass that one cold winter night with his extra hot packs and his calming voice. 

You thought you’d see him again, seeing as he seemed to want to, but he never came that spring. You even left a small, ridiculous note at the corner where your signature usually is, asking when he’d come, thinking he’d communicate with you there. But the response never came. 

The universe is tricky sometimes. You passed up on coming to the gallery yesterday because you felt dizzy when you woke up. And of all days that your winter night man visits, it’s the one where you’re here.

“I just figured,” Namjoon smiles, picking up your hints. “It’s one of mine, too.”

“Perhaps we should talk about the complexities of the color, then,” you smile back, nodding towards one of the sections in the large patio. 

You lead him there, leaving Mr. Hong and his warning gaze and your assistant, whose smirk and teasing laughter makes you glare at her.

“I’m guessing they don’t know about you being Blue?” Namjoon asks, feeling a little jittery standing next to you again and being able to see your face much more clearly, your hair tied loosely in a bun and your clothes a nice fit for the cool weather.

“Minji does. She helps me find materials,” you respond. “Mr. Hong doesn’t. He’s not much of a fan of street art.”

“That’s a bummer, especially since one of the artists creates amazing pieces on buildings and posts and then signs them, then abandons them, and leaves spectators like me to wonder where they’d gone,” Namjoon replies, hoping you don’t find offense with his tiny jab. 

Your chuckle tells him you don’t. “You never came.”

“I didn’t know when to,” he defends. “Well, more like, I stopped having the time. That place is so far from where I live and I only walk from my office because I like that time alone and I haven’t had that, but then I came back in the summer but you—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you assure him. “That was a chance meeting and I didn’t really expect I’d see you again in the same spot weeks later.”

“Did you expect to see me this time?”

“Oh, not at all,” you shake your head. “Why are you even here?”

“Why are people ever in art galleries?” He counters. “To check out the art. Maybe chance upon the artists if they’re here.”

“I guess,” you shrug, turning a corner to a small maze of an installation. “You wouldn’t have known it was me, though.”

“I didn’t. I was staring at Untitled 56 and realized I took a photo of Untitled 48,” he reveals, earning him a shocked look from you. “It was in LACMA. I saw it a while back. The name rang a bell because I don’t know anything about you. You leave so much to the imagination, Ms. Lee. There’s nothing about y—”

“It’s Han,” you correct him, feeling comfortable now. “I mean, Han ___. Samantha Lee is another pseudonym. Or like a stage name. You know, like you?”

You bite your lip at the slip-up, not wanting him to be uncomfortable at the thought that you clearly know who he is. But he just nods, affirming that he now knows that you know who he is, but he smiles right after, his eyes turning into the smallest, prettiest crescents and his dimples framing his strong-featured face that makes him even more handsome. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he hums. “But why blue? And why Samantha Lee?”

“It’s the simpler version of my favorite color. Aegean blue is too complicated to sign every time,” you chuckle. “And Samantha Lee… Well, she was my roommate back in college and she once told me she wanted to be famous and the only way that could happen is if I used her name as a pseudonym. I had a crush on her so I agreed.” 

There’s a long pause before Namjoon realizes that you’re not joking, and he comments that it’s interesting but he doesn’t ask again. 

“I’m Kim Namjoon, by the way,” he reaches out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say, internally melting at the feel of his warm and large hand. “So why did you take a photo of Untitled 48?”

“It looked like a clam.”

At this, you burst into laughter.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, just to be clear!” He insists. “It was beautifully made. It was of a neutral color but it somehow stood out the most to me in that section. And it was the 48th; I wondered why they didn't have titles. And your 56th, which looks like—”

“A vulva,” you snort.

“Yes,” he chuckles, “and a flower, yeah - something I’ve been into lately. And well, it was interesting. And seeing your piece here reminded me of that,” he goes on. “And I just wanted to know… why.”

“Why what?” You furrow your brows at him.

“Why those pieces? Why are they untitled? What prompted you to create them that way?”

“We’d probably have to tour the gallery 4 more times if you want to know,” you chuckle.

“I have time.”

“Do you?” You ask, eyeing the phone in his pocket that's been vibrating for the last 5 minutes.

He smiles shyly and excuses himself. When he returns, he has a disappointed look on his face. “Turns out, I don’t have time. But I want to. I… uh, will you be here again anytime this week?”

“I will. I’m just not sure when.”

There’s something alluring with these coincidental meetups. Somehow you want more of those, perhaps to let the universe tell you that you’re meant to constantly meet this man whose time you know you’ll never have enough of, even if he makes it for you. 

“Let me see you again?” 

“You will.”

You catch his eyes when he turns back as he walks away. There’s a sparkle in them, and you’re afraid to want to see it once more.

**

The walk to the site of the lost youth is a long one, but not knowing when you’d see the tall man with the prettiest smile again, you head there. 

Your last piece was of a child at the brink of freedom, about to take the step outside the cage she’d been in for the past year and a half. You painted over it once autumn started; maybe the next time you’d paint over a building, you’re no longer yearning for lost things. Maybe you’d paint something about finding something new.

“I’m gonna start believing in a higher power if we continue meeting like this.”

The raspy voice is familiar, and you turn around to see Namjoon, clad in a hoodie and a baseball cap, leaning against one of the streetlights across the empty wall of the building you’d been staring at. It’s been 2 days since you saw him at the gallery, about 7 months since the first time you’d encountered him here. You’re unsure what this all means.

“Maybe you should,” you head towards him. “I missed the last bus so I decided to walk home. I’m still far away but this is on the way. Why are you here?”

“Stayed up at the studio,” he replies. “I’m incredibly exhausted but I don’t know, I got the energy for the long walk. Then there you were.”

“There I was, appearing so suddenly again, yeah?” You chuckle, leaning on the opposite side of the pole. 

Namjoon merely hums before he nods towards the direction of his apartment. “I’m heading there.”

“Me, too.”

With his hands in his hoodie pockets and yours crossed against your chest, you try to match his long strides.

“Painting came first,” you say, as if answering the question that he’s been thinking of asking. “Painting was everything. We had so many pieces in our home, and it’s as if they spoke to me. I mean, in a not creepy way, it felt like all of my parents’ own pieces spoke to me. And they always told me I wasn’t good enough.”

Namjoon turns to look at you with empathy in his eyes. He lets you speak, and he finds out that both your parents are the artists he’d been researching lately. Your father is a classical painter, and your mother does contemporary. He can’t imagine living in gigantic shadows like that. 

“When I was 15, my parents pulled strings to get some of my pieces displayed with theirs,” you sigh, recalling the mixed emotions then. “It was exciting at first, but the patrons wouldn’t mention my name unless they mentioned my parents’. And then one of my favorite pieces that I made was sold to a man who wanted it as a decoration in his summer home’s living room.”

Namjoon slows his walk and you match his pace. You meet his comforting eyes, and there’s that warmth you feel from, technically, a stranger that you didn’t expect.

“I made that piece at a time when I was frustrated living in my parents’ shadows,” you continue. “Someone once told me that art is meant to be shared, that there’s humanity in the community we create when it’s shared, that the meaning deepens when others make their own. That piece had so much of me in there; I felt like the meaning of that piece was stripped away from me the moment that stranger took home that canvas for a select few to look at. It wasn’t mine anymore, it was his; it was theirs. I stopped painting after that.”

There’s a certain kind of pain in giving up something that matters deeply to you, in losing meaning in the thing that’s given your life meaning for most of your life. Namjoon knows a bit about that pain. Many times, he’d found himself questioning all that he does, what he stands for, and what the world expects him to be. 

He sees that pain in your eyes, of losing a part of you as the art stopped meaning what you wanted it to. But he doesn’t think that all is lost. 

“But your street art,” he reminds you. “That’s still you. That still has meaning. And that’s something that you share.”

“That’s Blue, though,” you manage a smile. “She’s just a part of me.”

“She’s still you,” he insists. “Can you tell me about her?”

And so you tell him - how you argued with your parents about quitting painting, how you were going to turn down the scholarship in a prestigious art university to take up sociology instead, so they shipped you to a foreign country to fend for yourself, and that’s when you learned what loneliness felt like. But that’s also when you learned about people in their rawest sense, what it meant to struggle to survive, what it meant to lose something that mattered, because you studied them - you studied how humans grieved and how they persisted. You studied how they lived and how they died.

“Blue wants meaning, and she still struggles in finding it,” you explain. 

“Does she?” Namjoon questions. “I’m in my late 20s but your lost youth series resonated with me. All those paintings of the man in the rain, the distorted face… they’ve inspired me in ways I can’t explain. That’s meaning, ___. That matters.”

No one outside of Minji knows all these versions of you. Except Namjoon, the brightest star you never thought you’d ever meet. Hearing him speak about your work this way makes you feel something - a first in a long time.

“Thanks, I guess,” you say shyly.

“It’s a shame they’re not displayed in galleries and museums, though.”

“I don’t want them to,” you say, surprising him. “People intend to go to museums, but they pass these streets out of necessity. I want them to stop and look, to feel, to think for a few seconds before they go back to their routinary walk. And then I remove them, so they can forget what pain and sadness feel like.”

“Looks like you found your meaning, then,” Namjoon smiles, comforted by the fact that someone as talented as you had found purpose again, something he relates with at a deeper level than he imagined.

“The painter in me did,” you reply. “The sculptor, not so much. “

“Untitled,” he hums.

“Yeah. I don’t think I can name something I understand, or at least, feel,” you say. 

“That’s a lot of untitled works for you to not understand what you do,” he chuckles. 

“I’m prolific because there’s not much of me I lose when I create them,” you explain. “I just sit in my stool, craft something, then call it a day. Not to brag or anything, but it comes easy. They’re shallow pieces, Namjoon. They don’t even deserve to be in galleries but Mr. Hong insists they do for some reason. I wish this version of me, Samantha Lee, understood why it matters, why someone like him would believe in my pieces, why a Kim Namjoon would think that 48 stood out to him enough to keep a photo.”

Namjoon processes your words. As an artist himself, he believes in the meaning of the pieces that he creates, whether it’s a song or a poem or an album or a concert. There’s effort put into them even if it’s something created in 30 minutes. Your pieces are beautiful, and he wants to explore more - you and your meaning, you and your value. 

“Then why do you keep making them? What about it makes you keep sculpting?”

“The feel of the clay on my skin, the way my fingers get to mold and create the details,” you explain. “I get to touch it. I don’t get to do that with painting, you know? It’s the paintbrush and the canvas I feel but with sculpting, I get to mix the materials, I get to shape it, hold it.”

“There’s that intimacy,” he offers.

“Yeah. And it’s addictive because it’s closeness I’ve never felt before.” You turn to him before speaking the next words. “It's an intimacy I’ve never experienced before with anyone or anything.”

“Isn’t that your meaning, then?” He questions. “The piece itself might not have a story on its own but all these untitled works, the process of creating, of it being easy because you can’t get enough of the intimacy you get from creating… that’s meaning. That desire for closeness, for meaning… that’s meaning.”

No one’s ever put it that way for you, probably because you’ve never let yourself be this honest with someone about your art. All your friends aren’t artists because you wanted that world separate, you didn’t want to have to talk about it feeling as insecure and lost as you are. 

But Namjoon - he’s one of your generation’s greatest artists. He weaves words and sounds so beautifully to create masterpieces that people consume and hold so closely. He understands. 

“I’ve made songs that took me 30 minutes,” he shares. “But I’ve also made songs that took me to dark places, that broke me as I wrote them. But once they came out, once I’ve shared them to others who’ve shared what it meant to them… slowly, I started becoming whole again. Isn’t that an artist’s burden? To break to create, to feel whole after that, and then to break all over again?”

“You are truly one of a kind, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him. “I’ve lived with artists my whole life and they never let me understand art in that way.”

“I’m still figuring it all out,” he shrugs. “I still feel lost sometimes, but I think it’s natural to feel that way, to be unsure or confused. I guess what matters is that we’re still walking on some road to somewhere, even if we don’t know where we’re heading.”

“Is that where you are right now?” You wonder. “On a road to somewhere you don’t quite know yet?”

More than you know, he wants to say. He’s in this period of experimentation, of figuring out his signature style, of figuring out who he is and what he means to his teammates, to the industry, to the world. 

“Sort of,” he shrugs. “It’s hard sometimes. Walks like this give me a reprieve. Consuming other people’s art lets me understand things a bit more.”

“Yeah, I get it. I mean, conversing with strangers gives me time to breathe, too.”

“Ooh, so I’m still a stranger, huh?” He chuckles, shyly looking at you. “Our third unplanned meeting, an hour of walking home… and I’m still a stranger.”

“What would you want to be, then?” You turn to him, a little teasing smile on your face.

“A friend, for starters.”

“My nighttime friend?”

“Not just,” he shakes his head. “I would like to see you again, actually. And I don’t want to put this up to chance this time. Like, something planned or—”

“And how exactly would that work?”

“I, uh…” he thinks. “I’d invite you to my apartment. And you can invite me to yours?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay.”

“Are you always this bold?” You giggle, not missing the way your cheeks start to feel warm at the mention of visiting each other’s homes and him wanting to get to know you. 

He’s obviously handsome - you’ve known of him since his band made it to your TV screens, being young men who were around your age, singing songs that resonate so deeply with you. But he’s more than that, as you’re learning. There’s this passion for creating that's refreshing, something you seem to lack.

“Not always,” he looks away, the dips in his cheeks something you’re sure you won’t get enough of.

“You should be. It makes a girl flustered but it makes it so difficult for her to say no,” you smirk. Sometimes, you also don’t know where your own boldness comes from.

“You? Flustered? That’s quite hard to believe,” he teases.

“That’s true. But it happens, believe it or not, when a gorgeous, brilliant man asks me over.”

Your heart stops for what feels like a minute, but his sweet, child-like laughter melts away your worry.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” You ask. 

“Surprisingly, no,” he replies. “I appreciate your honesty. About everything. I hope we can give that to each other.”

“Okay then, your turn,” you challenge.

“Hearing you curse was kinda hot.”

You try to hold off your laughter, your defense to your true reaction, which is to smile like an idiot and feel like floating. 

“That’s interesting. I would’ve thought it’s something to do with my looks or my talent, you know?” You arch an eyebrow teasingly.

“It is. I think you’re beautiful. And I’m usually a forgetful person but I haven’t forgotten your sweet smile since I first saw it last winter,” he says, catching you off guard. “And your talent… there’s a reason why I have 48 saved on my phone, and why I sought out your street art these past years. I want to know what intimacy in art is like for you. I guess I’ve sort of lost that in creating my own.”

“Intimacy,” you repeat. “I think we both lack it in certain ways.”

“Maybe we’ll find it,” he says more confidently now, holding your gaze as your eyes trace his face. 

“Maybe we will,” you respond, feeling your whole body warm with embers of fire. 

He insists on taking you home, another 20-minute walk away from his. But you claim to enjoy that time on your own, assuring him that you do this all the time and the streets are safe.

“Let me know when you get home safely?” He asks, and you give him your phone for him to input his number.

“I will.”

It’s 30 minutes later when you do. It’s 1AM, but you and Namjoon spend the next 2 hours talking some more - about his songs and your pieces, about his plants and your collection of wind chimes. 

You didn’t expect to make him laugh as much as you did, and he said he didn’t expect you to think his ramblings are adorable and amusing. You most definitely didn’t expect your heart to beat as fast as it did when he told you, in his deep, raspy voice, that he’s glad he took that long walk that winter, that he visited the art gallery when he did, that the hopeless romantic in him pushed him to go to the place you first met. 

“I think I’m crazy but somehow I feel like I’ve known you for so long,” he muses. 

“I feel the same way,” you assure him, as you hug your pillow and slowly surrender to sleep.

“Good,” he hums. “That’s all I wanted to know. Good night, ___. And I’ll see you soon.”

2021, winter 

There’s a warmth in Namjoon’s home that’s hard to replicate. Filled with his favorite art pieces of all forms, he said he curated it to reflect his emotions just as much as his tastes. It’s clean and well-organized, with books on shelves and stacks on the floor, and an entire area full of liquor - his new interest, he’d said. 

He’s had you over several times already; the first one, barely a week after that long walk home. You both spent hours that day talking about his favorite artists, and it wasn’t enough, as he asked you back the next day. 

You often talk about your childhood, one that you weren’t always comfortable sharing, but being with him makes it easy. 

It’s easy when he looks into your eyes when you speak, as if he’s telling you that he knows you say more than words. It’s easy when he’s got his own stories to share - stories of vulnerability and honesty, of fear and confusion. It’s easy when he still stutters over words sometimes and then gets lost in his own ramblings, then he chuckles when he realizes he’s talked so much, and you tell him that it’s okay because his voice is calming and his thoughts are a breath of fresh air.

It’s easy when his presence is comforting, when his anecdotes about his friends and family make you laugh until your insides hurt. It’s easy when he makes you feel like you can question everything about your art and your purpose and your abilities but he never makes you feel like a failure. It’s easy when he smiles and laughs nervously, when he’s funny without meaning to, and when he makes sure you’re comfortable by always having your preferred tea and biscuits next to the wine you once said is your favorite.

The only time it gets hard is when he stands a little too close as you look up at a painting or a book on a shelf. You could feel the heat from his body; a slight movement and you’d be touching, mere cloths in between you. It’s hard when his arm brushes the slightest bit against yours. It’s hard when he gazes at you when there’s silence, and it’s like he’s studying your face before you call him out and he apologizes because he “can’t stop looking at pretty things.” 

It’s hard when he hugs you goodbye and he wishes you a safe ride home. It’s hard when he sends you a message right after, saying he wishes you both had more time.

Being attracted to Namjoon is hard; being attached to him is torture. 

“You’re looking for him again,” Minji states the obvious as you walk around the gallery, your eyes darting to the door every time the bell rings. 

“No I’m not,” you deny. “He just got back from his trip abroad and he’s tired. He won’t be coming here.”

“Doesn’t mean you wish he would,” she smirks. “But why rendezvous here? You guys go to each other’s houses. And no one goes to your house… aside from me.”

“We can’t exactly see each other in public, you know?” You glare at her. “But… I don’t know, it’s nice to see him look around and talk about what he sees. I feel like I learn more from him. And that’s weird, isn’t it? This is my field. The arts have been my entire life, but I’m learning more about it from him.”

“What is it about him?” She wonders. 

She doesn’t say that she’s noticed more life in your eyes since he came into your life. She doesn’t say that she’s noted that you take more time creating pieces, seemingly savoring the process unlike the way you used to. She doesn’t mention the smile that she hasn’t seen in all the years that she’s known you. 

“Passion is sexy, you know?” You giggle. “He has so much of it, it’s inspiring.”

“Is that all?” Minji smirks.

“He’s also fucking gorgeous. I try not to ogle him but I think he’s noticed. Fuck me.”

“Maybe he wants to.”

“Shut up. Don’t make me hope.”

“You do that to yourself,” she laughs. “Keep denying that you don’t want to see him or want anything more with him and let’s see how you do.”

The truth is, you know. You know that you’d fall hard if you let yourself go like that, but it’s human to know danger and then still want it, isn’t it?

The vibration from your phone ringing surprises you. 

“Hey,” Namjoon’s voice booms on the other end.

“Hey,” you reply. “How was your trip?” 

“Good. I just got home. We had to stop by the office for a bit. My place is a mess and we have something again in the afternoon,” he huffs, sounding incredibly tired. “Can I come over tonight?”

You almost drop the flute of champagne you’re holding. He’s been to your house twice, but this is the first time he’s specifically asked to come over, especially considering that he just arrived from a trip abroad. 

“Of course,” you hum. “Any dinner preferences?”

“Your cooking,” he says simply. “But wait for me, okay? I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”

“Okay,” you say, before dropping the call, unable to hide the wide smile that forms on your face, to your assistant’s amusement.

“Why don’t you try to let go this time?” She advises. “Maybe you’ll find the intimacy you’ve been longing for.”

**

Namjoon overestimates your cooking abilities. Truly, all you know to do is prepare ramyun and fry anything. But, compared to him, he’s said you’re chef level. “The guys” don’t even want him near the kitchen, he tells you all the time. 

But instant noodles and pork belly seem enough for him, as he eats with his mouth closed and hums in satisfaction. You take the time to savor the way he looks. A few weeks without him has started to feel like months. 

“It was overwhelming,” he finally says. 

He knew the moment he landed that he wanted to see you. There’s comfort in your presence that he’s begun to accept, and being with you allows him to be honest, to feel real, to feel human. 

“It was great to be able to perform again, to hear the cheers and the sounds and everything. It was also terrifying,” he continues. “I was nervous and excited, I was scared and elated. I felt so fulfilled and satisfied but I also felt like it wasn’t enough.”

“That’s a lot of conflicting emotions,” you hum.

“Are they? Conflicting, I mean.”

“It depends, I guess. They seem up and down to me. Does it bother you?”

“That I felt all that, all at once?” 

You nod in response.

“It used to,” he admits. “At the start of all this, I thought, I can’t be scared. Six other guys and an entire company are looking to me to succeed. I have to be strong and confident. And then, an industry is waiting for me to fail. And then, my own country is letting me - us - represent an entire generation, it’s asking me to carry on this cultural wave. It never ends. And I used to think I couldn’t be scared, that not wanting all this anymore means I’m ungrateful.”

“But you aren’t,” you try to assure him. You can’t imagine the burden he feels, leading a group that feels all kinds of pressure. “I’ve heard you talk about your art and your poetry and your brothers and your fans. You’re easily the most passionate, hardworking, and appreciative person I know. I don’t think you’ll ever run out of things to give.”

“It’s tiring,” he sighs.

“I’m sure. But you’re honest about it. You’ve always been. Doesn’t honesty unburden you, even just a little bit? Doesn’t it leave you space to feel more, to be more?”

Namjoon hums. For someone who claims to not know much about feeling, you seem to know what to say to make him stop and think, to remind him of why he does what he does. And why ultimately, he’s always going to love it.

“It does,” he finally says, sitting up straight to take a better look at you in your linen pants and soft sweater. “Do you do that, then? Unburden yourself by being honest?”

“I’m not good at doing that,” you chuckle. “If you don’t know by now, I say a lot of seemingly profound things that I don’t necessarily live by.”

“Why not?”

“Honesty scares me. Being vulnerable scares me. I don’t know how to return it.”

“Has anybody ever been all that to you?” He wonders, feeling the tension build a little.

“Once” you say, standing from the dining table and heading to the large window that overlooks your garden. “And I ran away.”

“Is that why you sculpt, then?” Namjoon asks, walking towards you. “Because you don’t know what to do with intimacy so you do it with your art? You want to hold and touch what you walk away from? You don’t give it a name because you don’t want to define it? Because you’re scared that if you do, you’ll realize that you actually want it - the closeness, the warm body, the rawness that you can only get from being with someone else.”

You look up at him, towering over you. He came from a short filming, donned in a white, buttoned polo with his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can see the darkness of his hazelnut eyes and the stubble on his chin. You spot the beauty mark on his neck and the smoothness of his skin, especially on his chest, as he leaves 2 buttons undone. 

“Reading me now, Kim Namjoon?” You cock an eyebrow, trying to break the tension that’s built up in the last few minutes. 

“I’m trying, because I want to get to know you more, find out what you’re afraid of and ease it somehow,” he admits. “Because I feel the same way. I’m honest but I’m scared, yet with you, I’m honest but I’m brave. I feel like I’m brave. I don’t know what it is, but ever since I met you, I just wanted…” he glances at your lips then meets your eyes again. “I just wanted to know more, to feel more. To understand what it’s like to be intimate with someone who doesn’t know much about it like me. I want to figure it out. With you.”

“How?” 

One word is all you get to verbalize, as you feel him come closer, the heat of his body intensifying with every second. You’re backed up against the window, the distance between you and him decreasing and decreasing. 

His eyes are boring into you, and you bravely gaze at him back. You mirror his desire, as you lick your lips when he glances at them again. Your chest is heaving as is his, and your heart races even more when he breathes out your name.

You palm his chest, and for a brief moment of uncertainty in his eyes at the thought of you stopping him, you instead grip the cloth that covers him, and you slowly pull him in.

His lips are soft. And the way he gently presses against you is tender, comforting, like he wants to savor it and go slow. He angles his head the same time his hand reaches for your waist, and you feel the slightest wetness from his tongue.

You grant him entrance, and the second you do, he takes control, tightening his hold on your body as he cages you, his one arm now propped up against the window. You moan into each other as tongues and teeth clash, and you can’t help your hand that travels to pull on the ends of his hair, brushing your fingers against the nape of his neck right after. 

It’s a little sloppy, needy, but there’s still gentleness in there. It’s in the way he cups your cheek, caressing it with his large fingers and letting it slide down your chest, back to your waist. It’s in the way he smiles into the kiss when you moan your pleasure; you can almost feel his dimples as he does. It’s in the way that he asks for more, not with dominance but with care, with understanding, with caution. 

You both pull away to catch some air, lips swollen and wet, but your smiles say you enjoyed it. The way your bodies haven’t completely detached from each other shows that.

“Would you let me stay the night?” He asks softly, as if it’s a request he’s afraid to ask. 

“Yes,” you breathe out. “Be with me tonight.”

Underneath the covers of your bed, you lay in his arm while your fingers trace patterns on his taut chest. You can hear his heartbeat still drumming, and you can feel the care in the way he caresses your cheek, your arm, your waist.

“I don’t know what I can give you, Namjoon,” you admit. “I don’t know how to be as honest and vulnerable as you. I don’t know how to share parts of me that I don’t understand. I don’t know what I can do to ease all your worries and concerns. I—”

“Just give me moments,” he interjects. “Nights like this, days at our homes, afternoons at the galleries, hours on the phone… I just want to feel something that I can actually touch, that I can savor. And I want it to be you, the one I get to hold and taste and kiss.”

He leans forward again, and you capture his mouth in yours. There’s no need to do more - much as you’re wet and he’s definitely hard, but neither one of you is rushing, neither one wants to scare the other.

He’s hot, the kind that burns. That’s how it is with people as passionate as he is - their touch can light a fire on your skin, and you won’t be able to stop it.

“I can give you moments,” you whisper. “Just tell me.”

2022, spring 

You can count the moments with 2 hands. 

Namjoon stayed with his parents over the holidays but he videocalled you everyday. You both went to a few galleries outside the capital but did so separately, spending hours after that talking about the pieces over the phone. 

You’ve come to appreciate your world much more deeply with his commentaries and reflections, and with you, he said he’d gotten to breathe a little longer, laugh a little louder, and feel a little more human. 

He stayed over your place 4 more times; you stayed over at his thrice. You debated over movies and recommended each other books. It was common to spend the day wrapped up in each other on the couch while you both read separately. He made you listen to a few songs he’s been working on - some of which were inspired by your many conversations and your own musings, and you’d showed him sketches of your upcoming planned series on sculpted landscapes.

It’s freeing, being able to share about your world with someone else like this, and being part of someone else’s, too. Whatever it is you both have is freeing - kisses included, which never went beyond what you first did. Despite the obvious desire to do more, neither of you ever tried, perhaps knowing what it would entail. There’s distance between you and him but there also isn’t. There’s enough comfort and intimacy that you’ve only scratched the surface of, but this seems to be just enough. 

“I have the weekend off,” he pants over the phone. It’s 11PM and they’ve just finished rehearsals for an upcoming series of concerts abroad. “Do you want to do something?”

“A trip to my parents’ summer home?” You wonder out loud. The spring air has come and you love going to the lake at this time. “It’s by the mountains and it’s really private. The estate is like their personal art museum with their works and others’. I visit every year. But if—”

“Yes, a hundred times yes,” he huffs. “That’s fucking amazing.”

“I know I got you at the art museum bit,” you laugh. 

“You got me at the really private bit, actually,” he says seriously, causing your heart to race. “And the art of course. And you. Always you.”

“Alright, Casanova,” you tease. “Just make sure I don’t get in trouble for taking you somewhere weeks before you leave.”

“We’re alright,” he responds. “I can’t wait.”

**

It’s a 3-hour drive to the estate by the mountains. In the far future, your parents want to open it up for private viewing, and so you want to make sure that your art lover more-than-but-not-really-friend gets a first peek. 

You spend the entire ride talking about a hundred topics, going off tangent when he rambles again, and you’re the one who circles him back to the original discussion. You hum tunes while he sings songs, and when you find private spots, you take the risk and take photos.

You make it to the estate in the late morning, and as you expected, Namjoon’s jaw drops. 

The fountain at the front is an art piece itself. The front door was shipped from Indonesia, and the furniture are a beautiful curation of pieces from all over the world that were gifted to or bought by your parents. 

You watch him gently trace the carvings and the details. You’re in awe as he absorbs the sculptures and paintings as you tour him around. And you melt every time he turns to you with the biggest smile on his face, like he’s discovering a secret that only both of you know. It’s breathtaking and absolutely precious. 

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says, as he catches you marvel at him. “I like it when you look at me like you want me.”

“Don’t fluster me,” you say, turning away. 

“You’re not denying it,” he counters, walking closer to you.

“I would be a liar if I did.”

“That’s good to know,” he hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know I only asked for moments but can this weekend be filled with that?”

He looks nervous, like you’d turn him down.

“I… it’s been tough, dealing with a lot of things,” he continues. He’s mentioned some difficulties lately, and you know there’s not much you can do about it. Except, maybe this. “I just want something to hold onto, like being here with you, experiencing all these art pieces, being close…” 

He cups your cheek and gives you that look that you’ve become familiar with, his request for intimacy that you both continue to explore.

“Okay,” you respond, taking his hand and kissing it. “Okay.”

You eat lunch, explore the east wing of the property, and at mid-afternoon, you convince him to swim on the lake with you. 

“Isn’t it freezing?” He asks worriedly.

“That’s the fun part of it,” you insist. “There’s a hot tub we can stay at after.”

Namjoon gives in. It’s easy to, with a smile like yours that makes his heart race every time. Especially when you come out in your blue swimsuit, shaping your curves and all other parts of your body that makes his own react. He can’t help but marvel at you, even as you tease.

“Hey, big guy, eyes up,” you smirk. 

He blushes when you giggle, but he does tease back, removing his shirt to reveal his body that he’s been working so hard on. He does flex a little to give you a taste of your own medicine, and it works.

“Hey, eyes up,” he chuckles. 

You feel a shiver when his finger tilts your chin up, and you do the childish thing and bite it before you run to the lake and dive in. Namjoon follows, canonballing and then swimming over to chase you. 

You haven’t swam here in years. You merely used to watch the sun rise and then gaze at the sky and imagined doing all this with someone else. You didn’t really think you’d end up here with Kim Namjoon, but here you are.

Namjoon pulls you to him as you swim close, and you both float in the water with your arms around his chest and his arms around your waist. You’re obviously both drenched, and that just leaves so little to the imagination, especially with the cold water a little more overwhelming than you expected. 

His hair is swept back, with beads of water lining his face and sliding down his neck and his chest. He’s broad and incredibly built. It’s unfair that his body looks as amazing as his face. 

“Does Minji know you’re here with me?” He asks.

“Yes, teased me nonstop until I picked you up. What about the guys?”

“They do. They insist we are a couple.”

“And?”

“And I said that we aren’t,” he says cautiously. “We’re friends who spend a lot of time together and cuddle, and uh, sometimes do a little more.”

“What a complicated way to say we’re friends with benefits,” you laugh.

“I don’t see it that way, though,” he furrows his brows. “I don’t want to reduce what we are to each other to just benefits or something sexual or shallow. Do you see it that way?”

“No,” you say. “I… I’ve come to understand art a lot more because of you. I’ve come to appreciate what I do. That’s not just some benefit.”

“And I… can’t even explain all that you do for me,” he says. “We’re more than that. Less than lovers, but more than friends. And our moments shape this, whatever name we call it.”

“Untitled,” you wonder out loud. “Sometimes artists name their pieces as such when they can’t find a better descriptor.”

“So 58 sculptures in, and you still can’t find a better descriptor?” He teases.

“Shut up,” you smack his hard chest. “I titled them that way because I didn’t have a meaning for them. I just created them. But then I met this man, tall and built with a sexy brain, and he made me realize that the meaning is in the creation, too. So 58 works, 58 times I experienced intimacy, the only times I do.”

“Ah, so what about us?” He nudges you with his nose. “Aren’t we intimate?”

“It’s a different kind, I guess,” you say. You’re not my creation and you’re not mine, you choose not to say. “You don’t break. You’re the one that breaks other things.”

You pass it off as a joke, and he buys it. You don’t want to think much about what you and Namjoon aren’t; you just want to think about what you both are - something that may or may not be fleeting, but something beautiful nonetheless.

The sun shines a little too bright, and you take the chance to get out of the water and into the dock to soak up its heat. Namjoon follows and you both lay that way, just next to each other, catching your breaths.

“Are you feeling a little better?” You ask, wondering if he still carried over all his concerns here.

“Yes. It’s exhilarating,” he responds. “It’s nice to feel this way for a change.”

“I’m sure you’ve felt this way before, too.”

“Not this way,” he turns to you. “It’s different, I guess. It makes me think of all the other emotions I have yet to feel, the ones I’ve felt only briefly before, and the ones that I’ll never feel. I think life’s too short for a person to experience all kinds of emotions. I was it wasn’t.”

“Are humans built for that?” You question. “To feel every possible thing out there? To feel every variation of pain and sadness and joy and elation and pleasure and desire?”

Namjoon thinks. Surely, being able to have emotions and to truly feel is what makes us humans and what makes us different from animals. It’s what marks our humanity, regardless of what emotion that may be. But are humans really capable of feeling everything without breaking? Without it being too much?

“Maybe not,” he finally responds.

You think, too. You’ve often wondered why you were so scared to be vulnerable, to take risks, to love. You thought once that feeling things is overwhelming - what do you do with them? How do you handle them when they get too much? When you become too happy or too sad or too scared or too excited? 

You think maybe because like all things in this world, you can never have emotions. You feel them, but you can’t own them, they can’t be yours. Like your art. You can create them but they stop being yours once you share them. Like music, as Namjoon has told you, it stops being his the moment he releases it for others to consume. And it’s scary to not have that permanence; it’s scary to not have that assurance that you’ll always have that joy or that excitement or that elation. And in some way, it’s also scary to know that you won’t always have that pain or that sadness.

“Maybe humans are only built to try to feel everything,” Namjoon states, having thought about your question and his years-long quest of figuring himself out. “But we aren’t meant to achieve it. Maybe our life is about just feeling bits and pieces of it, sometimes longer than others, but we can’t feel it all, and definitely not all at once. It’s like truth; we spend our life seeking and trying to live it, but we might never be able to. Still, we have to keep trying.”

“Hmm,” is all you manage to say. “Do couples have deep conversations like this?” You laugh this time, needing his thoughts to linger a little longer.

“They should,” he laughs. “But it’s enough for me that I have someone like you to make me question things. It reminds me that I have more to discover, to feel.”

To feel. 

Sometimes Namjoon makes it seem so easy to just do that. He’s able to name what he feels, unlike you. You wish it was easy, like saying that the cold water on your skin is refreshing, like the sun’s heat is comforting, like the clouds in the sky are soft.

You don’t notice your hand reaching up, wanting to just touch them because you want something concrete, something more real than what your imagination says that clouds feel like. But instead, you feel rough, warm fingers interlocking with yours.

“If you want to feel something concrete, I’m here, you know?” Namjoon says, thumbing your hand to let him know he’s right next to you. Somehow he just knew what you were doing, what you were wishing for.

“But this is what couples do,” you tease, yet tightening your hold nonetheless.

“Friends hold hands,” he smirks.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. They kiss, too,” he hums, lifting himself up only to hover over you, catching you by surprise, but your desire trumps that, as the view of him - damp and natural-looking - makes your insides twist in circles.

“Hmm, like this?” You peck his lips, then his nose, teasing him.

“Sometimes. Other times it’s deeper. You know, like this.”

He dives in, and you welcome him immediately, your mouth already slightly open for your tongue to entangle with his. It’s long and deep, as how your kisses always are, and you feel him shift above you, fixing his position with his arms caging your head for support. He angles his mouth so he can have more of you and control how far he goes, how hard, and how fast. 

Your fingers, whose spaces were filled by his just minutes ago, ghost over his neck. They trail down to his chest, gingerly passing by his pecs and his abs, the tips now resting on his hips.

“Fuck,” he moans in your mouth, and you immediately know why he does, feeling his length getting harder by the second. 

It prompts him to grind on you, and you meet him halfway.

“Fuck, Joon,” you whine once his lips detach from yours, only to meet your neck when he sucks then licks over the sting. “Fuck.”

He hums in satisfaction at the sounds you make, going south now as he teases by giving tender kisses on the exposed part of your breasts before biting your nipple over your suit.The obscene sound you make turns him on, especially when you pull his hips harder against yours.

“Oh fuck, baby, yeah,” he groans in your ear now, and you might as well have just come from the way he said those words. 

And then you remember where you are - in the outdoors, in your parents’ summer home. Private as it may be, you’re still exposed, and you remind him of the fact before he slows down and agrees that you can’t be doing this out here. 

“I’m sorry I got carried away,” he says shyly now, as if he didn’t just devour you with his skillful mouth.

“Yeah, this is totally your fault,” you tease. 

He chases you back to the house where you both spend another hour in the hot tub, just talking like normal friends, as if you didn’t almost just cross a line. But it’s like that with Namjoon, you’ve come to realize. Everything is easy, everything is natural, like you can just forget that he isn’t him and you aren’t you.

You spend the rest of the day looking at all the pieces on the first floor, with you sharing as much about them that you can remember. You both sleep that night with his head on your chest and his arms around you.

He sleeps soundly, snoring even. And as you comb his hair, you think of how close you were to wanting so much more in the lake earlier. You think of how much you wanted his lips on your mouth, all over your body, and you wanted it everyday. With the way he held you close and breathed desperately on your skin, you had a feeling that so did he. 

Living in this dream-like state with him feels surreal, several months in. Because that’s what he is - a dream. Here’s a man grounded by his principles despite the fame that seems to shackle him, yet constantly propels him to new heights; a man whose search for truth and humanity shows you that he just wants to be a good person, and a person who does good. 

Beyond his unmatched talent and gift with words, beyond his strikingly stunning looks, is a man who cares deeply, who feels deeply, who submits himself to what he commits to, whether it’s his music, his brothers, his plants, or his interest in art and nature and even whiskey. You have a feeling he’d do the same to whoever he plans to be with. You don’t know if it’s you, and the more you find yourself wanting him, the more you wish it isn’t you.

Namjoon is a dream, and you know at one point, you’re going to have to wake up.

**

The gallery is buzzing, as it always is when there’s a new exhibition. You’re excited for this, too, as the featured artist is one you admire. 

Namjoon admires her as well, which is why he’s here, dressed in a black long-sleeved buttoned top, looking immaculate as per usual. He has a busy schedule but he made time, knowing how special this event is. 

The room holds its breath when he enters; as a well-known lover of art, everyone has come to expect him to be a guest in exhibitions and various art shows. He bows at the other patrons and artists present, and they fawn over him, being the famous man that he is. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this side of him. You’re used to him rambling, making jokes he doesn’t realize are funny, and being lost in his own thoughts. You’re used to him in his natural environment - in his home full of books and paintings, and in his studio, which you’ve seen dozens of times through your phone screen. He fits right in here, though - he can easily follow on with the conversations, whether it’s about business or culture or literature. He can charm anyone with his smile and his good looks, and too many times, guests awe at his presence, finding out that he’s much more commanding and handsome off the screen. 

You hide a smile as he glances in your direction. You’ve agreed not to talk much today; there are too many people around and any kind of interaction might be grounds for rumors that neither of you are ready to face, at least that’s what you think. You and Namjoon don’t really discuss those things. You always see him in your periphery, though, and perhaps just like you, he just wants to be where you are, even if no pleasantries or conversations are shared. 

But Mr. Hong pulls him aside to introduce to Ms. Suh, and you can see from afar how Namjoon is fanboying over the artist whose work he’s very interested in. 

It’s nice to see him in his element like this, too. Here, though still a celebrity in the eyes of everyone else, he’s a spectator. He’s told you several times how his trips to these places have made him think about the kind of legacy he wants to leave with his music, with his poetry. And how pieces in museums and galleries are timeless, permanent; they live on regardless, and each person is free to make their own meanings. You know he wanted to comfort you then.

You become involved in your own conversations until someone barrels inside the gallery and makes a scene, of all days. The slightly inebriated man is familiar; perhaps a patron you’ve seen before, but he comes in and starts yelling at the staff, going on about something you can’t understand.

Not wanting to be part of the scene and be involved in something you don’t know how to handle, you slowly step away, that is, until you see him storm towards the room where your art pieces are. He seems to be targeting someone as he looks around, but the security gets to him first and he flails his arms around, eventually knocking over Untitled 56, and the cracking sound rings in the entire building.

“You knocked over a precious piece, you bastard!” You hear Mr. Hong yelling. 

You start walking slowly to where you see the shards of ceramic have fallen on the floor, and you’re unsure what you feel. Is it loss? It doesn’t seem like it. Is it anger? Perhaps not. 

“It’s just some useless flower anyway,” the raucous man answers.

Shame. You think that’s it, maybe that’s the feeling. Insecurity, sadness. It’s all of that yet nothing at all.

You stand there over your broken piece, the one you created while the rain was pouring and you’d just finished a bottle of wine by yourself because you could. Everyone seems to be as shocked as you, especially with the man finally contained and led out the building. You look up to take your eyes away from the scene, but you see Namjoon’s instead - anger filling his, sympathy, care, all at once.

You shake your head once, instructing him not to say or do anything. And he follows, loosening his clenched fist and stepping away to the back of the crowd. You instruct the staff to sweep the broken piece away, not wanting to see how fragile and temporary your creation is. All that had been reduced to shards and pitiful looks of the crowd.

You don’t really want to be here.

**

You’re filled with emotions you can’t name. You’re afraid to feel them all, so you cower on your couch and cry to yourself. 

It’s just a piece of useless flower. It’s the 56th of untitled works that you couldn’t name yourself because you didn’t know what they meant, what they symbolized, yet it hurts you this much that it’s gone. Hurt. Is that it? You’re still not sure.

The banging of your front door startles you. It’s 9PM and it’s been 4 hours since the incident. Minji offered to tell you the whole story but you didn’t really mind. You wonder if it’s her this time, wanting to know how you’re doing.

But it’s Namjoon, panting on your doorway when you open it. And the first thing you think to do is bury yourself in his arms.

It’s immediate, the catharsis of being in his hold. It’s like you’re enveloped in a warm, protective blanket that you don’t want to get out of. He embraces you tightly, letting you cry on his chest as you try to make sense of what you’re feeling. 

“I’ve got you,” he says in your ear so that the words don’t get lost in the sound of your sobs. “I’ve got you. Don’t tear yourself. I’m here with you.”

You don’t know for how long you both stand there, but it’s long enough for the tears to stop falling. When you’ve calmed down, Namjoon tilts your chin up to face him.

“Hey,” he greets with a soft smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t follow you right away. I wanted so badly to punch that man.”

The shift of emotions is immediate, as you see his furrowed brows.

“He didn’t have a right to be there and to ruin what you worked hard for. I asked Mr. Hong to look into him and I’m so sorry, ___. That piece… that piece is–”

“A useless flower,” you shake your head. 

“Please don’t listen to him. Listen to me,” Namjoon insists. “You know what I feel about it. That piece led me to you.”

“And now it’s gone.”

The thought hits you hard. That piece led you to each other, and temporary as it is, it’s now broken. Maybe art isn’t timeless, you think. It can burn, it can break, just like all things. Just like emotions. Just like what you and Namjoon have.

“It may be but look what it did for us,” he challenges your thoughts. “A broken piece won’t change us, it won’t erase us.”

Tonight, this is what you want to hear. And with his fingers tracing your cheek, you think that tonight, he is what you want to feel.

You pull him close and crash your mouth onto his. It’s fervent, desperate, wanting. There’s this need in you, this animalistic desire that has you wanting him to prove you wrong again - that some things can be touched and felt and that they’ll stay and won't break, that emotions can be just as real and tangible, that they matter and that it’s worth it. You want him to prove it to you with his mouth, his words, his touch, his body.

He answers back, inhaling you completely, his tongue working on yours right away, doing that dance you’ve both memorized by now. Your moans are loud and needy. You want all of him, all over you, and with the way he groans your name and curses as you grind against him, you think he feels the same. 

You’re in a haze, falling into hypnosis as you feel his hands all over you. You guide them to your clothed breasts, down your waist where he sneaks underneath. His touch burns so deliciously, and it’s what prompts you to unbutton his clothes, to feel him bare and naked, his skin against yours - raw, vulnerable, honest.

Things you don’t know how to be. 

You pull away, feeling as if you’ve been snapped out of the spell.

And then you’re crying, as you look at Namjoon with his top undone, looking at you curiously before he’s walking towards you in concern.

“No,” you almost scream. “I’m sorry, I– I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t supposed to. We’re not supposed to do this. We’re just… we’re just something that’s temporary and–”

“No,” he replies, surprising you. “Don’t be sorry, please. I wanted it, I still do. I want you. Fuck what we said about being just friends. I want more. I–”

“You don’t mean that,” you insist, not wanting to hear his words. 

It should comfort you, shouldn’t it? You’ve known long ago that you’ve fallen for him, but you made yourself believe that all things are temporary, and this one time you wanted something permanent with him, you got scared out of your mind. 

“I do,” he counters. “Fuck it, all I wanted to do earlier was hold you in my arms. Fuck the other people around who’d see. I just wanted to be with you. Is that what friends do? Is that what they feel? I have to be honest, right? We said we’d be that to each other. I want you, ___. I want to be with you.”

“I can’t, Joon. I can’t,” you sob. 

“Be honest with me this once. Do you want me?”

“Yes, so fucking much.”

“Then why can’t you be with me? Why are you making it so hard for yourself, for us?” He yells.

“I–” you start, but you don’t know how to continue. You cover your face with your hands and fall onto the floor.

You don’t think you’ve ever cried this hard, and you’re unsure exactly what you’re crying over.

“Hey,” Namjoon softens, leaning down next to you as he tries to free your face. “I’m not mad, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t even… I can’t even say what I want to say because I don’t know. I don’t–” you sniff. “I don’t know what I feel, what I want. I–”

“It’s okay,” he says, taking you in his arms again. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. Just get some rest.”

He calms you down again and leads you to your room. He waits as you wash up and then he tucks you in bed. 

“I’ll come over in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay,” you whisper. You watch him eye your lips, and then he looks away. 

**

Namjoon comes over the next day with a basket of pastries and coffee. He knows enough that you won’t have energy to prepare anything to eat. 

You can’t imagine losing all this, but that’s what’s about to happen.

You’d been so close to giving in to him, so close to letting yourself be vulnerable to him, but doing so in flesh isn’t all there is to it. You can make love to him, bare your body to him that way but you wouldn’t be able to do it with your soul or your heart. 

What does being raw and honest mean? You don’t know. He deserves someone who knows.

“I still don’t know what I can give you,” you tell him as you both sit across from each other in the seating area in your garden. “Months later, I should know but I don’t. Even just moments, I… can’t. They make me want you more and I can’t. I don’t know exactly what I want - with myself, with my art, with you. I don’t know what to give.”

“You act like you’re the only one unsure,” he says softly. “I don’t know if what I can give you is enough. I mean, with what I do? It’s tough, and I don’t know if it would be fair. But I want you. I don’t know how the arrangements would be but I want you.”

“At least you know what you can give, even as you shine as bright as you do, you know yourself and what you can give me, what you can give us. I don’t.”

“But what if we try?”

“That’s unfair to you, Joon,” you insist. “You put your all into everything, and this - us - won’t be any different. But that just means that falling short would break you, and I can’t have that. And then there’s me who can’t give much of herself to anything - not my craft, not my friends, not myself. And you matter too much to only get the barest parts of me. I don’t want to be with you that way.”

Namjoon sighs. It’s not an easy thing to accept. It’s something he understands - all he’s ever known to do was to give his all to everything he wants to keep. If that’s not something you’re ready to do yourself, he can’t fault you for it. 

It hurts so fucking much, though. He’s learned in the course of these months of knowing you that you’re another one of those he wants to keep, that he wants more of, that he wants to learn inside and out - you’re also the first person to ever be that for him. For you to slip away like this is a kind of pain that he doesn’t know how to get over.

“Continue to be raw and honest in everything that you do, okay? Live,” you say, and he nods in reply. “Don’t stop yourself from seeing other people, from finding someone else,” you add. 

You can’t even be honest with this. You hope he’ll always want you, but you don’t let yourself be selfish with him, not this time.

“I won't” is what he answers. 

It breaks your heart all over again and you let it. You deserve it. Who walks away from someone they want, especially when they want you back? Someone afraid like you, someone who doesn’t trust herself enough like you, someone who wants permanence so bad that she lets slip away the one person who’s made her feel it.

You give a half smile and he smiles back.

Namjoon gets up from his seat. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s a month later when one of the museums you frequent launches a new installation. A tall man catches your attention. He looks at you and smiles, his hazelnut eyes gazing at you the way they used to. 

He nods in acknowledgement and so do you. 

And that’s the last time you see him in a long time. 

2022, winter

You stare at the package in your hands - white, with words of comfort. He’s finally completed it, you think. A piece of himself he’s been working the last 4 years on, and it looks just like how he described it to you all those months ago.

You don’t know if you’ll listen to it. You haven’t heard his voice in so long. You’re afraid you’ll break if you do. 

Perhaps just one time, to get it off your system. That might be enough.

You open it, unsure when you’ll unpack this obviously beautifully curated work of art. But the note at the top leaves you no room to ignore it.

Nothing’s changed for me. Let’s find ourselves. And then let’s find each other. I’ll just be here. But please, stay where you are.

Namjoon

You let one tear fall and then leave the package on the top shelf of your closet.

Your bedroom door opens.

“Are you all packed?” Minji asks. 

“Yes, I’m all good,” you smile. 

She helps you with your luggage, down the stairs and into the van waiting for you.

“That’s a lot of stuff,” she hums, holding back her tears. “How long will you be away for?”

“Until I find myself.”

“That might be a long time.”

“It will.”

**

**

**

2025, winter

Namjoon has been to several galleries in New York, but this particular one is a place he’s never been to. It overlooks Central Park, towering at the 30th floor like the other buildings in the city. But it’s 3 floors and he thinks it’s stunning. It’s not overly grand, but it’s also not as simple and natural like the others he’s been to.

He may say it’s not entirely his vibe, but there’s a reason why he’s here. 

Some patrons recognize him and greet him. He bows in response, engaging in small talk when he needs to, but stepping away to get to the exhibition he flew here to see.

It’s nothing like what he expected, although years later, he doesn’t know what to expect anymore.

The first thing is, well, it’s titled. There’s a year and a description, too.

2023, swing in the summer home

The piece is beautiful, made in clay and metal. It’s familiar, too. He’s seen this on a lake house by the mountains, over 3 years ago.

2023, the piece that lost its meaning

It’s a painting, but one placed atop a sculpted frame hanging on a wall in what seems like a living room. This scene feels familiar as well.

2024, lost youth

A group of children look up at a plane, with opened suitcases and toys on the floor. The nostalgia hits him.

The rest of the sculptures are new to him. There’s one about a lady in red, one of a neighbor, one of a woman with an umbrella and clouds, aptly titled, what am i hiding from? Further down the room, the emotions become more pointed, straightforward, and a lot more focused. 

2023, coward

2024, i truly was sorry

2025, is this what regret feels like?

2025, i hope you knew i lied

2025, maybe someday

Someone from the outside who knows nothing about the artist might think that the pieces are a little over the place, although one can tell from the titles that they tell a story. The sculptures are made from the same materials - clay and metal, all free standing and in similar sizes. Each caption holds a narration, and all Namjoon can read are words describing emotions, of states of being - innocence, anger, confusion, fear, loss, regret, loneliness, pain, hope, and few more. 

There’s not much about joy or intimacy, though, and the thought saddens him. He had hoped that by this time, you already knew how those felt.

“So, what do you think?”

Namjoon didn’t think he’d ever hear that voice again. He’d cry if he could, especially as he turns to his side and finds you, dressed in a classy, aegean blue satin dress. Your smile is one he’s missed so much, and he wishes he could frame this moment, just so he doesn’t forget. He almost did, and he hated himself when he took so long to remember how you sounded like, how you looked like.

“Nothing like I imagined,” Namjoon replies. “In a good way.”

“I scrapped previous works and experimented with these ones. It took me years to complete,” you explain. “I almost stopped at one point, wondering if anybody would ever get it but then I figured, it didn’t matter. It’s a good thing that lifestyle magazine reached out for a feature. I think that was Mr. Hong pulling some strings. At least I got to say that for years, I didn’t know what I was doing, who I was, but now I do.”

“That’s how I knew about it, actually,” Namjoon hums. “It was in the art gallery because he was giving it away for free. It said your exhibition was here, so I flew in.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “I thought you had a show or filming.”

“Nah,” Namjoon sighs. “I came here for you. Otherwise I wouldn’t know where to find you, or how else to see you. You stopped… you stopped showing up. You just disappeared.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” 

It’s all you can say, really. You didn’t expect to see him here, but when you saw a familiar face enter through the doors, your heart stopped. You had a feeling Mr. Hong had told Namjoon about your exhibition - your first in 4 years. But nothing would have prepared you for this - seeing him again after you walked away from the one good thing you found in your life. You watched him from afar as he went through each of your pieces, perhaps savoring them, remembering them.

“Have you been well?” He asks, the concern still overpowering everything.

“I have.”

“You seem to have lost someone,” he says, nodding towards one of the pieces. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“She was my neighbor when I spent 8 months in Sweden,” you share. “She took care of me but then she passed away due to an accident. It was hard for a while.”

“I–” Namjoon reaches out his hand - for comfort, perhaps - but he brings it down. “I wish I knew.”

“It’s okay. And I’m okay. It’s been a year, but I wouldn’t have finished all this without her.”

You’d forgotten how silence sounded like with Namjoon, and you want to remember what it was like. You remember a lot of things, actually, like his laughter, his voice, his smile, the feel of his lips on yours, and many others. 

“How long are you here for?” You finally ask, as you both walk side-by-side past the rest of the artworks inside, with a bit of distance between you.

“I’m here for 3 more days.”

“I stay at the hotel next to the building,” you say, being bold. “I leave here in 2 hours.”

You fumble for your room key and discreetly hand it over to him. “3802, if you want to. I have more to say, and I– uh, shit. If you’re seeing someone, forget what I said.”

“I’m not,” he answers. “I’ll be there.”

**

Namjoon watches the city from your full-wall window, wondering when you’d decide to finally speak beyond a greeting. It’s been 10 minutes since he arrived at your suite with the key you gave him, and you haven’t said anything since then.

“The buildings aren’t the same here,” you finally say. “I’ve been here for 3 months and the sounds of the cars are too loud, there’s too much smoke, people don’t smile… I don’t have anyone here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I decided to finish some of my pieces in the city. I’ve been staying at one of my parents’ apartments not far from here.”

“And where were you before that?”

“Puerto Rico, Greece, Sweden,” you answer. 

“When I said to find ourselves, I didn’t think you’d actually leave, and then not tell me about it,” he laments. “I knew it was stupid to wish you’d stay close. You weren’t in any of the places where I used to see you, where we used to go. I… I asked around but they said you haven’t visited in so long.”

“I couldn’t stay,” you try to explain. “I couldn’t because it just meant waiting for you to come even if I was the one who walked away. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to find myself in a place where I’d always be looking for you, and so I had to go. I’m so sorry, Joon. I–” 

You drop the hand that reaches out to him, unsure if your touch would still be welcome. You clench your fist to stop yourself from doing it again, but he notices. He notices and takes your hand, uncurls it so he can hold it properly.

“How was it being away?”

“It was good. Hard. Terrifying,” you share. “I experienced a lot of new, fun things. I learned a lot. Made a lot of mistakes, too. I met so many people. I–”

“Were you with anyone?” he asks, turning away briefly.

“No, I… I couldn’t bring myself to,” you answer nervously. “And you?”

“No one since you. There was a reason why I asked you to stay right there, so that I knew where to find you.”

“You still found me, 3 years later, on the other side of the world.”

“I had to know if anything’s changed for you. I had to know if you made it, if you found what you were looking for. I had to know if you were happy. But you didn’t create it. There was no piece for it.”

“I found what I was looking for,” you say, looking into his eyes, glancing at his fingers that are softly exploring yours. “I realized that I could only gain whatever permanence I was looking for if I learned to let them go. Because if they come back, they stay. I walked away from you then, and I had to lose myself to all the emotions that I was so scared to feel. And I felt a lot of them, Joon. I felt a lot of things. I was going to go back home after this. But you came to me first. You’re the one always finding me. That hasn’t changed.”

“I suppose it hasn’t,” he cracks a smile. “Did I take too long?”

“You were right on time,” you say. “I would’ve come for you in a few days though. But I’m glad you’re here so that I can tell you that I can finally have this. I can finally give you everything without being scared, without it breaking me, without it ruining the ones I love.”

“Is that what you feel for me?”

“Yes. I guess I did then. I still do now.”’ 

There’s uncertainty in your voice, perhaps due to the fear of him no longer returning what you feel. 

“I found myself, too,” he says. “I figured out what I wanted to do for myself, what more I can give, what more I desired. And I guess you’re right. That permanence can come from losing something and then having them back. And then having them stay. So many times then I regretted that I wasn’t more honest. That I was denying what I felt for you because I was scared of losing what little of a normal life I was afforded. I wished I told you much earlier, but I guess things happen when they do, right?”

“Right, but you can also say them again now.”

“That I want you close, holding my hand, tracing my skin, kissing me? That I want all that everyday?” He smiles, as he pulls you towards him and places your hand on his chest. “That I want everything from you? That I haven’t stopped thinking of you, wishing for you?”

“Yes,” you say, sighing into the kiss you’ve missed too much. 

There’s that tenderness you expected, but the desire is unlike the times before. There’s more confidence now, more security in the way his mouth moves against yours. It’s as if he knows that he’ll always have this. That this time, he’s loving you in more than words, and that you’ve come back, and that you’ll stay.

Namjoon presses you against the wall, lets his lips trace down your neck and your chest. He undresses you, remarks that he’s starting to believe in a higher being who created a body like yours, and then proceeds to mouth more praises down your thighs and in between them.

He takes you slowly, amorously. He watches your face contort in pure pleasure, and you mention needing to add a piece for this, too. The way he goes in and out of you is out of this world, and you never want it to end.

You’d think it’s the intimacy you didn’t know how to feel. But it’s more than that. In fact, you find that in being with Namjoon, the intimacy is in everything - the way he holds your hand, the way he wraps his arm around you, the way he lets you bite his arm and tickle him just for fun. It’s in the way he kisses your forehead before he kisses your lips.

It’s in your bike rides together and watching the river whenever you catch a glimpse of it. It’s in your moments of calm - reading books, writing songs, sketching.

It’s in the deep, tender way that he says he loves you. 

You don’t have a piece for this yet. Perhaps it’s another series altogether. Perhaps it’ll require an installation. 

Or maybe, this is the one emotion you don’t need to put into art, the one that you’ll keep for yourself to hold onto because no clay and metal mixture, no tangible piece, could ever describe what this love and intimacy feels like. 

Permanent Taglist: @sherlynxx @di0rgguk @thequeen-kat @fan-ati–c @cravingforhotchocolate @adoraminie @helenazbmrskai @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @preciouschimine @gukssunshine @nch327 @kookxin @petuliii @yoursthv @libra04 @fancycollectormoon @twixxxpie @ignoretheskies @ohmydarlin-g @bids97 @minyoongiboongi @main-bangtansmauyeondan @bora-bae7 @investedreader @petalsofink​

[headoverheat]

Slow Dancing V (BTS) x Van Gogh

[ajawrites]

Highlights from 7 years at Vox!

I cannot believe it's been this long but here I am, just past my 7-year anniversary at Vox! I made a version of this post to celebrate my 3-year anniversary (in lieu of updating my portfolio, which still is woefully out of date), and i thought it might be fun to do it again!

So here is a retrospective of some of my favorite, most provocative, and most successful work from my last four years at Vox — an overview of everything from 2019 til now!

Articles that Poked at Bears:

Trans people deserve better journalism.

Is J.K. Rowling transphobic? Let’s let her speak for herself.

How many van Goghs is one Earth worth?

What the deepfake controversy about this Chinese actor says about conspiratorial thinking

Bridgerton has a rape scene, but it’s not treated like one

Why does Hillbilly Elegy feel so inauthentic and performative?

With “Dynamite,” BTS beat the US music industry at its own cheap game

Fave Reviews/Analysis:

The Chinese government’s unlikeliest standoff is with … fandom

Is Jeremy Strong the bad art friend?

One Good Thing: This Chinese dance show is the only thing I care about

The queering of Taylor Swift

The Untamed, streaming on Netflix, ripped my heart out and fed it to me. I can’t get enough.

Harry Potter and the author who failed us

Pixar’s Turning Red is an unlikely culture war battleground

The shadowy puzzle-box pleasures of Chinese spy thriller Hidden Blade

Pop Culture Deep Dives:

Why we can’t stop fighting about cancel culture

Conspiracy theories, explained

A history of “wokeness”

Why won’t American radio play more K-pop?

The delicate relationship between grief and fanfiction, explained by a psychologist

The internet’s most beloved fanfiction site is undergoing a reckoning

The right’s moral panic over “grooming” invokes age-old homophobia

Reports from the Hellscape:

Lil Nas X’s evil gay Satanic agenda, explained

Why the Depp-Heard trial is so much worse than you realize

How do you solve a problem like Joe Rogan?

How ’90s Christian radio enabled Rush Limbaugh’s toxic views

Revisiting the Christian fantasy novels that shaped decades of conservative hysteria

Kanye West’s antisemitic spiral, explained

The weird sorrow of losing Twitter

[devilsadvocactus]

Eeek tagged by @oretsev 😘😘😘

rules: put a song for every letter in your username

Dynasty by Rina Sawayama

Empty Wallets by 5 Seconds of Summer

Vampires Will Never Hurt You by My Chemcial Romance

It's Hard To Say I Do When I Don't by Fall Out Boy

Lilith by Halsey

Shots by Imagine Dragons

All the good girls go to help by Billie Eilish

DEAD RIGHT NOW by Lil Nas X

van gogh by Stand Atlantic

Oh Well, Oh Well by Mayday Parade

cotton candy by YUNGBLUD

Anpanman by BTS

Can't Sleep (Wolves) by Walk The Moon

Take It Off by Kesha

Under the blue/Take Me In by Hayley Kiyoko

Sober II (Melodrama) by Lorde

Tagging @butt-quack

[exquisite-yoongi]

◊ FoxyMoonlily | Do not repost

[googiepanquecito]

🛳🎣🪡

[alwayschoosechocolate]

Starry Night (kth)

Bad days usually involved hours buried under your weighted blanket but this time your boyfriend makes sure you don’t miss the wonder that is the clear night sky during a power outage. 

Pairings: Taehyung x reader

Genrer: Fluff, mental health

Word count: 2.2k

Just a little something to cheer up my dear @spookidema​  💕

My masterlist can be found here

You’d felt it the second you woke up. The heaviness on your chest, the emptiness in your heart and the incapability to deliver a sincere smile to your long-term partner. And Taehyung truly did his best, pulling out all the stops; smiling pancakes, fresh-pressed juice, forehead-kisses and constant contact. He even accompanied you in the shower so he could provide as much skinship as possible before he had to leave for work, and though it did manage to pull you slightly out of the clouds in your head, you knew better than to be optimistic.

On days like this your only source of energy came from your boyfriend and today he had to leave for a daylong photo-shoot. Opting out of your classes for the day, you sent him off with a distracted kiss and the promise of calling him if it got too bad. Feeling your energy drain as you gave him one last wave on his way to the elevator, you softly closed the front door, leaning your head against it’s dry and cold wood for a few moments, gathering strength to drag your body back to the bedroom, more than ready for just hiding yourself under your weighted blanket and waiting for Tae to come home in the timeless darkness the blanket provided you.

Pulling your head off the door with an exhausted sigh, you shuffled back to the bedroom, shutting the door and turning off the lights before tunneling under your blanket, sighing in relief when the heaviness pressed down around you, perfectly encasing you against the softness of the mattress. Reaching for his pillow, you pulled it under the blanket to you, hugging it to your chest and breathing in his scent. It was a poor compensation for the man, but it was all you had for the moment.

Dozing in and out of sleep, you eventually grew hungry. Rolling over to the edge of the bed, you pulled out the “snack-attack-drawer” as Tae had named it after he installed it under the bed for you, exactly for situations like this. Roaming around in blindness as your head was still buried against his pillow, you snatched whatever was in your reach before pulling your hand back to you in the safety of your blanket, smiling slightly when you recognized your favorite cereal bar along with a snickers bar.

Tae only ever stocked the drawer with your favorite snacks, though he always denied it when you asked, but you were pretty sure that he didn’t particularly enjoy the cranberry yogurt bars you were currently chewing on.

As you devoured your snacks, your phone screen flashed with a message from the man in question.

Sorry, it got so late. I’m on my way home now. Love you.

Absentmindedly noticing how late it had gotten, you quickly answered him with a heart before pushing the candy bar wrappers out from the blanket and burying yourself back against his side of the bed, impatiently waiting to hear him step through the door.

Dozing off again, you didn’t even hear him enter the apartment or when he called out for you in his deep voice.

“Honey?”

Carefully opening the bedroom door, he smiled tenderly at the sight of your curled up on his side of the bed and the empty wrappers abandoned on your own side.

Putting down the package in his arms on the chair in the corner, he shrugged off his jacket and padded to your side of the bed, swiftly gathering the wrappers and throwing them in the trash can next to the bed, before sitting down and resting a hand on the lump he knew to be you.

“Honey,” he repeated, reaching for the edge of the blanket to pull it down enough for him to catch sight of your heated cheeks and confused eyes. Smiling affectionately, he pushed away the stray hairs as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your lips which you gladly accepted with a low hum, letting out a whine when he pulled away too soon for your liking,  “Hold on, honey,” he chuckled at your wronged expression. “I brought you something. Give me a second.”

Pressing a delicate kiss to your temple, he walked back to the package he’d abandoned on the chair, flashing you a cheeky smile before covering the box with his broad back as he set to work on unpacking it.

Following his movements in curiosity, you really just wanted him back in bed and preferable with his arms securely around you, but you had no energy to argue with him in this moment and he seemed so genuinely excited to show you what he’d gotten.

“Tada!”, he exclaimed as he finally turned back to you, unfolding a large blanket in front of him. “I got us a weighted blanket for two so we can both fit under it,” he informed you in a proud voice and the sincerest boxy smile you’d ever seen on his lips, causing you to tear up at the mere thoughtfulness behind it.

“Babe,” you choked out unable to control your emotions in your current state, quickly reaching up to wipe away the tears already falling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Honey, please don’t cry,” he hummed in concern as he strode to the bed, unfolding the blanket over the bed and you on it in one swift motion, before ducking under it to pull you in his embrace, letting your tears fall on his chest instead of his pillow. “You know I really only bought it for me,” he reassured you with a shy chuckle. “This way I can be closer to you on the bad days instead of cuddling both you and the blanket. Speaking of which,” he commented, tugging at the material in question, sending you a stern look when you resisted. “Honey, if you want me closer, the blanket’s got to go. That’s why I got the bigger one.”

Looking up at him with worried eyes, you finally give a small nod in permission which he rewarded with a deep loving kiss to distract you while he freed you from the smaller weighted blanket and pushed it out from under the hollow the bigger blanket secured the two of you in.

“Look, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”, he asked you softly, chuckling when you immediately shuffled as close to him as possible and snuck on your hand under his t-shirt to rest it against the warm skin of his stomach.

Sighing in comfort at the combined effect of the blanket and your boyfriend’s warm body, you settled against his chest and when the sound of a cartoon started playing from Tae’s phone, it felt like you melted against him as the comfort of the routine settled in your bones.

Being lulled to sleep by his caressing hands on your skin and the lull of the cartoon, you were soon fast asleep only awakened some hours later, when you felt Tae retracting himself from under the blanket and leaving the bed.

Groaning slightly at the emptiness he left behind, you peeped out over the blanket to see his silhouette against the door leading to the balcony.

“Must be a power outage,” you heard him mumble more to himself than to anyone else, before he turned towards you, sending your questioning eyes a reassuring smile as he walked back to the bed and grabbed your pillows and the extra blanket, arranging all of them against the French doors leading out to your balcony, before he returned to you.

“The stars are so clear tonight,” he whispered gently against the shell of your ear, pressing a delicate kiss to your earlobe in the process, as he gently coaxed you out of bed and led you to the improvised seats on the floor as the blanket dragged the floor behind you.

Position himself against the wall in the small alcove leading to the doors, he offered you a hand and a miniature version of the boxy smile you adored so much, causing you to send him a small smile in return.

Accepting his hand, he led you to sit down between his legs with your back to his front. Struggling with the weighted blanket for a few moments, he finally managed to drape it over your body, once again encasing you in the comforting pressure on your front, while his warm chest and strong arms supported you from the back.

Leaning back against his chest with a defeated sigh, you rolled your head to the side and threw a glance out the window, letting out a barely audible gasp at the night sky. The stars seemed to shine in thousand-fold tonight, twinkling and shining in contrast the darkness surrounding them.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?”, Tae’s deep voice added in agreement to your gasp.

For a long time none of you spoke as you were both too preoccupied with the night sky unveiled by the power outage and now presented to you in all its glory. Tae’s warm arms held you close to his chest and his cheek rested on the top of your head as he stared out at the sky in deep thought.

“What are you thinking?”, you inquired in a whisper, not even needing to see his face to know he wanted to share whatever thoughts was going through his head with you.

“Just thinking about Van Gogh’s Starry Night,” he confessed with a soft laugh tightening his arms around you in an unvoiced appreciation of how well you understood him. “When I first saw it, I was so confused,” he chuckled at his younger self, making the corner of your lips quirk up in an amused smile at the thought of little Taehyung looking at a picture of the painting with wide curious eyes. “It didn’t look at all like the stars I used to see over my family’s fields when I snuck out at night as a kid. They were so much bigger than the stars I knew. But it makes sense doesn’t it? Van Gogh used to compare the stars to the dots that marks cities on a map, saying that in death we would be able to travel to the stars, just as we are able to take a train to the cities we find on a map. He didn’t paint them as distant lights, but as possible destinations and he gave them the power and space fitting for that. Each star shines so bright and independently, illuminating the village alongside moon,” Taehyung spoke deep in thought as he craned his neck to take in as much as the sky as possible, drawing a deep sigh as he pulled you closer in his embrace.

Despite already knowing the information he shared with you from previous talks about Van Gogh, there was something about his deep timbre voice and the dreams present in his words as he drew parallels between aspects of life you’d never thought twice about if it hadn’t been for him, that made you listen to him in silence, enjoying the vibrations in his chest and the comfort of his voice.

“I don’t know if I agree with him on the death-thing though,” he continued, eyes wide in wonder and mouth agape as the stars reflected off his orbs. “Stars seem to hold a silent promise of future don’t you think? A promise of hope. They are shining beautifully and passionately tonight, but some nights they’re barely visible. Hidden behind clouds or simply too faint against the strong light from the moon. But we still wait patiently for them. And despite how long it may take, we have faith that they’ll return again as beautiful and passionately as last we saw them. Before GPS and compasses, we used to use them to guide us when we traveled. Navigating by the stars on long sea voyages where we had nothing else to lead us. Literally placing our lives in the stars.”

“You’re my star,” you spoke quietly, not trusting your own voice to raise it more but hoping he would understand all the thoughts going through your head that you were only able to spill with those words.

“You’re my moon,” he answered without missing a beat. “Casting light on my path and making sure I don’t stumble on my way. Every night I chase you and every morning I cry as you leave my sight.”

“But I always come back,” you assured him, voice stronger and a hint of defiance to your words as you tightened your hold over his arms.

“You always do,” he grinned against your neck, pressing a delicate kiss to the warm skin at the nape of your neck before burying his head in your hair, breathing out a sigh of relief. “You always come back.”

[kakaocho]

@sherrawed requested YoonJin as famous portraits.

[ladyphilosopher]

i know it’s late but happy taehyung day! <3 

been so long since i played with photoshop, ahh. i’m overly grateful for the holiday break. i feel so blessed. 

[peachysslut]

[moonandstarsforjimin]

 Header | He deserves the universe. 

✨🌙 ✨

Follow for pics of Jimin surrounded by the moon and stars. 

[voltage-vixen]

Summer of Smut 3.0 Content Creation Masterlist

Here’s the Masterlist from the Summer of Smut 3.0 Content Creation Challenge! The featured content includes an assortment of creations of summer smuttiness, and includes works from the following fandoms:

>Attack on Titan >BTS >Cybird    >Ikemen Prince    >Ikemen Revolution    >Ikemen Sengoku    >Ikemen Vampire > Heart no Kuni no Alice >Jujutsu Kaisen >MCU >Monsta >Obey Me >Supernatural >Tears of Themis >The Walking Dead >T.O.P. >Tokyo Revengers >True Blood >Voltage     >Court of Darkness     >Masquerade Kiss

  A 🎨 next to a creation indicates it is artwork.

*Please be advised that all content created for this challenge contains NSFW content and read any works at your own risk.

Day 1: Playing dirty in a water fight | Summertime strip tease

BTS

Playing Dirty in a Water Fight: Hoseok x f!Reader    @helvonasche

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

Naughty in the Sun: Luke Randolph x f!OC (Julie) @queengiuliettafirstlady

Ikemen Revolution

Doctor’s Orders: Kyle Ash x f!Alice  @xxsycamore

An Unfair Fight: Ray Blackwell x Fenrir Godspeed x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Summertime Strip Tease: Seth Hyde x gn!Alilce  @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Sengoku

Hen Party: Mitsuhide Akechi x Reader @aquagirl1978

Lakeshore: Hideyoshi Toyotomi x f!OC (Ava)   @writingwhimsey

Ikemen Vampire

In Every Lose There’s a Punishment:  Arthur Conan Doyle x f!OC (Mitsuki)  @maeko-kun 🎨

Obey Me Picture Perfect Vacation:  Mammon x f!Reader @chaosangel767

Tears of Themis

Turning the Tables: Marius von Hagen x f!Rosa  @voltage-vixen

Tokyo Revengers 

Hot For You:  Aika Oshiro x f!OC (Ran Haitani)  @toloveawarlord

Day 2: Blow jobs with a cooled tongue | Blow jobs on the beach

BTS

Blow Job on the Beach: Jimin x f!Reader   @helvonasche

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

Garden Tea Party: Licht Klein x f!Reader @chaosangel767

I Caught Wind:  Nokto Klein x m!OC (Adam Kain) @naresnani

Ikemen Revolution

Blow Jobs on the Beach: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice @badass-at-fandoming

Icy Kisses: Dalim x f!Alice @thekitteninlove

Ikemen Sengoku

Beach Day: Motonari x f!MC  @writingwhimsey

Ikemen Vampire

Cooling Off: Comte de Saint-Germain x f!OC (Mitsuki)  @maeko-kun

Fruity Fun: Jean d’Arc x f!OC (Julia) (queen)

Good Hondje: Theodorus van Gogh x f!Reader @chaosangel767

Tokyo Revengers

Out of View:  Chifuyu Matsuno x f!Reader @toloveawarlord

Day 3: Beach bar flirting ends in a one-night stand | Sexy summer fling

Attack on Titan

Beach Bar Flirting Ends in a One-Night Stand: Levi Ackerman x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

Dirty Deeds done Dirt Cheap:  Nokto Klein x Silvio Ricci x m!OC (Adam Kain) @naresnani

Ikemen Revolution

Beach Bar Flirting Ends With One Night Stand: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Sengoku

Summer Lovin’: Shigen Takeda x f!OC (Ava) @writingwhimsey

Ikemen Vampire

 A Night to Remember: Issac Newton x f!Reader @chaosangel767

Day 4: Nighttime skinny dipping | Forgetting a bathing suit

BTS

Nighttime Skinny Dipping: Jeon Jungkook xf!Reader  @helvonasche

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

Secrets of Love: Jin Grandet x f!OC (July) @queengiuliettafirstlady

Ikemen Revolution

Dangers of the Forest: Dalim x f!Alice  @chaosangel767

Nighttime Skinny Dipping: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Sengoku

Adventures in the Dark:   Motonari x f!MC  @writingwhimsey

Ikemen Vampire

What a View: Jean d’Arc x f!Reader @chaosangel767

Day 5: Quickies in the shade | A shaded affair

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

Forbidden Fruit: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader  @aquagirl1978

Liaisons of Love: Luke Randolph x f!OC (Julie) @queengiuliettafirstlady

Quickies in the Shade: Clavis Lelouch x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Ikemen Revolution

Quickies in the Shade: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice @badass-at-fandoming

Shaded Affairs: Zero x f!Alice  @xxsycamore

Stolen Away: Seth Hyde x m!Reader @chaosangel767

Ikemen Sengoku

The Things We Do in the Shadows: Mitsuhide Akechi x f!MC  @writingwhimsey

Ikemen Vampire

Love Hideaway: Jean d’Arc x f!OC (Julia)  @queengiuliettafirstlady

Jujutsu Kaisen

Summertime Fun Under the Sun: Mei Mei x f!Reader  @devillexi

MCU

Shaded Affair: Loki Laufesyon x f!Reader   @helvonasche

Day 6: Sharing a cold drink | Sharing a popsicle

Cybird

Ikemen Revolution

A Cherry Treat: Edgar Bright x f!OC (Roselina)  @chaosangel767

Sharing a Popsicle: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice x Sirius Oswald @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Sengoku

Summer Time Treat: Masamune Date x f!MC  @writingwhimsey

Ikemen Vampire

I Like Your Taste: Leonardo Da Vince x f!Reader  @violettduchess

Lemonade: Napoleon Bonaparte x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

The Walking Dead

Sharing a Cold Drink: Daryl Dixon x f!Reader   @helvonasche

Day 7: Hand jobs in the car at the outdoor movie theater | Cockwarming in the car at the outdoor movie theater

Cybird

Ikemen Revolution

Movie Distractions: Fenrir Godspeed x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Hand Jobs at the Outdoor Movie Theater: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Sengoku

What Was The Movie Again?: Nobunaga Oda x f!MC  @writingwhimsey

Supernatural

Hand Jobs in the Car at the Outdoor Movie Theater:  Dean Winchester x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Day 8: Sneaking a hand into the bikini | Bonded by the bikini top

BTS

Sneaking a Hand Into the Bikini: Kim Taehyung x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Cybird

Ikemen Revolution

Sky Full of Stars: Luka Clemence x Reader  @aquagirl1978

Sneaking a Hand into the Bikini: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice @badass-at-fandoming

Tugging My Strings: Luka Clemence x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Ikemen Sengoku

Boating Fun:  Motonari x f!MC  @writingwhimsey

Ikemen Vampire

Two of Us Alone:  Comte de Saint-Germain x f!OC (Mitsuki) 🎨 @maeko-kun

Obey Me

Under Your Skin: Diavolo x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Day 9: Sleek in sunscreen | Tracing along the tan lines

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

My Love to Give: Yves Kloss x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Ikemen Revolution

Tracing Along Tan Lines: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice x Sirius Oswald @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Sengoku

SPF Hideyoshi: Hideyoshi Toyotomi  @writingwhimsey

Ikemen Vampire

Forever Entwined: Leonardo Da Vinci x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Monsta

Sleek in Sunscreen: Wonho x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Day 10: Bodies pressed tightly together in the hammock | Sex under the sun dress

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

Crash Into Me: Chevalier Michel x Reader  @aquagirl1978

Dangerous Euphoria: Gilbert von Osbidian x f!Emma @chaosangel767

Naughty in the Garden: Luke Randolph x f!OC (Julie) @queengiuliettafirstlady

Tell Me A Story: Rio Ortiz x f!Emma  @chaosangel767

Ikemen Revolution

Sex Under the Sun Dress: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Vampire

A Garden Tryst: Comte de Saint-Germain x f!MC @writingwhimsey

Have You Ever?: Arthur Conan Doyle x Reader  @aquagirl1978

Tangled Up Together:  Jean d’Arc x f!Reader  @writingwhimsey

With You Tonight : Vlad x f!OC (Mitsuki) @maeko-kun🎨

Jujutsu Kaisen

Sex Under the Sun Dress: Gojo Satoru  @helvonasche

Day 11: Sneaking out of a pool party | Conjoined under the water

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

Naughty in the Water: Luke Randolph x f!OC (Julie)  @queengiuliettafirstlady

Ikemen Revolution

Cojoined Under the Water: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice x Sirius Oswald  @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Vampire

The Continuation: Leonardo da Vince x f!OC (Mitsuki) 🎨 @maeko-kun

T.O.P.

Sneaking Out of a Pool Party: Seunghyun x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Voltage

Court of Darkness

A Midnight Swim: Roy Indivia x f!Reader @chaosangel767

Day 12: A summer getaway sexathon | Cumming on a cross-country car trip

Cybird

Ikemen Revolution

Cumming in the Carriage: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice x Sirius Oswald @badass-at-fandoming

One Last Time: Lancelot Kingsley x f!Reader x Ray Blackwell @chaosangel767

 Ikemen Vampire

Love Getaway: Napoleon Bonaparte x f!OC (Elaine)  @queengiuliettafirstlady

Unstoppable Desires:  Leonardo da Vince x f!OC (Mitsuki) @maeko-kun🎨

Heart no Kuni no Alice

Lost on the Road With My Knight: Ace x f!MC  @thekitteninlove

Jujutsu Kaisen

Summer Getaway Sexathon: Ryomen Sukuna x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Obey Me

Vacation Plans: Solomon x f!Reader @chaosangel767

Voltage

Masquerade Kiss

Chillin’ With a Villain:  Yuzuru Shiba x f!MC  @magicalmagehimiko

Day 13: Hot skin + cold substances | The MC/LI’s body as a sponge

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

Sweeter than Honey: Luke Randolph x f!OC (Julie)  @queengiuliettafirstlady

Ikemen Revolution

Hot Skin + Cold Substances: Seth Hyde x gn!Alice @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Vampire

As the Moon Rises: Jean d’Arc x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

True Blood

Hot Skin + Cold Substances: Eric Northman x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Obey Me

A Way to Cool Off: Lucifer x f!Reader @chaosangel767

Day 14: Welcoming the sunrise on the shore | Stranded on an isolated island together

Cybird

Ikemen Prince

An Isolated Picnic: Luke Randolph x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Sun on the Horizon: Leon Dompteur x f!Reader  @chaosangel767

Ikemen Revolution

Welcoming the Sunrise on the Shore:  Seth Hyde x gn!Alice x Sirius Oswald @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Vampire

Sun of Love: Jean d’Arc x f!OC (Julia)  @queengiuliettafirstlady

Monsta

Welcoming the Sunrise on the Shore: Son Hyunwoo x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Day 15: Free Prompt

Cybird

Ikemen Revolution

Free Prompt-Epilogue:  Seth Hyde x gn!Alice x Sirius Oswald x Harr Silver @badass-at-fandoming

Ikemen Sengoku

The Sun and The Moon: Hideyoshi Toyotomi x f!MC x Mitsuhide Akechi @writingwhimsey

Multi-Fandoms

Free Prompt: ? x f!Reader  @helvonasche

Voltage

Court of Darkness

Lipstick Obsessed: Roy Invidia x f!MC (Carla)  @chirp-a-chirp

Teasing Treasure: Fenn Luxure x f!Reader x Dia Akedia  @chaosangel767

[nethskelie]

(n) things that are known or proved to be true

♠ series, social media au with some written parts – part of the Il y Aura Des Jours Meilleurs collection

♥ strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, crack, a bit of angst, seokjin x reader, outcast!reader, college!au

♣ Summary: When Seokjin's friends decided to share his number with the whole campus with a note saying "text me," nobody would have thought that you of all people would do so.

♦ Trigger Warnings: a lot of hospital life is involved, swearing, abandonment issues, I can't think of anything else for now

DISCLAIMER: this is a piece of fiction; how the characters are portrayed doesn't necessarily reflect on how they are in real life

♠♥♣♦

Profiles

Chapter 1: The Girl With a Pearl Earring

Chapter 2: Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaten

Chapter 3: George McClellan

Chapter 4: John McAfee

Chapter 5: Vincent Van Gogh

Chapter 6: André-François Raffray

Chapter 7: Pearl

Chapter 8: Margaret Corbin

Chapter 9: Hatshepsut

Chapter 10: Nikola Tesla

Chapter 11: Jon Favreau

Chapter 12: Pearl II

Chapter 13: Lucy Ellmann

Chapter 14: Mount Rushmore

Chapter 15: Pearl III

Chapter 16: Jein Junhlook

more coming soon...

♠♥♣♦

BTS Masterlist

♠♥♣♦

a.n.: because I won't be able to update the story for two weeks in July, I'm thinking of sharing the profiles and the first chapters just to settle everything and I'll come back in August for the rest, but I don't know yet :[

a.n.2: when I said I was thinking of sharing the first chapters I didn't think of publishing until chapter 7 but I guess we never know what'll happen in the future

[emerald-notes]

My Masterlist

Fan Fiction:

BTS:

Another Masterlist

Wizarding World (Harry Potter):

1. Miss Lupin 2. Miss Lupin - 2

Marvel: 1. Peter x Gwen x Eddie 2. Wanda x Loki

The Riot Club: 1. That Time (Dimitri x reader) 2. James x reader

Tale of the Nine Tailed: 1. I’m Here For You (Lee Rang x reader) 2. Your Wish Is Granted (Lee Rang x reader) 3. My Mysterious Neighbour (Lee Rang x reader)

Dorian Gray: 1. When We Were Young (Dorian x reader)

Fandoms (Analysis):

Law School: 1. Characters’ theme songs 2. Joon Hwi’s relation with his uncle 3. Quotes analysis

BTS: 1. “First Love” and “The Last” 2. Wings, album by BTS 3. Little Things Matter 4. World Expo 2030 Busan Concert 5. Soulmates???

Others: 1. Teresa deserves better (Maze Runner) 2. My Connection to It (Stephen King) 3. How to recover from Squid Game? 4. Strangers From Hell 5. I’m So Lee Rang (Tale of the Nine Tailed)

Personal Writings:

1. Late Night Chat 2. One Last Dance 3. One Last Dance - 2 4. 7 Deadly Sins 5. Beauty of Things

My Thoughts:

1. How Hatred Starts 2. Secondary Guilt 3. Depression 4. My Spider Phobia 5. Parents/Step-mother 6. I Cry 7. Run BTS 8. This Jimin

Reviews (TV Shows):

1. Vienna Blood - Season 1 2. January-February 2022 3. The End of the F***ing World - Season 1 4. March 2022 5. April-May 2022

Reviews (Movies):

1. The Words 2. Last Night in Soho 3. Gangubai Kathiawadi

Reviews (Books):

Classic: 1. The Great Gatsby 2. Great Expectations 3. The Three Musketeers 4. Wuthering Heights 5. Absent Minded Man 6. The Crucible 7. Dracula 8. Pride & Prejudice 9. Charlotte’s Web 10. Demian

Modern: 1. Maze Runner Trilogy 2. Loki: Where Mischief Lies 3. The Devil All the Time 4. Me Before You 5. The Female of the Species

Video Edits:

1. Girls Like Bad Boys 2. Miss Havisham (Great Expectations) 3. Pip x Estella (Great Expectations) 4. My Crushes 5. Dorian Gray x Sybil Vain 6. POV: Yoongi is your boyfriend (BTS)

Photo Edits:

1. Alex Lawther 2. Top 5 Books 2021 3. Lee Dong Wook Bromance 4. Top 3 Books 2022

Moodboards:

Photos: 1. Asa Butterfield and Girls 2. Marauders Reimagine 3. Marauders Reimagine - 2 4. Floral Photoshoots 5. Feminine-Muscular 6. Tom Holland’s Range 7. Kim Bum Range 8. Flowers x BTS 9. Vminkook 10. NamJinSope

Aesthetics: 1. Dorian Gray 2. A Lady 3. Peter Parker and Harry Osborn 4. Reaper x Sunny (Goblin) 5. Bad and Crazy 6. Jungkook - Red 7. Jin - Orange 8. V - Yellow 9. J-Hope - Green 10. Jimin - Blue 11. Suga - Indigo 12. RM - Purple 13. Happy Birthday Jungkook 14. Happy Birthday RM 15. Happy Birthday Jimin 16. Happy Birthday Jin 17. Happy Birthday V

Meme:

1. Tale of the Nine Tailed 2. Kim Bum 3. Min Yoongi and Alex Lawther

Others:

1. Quote by Joan Clarke 2. Van Gogh Arts 3. My Birthday Gifts (Books) 4. Movies Rec by Genres 5. The Duality of BTS 6. Hobipalooza 7. Jimin’s ‘ID: Chaos’ 8. Writers Block 9. The Avonlea Story Club

[cesitkenar]

rules: tag people you would like to know/catch up with

@0borulcem @princebluebell teşekkür ederim bu siteye artık ayda yılda bir gönderi atsam bile beni unutmayıp etiketlediğiniz için böyle gönderilerde 🥺❣️

last song: bad decisions - benny blanco, bts, snoop dogg

last movie: skies of lebanon (2020)

currently reading: theo'ya mektuplar - vincent van gogh

muhtemelen daha önce etiketlenmişsinizdir ama yine de (tabii yapmak isterseniz) @bezcanta @babehelit @ortadogu @battaniye @nihalley-x @zamanparadoksu

[nesthaflm]

Users bts x enhypen x txt

@i4kthsg (i for kim taehyung heeseung)

@vhsoobi (vhs + soobin)

@J4YMAFIA ( i or l)

@ibyvmin ( me for tae and jimin)

@heesghoo (heeseung and sunghoon)

@beomgbo (beomgyu bo = baby official)

@vrtaehyun ( taehyun vr = voir)

@hkaitrafic (hueningkai trafic)

@ibyeonjk (me for yeonjun and jungkook)

@taehyuhour (taehyun hour)

@vhssunoo (vhs + sunoo)

@namucomics (namjoon + comics)

@i4seokji ( i for seokjin)

@vhshoseok ( vhs + hoseok)

@yoongcacts (yoongi + cactos)

@Y0ONFILM (yoongi + film)

@NIK1F4V (Ni-Ki Favorite)

@J4KEFlLM (Jake Film i or l)

@ibywoonie ( me for jungwon)

@sunghicy (sunghoon icy)

@heesgogh (heeseung + van gogh)

@vougguk (vouge + jeongguk)

@whistaehy (whistle + taehyung)

@J1MINC0R (Jimin + Cor)

@yeonfever (yeonjun + fever)

@ibyeonhoo ( me for yeonjun and sunghoon)

@heesgice (heeseung + ice)

@ifsunghoo

@ifkoohee

@jungwooney

@J4YBOO

@i4suniki ( i for sunoo + ni-ki)