#fic: lacuna

[lightyaoigami]

sharing my writing playlist for my piece in @lawlightzine ∴ pre-order your copy of conviction at lawlightzine.bigcartel.com & read my preview here~

yumeji's theme ∴ shigeru umebayashi

i wanna be yours ∴ arctic monkeys ∴ i wanna be your setting lotion, hold your hair in deep devotion

wicked game ∴ chris isaak ∴ what a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

memoria ∴ indochine ∴ je te retrouverai comme tu étais, je te retrouverai comme si rien n'avait changé

you're the one ∴ the vogues ∴ since i met you, i just can't forget you, i love you more each day

tessellate ∴ alt-j ∴ triangles are my favorite shape, three points where two lines meet

i need you ∴ steve beddall ∴ i need this fantasy, so i can recognize what's hidden from me

when i'm small ∴ phantogram ∴ bring me to the fire, throw me in the flame, so show me love

i can't handle change ∴ roar ∴ i can't help but repeat myself, i know it's not your fault, still lately i begin to shake for no reason at all

bag of bones ∴ mitski ∴ mercy on me, would you please spare me tonight? i'm tired of this searching, would you let me let go?

end of the world ∴ skeeter davis ∴ i can't understand, no i can't understand how life goes on the way it does

pink in the night ∴ mitski ∴ i know i've kissed you before but i didn't do it right, can i try again, try again, try again?

dreams tonite ∴ alvvays ∴ if i saw you on the street, would i have you in my dreams tonight?

space song ∴ beach house ∴ tender is the night for a broken heart, who will dry your eyes when it falls apart?

end of the world ∴ remy bond ∴ why am i so nostalgic for the now, if only i’m dreaming?

we'll meet again ∴ vera lynn ∴ we'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, but i know we'll meet again some sunny day

[anosrepasi]

I posted the LoZ ghost story BOTW fic for anyone who’s interested lol

Read Lacuna here on AO3

[persphonesorchid]

Tell me why I always scrolled past this? Jade there's just something about the way that you write that's able to draw out emotions like the most detailed portrait ever? It's so beautiful 🥺

lacuna (knj)

lacuna (n): a blank space, a missing part

In his twenty-eight years, Kim Namjoon had made countless mistakes. Most of them were insignificant and could be shoved easily enough into the back corner of his mind. The worst of them were all tied for first place, keeping him up at night.

Loving you, losing you, and now – picking up the phone. 

Pairing: Ex!Kim Namjoon x Fem!Reader Type: One-Shot (Angst, Smut - 18+ or else.) Word Count: Like, 7K (?!) Content: ex-boyfriend au; exes to something?; literally so much angst; yearning; pov switches; oral sex (f receiving); unprotected sex; p in v penetration; cursing; texts from Yoongi. A/N: For reasons unknown, I decided to break my own heart today! The lyrics you'll see below are from "Sooner" by The Low Blow. There's also a reference to one of my favorite tv shows at the end - did you catch it? (1/9/23) The sequel, Redamancy, is finally here!

Sitting cross-legged on the rug, your weary, unfocused eyes stared somewhere in the vicinity of Min Yoongi. Shrouded all in black, you nearly assumed he was your sleep paralysis demon, hunched over his keyboard with his eyes narrowed in thought – but you hadn’t slept much at all lately. Not with your deadline looming overhead like the sword of Damocles. 

He relayed what was already looping through your brain. “It’s missing something.” 

You scrubbed your hands over your face, too burnt out to care if your foundation stayed where it was supposed to. “I know,” was all you said, though it wasn’t all you were thinking. Listening to this demo – this crushing song about love lost – you knew what was missing. Or rather, who. 

Once again reading your mind, Yoongi spoke with a wary sigh. This time, he said the quiet part out loud. “Listen, I know that on a personal level, this is a terrible idea. But if you really want this track to ache –” 

“I’ll call him.” 

Yoongi turned to look at you over his shoulder. He, like you, hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours; but his surprise still managed to crack through an otherwise impassive expression.

“You sure you want to be the one?” His frown was microscopic, but it was there and it bruised. “I have to hit him up, anyway, so I can handle this for you.” 

You’d never told him – or any of your friends, come to think of it – the details of your whatever it was with Namjoon. You couldn’t call it a breakup; that would necessitate a relationship. You couldn’t comfortably assign that word to this indescribable something.

But maybe that’s precisely why it hurt to breathe when you thought too hard about it. Maybe the thing that burned in your lungs was the fact that whatever it was wasn’t much of anything at all. 

The universally known narrative was that you met Kim Namjoon at a release party two years prior. After years of putting out extended plays, he was dropping his highly anticipated, full-length masterpiece.

That’s what your label called it; that’s what the press called it; but you couldn’t agree. That word wasn’t heavy enough – it didn’t give due credit to the pieces of himself he broke down and buried within those twelve tracks. You felt seen when you heard it. When you saw him, it was game over. 

As the story goes, you went home with him that night. While true, it was the tiniest fragment sitting sharp at the tip of an iceberg. The rest was an ill-equipped ship, sailing in slow-motion through the dark. 

He'd spent the entirety of his celebration focused on you. What you thought; what you wanted for yourself; what made that tipsy, uninhibited giggle come flying out of your chest. And then, holding his hand like it’d been tailor-made for yours, you followed his lead out of there while confused partygoers murmured in your wake. 

He fucked you like he knew you – on a cellular level – and he looked at you like you were all there was. You’d spent the entirety of the following day there, draped over him or nestled underneath him. You were never not touching in some way – in the little interludes of sleep; while cooking a breakfast too big for the two of you alone; on every surface of his apartment. 

He changed your life in those twenty-four hours, but not enough for it to stick. 

You’d spent as much time with him as you could in the year afterward, until your twin ambitions sent you both rocketing in other directions. Your various obligations never allowed you to be in the same place for long; and when they did, it was over too soon. No amount of time would ever feel like enough, but half a day, here and there, felt like a cosmic joke. Like the universe was punishing you for wanting everything, all at once. 

Eventually, you came to a fork in the road. 

His career, though international, was rooted in Korea – home. Yours took you to Los Angeles, to a vastly different time zone, and a schedule that refused to make space. And you tried, but when it came down to choosing – idling together or racing forward alone – your respective dreams were so heavy that they tipped the scales.  

Neither of you could blame the other. After all, you’d both made the same decision. There was some small comfort in knowing that he understood you. That consolation couldn’t keep you warm at night, when you’d instinctively reach out and find half of your bed still empty.

It would’ve been so much easier to live without him if there was some horrible betrayal to pin it all on, but he was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him. 

Shaky legs pushed you off the ground. Without meaning to, you groaned as your body returned to its regularly scheduled programming. Yoongi simply muttered, “Same,” as he made additional adjustments in his editing software.

You affectionally touched your knuckles to his shoulder as you passed by, though you quickly realized this gesture wasn’t made to comfort him. 

You shut the door softly behind you and headed up the hallway. Having kicked off and subsequently lost your shoes several hours ago, you padded in socked feet across the hardwood. The pattern – the various evolutions of Eevee – clashed so blatantly with the extravagance around you. Glancing down, you chuckled. At least some parts of you were still recognizable. 

The door to the stairwell creaked as you pushed it open and ducked inside. No longer camped out in the soundproof studio, you could hear the smattering of raindrops as they pummeled the exterior walls of the building. Somewhere between a drum roll and machine gun fire, you couldn’t figure out if the noise emphasized or relieved your anxiety. 

Gently, you lowered yourself down on a step halfway up the flight. As you stared down at your phone, your knee bounced of its own volition. For once, you were thankful for the seventeen-hour time difference. This was the kind of call you needed to make at midnight, but one you didn’t want him receiving at midnight. It felt so much safer in daylight.

At least one of you had eyes on the sun. 

You’d deleted his number from your phone months ago because you thought it might help you let go. It didn’t. And to make matters worse, you still knew it by heart. As you typed it out easily, you wished this realization surprised you. You also wished that you’d catch him at a bad time, so you could simply leave a message. 

You’d never been lucky, though, had you?

Namjoon was half-asleep at a café table when the vibration of his phone against the wrought metal snapped him out of it. In his under-caffeinated daze, he couldn’t determine what that unbearable grinding noise was.

He could, however, see the way the elderly woman nearby was scowling at him. He furrowed his brows and blinked back at her; silently asking what the fuck her problem was. Just as silently, she pointed an angry, wrinkled finger to his tabletop. 

By the time his brain kicked into gear, he was too late. He picked up his now-quiet phone and nearly dropped it in an instant when he saw your name tied to a missed call. He didn’t think twice before returning it – he should have – having figured there was only one way to know if he was truly hallucinating. You picked up immediately in a voice so you that he couldn’t have imagined it. He knew because he'd already tried.

“Hey.” 

People who didn’t know you often mistook the natural rasp of your voice for tiredness, but he did know you. You were beyond exhausted, more so than the last time he’d heard from you. Five months and twenty-one days ago.

This sounded like another all-nighter; like you got so consumed in creating that you couldn’t sleep until you finished. Remembering you like this opened a black hole in his chest – all this fondness with nowhere to go, collapsing in on itself, pulling.

What kind of masochist was he, voluntarily subjecting himself to this conversation? 

“Hey,” He croaked. Even his voice didn't know what to do. 

He heard shuffling on your end. You always pinned your phone between your right ear and shoulder to start; he immediately knew the sound of your hair against the receiver when you switched it to your left side. Vanilla and honey flooded his nose despite the thousands of miles that separated him from the scent of your shampoo. 

There were a thousand questions spinning dizzy in his mind, but he couldn’t untangle them to spit one out. The longer you both remained quiet, the worse it got – and the worse he felt for his silence. Even without seeing you, he knew that your brows were knitting together. He knew that quiet made you feel too exposed. 

Namjoon cleared his throat to speak at the same moment you asked, “How are you?” His words echoed, a half-second from being uttered in unison. 

He prayed to any god that he’d stop feeling so nervous. There was no reason to be, not with you. You were his comfort zone, his safe space and – oh. Past tense.

Presently, you were – what, exactly? Could he call you an “ex” if you’d never had a title? It all felt too juvenile, hearing people whisper about his girlfriend. You were –fuck – You were home, and now his house was haunted.

A ghost. 

“I’ve been good,” he said quickly, planting a hollow smile on his face that wouldn’t have convinced you if you were there. Liar, liar, liar. “Busy. You sound –” 

“Awful?”

“– like you’ve been working all night.” 

He heard a sheepish chuckle and his clumsy, thudding heart went flying off into the void.

“That’s actually why I’m calling,” you admitted in a voice so tiny he nearly missed it, “And I wouldn’t be – I promise – if I could’ve bothered anyone else with this. This one, though… when I hear it in my head, I can’t imagine anyone –” 

“Say less.” 

It slipped out of him automatically. He couldn’t stop it. Now it was dangling there in dead air where he couldn’t reach it and shove it back down his throat. He must have said that to you a thousand times, giving you whatever you needed before you could even finish asking.

This was the first time he’d ever said it without punctuating it with a kiss to your forehead, though. And now, his equilibrium was off, like the staircase had one less step than he was expecting. 

When you finally broke the silence, he could’ve sworn he heard you sniffle, but he quickly kicked that thought back into the cage it escaped from. Your voice didn’t sound sad at all, so you couldn’t have been crying. Why would you be?

“I can have Yoongi send you what we have so far, lyrics too. If you’re interested, just let me know – verse, bridge, whatever you want.” 

“You’re with Yoongi?” 

It came out exactly as he hadn't intended – accusatory. It was no business of his who you spent time with, professionally or otherwise. And it didn’t even surprise him that Yoongi would stick around after the – whatever it was. All your shared friends stayed shared. His confusion was solely that Yoongi never mentioned working with you, let alone flying stateside to do so. 

Why hadn’t Yoongi said something? Did he assume Namjoon wouldn’t be interested in hearing about your project? Because he would - he kept up with all of your releases, even if it hurt. Was he scared that the mere mention of you would exacerbate the tailspin Namjoon was barely surviving?

Or was it something else? 

“Yeah, he got here a few days ago. I offered to send the vocals to him, but he said he wanted In-N-Out,” Your laugh, even under the weight of your sleepiness, still packed a punch. “Might be the longest trip anyone’s ever made for animal-style fries.” 

Namjoon felt like he was going to pass out, but for your sake, he tried to echo your laugh. “Sounds like he’s got his priorities in order, as usual.” 

That uncomfortable silence crawled back in and settled in the space between you. It never used to be like this. His mouth remained open as if his broken brain could think of a single thing to say. There were hours in every second that passed, but he didn’t hang up – and neither did you. 

“So, if I figure something out, I can shoot it back over –” 

You interrupted this time.

“No need,” You chirped. You must’ve sensed that his train of thought now consisted only of question marks because you dove right back in, “I’ll be in Seoul at the end of the month, so we can put all the pieces together then.” 

Please tell me you’re speaking metaphorically. Please say – 

“I’ve gotta hop off now, but it was –” Your voice petered out at the end of your statement, and he didn’t know what to do within the pause.

What pleasantry would you settle on to end this conversation? Was it nice to hear from him, or did you also feel like you’d walked through the emotional equivalent of a car wash?  

It was heavy when you exhaled the amendment, hitting the ground with a thud that could’ve knocked him over.

It was torture, and it drop-kicked him into the abyss at full-speed. No light above, no hope below. A black hole that he kept selfishly refusing to close – all because he answered your call. 

“Thank you, Joonie.” 

Fuck. He was doomed.

You spent a shocking percentage of your life on international flights. It was a privilege – you knew it – to travel to the extent that you did, but it was so lonely.

If you were flying, there were two justifications. The first was the most common – touring. You’d touch down in cities all over the world, stay for a few hours, and then you’d leave again as soon as you could blink.

Your interactions were limited, either one-sided conversations from a stage; or facilitated entirely by a local translator. Never truly connecting, missed phone calls and texts sent too late to get a response. The same stale conversations with the crew that had been stuck with you for months. 

The second was less common, and somehow even lonelier – visiting a home that was no longer yours. 

It always went the same way. You’d touch down at the Incheon International Airport in your home country and feel just as foreign as the tourists bustling around you. You’d gather a suitcase’s worth of belongings and try not to think about the fact that they – and everything else you owned – once lived there, too. You’d hit customs and then, as a reward, snag yourself some boba from the café on your way out the door. 

In all those trips, you’d never once hailed a cab because Namjoon was always waiting. You’d hear him before you saw him with how loud he kept his car’s stereo, but when you did finally lay eyes on him, you’d light up like a sparkler. He’d shower you with affection – publicly, despite his usually private nature – and swap out the luggage in your hands for some thoughtful surprise. Flowers, usually, after painstaking deliberation over the meaning he wanted to convey. 

Now, you stood on the sidewalk with your empty hand in the air. 

Shortly after settling into your cab, you fell asleep. The person who would have gently scolded you for taking this risk wasn’t there to do so. Instead, you woke up stiff and disoriented to the sound of your driver honking his horn. You quickly learned that he wasn’t honking at traffic; he was honking at you with a scowl on his face. 

“Time to go! Wake up – your stop!” 

He was speaking in English, so it took you a few moments to determine whether you were dreaming. Impatient, he honked again.

Did he think you were a tourist? Was he right?

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you threw the door open and hurled yourself out. You ran to the trunk, snatched your suitcase, and tried not to remember that you didn't used to have to do this part yourself.

Yoongi had the foresight to give you a spare keycard before leaving California, so you were able to get into his building quickly – before you were honked at again. Spoken to in English again, like this place had never been home.

You, belonging nowhere and to no one, kept yourself together until the elevator doors gave you some semblance of shelter. 

Alone, alone, alone, you cried so hard that your shoulders shook. The mirrored walls around you showed infinite versions of you, all pitiful like a little girl who’d gotten separated from her parents at an amusement park. It was incredible how you felt smaller in that elevator than you did as a child. And fuck, did that embarrassment make you cry even harder. 

Eventually, those doors would have to re-open, and you’d have to let yourself into Yoongi’s unoccupied penthouse just to wait for his return. You were so sick of walking into empty apartments and hearing nothing but your own footsteps. No warmth, no laughter, just a black hole of your own creation. 

You chose this, you reminded yourself. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? You were so busy chasing broader horizons, you didn't notice that the sun had disappeared. If you’d known – really, truly known – what the fall would be like, would you have taken that leap of faith? No, you think, but you did and there’s no jumping back into the airplane once you’ve dived out of it.

Ding. 

There was a post-it note waiting for you on the inside of Yoongi’s door that you would’ve missed if you hadn’t taken so much time to shut it behind you. His handwriting was shockingly neat for someone who was always in a rush. His note told you that he’d be home in two hours, that there was food for you in the refrigerator, and that you should help yourself to whatever you needed. 

The sinkhole in your stomach wasn’t created by hunger, so you pushed that down to the bottom of your to-do list and dragged your luggage to the guest bedroom down the hall.

Every inch of his place was undeniably Yoongi – monochromatic and edgy, but still so confusingly inviting. His guest room was similar in style, but with more personalized touches than most visitors tended to expect. Framed photos of friends, and the collaborators he was most proud to work with.

Your eyes eventually found one of you, beaming brightly. 

It hurt to look, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. It was taken in a photobooth at Kim Seokjin’s wedding last spring. You were sandwiched on a small bench seat between Yoongi and Namjoon. The former, like you, was captured in the middle of a laugh - smiling at the camera with all teeth, eyes crinkled at the edges but still sparkling. The latter wasn’t looking at the camera at all – just you, like you were all there was. 

Forcing yourself to look away, you returned the frame to its place on the vanity and kept moving. Your primary instinct was to hurl yourself into the plush bed and never leave it. But you felt stale after spending so much time traveling, and you didn’t want to collapse into those beautiful sheets until you’d scrubbed the day off you. 

Shuffling off to the bathroom, you finally remembered to take your phone off ‘airplane mode.’ All at once, the floodgates opened. The onslaught of texts, emails, and voicemails was so overwhelming that your phone froze. When the flurry stopped, you scanned through your various inboxes for anything that might require an immediate response. Finding nothing urgent, you were about to set your phone down when you saw an email from Namjoon, addressing both you and Yoongi. His verse, you realized as you opened it. 

I think I lost you sooner than I wanted to  And I know you can't say the same  But I can't hate you for doing what you've gotta do  Cause I'm just in bed sleeping through the pain  Do you see wasted potential when you look at me?  Of what we could be if it wasn't like this  I know you asked me not to try and change myself  But when I was with you, I felt fixed 

It took everything you had not to drop to your knees.

Namjoon was an incredible liar.

He didn’t utilize the skill often – in fact, he was usually too honest – but when he did, he could get himself out of any unwanted scenario. In the distant past, he’d slip out of obligations made by his label to stay home in bed with you. It worked every single time. Instead of putting on some over-priced suit, wasting his breath swapping empty pleasantries with industry tools; he’d be hooking his arms around your quivering thighs, pinning you to his face as he fucked you with his tongue. 

In the present, he lied again. 

Yoongi asked, “How did it feel to hear from her again?” 

“To be honest,” Namjoon started, knowing full well that nothing he said next would be, “That shit’s behind me, man. I was surprised her number was still in my contacts, you know? She’s been a non-factor for a minute.” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “With the number of girls you’ve gone through in the meantime, I imagine it gets hard to keep track.” 

Hook, line, sinker. 

Namjoon offered a smirk and a shrug in response, which Yoongi accepted without further comment. The relief of being believed did nothing to cure the nausea swirling in Namjoon’s stomach, though - not just for the cruelty of his lie, but for the way he’d acted since you left and stayed gone.  

He learned early on that it would take more than fucking someone he didn't know to keep warm, but knowing better didn’t mean he did better. None of them – and there were many – could pull him from the limbo he found himself in without you. There was an emptiness gnawing at his insides that he couldn’t fill, and the more he tried, the more it tore at him.

The only thing he succeeded at was becoming someone he didn’t recognize –someone he didn’t even like. 

Yoongi pulled into his parking garage and turned to Namjoon, staking him through the heart with words alone. “Well, the non-factor is upstairs, so try to remember her name when you see her.” 

Namjoon chuckled, but it didn’t sound anywhere close to convincing. There was a flicker of doubt in Yoongi’s quickly flexed eyebrow, though he kept any questions he may have had to himself. Without a word, they clambered out of the car, and they stayed quiet until they stepped into the elevator. 

“How has she been?” Namjoon asked more quietly than he meant to. Like someone who’s scared of the answer - or worse, being asked why he’s asking. Quickly diverting further inquiry, he provided clarification Yoongi hadn’t sought. “Sounded tired as fuck on the phone.” 

Yoongi glanced at Namjoon before selecting the button marked with his floor number. “You know how she is,” He hummed. 

That one hurt. He knew how you were – past tense.

Except for that one phone call, he hadn’t heard your voice in months. He hadn’t seen you for even longer than that. Your number hadn’t changed, but for all he knew, everything else could have. All he had now was his memory’s pale imitation of you, always in sight but never within reach. A ghost that disappeared into the walls before he could get too close. 

When the elevator door opened, Namjoon was fighting between running forward and running away. Incapable of doing either, it was Yoongi’s light punch on his bicep that prompted his feet to move. Namjoon trudged along after him until Yoongi stopped short with a groan. 

“The fuck?” Namjoon coughed as he collided with Yoongi’s back. “Don’t tell me you’re already winded, dude. I’m not giving your old ass a piggy-back ride.” 

The scowl he received could’ve scorched the Earth.  

“I forgot my fucking phone in the car.” Yoongi tossed his apartment key at Namjoon. It thudded against his unsuspecting chest only to be caught on the rebound. Then, Yoongi pointed at the door. “Go play nice and figure out where we’re getting take-out from. I had a dream about bulgogi last night that was borderline sexual, so keep that in mind.” 

Namjoon’s face scrunched up. “I’ll be trying my best to keep it out, so thanks for that.”  

Yoongi had already turned around, waving a dismissive hand as he stalked off. 

As soon as Namjoon heard the elevator doors close, his phone chirped in his pocket and caught him off guard. He glanced down to find a text from Yoongi – who was, apparently, also a liar. 

Yoongi [18:19 PM]: fyi you always say “to be honest” when you’re about to say some bullshit Yoongi [18:19 PM]: "non-factor" my asssssss

Namjoon grimaced and shoved his phone back into his pocket before walking to Yoongi’s door with his heart in his throat.

Clearly, Yoongi wanted Najmoon to fix things with you. He’d crafted some false narrative to get himself out of there, to give Namjoon the time and space to do it. But there wasn’t a single fucking thing he could say to rebuild the bridge you’d both demolished together.

That is, if you even wanted him to try.

After unlocking the door, he froze. A full minute passed before his hand received his brain’s signal to turn the knob, and even then, his feet felt as if they were encased in concrete. If hearing your voice made him spiral, he was terrified of what the sight of you might do.

More than anything, he was scared to see how you looked at him – and he didn’t know what reaction he wanted. If you lit up the way you used to, it might kill him. If you had no reaction at all, it would definitely kill him. 

He would’ve stalled at that threshold all night if you didn’t appear in the hallway, straight ahead. You froze like a deer in headlights, one hand still on the door you’d exited from. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly in surprise. He didn’t notice the red rims around your eyes right away, but once he did, every cell in his body screamed at him to run to you, to hold you. But he didn’t.

Touching you now only to lose you again tomorrow - well, that was a scab he couldn’t rip off again. There was only scar tissue where his heart used to be.

“Hey,” You smiled so sweetly when you saw him, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Those fucking eyes! He’d give up everything he had to erase the sadness swimming behind them, threatening to spill out. Why were you still so far away? You glanced around him, noting Yoongi’s absence, but didn’t ask where he was. “I was thinking we could get something from that –” 

The longer he stared at you, the more impossible it became to keep his distance. He couldn’t stand on that doorstep with you over there, trying so hard to look like you hadn’t been crying – like you weren’t about to start again. 

Fuck it.

If he was so dead-set on re-breaking his own heart, he’d do it with you in his arms.

“Joonie, is everything oka–” 

No, nothing was. Nothing had been, not for – fuck, are his eyes getting misty? - a long time. Not since you walked out of his apartment for the last time, and he let you. He couldn’t make any of it okay, but with you there now, he didn’t give a fuck about where you were before. 

Your eyes were as big as the moon when he finally reached you, blinking your surprise up at him. Did you really think he had any other option than to hold you? Did you have any idea how you looking at him like this - bare-faced, freshly-showered, vulnerable - demanded his immediate affection?

It felt like coming home, sliding his fingers through your still-damp hair. He could’ve fallen to pieces when the familiar scent of your shampoo – vanilla and honey – crashed over him, but he didn’t. His lips collided with yours, and for the first time in a fucking year, he felt whole.

You clung to him so desperately, you could’ve ripped a hole in his shirt. You couldn't care about that, though, because he kissed you and it was pure starlight. He kissed you hard, nicking your lip between his teeth until you opened your mouth against his. You whimpered into him, drunk on the wet heat of his mouth, melting and falling and spinning and flying. You felt it all fall to the wayside, every second wasted without him, every text you didn’t send, every wrong turn that led you so far away. 

You didn't realize until you finally broke apart that the tears on your cheek weren’t exclusively yours. His gaze locked with yours, and all either of you could do was gasp for air - chests heaving, lips kissed swollen. If not for the arm around your back, pinning you against his chest, you would’ve floated away. But he had you, completely.  

Finally, you felt tethered. 

Your trembling hand settled on the side of his face. Fuck! That face. The warmth of his skin, the heights of his cheek bones, the gentle slope of his nose. How many mornings did you wake up and miss it? How did you ever fall asleep without it nuzzled into the crook of your neck, without the whisper of warm breath on your skin?

You wanted to scream until the hurt left your chest, but you didn’t dare – not with that face so perfectly close to yours.  

He spoke first, “I’m so –” 

Your eyes followed your thumb as it swiped over his bottom lip, unearthing a quiver that burned you up inside. He was paralyzed by your touch. Enraptured. Leaving that clause hanging open in the air.

His eyes were wide with anticipation as he watched you, pupils dilating when you whispered. “Say less.” 

Faster than you could process, he lifted you off the ground as if you weighed nothing at all. Automatically, your legs locked behind his back; your lips re-captured his and his kiss never faltered as he carried you back into the guest room. Quickly and with a shocking display of control, he kicked the door closed without slamming it – or breaking it. 

Like so many times before, he laid you gently onto the mattress as if you were crafted from porcelain. And when he finally pulled away from you, you gazed up at him in awe. This was one of the million reasons you couldn’t seem to let him go – the way his eyes softened when you were breathless underneath him, like you were the only thing in the universe worth looking at.

There were too many things to be said that neither of you could verbalize. You felt them all falling down around you like confetti, loose ends to be tied up later. He didn’t need to say a thing, so long as he kept looking at you like that. 

When his fingers landed at the hem of your shirt, you knew what came next. A dance you’d done a thousand times before, you lifted your arms for him to pull it up and off. Still damp from your shower, the ends of your hair raised goosebumps as they chilled the bare skin of your back.  

He moved slowly and without breaking eye contact as he unbuttoned your jeans. Your zipper followed, then your jeans and underwear in tandem. The denim dragged so deliciously against your thighs as he slipped them down, down, down. As he tugged them off your ankles, you discarded your bra and tossed it aside. You were entirely bare and shivering with anticipation when his gaze found you again.

His shirt soon joined yours on the floor. Kneeling between your legs, his bare chest burned against your own as he kissed you for the third time. So many more were needed to make up for lost time, but you could feel how much of himself he poured into the kisses he’d credited you with so far. The taste of his mouth on yours was indescribably intoxicating after so much time apart. 

With you sufficiently distracted, the hands that cupped your face began to migrate. You felt so small under his touch, reduced to putty in the warm expanse of his palms. His face lowered too, freeing your mouth to moan as he placed open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck. Involuntarily, you gasped when his fingers pinched at one of your nipples. The curve of his smile impressed upon your throat as he suckled at the sensitive skin he found there, leaving clouds of indigo behind. 

As he marked you, he rolled and tweaked your nipples in turn. Your eyes fluttered shut and you keened while your head crashed back against the pillows, “That mouth – feels s-so fucking good.” Your fingers carded through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp; his silence broke with a shuddered moan. 

“S’all I want, baby,” He hummed as his lips trailed down from your neck and beyond your collarbone. “To make you feel good.”  

You were trembling when he claimed one of your nipples with his mouth. Then he had the audacity to look up at you from under his lashes when he released it with a lewd pop, causing your back to arch against his chest with a gasp. There was a rumble from deep within him when your grip on his hair tightened, and the sound alone made you gush. 

“To taste you,” His tongue left a wet stripe above your navel as he continued his descent, large hands dipping beneath you to squeeze the doughy flesh of your ass. Shit - you would simply never recover from this. “To devour you until you melt in my mouth.” 

Another sharp tug at his hair, another guttural moan breaking free from your chest. How often had you dreamed of this in your time apart? How many times did you try to remember how it felt when that timbre whispered sins against your naked body? Fuck. With those words alone, he had you on the brink. 

You whined when he pulled away from you; but it quickly turned into a gasp when he hooked his arms around your thighs and dragged you with him towards the end of the bed. Now kneeling on the floor, he ducked below your knees until they rested over the tops of his shoulders. 

Face so near to your aching core, he growled, and you felt it. “I missed this pussy –” He placed a wet kiss on your inner thigh, prompting you to clench them reflexively. “I missed the way your thighs squeeze around me while you fuck yourself against my tongue.” 

Shivering, slack-jawed, and stupid, you grabbed fistfuls of the comforter below you. He was so painfully close to your cunt and still so fucking far from you. You knew he could see how badly you craved him - you’d beg for his mouth if you had to. 

Of course, you didn’t have to - you never did. Seconds before your impatience could drive you fully insane, he was on you, tongue flat against your cunt, dragging up against your slit. When the tip of his tongue flicked over your clit, you cried out with a buck of your hips. His grip on you tightened, pinning you flush against him as he teased you. 

“That it’s, baby. Good girl.” 

It’s a miracle either one of you could form words with how relentlessly he licked, nipped, and suckled on your throbbing cunt. All you could do was babble in response to his praise – until the tip of his tongue penetrated your weeping hole, and you screamed. 

A flurry of curse words spilled from your lips; his name sprinkled in between the obscenities. Fuck, you needed more. More, more, more. You extended your arm and reclaimed your grasp on his locks. Once you did, you began to grind yourself against his tongue until your abdominal muscles burned - you hadn’t utilized them to this extent since the last time.

His hand squeezed your thigh, goading you, encouraging you to use him the way you needed to. The pressure of his tongue increased with your pace. You had no control over the sounds you made; the breathless moans escaped you before you could think of trapping them. The coil was tightening, burning red-hot in the pit of your belly. 

So good, so good, so g – 

“Fuck!” 

One by one, your muscles tensed in quick succession until your body shook violently in his grip. Toes curling, back arching, head crashing backwards into the pillows, mewling. When you finally gathered the strength to re-open your bleary eyes, there were spots dotting the edges of your vision – and then there was Namjoon, fuck-drunk between your weakened knees, with a mixture of his saliva and your orgasm shining on his chin. 

Lustful eyes locked squarely on your flushed face; his tongue slid from between his swollen lips to attend to the mess you’d made of him. His panting rivaled yours, but unlike you, he was still capable of speech. “I will never – ever – get tired of watching you come,” he sighed before wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.” 

As he climbed back on top of you, he placed a chaste kiss on your sweaty forehead. “So vulnerable –” Then the tip of your nose. “So vocal –” Then, too briefly, your lips. “Perfect.” 

“Joon,” You murmured against his lips. His mouth curved into a smile at the nickname, which you used almost exclusively to win arguments, or to persuade him to do something. It worked every time. 

He nudged your nose with the tip of his as he tried to conceal his laugh. “Baby?” 

The fond look in his eyes was quickly covered by fluttering eyelids as your fingertips whispered down over his chest. They snapped open and bored into you as your fingers slid over the waistband of his joggers, tracing a feather-light trail over the bulge below. You felt his cock twitch autonomously against the warmth of your palm. 

“Shit,” He hissed through gritted teeth as you squeezed him. Eyes drifting shut once again; he rolled his hips to exacerbate the friction. His neck tensed, head thrown back, when you finally dipped under the elastic and took him into your hand. Skin to skin, burning up. The next moan from his fawning mouth was something you hadn’t heard in his voice for months – your name. “I need you. Now.” 

In the few moments he pulled away to remove his pants, a chill crept in and settled where the weight of his body had just been. There it is again, you thought, the feeling of having him and losing him. When this night was over and he was gone from you, would he stay that way? Should you have gone this far, knowing nothing would be different in the daylight? 

You were blinking fast when he reclaimed the space above you. Something flickered in his eye as he assessed the look on your face, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you so gently that you could’ve imagined it – but so completely that your brain could never have fabricated it. Not successfully, anyway. You’d already tried. 

Breaking apart once more, he reached down and stroked himself slowly. His eyes never left yours. You both held your breath as he slid into you, millimeter by millimeter, reminding your body – after all this time – how to take him. All of him, to the hilt, until you could finally exhale. Stretched to accommodate his width, so fucking full, you saw a way out of the nothing that had you trapped like quicksand. It was him, always. Your safe haven.

Neither of you could speak once he began rolling his hips against you. The quiet was electrified by heavy breaths and whimpers. The wet heat of your cunt squelched as your walls enveloped him, just as unwilling to let him go as the rest of you. Over and over, he grinded into you, dragging his length across your most sensitive places; hips swiveling slightly to the side as he pushed and pulled himself through you, the way he knew you liked it. 

Open mouth beside his ear, you keened and sighed, wordlessly informing him that you wouldn’t last much longer. He was perfectly attuned to your subconscious movements, and he responded to each of them without hesitation. He’d never need to be reminded that the fingernails digging into his biceps meant faster, and the upward tilt of your jaw meant deeper. That when your eyebrows rose above your closed lids, you were seconds away from your release. 

He remembered exactly how to fuck you through your orgasm when it came – shallow, staccato thrusts that unraveled you further as you writhed against the sheets. The spot on your neck to nip at like some secret switch, praise dripping hot in your ear like honey. “Such a good girl, squeezing me like this,” He panted, “Taking me so well – so fucking perfect for me, angel.” 

As soon as you crashed down through the atmosphere, his movements threatened to ricochet you right back into space. You keened helplessly with your half-numbed fingers gripping any part of him where they could find purchase. “I c-can't stop -” You mewled, “How am I s-still c-coming?” 

His response didn’t come in the form of words. His lips collided with yours hard enough to clink teeth as he drove himself deeper and deeper and deeper. Sloppy, kiss-bitten lips laying claim; relentless in their mutual need for closeness. Your walls were still fluttering around him – was this your second orgasm or your third? - when he moaned into your mouth. Every part of him tensed above, around, and inside you as the flood of his release filled every crevice of your cunt. 

Breathing ragged, his head fell into the crook of your shoulder. Considerate as ever, he tried so hard to keep his full weight off you, but his exhaustion undermined his efforts. You didn’t mind at all – you’d re-build your home there, staying forever between his body and that borrowed bed if you could. 

But you couldn’t, could you? If you felt empty before, how could you feel whole again after this? His name etched itself into your ribcage, and now your body would never re-acclimate to his absence. Why did you do this to yourself? 

You squeezed your eyes shut tight when you felt tears prickling in their corners.  

Everything you felt for him – over the course of two years – came crashing down over you. You buried your face into his shoulder and tried your best to keep your crying to yourself. You’d never get his scent off your body now. 

He could sense your shaking; it forced his heavy lids open. 

“I don’t know what to do with it,” you sniffled, silently begging yourself to stop. You felt yourself shrinking under his eye. It would only be a matter of time before you disappeared entirely.

His tone dripped with concern, serving only to deepen that infernal ache in the pit of your stomach. “With what?”  

“All the love I have for you. I don’t –” You sobbed, “I don’t know where to put it now.” 

His breath caught in his throat as if you’d punched him straight in the chest. If you listened hard enough, you might’ve heard his heart break. You could certainly feel it in the way he tensed in your arms. When he moved off you, you feared the worst – that your incessant crying overflowed the bathtub, and your admission was the toaster thrown recklessly inside.  

But unlike the last time, he didn’t leave - and neither did you.

The mattress shifted as he claimed the space at your side - where he should have been all this time. Strong arms enveloped you as he turned to face you, and even though he held you, he couldn’t stop you from shattering. For a while, he let you. Squeezed you hard, stroked your hair the way he used to, let you cry out all the poison that filled the spaces in the cavern of your chest.

And when you could finally breathe again, he kissed your forehead. “I’ll trade you for it.” 

(1/8/23): Check out the sequel, Redamancy, here.

[moonys-art]

Invisobang-time :D I participated in the Invisobang again and this time, I worked on two fics. This is for the first one, called "Lacuna". Here is the link to the fic: https://character.ai/chat/7dSxhvMRK0jhy_WABp--Aj2e5reY4rC1TmMi1HMW27Q

I really enjoyed working on it and hope to actually draw another picture further down the story line :3 Enjoy :D

[inkymoonbunny]

Astarion x Tav Fic Recs

These are just some of my favorites! <3 Mix of during game and AUs

Epistles of Saints & Sinners @elegantduelliste - Soulmate Marks AU during game. Astarion recognizes Tav’s soulmate mark, it matches his own, but he's not going to tell her that; he can't have a soulmate, it's just one more thing Cazador has stolen from him. Tav is just as drawn to Astarion, but her own history has left her guarded and wary of being vulnerable. Elle’s writing of the push and pull of their relationship is breathtaking and heart-wrenching. Matching a bard Tav, Elle's prose takes on a lyrical quality and her use of imagery is unparalleled. 

The House of Astarion by Throckmorton420 - Labyrinth AU post-Elderbrain. Ascended Astarion lost interest in conquering Faerun once he came across the Labyrinth, it's much more his style anyway. Stealing Tav’s violin, he offers her a deal: solve his Labyrinth and he'll return her violin and grant her a wish. Realizing this is her opportunity to reconnect to the Weave, Tav agrees. Did I mention goostarion? Because there's goostarion! This fic is filled with mischief, whimsy, and so much heart. 

Fools' Work @semper-draca - Pre-Tadpole AU. Cazador has sent his spawn after a mysterious box and luckily for Astarion, his latest target happens to have a lead. It should be easy to seduce her and steal the prize! Too bad she’s not as naive as Astarion believes. This mercenary Tav is perceptive and delightfully unhinged that makes her a great matchup for a scheming Astarion. 

When the Dawn Breaks… @harcourtholmesii - set during game. Before Astarion was turned, he ignored his family’s disapproval of a Drow lover. Two hundred years later, Lavender has found the lover she grieved and believed dead. Astarion brushes away her questions but still sweeps her off her feet. He can’t believe his luck in finding a target that presumably knows him, one easy to lure back when he so desperately needs to keep in good graces with his master. 

Until You @bloodinwine - Post-Elderbrain with modern world AU flavor. Effy thought Astarion needed a friend more than a lover, so now here they are as roommates and definitely not hopelessly in love pining after one another. Effy struggles to fight her way free of self-destructive tendencies and be the person Astarion needs her to be. This Tav is a loveable hot mess! I have never wanted to take a character by the shoulders and shake them so badly, thank you June for spinning Effy into the world. 

Lacunae @karinamay - Series set during game. Tav was once Astarion’s target, but she slipped away. Upon meeting after the Nautiloid crash, she remembers but Astarion does not. This is the one that inspired me to start writing again. It’s sweet and heartbreaking and deliciously spicy!

Pour One Out @aevallare - Modern AU/1000 years post-Elderbrain. A spinoff from the much loved and fandom favorite Kindred featuring an anxious Auri that doesn't remember her past life and a tailor Astarion that's in awe of finding his love again. This is an Astarion that's had centuries to heal from his ordeal with Cazador, one that's been able to flourish in freedom. Astarion gets his chance to be a hero for Auri this time around. Aevallare's characterization of Astarion is absolutely unmatched.

All these fics are ongoing so you must be patient, but DO give them a read and the authors some love/kudos/comments!

[invisobang]

Lacuna

by @nootscoot83

After Danny Fenton decides, for both his safety and sanity, to split from his ghost half using the Fenton catcher, he feels like everything is finally right in the world. Phantom fights crime, while Fenton focuses on college, and both are able to confide in one another for things others wouldn’t understand. Now, it’s been 3 years since the split, and Phantom suddenly goes missing. Fenton quickly realizes that the fear and worry he feels for his best friend's disappearance isn’t just that of a friend. Meanwhile, Phantom struggles with keeping himself together long enough to make it home.

[yoditorian]

Lacuna - The Rewrite - Part 1

din/reader

if you're wondering why this seems familiar - it is :)

original part 1 // series masterlist // main masterlist

word count: 3.5k

warnings: swearing, non-explicit sex, 18+ only pls.

You’re almost blind with rage.

The sweat cooling on your brow is the only proof of the dogfight you should never have found yourselves in. Too little warning, too little time, too little information. It’s only a matter of time before someone doesn’t come back after a job - and you know exactly where everyone else will lay blame if that happens.

You’re not thinking, not really, as you discard your gloves in the cockpit of the modified shuttle, the soft leather makes a satisfying slap when they hit the control panel. But it doesn’t dispel the itch of the anger running through your blood like ants. The others grumble when you push past them in the cargo hold but nobody makes any effort to stop you, eyes locked on target as he descends the boarding ramp.

You shove Ran between the shoulder blades, once - hard - and he stumbles down the last few feet of the ramp, skidding across the hangar floor on his ass. It’s almost comical, the cartoonish way he trips on his own feet. A few years ago, you might have laughed. But even a few years ago, you wouldn’t have had the courage to be quite so expressive about his leadership choices. If that’s what he’s calling them.

“What the fuck was that?”

He’s got the gall to look surprised by your outburst, from his crumpled heap on the floor, but his eyes harden in the same instant. Ran gets to his feet slowly, the dust on his pants the only evidence he’d been on the ground in the first place. He holds your gaze steadily, a challenge.

“About time you started pulling your weight around here anyway, sweetheart.”

Bold words from a man whose bad information ends in blaster fire more often than not, and your blood boils - it’s enough to have you drawing your blaster. Only it's not in the holster you keep strapped to your thigh. There’s only one person who’d have the forethought, the sleight of hand, the fucking gumption to pick your pocket in this moment.

Your eyes are cold as you turn to look up the ramp, where Mando stands above you in the mouth of the small freighter with your blaster dangling from his index finger. He’s apparently unaffected by your outrage, even though Ran’s actions could have ended very differently for all four of you. Xi’an cackles from somewhere inside the cargo hold. She’s lucky you’re suddenly, unexpectedly, unarmed.

“If I hadn’t gotten us out of it, we would have died.” You’re right, and everyone knows you’re right. But Mando just shrugs, the barest roll of his shoulders, like it’s nothing. Water off a fucking duck’s back.

“But we didn’t die, did we?” He says simply, as he descends the ramp towards you. The fingertips of his gloves brush your thigh as he drops the blaster back into its rightful place in your holster, and you can only watch him stalk off into the shadows of the hangar. Xi’an skips out of the belly of the ship, hot on his heels as always, fluttering her eyelashes at you and faux-pouting as she passes. 

The only reason any of you made it back to the station at all is because of you. You were quick enough on your feet to anticipate the attack, you were on the guns, you made the lightspeed calculations quicker than the nav computer to get the fuck out of there. Something everyone else seems to have conveniently not noticed, as usual. You heave an annoyed sigh, the fading adrenaline of your fury has leached all the energy from your bones, and you scuff your boots on the corrugated metal as you pick your way down the rest of the ramp. Ran catches you when you pass him, his grip on your arm just a little too tight to be friendly. 

“Empire’s always looking for pilots, I can just as easily put you back where I found you.” He says lowly, and you know it’s not an empty threat. You have to tug yourself out of his grasp and you’re sure there’ll be bruises in the shape of his fingertips by morning, you can feel them already. He knows there’s nothing left for you on Corellia save for an arrest warrant and swift execution. So you’re stuck here, because - well, what else do you have? Qin hands you a pouch of credits for a job well done as you shuffle past him, which makes that particular pill a little easier to choke down. 

You settle for spending the rest of the evening sulking in your room. Like the grown up you are. 

The little room on Ran’s space station isn’t much, but you’ve done what you can. A small bed and a desk, the matching chair had gone missing long before you moved in, a shelving unit, and a viewport. You’d shoved the bed up against the cold metal of the wall right underneath the little pane of glass, scarcely bigger than the datapad that lies forgotten on your pillow but you pay the boss dearly for the view. For the stars to be the first thing you see when you wake, and the last thing you see before you sleep? It’s the kind of thing you dreamed about as a child before everything went to hell. An old blanket is the only reminder of who you used to be, loosely crocheted and full of holes - it was used to swaddle you as a baby once upon a time, before the sweat and the ash and the bloodstains. It’s the only thing you’d brought with you when you had to run all those years ago, wrapped around your shoulders to shield you from the night’s chill at the last minute. You hadn’t even had time to put your shoes on.

The blanket lies crumpled atop the bedsheets, surrounded by scribbled notes and reminders and blueprints. You have a habit of taking work to bed with you sometimes, but it keeps the loneliness at bay. Most of the time. So, you gather the documents in a haphazard pile, already knowing you’ll be annoyed that you’ll have to sort them out in the morning, but you’re too tired to care. They get dumped unceremoniously on the desk, between half-dismantled sections of the latest scrap freighter’s control board. You’re pretty sure that future-you can handle a few sheets of paper. It’s not a problem for right now, anyway.

You have to pee. 

In all honesty, you don’t remember falling asleep. But your back is stiff from the position you’ve found yourself in, curled up on top of the blankets of your bed, and your clothes from the job lay wrinkled on the floor. You’re thankful, at least, that even in your exhausted state you had the forethought to change into the ratty t-shirt and soft trousers you keep as pyjamas. You’ve slept in that jacket more often than you’d care to admit, but it’s definitely not something you like to do.

Your door slides open, once you’ve gathered the willpower to rise from your nest, to reveal lowered lights and a rare moment of quiet in the corridor. Sleep hours, then. It’s hard to keep track of time when it’s always night outside, although you don’t mind living off-planet so much. It’s not that bad once you get used to it. Rest here usually comes when you can get it, though most of the job crew tend to catch a nap here and there at the same time. The scrappers rotate, the hangar always busy with someone chopping something to pieces. But the hallway lights lower regularly, for a few hours at a time, to at least remind people that they should be sleeping. It’s nothing like those fancy artificial sunrise to sunset lighting cycles you’ve heard about on inner rim stations. It doesn’t sound like anyone’s awake to judge you for shuffling to the bathroom in your socks anyway. 

The light is too bright in comparison to the dim hall, and you almost jump back from your reflection in the small mirror. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled shirt, you really should have done something with your hair before you passed out. You’re sure you’ve never looked more exhausted. Sleep hasn’t come easy in the few years you’ve spent on the station, dreams plagued by flashes of the reason you came here in the first place. Running, choking on the smoke in your lungs, an old friend’s blood splattering across your cheek. The only rest you really get is when you work yourself down to the bone, until you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, but you know you’re not the only one.

The door across from yours is open when you go back to your room, Mando standing in the frame, backlit by a lamp like he’s the hero from one of those propaganda movies you snuck into as a kid. You pause in your own doorway, it’s probably a bad idea to call him out on it. It’d probably only start an argument and then you’d have to deal with the only person you could count on to watch your back being mad at you.

“You should have backed me up earlier.” Your mouth takes the decision away from you. He waits for a moment, silently, like he’s expecting you to say more. But you leave it there.

“I did. You would have regretted killing him.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you can almost hear his eyes roll under the helmet in his response.

“Do you think I don’t know what you look like when you’re about to blow someone’s head off?”

Well, he’s fucking got you there, hasn’t he?

Because he’s absolutely right - with your flash in the pan anger at the plan so close to going wrong, you probably would have killed Ran. Maybe not intentionally, but it would have been the most likely outcome. And then where would you all be, because de facto leadership in his sudden absence wouldn’t have fallen to you. Not if you’d been the one to kill him anyway, who would trust you to lead them after that?

But the idea that he knows you well enough, has studied you closely enough, to know when you’re about to do something as terrible as take a life. It’s intimate. Romantic, almost. 

It doesn’t make you as uncomfortable as you might have thought it would.

The mismatched floor panels creak under your weight as you stand there for a long moment, just watching each other. Any animosity from the day’s earlier events has dissipated but you can’t quite bring yourself to thank him for stopping you from making a stupid decision. At least he was quick off the mark with this one. Usually, he’s too late, and he comes in swinging only to have to help you mop up whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He’s good like that. It’s only as he shifts slightly under your quiet observation that you notice the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” You ask, barely a whisper so as not to disturb the moment of peace. However short it might be.  

Mando’s spine goes rigid, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask at all. But you don’t have time to take back the words before he’s walking right towards you, backing you into the darkness of your room. You’ve never been this close to him before, chest to chest, alone. The warmth you can feel even from under the armour threatens to make your head spin. 

“Home,” His voice is low, “Don’t you ever think about going home?” 

You didn’t even know he had a home to go back to. There’s a lot you don’t know about the man in front of you, but he’s loyal to the bone. That much is plain to see. He wants to know you’ll be okay, you think, without him as a buffer between you and the rest of the crew.

“My home is here.” Your answer is final, although you can feel the raised eyebrow through his helmet. You’re no more attached to the space station than you are any of the planets you’ve yet to visit. It’s not home, nowhere is. But you’ve been here since you were sixteen, years before the rest of your team, it’s as close as you’ll get to belonging somewhere. Mando doesn’t respond, doesn’t ask any questions, only stands with you for a long moment. Breathing. He’s good like that. You’ve never felt the pressure to fill any silence with him, he seems to exist so comfortably in it. It’s easier that way, probably for you both. You don’t know much about Mandalorians, the only stories you’ve heard are the ones Qin told you drunk in a seedy cantina when Mando first joined. Horror stories. If his past is anything similar to yours, he’s grateful for the absence of questions too.

“So it’s goodbye, then?” You’re yet to break his stare. 

“Yes.”

Is he closer, somehow?

“Would you have said goodbye if I wasn’t already awake?” 

He’s definitely closer.

Mando reaches behind him to tap the control panel on the wall, sliding the door shut and leaving you in the darkness. He lets his bag slip off his shoulder, lowering it to the floor suspiciously silently for one you know is crammed with weaponry, and walks you further into the room. You can’t really see much at all, only the steady blinking of the little red lights in the ceiling panels.

“You trust me?” It’s so quiet, you wonder if you imagined the words. He’s never given you a reason not to.

“Keep your eyes closed?”

“I promise.”

It takes a moment before he lifts the lip of the helmet high enough, and another long few seconds of just being without barriers - breathing in the same space for the first time - for him to kiss you. And kiss you he does.

The breath you get in before your lips touch is all him, turning your insides to liquid gold. Everywhere he touches you sets a fire. For a man so rough, he is so careful, he handles you as though you’ll break at the slightest breeze. As though he is wholly undeserving of such sweetness. Part of you thinks he’s convinced he is. It’s a first and a last kiss, a hello and a goodbye kiss, the way he tries to suffocate himself in you is evidence enough that you won’t be here again. You won’t get to have him like this again. He stays close when you finally break apart, taking his helmet off completely and placing it down on your desk with a decisive thunk.

“Mando-”

He pulls away from your mouth suddenly, but doesn’t stray far. His forehead leans heavily yours, as though he might fall without you there, still close enough that your lips would touch if either of you spoke. He’s fighting with something, you’re sure of it.

“Din. My name is Din.” He shouldn’t tell you. He shouldn’t have taken his helmet off, he shouldn’t have even thought about it. Although his fear of losing everything he has is almost overwhelming, it’s nothing compared to this. The fear that you would never know him as he is, as he has always been. The relief that brings tears to his eyes when you don’t shy away, when you lean into him. Like you want him too. You shouldn’t hold his creed in your hands but he gives it willingly. Of course he does. He’s never really been able to deny you anything.

“Din.”

The smile is so clear in your voice as you whisper it back to him in the darkness. The way you say his name sounds like a song. A prayer. Hushed and reverent like it’s something sacred, something holy. He knows his name, his creed, his life, is safe on your tongue. Din lays you back on the bed, gently, wool of the ratty blanket soft against your skin.

Din. He’s nothing but gentle with you. Warm hands barely there as they pull layers of clothing from the both of you, stripping himself of his armour, of The Mandalorian. Until there’s just him. Just a man, no more and no less than anybody else. A man who wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn and dismissive of his own desires; wishes he’d given in to this, to you, sooner. His mouth doesn’t leave your skin for a second, like he could digest you one kiss at a time if he tried hard enough. Part of him doesn’t want to leave you, he wants to stay in this bed in the dark and just exist. Your body in his hands and your moans in his mouth and absolutely nothing else. Because outside of this bed, this room, he can pretend nothing else exists. He can pretend he doesn’t have a duty, he doesn’t have to answer to anyone but you. He needs you in between his teeth, on his tongue. He’s sure now that he’s never needed anything else quite so badly.

The emotion of it isn’t lost on you, it’s the first and last time you’ll ever be with him. He’ll go after this, wherever it is that he’s going, wherever home is for him. You don’t pretend otherwise.

You won’t get to have him, in any way you want to, after this. So you lose yourself in him, in everything he gives and takes on those threadbare blankets in your room. The taste of him gets committed to memory and you swear you’ll never eat again if it means his sweat stays on your tongue. You dig your nails hard into his shoulders, you hope he’ll look at them before they fade. Hope he’ll see the marks you gave him and know that he is wanted. He is so desperately wanted and he had no idea. You kiss him with reckless abandon, cards on the table in all but words. So he can know, so he can come back. If that’s what he wants.

You stay tangled with him for a long time. Spit cooled and sweat dried. You don’t want to move. You want to drench yourself in everything he is until you never feel without him again. You want everything to stay exactly as it is for as long as he’ll let it. 

“Take the Razor Crest. She’s old but virtually untraceable, and faster than anything else in that hangar. I think you can handle her.” You laugh lightly, tracing a finger over the ridge of his wrist where his arm is curled tight around your chest. Din wishes he could drown in the sound.

The Razor Crest. You’ll be a little sad to see it go, but at least you know it’ll be in good hands. You know that you’ve examined every inch, tightened every bolt, wired every connection. It’s the most you can guarantee him, that he’ll be safe in the ship you built with your own two hands. You can keep him safe even at a distance. 

He takes your advice, once you’re asleep. Once he’s convinced himself to pull away from your warmth and go back to the life he knows. The one without you. The Razor Crest looms over him in the empty hangar, but something about its presence is comforting when he knows you were the one to put her together. Din fires up the ship, and doesn’t look back.

“He took the fucking Crest!”

The shout from the corridor jolts you awake, significantly warmer than you should be, and you find your old shirt and sweatpants pulled back on your body. Din. The thought of him so carefully redressing you, his touch gentle enough not to wake you, makes your heart swell. It shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. With a heavy sigh, you flick the lights on from the panel by your bed and pull yourself to your feet. The door slides open with a wave of your hand by the door panel and you’re met with a very angry, very red-faced, Ran.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this would you, sweetheart?” He growls, and you know you look guilty. You’ve been freshly fucked and you know you look like it.  Even if you hadn’t been thoroughly rammed into your mattress the night before, it’s far too early for anyone to be shouting up a storm. The rest of the crew come filtering out, rubbing eyes and calling out accusations at each other. It’s enough to give you a headache.

Home is a funny concept. It could mean anywhere, really, it can change and morph into something else entirely. Something you might have thought of as being the place you belong can become unrecognisable in an instant. Something can change about it, and you might find it’s not as welcoming as it might have been, once upon a time.

Maybe a space station in the middle of nowhere isn’t a forever home after all.

You don’t want to stay here, chopping up ships on the payroll of a man you’re not sure you were ever meant to meet. There’s something bigger out there for you, somewhere out in the galaxy there’s lightning with your name on it.

I don't actually have access to my old taglist form anymore, so if you want on it just lmk and I'll make a list <;3

[tiltedsyllogism]

Chapters: 2/5 Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Original Characters Additional Tags: Case Fic, original casefic, Veterans, war veteran John Watson, Moral injury, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV John Watson, POV Alternating, Shippy Gen, Season 1 vibes Summary:

Somebody is systematically killing veterans in London. Sherlock is on the case, but he's definitely not worried. John will be fine. Even if he doesn't seem fine.

Set in 2010, sometime between TGG and aSiB but firmly in the vibe of Season 1.

[sunshades]

Ambiguous canonicity of fantasy hannibal in the sign of roses pending title universe...

[cosmobrain00]

in my fantasy au will wears traditional princess outfits instead of prince ones btw🤞 im working on the design more rn but trust it has lace + frills + lots of flow (and may or may not be inspired by zelda🫣)

[twin-sophie-au-stuff]

Sophie: “why are my eyes so weird i’m nothing but a weird looking horse girl”

Josie: *smacks her* “hey! that’s my face to, don’t insult my face!”

Sophie: “well at least one of your eyes are blue”

Josie: “at least yours are the same color, also your abilities actually work right!”

Sophie: *frustrated moonlark noises*

[lightyaoigami]

sneak preview of my piece for @lawlightzine 🍎🍰 preorders open now ~ lawlightzine.bigcartel.com

[statisticallymorelikely]

✨00Q end of the year fic rec list ✨ (to commemorate the year of the lord 2023 when this ship came back to kick my ass)

the simplest of crimes by pdameron - fake marriage AU. my favorite 00Q fake married au just because the stakes are so low like they didn't have to do all that but the build up is so good.

come a lily, come a lilac by pdameron - florist!Q AU. this really got me giggling and twirling my hair.

James Bond Will Return by sorion - post-Spectre James comes back. a very charming character study.

as permanent as stone cathedrals by pdameron - pining Q. beautifully written with just the right amount of whump.

people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron - fake relationship but posh. i love whodunnits.

Hold Tight by orphan_account - Spectre fix-it. and fix it they did. also has my second favorite Q name.

lacunae (just the blood you owe) by finestkind - Q offers comfort as bond deals with grief. this fic honestly makes me ache, the way it handles friendship and grief and love UGH.

Say Something (I'm Giving Up On You) by Brihna - Spectre re-write where Q and James sleep before he goes off to Mexico. possibly my favorite Spectre fix-it, love emotional constipation and miscommunication.

Crossing the Bar by GwynDuLac - Q pulls bond out of retirement for an emergency mission. the best mission fic i have ever read hands down.

bloom on my skin, echo in my soul by Areiton - soulmate au. gorgeous writing.

if I couldn't be strong by SailorChibi - post-Spectre James is found abandoned in a hospital in a coma. i love how quietly vindictive Q is in this.

a bloodless coup by Ark - marathon sex. very vulnerable.

I Could've Been a Maths Teacher by Brihna - Q branch gets invaded. v good translation of the comic into prose.

I Don't Take Your Pleasure For Granted by Catchclaw - Q develops a crush. love me some pathetic Q.

I Won't Shiver, I Won't Shake by Only_1_Truth - Skyfall re-write, lots of Q whump. the hurt is so good but the comfort is even better. plus i love attack roombas.

Favours by dhampir72 - pining from Q's POV. fun fact: my gf once quoted a line of this fic to me and i knew immediately which fic she was reading, that's how much i've read this.

rain by Aniron84 - touch starved Q. god GOD, this fic!! there was a time in my life, i read this multiple times a day. the description of loneliness is so on point it always hurts.

Fidelity by marlowe_tops - Q seems to have picked up a stray. local idiot doesn’t know he’s in a relationship, struggles mentally

Indelible by enjolras_lexa - 5+1 of bond breaking into Q's apartment. quite gentle and funny.

A Hitch in the Holster by APrettySpy - Q is having A Time during a heat wave and like Q i'm not immune to the holster

when the world isn't fair by Mlle_Heloise - James rescues Q's holiday. warm and fluffy.

The Pros and Cons of Wayward Agents by Brihna - Q whump with a protective Bond. is it bad to be all teehee while reading someone beat someone else to unconsciousness

Best Dressed by HandsAcrossTheSea - PWP with kilts! really good p0rn and with bottom Bond to boot!

Through A New Lens: A Spectacular Love Story by christinefromsherwood - Q discovers he has a glasses kink, or does he? listen, i too am not immune to daniel craig in glasses so i can relate.

talk / listen by thestalwartheart - dirty talk. a masterclass in p0rn honestly, SO good.

The Inevitability of Time by dhampir72 - soulmate au. will never stop recommending this, it's so tragic and yet not?

[eoieopda]

redamancy (knj)

redamancy (n): a love returned in full

Kim Namjoon wasn't known for making wise decisions. He acted first and, on rare occasions, he asked questions later. The path he'd taken so far was left broken behind him, but the light at the end of that tunnel sure looked a hell of a lot like you.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader Type: One-Shot - sequel to lacuna Word Count: 5.5K Content: Established relationship AU; fluff but some angsty bits, i guess?; pov switches; smut (18+ - MINORS DNI) p in v pentration, shower sex, unprotected sex, multiple callbacks to lacuna, and a gratuitous cameo. A/N: Please read "lacuna" before proceeding! This is a sequel/epilogue, so the context is important. No spoilers, so my actual note will be at the end :) Listen to the playlist here! Tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @yoongiphoria @bangtansmauyeondan @goddessjichu @ggukkiereads @dearly-somber @jihopesjoint @indgio @junsai-tree @persphonesorchid @mgthecat

Namjoon tucked his black marker into the pocket of his joggers with a sigh.

With the last box labeled, all he had to do was shove it in the corner with all his other possessions. In an instant, he could make it all the movers’ problem instead of his. He hesitated, though, and he didn’t know why.

That’s a lie, he thought, he absolutely knew why. It just felt so fucking childish to mourn a piece of real estate the way his heart seemed so inclined to. It was especially odd in his case because there were only fleeting moments where this artfully decorated apartment felt like a home; and not a museum he’d gotten locked in after failing to adhere to business hours.

There had been a lot of upheaval since he woke up in Yoongi’s guest bedroom with your bare body nestled against his. This was to be expected, after all. He’d blown up his life a year prior and just recklessly, maddeningly continued to set fire to the rubble. Now, he had to glue the pieces back together carefully.

What he broke could absolutely be rebuilt, but those cracks would still be visible, even once they were mended. The biggest of them — the nimbostratus cloud looming over that guest bedroom — was your impending flight back to Los Angeles, and the home you still had there.

Loving you was easy; it always had been. The logistics of loving you, however, had historically proven to be anything but.

Before you left, you said the pieces of your joint failures fell down like confetti. In reality, tying up all these loose ends felt more like cleaning up glitter. Reminders of his mistakes stuck everywhere. No matter how hard Namjoon swept, he always missed a spot. They stuck to him, catching the light.

This move was your clean slate.

If someone were to invade his brain now, they’d undoubtedly be alarmed by the tornado of nostalgia tearing ceaselessly through his thoughts. As it twisted, it uprooted everything and subsequently dumped it all in cardboard boxes. Namjoon was the spinning cow added for cinematic value, hanging on for dear life.

A hand clapped on his back, knocking him out of his thoughts and back into that empty bedroom.

“End of an era, eh?” Yoongi asked with his mouth still pressed to the lip of his coffee cup. He took another large gulp despite the scorching heat of its contents and he didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” Namjoon conceded. It was a one-worded answer, but it spoke volumes. He didn’t need to look at Yoongi to see if he heard them all. The squeeze on Namjoon’s previously smacked shoulder indicated that he did.

This was where Namjoon decided that he loved you, not even four hours after meeting you. You looked at him then like no one ever had and he heard that cinematic record scratch. Then, the internal narration chimed in to give away the plot — that you were it for him.

Looking over the now-bare hardwood floor, his mind conjured you like a hologram: love-drunk in the corner, wearing his t-shirt and nothing else, serenading him with Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know?” and using an empty soju bottle as a makeshift microphone.

He could hear it now and it gave him the same feeling he had then, like he was on an upswing and he would never come back down. He could hear himself, too, blushing red in the present at his past admission.

“I think I love you,” he’d said it so fast because it already felt like a reflex. A knee-jerk reaction that he couldn’t stop, so bat-shit and embarrassing because he’d only met you a few hours earlier.

Presently, he pictured your coy smile in that moment — the first time you’d graced him with it — and remembering your response had him warm all over.

“How sure are you? Enough to wager on it?”

“At least seventy-nine percent sure,” he’d responded immediately, which would become a habit of his, and relished in the way your eyes twinkled. So, you loved it when he’d buy into a bit — noted. He’d continued, no longer shy, “And yes, I would. All in.”

He could nearly feel the way your touch sparked against his hand once you’d skipped back and crawled over the mattress to settle in front of him. He’d prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d do it again, and again, and again, running so eagerly into his arms.

“Then let’s make a deal, Joonie,” you’d smirked.

It was the first time anyone had called him that without being swiftly punched in the arm. It was the best that stupid nickname had ever sounded, coming out of your sweet mouth.

You’d tilted your head to the side and hummed with a thoughtful finger tapping at your chin, “Two years. If in two years’ time you realize that you were right — and you’re one-hundred percent sure — you’ll win a prize.”

He’d put his hand out to shake on it, but you’d swooped in with your fingers sliding through his hair. You’d kissed him instead and, against your soft lips, he’d mumbled, “Deal.”

Namjoon could’ve stood in that bedroom all day, watching the montage of you that somehow flickered against the bare white walls.

Yoongi seemed to sense this, though, and he intervened. After all, that’s precisely why Namjoon had brought him along: to keep him from getting lost on Memory Lane.

With a gentle pinch at Namjoon’s elbow, Yoongi nodded his head towards the doorway, “Movers will be here in ten. Anything left to pack?

Namjoon initially shook his head, but then he remembered. Fuck! Thank god — or whoever — for Yoongi, who stood there wide-eyed as Namjoon jerked forward and flew out the door.

He dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the only thing still there: his grandmother’s tea pot, bearing intricately painted cherry blossoms. He cradled it in his arms like a child on his way back to Yoongi, who was still standing where he was left. Still wide-eyed, too, like not enough time had passed for him to blink.

“I need you to keep track of this,” Namjoon confessed as he held out the teapot, “I know me and I know that I’ll break this if I’m the one responsible for it. Just — just don’t open it, okay?”

Without batting an eye — or heeding Namjoon’s words in any way whatsoever — Yoongi pulled off the lid and glanced inside. There was no change in his blank face, merely a tiny flex of his eyebrow that Namjoon just barely caught.

True to form, Yoongi asked no questions. His only response was, “You’re right. You would absolutely break this.”

Namjoon would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so distracted by his own pulse hammering away in his ears. “Right,” he muttered weakly.

“Ready to kiss this place goodbye?” Yoongi changed the subject after noticing how flustered Namjoon had become. He was alarmingly perceptive even when he wasn’t actively working to uncover Namjoon’s secrets.

Namjoon was — and wasn’t. He didn’t know how the fuck to feel, finishing a chapter so conclusively. In the past, all his endings had been ambiguous. They faded out, for the most part, so subtly that he didn’t notice right away.

All but one, that is.

Yoongi studied Namjoon’s face for one silent moment before landing a weightless punch on his bicep. His knuckles barely brushed him, but Namjoon felt it through his shirt, through his muscle, down to his bones. Then, without any response from Namjoon, Yoongi offered him a moment alone.

The apartment door clicked shut behind him. Though inherently quiet, it echoed loudly through the hallway and reverberated through every naked room on its way to Namjoon. As he stood there, silent and solitary, he realized how much he truly hated that sound. What it represented.

“So, is this it, then?” Your face told him that you knew the answer before you asked; but that you simply didn’t want to accept it.

He’d never seen you cry, save for the moments you laughed so hard that your eyes couldn’t contain your mirth. During sappy movies, maybe, but never because of sadness. Never because of him.

Namjoon had to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out to you.

He looked down at his shoes, nudged the rubber toe of one into the rug, then glanced back up at you. It was becoming increasingly impossible to look at you, but it felt so foreign not to.

He’d seen true sadness before — not from you, not until now — but your expression communicated something even deeper than that. Devastation, maybe? Whatever it was, it mingled with your mascara and spilled over your cheeks.

“I think it has to be,” his voice was thick when he replied, and it was a miracle he’d gotten the words out at all, “If you’re going to get everything you deserve in this life — everything you’ve worked so fucking hard for — I can’t be the thing that stands in your way.”

You were crying so hard that your sobs made his chest ache.

“I wanted all of it with you, Joonie, so badly,” You whimpered, then you wiped your leaking eyes on the excess sleeve clutched tight in your fingers, “I need you to know that. If we could’ve found a single way to make this work, I —“

When your voice gave up, his took over. “I know, baby,” and fuck, now he was crying too, “I would’ve lassoed the fucking moon for you if it could’ve made a difference.”

It hit him like a bullet train when you said it. As if you’d ever needed to ask.

“Can you kiss me one last time before I go?”

So, he did. Hard. And then, when you walked away, he let you.

Click.

Namjoon stayed frozen, staring into space, until he heard the movers clambering over the threshold.

You’d never seen more paperwork in your life.

Flipping through the binder, you were even more likely to stroke out than you were to get a paper cut. The sheer number of words made you dizzy; an insurmountable mountain of hangul. An avalanche, ready to overtake you.

After reading and signing for what felt like forty years, complaining all the while, you began to wonder: At what point would your brain simply give up and forget how to read as a form of protest? The thought was tempting — forgoing literacy entirely just to avoid this drawn-out task.

“I don’t understand,” you muttered, turning yet another page. You’d written your initials so many times that they stopped looking like real letters.

Maybe your brain was losing its capacity for language.

Jinseo furrowed her brows with such conviction, you could see them knit together in your peripheral vision, “I don’t know how much clearer I can make it. I’ve explained the terms to you no less than five-hundred times.”

You set down your pen and sat up to meet her exasperated eyes with a smirk, “No, not that. Your unsolicited lecture on contract law has me bar-exam ready.”

Jinseo’s mouth dropped open, always dramatic but never truly offended. You clarified, “I don’t understand why I can’t simply write smell you later on a post-it note, sign that, and be done with it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind all the time this is taking you,” Jinseo swapped out her shock for a wolfish grin, “It’s all billable, baby.”

At this, you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t contain your laughter, “Unnie, don’t I get the friends-and-family rate?”

“Friends and family don’t forget the guacamole, sweet bean,” she chided you with her fork pointed teasingly at you.

With your attention finally secured, the fork directed your eyes down to the admittedly lackluster burrito bowl you’d traded for legal advice. Oops.

“You get what acquaintances and hot, divorce-seeking strangers get.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Me another margarita,” she purred. With a wink, she lifted her not-yet-empty glass from the table. “And when you’re done breaking up with Big Hit, you can talk me up to the owner of your new label.”

You slumped back in your seat while feigning hesitation. Sucking a breath in through your teeth, you sighed, “Yoongi? Well, I don’t know… He’s married to his work.”

At this, Jinseo quirked an eyebrow. “Did you not hear me about the whole hot, divorce-seeking strangers thing?”

“Menace,” you giggled.

Your laughter petered out too soon and an unexpectedly heavy silence settled between you and the only friend you’d successfully kept in the whole of California. In all of the United States, really.

You didn’t want to say it, but you couldn’t keep it in, either: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Jinseo, dropping her chin to rest on the heel of her hand, smiled with only half her mouth. She paused before admitting, “I don’t know what you’d do without me, either.”

Your instinct was to cry, but you’d never hear the end of it if you did. Jinseo, like you, seemed to develop contact dermatitis when confronted with vulnerability and affection. Instead, your friendship was grounded in playful smacks to the arm and glances nobody but the two of you could decipher.

For this reason, you picked your pen up off the table and gestured to the page before you. “You’re sure that catch you on the flip-side, nerds, won’t hold up in court?”

“If you really want to fuck around with Bang PD, I suppose you’ll find out.” She shrugged, then she winked again.

You didn’t, for more reasons than one. The most recent of those was the grace and understanding Bang Si-Hyuk had shown you when you raised the idea of leaving his label. The heaviest of them was the simple fact that you owed him everything — your career, your success, and most of all, the family you’d found through him.

In your best friend, who you’d never have met without Si-Hyuk's help in breaking through the American market. She was your lifeboat in a lonely, intimidating sea of unfamiliar people, customs, language, and food.

In Yoongi, the illustrious Big Hit producer who collaborated with you during the wild hours you kept, no matter what time it was on his end. He was your parachute, saving you quietly and without fail, through every leap of faith. He kept you company when you left Korea — then he started a company to bring you back.

In Namjoon, whose release party changed the trajectory of your entire life. His role could never be adequately described in any words — in any language.

A lighthouse, maybe, guiding you through jagged rocks to shore.

Or a cabin in the woods that you never expected to find, but that held you warmly when the trail ahead couldn’t be found in the dark.

More simply: he was everything.

“Where’d you go just now?” Jinseo’s sudden statement made you jump. There was a muffled knock when your kneecap collided with the underside of the table.

You blinked over at her and watched as her pursed lips curved into a smile. Your instinct was to keep your sentimental nonsense to yourself — after all, this wasn’t goodbye in any way that mattered. The two of you would stay in constant contact, visiting one another at any and every possible opportunity.

Why did you always try to eulogize what wasn’t dead yet?

Again, Jinseo surprised you. “You do know how proud I am of you, right?”

She snorted at your bemused expression: wide, watery eyes sitting between raised eyebrows and a mouth that was neither closed nor fully open.

Just as quickly, she course-corrected, resuming her abnormally solemn tone. “You do hard things every damn day and you always get out of bed the next,” Jinseo continued.

Apparently, her margarita’s rim demanded more than table salt; it wanted tears, too.

“You’re brave as hell — braver than me, that’s for sure. You jump because you know you need to; and I sit on the ground because I’m too afraid of heights.” She reached across the table and gave your hand a squeeze, “And your survival rate, despite it all, is one-hundred percent.”

You wiped furiously at the tears streaking through your foundation. Everything you needed to say to her was communicated with a shared glance, like always. Your friendship was telepathic; it would endure regardless of distance.

What you said out loud earned you the belly laugh you loved so much:

“Imagine what you would’ve said if I remembered your guacamole.”

Namjoon wouldn’t normally use the word giddy to describe himself. Even at his most excited, he was able to maintain some ounce of chill — the tiniest fraction of composure, whether he truly felt composed or not.

Then again, he’d never experienced this level of exhilaration before. Not when he was signed, not when he released his first track, not even when he was nominated for a Grammy.

In a matter of minutes, your plane would land at Incheon and his whole damn world would resume its intended orbit. The tectonic plates would shift back where they belonged; and every natural disaster he’d set loose inside himself would finally — after all this time — subside.

Though he wasn’t the one who left, it felt like his homecoming, too. Even in Korea, surrounded by everyone and everything he’d always known, Namjoon’s recent existence was nomadic. He bounced between surface-level relationships and sleepwalked through events that should’ve mattered; never allowing himself to feel connected to any of it.

Namjoon was a comet — arriving quickly and on fire, then disappearing just as fast. He was ready to stop being temporary, so long as you became permanent, too.

It was that dream of roots that had Namjoon refreshing the flight-tracker once an hour for the thirteen you’d spent in the air. He watched that tiny, animated plane inch closer while your estimated time of arrival began to look more and more like the one on his watch.

When they finally matched, Namjoon slammed his hand down on the steering wheel of his parked car and shouted to no one but himself, “Yes!”

There was an old woman — why did she look so familiar? — glaring at him through his passenger window. He might’ve scared her with his sudden display, but Namjoon couldn’t find a fuck to give. He was too busy grabbing the carefully curated bouquet off the seat to his right, then clambering out of his own.

It was a confusing assortment, and not necessarily a beautiful one. Instead of a single phrase, Namjoon’s choices communicated paragraphs; combining every type of flower he’d ever given you on this very same sidewalk. If you were anyone else, you might take this eyesore and dump it immediately in the nearby trashcan — but you weren't anyone else.

The first addition was white camellias, matching the ones you received after your first flight home. Like they did back then, they confessed how much he adored you from the start. Then came pink roses because he loved you happily, softly, despite the distance.

On your third arrival home, he gave you baby’s breath. Those delicate petals commemorated the pieces of himself that went missing when you went away; all falling back into place the second he saw you again. White tulips followed, begging forgiveness for the increasing time you spent apart and how little you’d get to spend together on that fourth trip.

For this trip, the last you’d ever make alone, he added bridal wreath.

Namjoon read it somewhere recently that this plant was virtually impossible to kill once it was established. It could survive just about anything and remain beautiful despite its hardships. Like the shrub he’d clipped it from, he’d withstand everything with you.

The fondness he radiated must have summoned you because, after ten minutes of scanning the out-coming crowd, he finally saw you. There you were, shuffling on travel-weary legs, with your signature, mint-colored headphones; and your self-congratulatory boba.

Unfortunately, you didn’t see him — miraculous, given the way he was waving his arms like a fool and shouting through cupped hands to get your attention. Instead, your sleepy gaze fixated squarely on your phone.

You must’ve assumed that this arrival would be like the last one.

Before you could summon an Uber – definitely not another taxi – Namjoon dug his own phone out of his jacket pocket. He struggled to text with one hand occupied by his bouquet, so he took the easy way out.

[To: Jagi 🤫] 👋🏻

Your gasp came before he could look back up at you, but he heard it loud and clear. When his eyes found you again, he watched in slow motion as your beloved boba fell out of your hand and clattered against the sidewalk.

The sound of plastic hitting pavement was the starting whistle. Now, you were off to the races.

With shocking speed, you leapt over the spilled tea and flew towards him like your Prada backpack came equipped with rocket boosters. At that cost, anything was possible. He managed to catch you in his arms without losing a single petal.

Once he had you, he kissed you like it was the first time: shy to start, growing increasingly desperate with every passing second. With your arms linked in their rightful place around his neck and your lips so warm against his, he wondered how many times he could shout I love you without saying a word.

Panting, you eventually pulled back with lips pink and semi-swollen from the urgency of it all. You sighed if you weren’t the breath of fresh air, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Namjoon repeated with a chuckle, grinning like a fool.

Though he didn’t want to, he let you slip out of his arms to your feet. After all, he couldn’t complete your airport ritual unless your hands were free. He swallowed hard and tried his best not to blush when he held out the bouquet.

It felt like he was gifting you his whole, beating heart instead.

You froze once the flowers transferred from his hand to yours.

Immediately, his pulse began to race. If he was still holding that massive bouquet, he would’ve beat himself over the head with it. Once again, Namjoon had overthought everything and analyzed a simple task to death.

But your pupils dilated ever-so-slightly when you looked back up at him with swimming eyes. He should’ve known you’d remember. Given you long-due credit for the way you always made him feel seen.

You reached up and did what you’d only done once before — in a dark hallway, five months earlier. Your gaze followed the tip of your thumb as it swiped gently over his bottom lip, and you smiled.

“Say less, Joonie."

After picking you up from the airport, Namjoon promptly whisked you away to the apartment you’d both recently closed on. As a life-long renter, leaving town more often than staying, it was your first major purchase. It was also your first joint purchase.

The old you would’ve been terrified of killing these two, deeply committal birds with one stone; but the person you were now didn’t bat an eye. 

What was there to panic over, anyway? It felt right because it was. 

Given your exhausted state, the tour was brief. You spent it all clinging to Namjoon’s back like a jetlagged sloth in a tree, but your excitement was evident despite the mumbled voice that expressed it.

If there was any moisture left in your worn-out body, it would’ve left you in tears when you saw the combination of your respective design styles incorporated so perfectly throughout the space.

The items you’d shipped internationally arrived before you did. Namjoon seemed to know without asking exactly where you’d choose to put them. Your kitschy trinkets didn’t look stupid next to his art collection in the way you thought they would. Even more shocking was the way your eccentric, eclectic taste meshed seamlessly with his modern neutrals.  

Your home with him was a mirror, reflecting the very specific way you each provided what the other lacked. 

And he’d handled it all himself, taking the daunting task of unpacking off your plate so you could finish your chapter in Los Angeles.

Though he wasn’t physically present for the hours you spent making plans with Yoongi — or the hours you spent explaining those same plans to Bang Si-Hyuk — you felt him. He listened to every complaint and over-caffeinated rant. He gave you patience, reassurance, and equal enthusiasm in return. 

Because you loved him, you could do hard things.

You could navigate the nightmare realm that was moving internationally. You could join your friend in doing what neither of you had ever done before — creating your own label, then your own studio — while you were still stuck on the other side of an ocean. You could move back home without your tail between your legs, feeling like you’d failed to hack it alone. 

You didn’t fail. You simply realized – much later than you should have — that any path worth taking was one you walked with Namjoon. 

When the tour concluded, you fell asleep — at three o’clock in the afternoon — in his arms. When you woke up six hours later, he was still holding you. That is, until you lurched forward and spun around in a frenzy. 

“Joon!” Your exclamation was interrupted by a yawn, but that didn’t undermine the urgency. “Were you trapped under me this whole time? Oh my god, you missed dinner. Aren’t you thirsty? I’m a monster —” 

Namjoon’s entire face crinkled up under the force of his smile. His laughter twinkled in his eyes, too, and threatened to spill out. You stopped rambling mid-sentence and released your death grip on his hand so he could wipe the mirth from his cheekbone.

He was still chuckling despite the horror on your face. 

“What?” You asked incredulously, though you were starting to giggle, too. “What’s so funny?” 

The more he laughed, the more you did. It was a cycle, certainly, but far from vicious. Was this the kind of life you got to live now? One so perfect that endless laughter — caused by nothing in particular — echoed through every room? 

His hands cupped the sides of your face and guided you towards him. Still smiling, you were both catching your breath when his forehead came to rest against yours. Nose tips bumping into one another, he hummed contentedly, “You just sat alone on an airplane for thirteen hours, jagi. If I get to be your pillow for even half as long, you won’t catch me complaining.” 

You kissed him automatically; a reflex your body had acclimated to without requiring your brain to prompt it. It was brief, but you had all the time in the world to kiss him again. For now, you wanted to stare at him for as long as it took to prove to yourself that you weren’t simply dreaming. 

“Hang on,” Namjoon said suddenly. He kissed you before you could pout and then he rolled off the side of the bed. He held one finger up as he stared intently back at you, “Don’t move, okay?” 

After all that time sitting still with your body pushing against his bladder, you assumed he was headed for the adjoining bathroom. He wasn’t; he rushed right past it and disappeared out your bedroom door. You listened to his footfalls against the hallway floor until he was too far away to track.  

What on Earth was he doing? 

You sat there cross-legged in a pool of sheets for several minutes. One eyebrow raised in confusion while your gaze stayed locked on the doorway. It still managed to surprise you when he reappeared — not just because his arrival was sudden, but because he was holding his grandmother’s tea pot in his hands. 

Is that why you didn’t hear him jogging back? Because he was moving at a snail’s pace, protecting that floral-printed ceramic like his life depended on it? 

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off with the same finger he’d pointed at you earlier. Namjoon ignored your furrowed eyebrows, crossed back to his side of the bed, and crawled back into the space he’d left behind. While your eyes darted between him and his tea pot, his never left your face. Uncharacteristically quiet, taking deep, measured breaths. 

No, really — what on Earth was he doing? 

“I can tell by that look on your face that you have no idea what the hell is happening, but hear me out, okay?”

He waited for you to nod before continuing slowly, “I overthink things. Sometimes, it ends up fine, but it usually doesn’t. I try to think before I act, then I think instead of acting — I don’t want to do that now.” 

Namjoon paused for a moment, finally glancing down at the tea pot cradled in his hands. “I asked Yoongi to hang on to this during the move because I break things. I never mean to, but for some unknown reason, all that over-thinking doesn’t make me careful. I ruin things far too easily and I hate that about myself —” 

“Joon,” you frowned. Placing a hand on his bouncing knee, you begged him to look up at you. “You don’t ruin things —”

He shook his head, stopping you from continuing. You’d never seen him look so determined. “I do, but that’s not the point I’m getting at.”

He shot you a tiny smile as if you were the one deserving reassurance. “I let you go when I didn’t want to, let this thing we built fall to pieces. The timing couldn’t have been worse, either — now I’m late cashing in.” 

“Cashing in?” Clearly, you'd lost the plot.

Namjoon laughed, “Two years. You said to give it two years and if it turned out that I was right, I’d win a prize. It’s been a little bit longer than that, but I'm one-hundred-percent sure.” 

Oh.  

You'd replayed that night over and over in your head since it happened. Really, you should’ve caught on immediately; but you thought you were the only one carrying that memory around like a torch. 

Did he really remember that conversation after all this time? Some silly, inside joke that you made after only knowing him for a few hours?

Namjoon took the lid off the teapot and set it down softly on the nightstand behind him.

“It took me too long to realize it, but it’s you — you're the prize. I don’t want to orchestrate some ridiculous, dramatic gesture because this is us. It feels exactly like it did that first night, when I took this bet in the first place.” 

His hand dipped down into the tea pot. When it re-emerged, he was holding a small box made of exquisite black leather. You started crying in the split second it took him to open it. He was blinking back tears of his own when he flipped it around to show you its contents.  

“I’m all in if you are.”

Namjoon was a lot of things, but he wasn't a quitter.

After he slid that ring on your finger, neither of you could keep your hands to yourself. Like history repeating itself, he loved every inch of you on every goddamn surface in that apartment.

In the bed he'd wake up in, next to you, for the rest of his life. On that bright yellow couch you loved so much; the kitchen counter he'd have to clean before making too big of a breakfast for you in the morning. When you christened every other room, the pair of you retired to the bathroom.

Initially, your goal upon entering the shower wasn't sex. In fact, it was to soothe your exhausted, sweat-slicked bodies before collapsing onto fresh sheets and a re-made bed. If you thought you were tired before, you'd sleep for a week now. Every part of him ached in the best way, so he'd welcome the opportunity to rest for several days at your side.

But then he smelled your shampoo — vanilla and honey — and it flipped a switch in his fucked-out brain. The warm water spilling in rivulets over your soft skin pressed the issue; and so did that diamond sparkling up at him through the steam.

He didn't follow you in here to fuck you, but he'd be remiss if he let the moment slip down the drain with the suds.

Experimentally, he pushed your hair away from the back of your neck and brought his lips to the space he'd cleared. Watching your slow inhale, he lingered there for a moment to gauge your reaction. Your head tilted slightly to the side; he considered it an invitation. In lieu of an RSVP, he sent his tongue in a short, languid line.

The moan he coaxed out of you was quiet, but despite the falling water, it reverberated across the glass walls and tile. You followed up with a sigh, leaning your head back against his chest as his mouth moved to claim the side of your neck.

"Shit," you keened with your eyes closed, "We're never leaving the house again, are we?"

Namjoon hummed as he flicked his tongue over your earlobe, "Outlook not so good."

As expected, you caught his reference immediately. You wobbled as you laughed; his arms snaked around the curves of your waist to satiate his need for closeness and his desire to keep you upright. "Mr. Kim, certified genius, is now citing the Magic 8 ball?"

"It's the poet laureate of our generation, Mrs. Kim."

Even if you didn't whimper at the utterance of your future name, Namjoon still would've repeated it over and over again. A mantra, an invocation manifesting a long life in which you matched. So, he did say it again, whispering it into your flesh as his hands slid up your torso.

Mrs. Kim, Mrs. Kim, Mrs. Kim.

Given what they'd been through over the past several hours, he treated your nipples with the utmost care and reverence. Sensitive thing that you were, even his feather-light touch had you mewling. Fuck, he loved that sound.

"Baby?" Your voice was barely distinguishable from an exhale, but that perfect softness hit him hard, "Please."

Your wish was, is, and always would be his command.

Namjoon worried about your trembling legs, so he chose the first solution that came to mind: he turned you gently around, kissed you deep, and lifted you off your feet. As always, you molded so easily against his body. You legs wrapped around him in tandem with your arms.

Carefully, he rested your back against the stone wall and adjusted his grip so that his arms slotted under your thighs. “This okay, Mrs. Kim?" He asked.

Your answer came in the form of your hand dipping down and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. He followed your lead, leaving both of you to moan when he entered you.

Like a glove, you enveloped him completely. He'd never believe that you weren't destined to fit together like this. Out of every person, in every timeline, he was the lucky bastard meant for you.

Unlike the previous rounds, this was slow. Deliberate, not underscored by some carnal desire or desperate need to reclaim lost moments. He took his time grinding himself into your unimaginable warmth because he now had it in spades. Namjoon refused to let a second pass without cherishing it fully first.

Your head dipped back against the cool stone, allowing you to tilt your jaw upward. Placing a kiss at the column of your throat, he pushed himself deeper into you.

Breathy moans thanked him wordlessly for his fluency in your body's language. Namjoon had studied religiously to learn your unspoken cues, so your raised eyebrows and closed lids foretold your orgasm before your velvet walls clenched around him.

"Fuck, Joon," you cried out as you shook in his arms.

Your little whimpers lured him to the edge; your tightened grip on his shoulder pulled him off behind you. As he spilled himself inside of you, he screwed his eyes shut and nestled his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his chest-deep groan.

After several moments of silence, you shifted. He rolled his neck to move his head further down your shoulder. From this vantage point, he gazed up at you — the only thing worth looking at, all he ever wanted, the one he got to keep for good.

With a kiss left at his temple, you murmured, "I'm glad you took it back."

"What?" He asked quietly, searching your flushed, smiling face for answers.

"All the love I have for you. I know where to put it now."

A/N: aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH IT'S FINALLY HERE! i cried like a bitch baby when i was writing this - even more so when i finished writing this (aka now) - because this lil series takes up my whole heart. i buried so much of myself in lacuna, so this was my attempt to plant flowers in the achy bits, lol. i left lots of easter eggs, so i'd love to know what you find! also, yes, i did write my damn self into this one. hahahah. lacuna was largely autobiographical (except the namjoon part, obvi) so it felt right to fictionalize myself as the person saying what i would've wanted to hear back then.

i'd love to know your thoughts, so please please please let me know either by replying, reblogging, PMing me, or dropping a line in the ask box.

[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Imagines

lacuna | pjs.

pairings: park jongseong x reader

synopsis: right after the disappearance of your bestfriend, you felt a big part of you missing. jay park, the rich school bad boy suddenly steps in to fill that gap. you let yourself fall into his trap, without knowing that his group of friends were the reason of your misery.

word count: 4.9k

warnings: yandere themes, mention of kidnapping, enhypen being obsessed, obsessive love, dark love and abuse of power & money. (let me know if i missed some)

note: this is jay’s entry for our yandere mini series. next part that will be posted is probably limerence (heeseung’s) part two. anyway, i hope you enjoy this one. replies and reblogs are highly encouraged. please please please! thank you so much, ily and stay safe!

fic moodboard › here

eeunoia 2024 © all rights reserved.

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Jay asks while walking down the stairs. Some of their family helpers awaits him by the end of their long grand staircase.

“They left for a business trip, young master.” their head maid was the one who answered him. Jay sighs in dismay and gradually headed towards the main door of their mansion.

“Young master, how about breakfast?”

He rolled his eyes as his driver almost stumble to catch up on his pace. “I don’t want to eat all alone.” he spat coldly then heads to his service car without saying another word.

His drive towards their school is quiet. He tried to look out to the car’s window to divert his attention and ease his upset mood. This isn’t a great way to start his week. If he lets this affect him too much, his whole week is already ruined.

As their car parks right at the vacant slot on their school’s parking lot, his phone rang. He picks it up without checking who it was.

“What?”

“Where you at, dude? We’re here by the field.” it was one of his friends, Jake.

He sighs, “I just arrived the school. I’ll be there in five.” he lazily says.

“Okay, hurry up!” and he ended the call.

Jay rolls his eyes and his driver opens the car door for him. He went out and hangs one of his bag’s strap to his shoulder before walking to the direction of the field. He was planning to stop by the locker’s but since his friends demands him to go meet them, he have no other choice.

If people will be asked to describe Park Jongseong—also known as Jay, they will surely say that he probably have everything. Money, good looks, talent and influence. But that’s just what people see. They’re actually right. He’s handsome and the only heir to his parents' successful travel agency that have a lot of branches around the world.

There’s only one problem. For some reasons, despite having all these things and powers, Jay seems to feel empty. Like there’s a part of him that is missing that no other things can fulfill.

He already found a solution for that problem tho... And he will do everything in order to have it— more like her.

“Took you long enough.” Sunghoon stated as he walk closer to where they’re sat. Heeseung’s by the corner, eyes fixated at his phone screen. Jake’s in front of them and Jungwon’s beside him.

“What’s so important that we’re gathering here early in the morning?” he asks lazily then yawned. Sunoo rolls his eyes before focusing on Jake once again.

“Sunghoon will be executing our plan next week.” Jake announced that instantly drains Jay’s sleepiness. His senses starting to be more active as his friend walk them through the whole plan once again. Just to make sure everything will go smoothly.

“Oh yeah? Do you need help with anything?” Jay glances to Sunghoon’s side and he saw his friend’s relaxed look on his face.

He shakes his head, “Everything’s ready.”

He nods his head and continued listening to what Jake's saying. His friends are all quiet and just made sure they’re taking notes of the things he was asking to check before next week.

“There you are!” their heads snapped at the side when one voice interrupts. Jay’s brows raised at the same time at your familiar pretty face as you slightly pants after making at the bench where they’re gathered.

You sent Jay glares before glancing to the two boys standing near you, “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, Jake and Jungwon.” palms resting at your hips while panting to catch your breath.

“It’s fine, y/n. What’s up?” Jake smiles warmly.

You raised your hand and directed your pointer finger towards Jay.

“Him. I need him to come with me.” your words rings through Jay’s mind, almost making him space out completely. Some of his friends snickers chuckle secretly at how funny his reaction was.

“Jay?” Jake astounded tone made you glance at his direction. His eyes big and confused.

“He has detention and he skipped it yesterday.” you announced that made Yang Jungwon— the student council president sigh in disbelief.

Jay shrugs his shoulders off and eyed you with a small grin on his face. Your glares turned sharper as you think of many ways to end him today. He’s seriously giving you a hard time. You joined the student council for the extra points and stress is what you’re getting lately because of him.

“All right, he’s all yours.” Jungwon says and even laid his hand to the air, indicating that he’s letting you take his friend.

Jay snorted and stood up voluntarily. A playful grin plays through his sexy thin lips, “You heard the man. I’m all yours.” and he even sent you a wink.

Your cheeks blushed instantly, but you don’t make it too obvious. Instead of thinking about it too much, you swat his arm then drag him to your building. He chuckles, totally unbothered and didn’t even complained about it.

“Just admit it, y/n. You like me, don’t you?” his taunting tone made you halt your steps, ears turning red.

“Do you think I’m crazy? I don’t like you!” you hissed at him.

His smirk fell that caught you off-guard. Your face turned pale when you saw a glimpse of his eyes cold while staring at you. It was very odd. Jay’s always mischievous and always the one teasing you. He’s never been like this.

“You sure about that?” his serious tone sent direct chills to your spine, making you nervous.

“H-Huh? What’s with you...” you stuttered.

He stared at you silently for a bit more before he suddenly burst out laughing, making you furrow your brows. You stayed silent, not saying anything. You’re stunned and confuse to what’s happening.

“Did I scare you?” he continued laughing, even folding while holding his stomach that seems to start hurting from laughing so much.

Your face turned red out of anger and your hand quickly hit him by his arm. He groaned and caress it gently, eyes shooting glares at you.

“You’ve been hitting me too much lately.” he commented that you tried to ignore and started walking ahead of him.

Jay chuckles again and tried to catch up which you responded by acting like as if he’s not there. His grin grew wider at how you’re acting. He reaches for your arm and you tries to shove it off. He fails to grab you on the first two tries, then the third one his grip is tight.

“What?” tone sounding a bit annoyed.

“I thought you’re taking me to detention?”

“Your detention is later after class. I fetch you to help me grab our textbooks at the faculty room.” you cannot keep your stares that made him grin even more.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asks.

You pursed your lips and looked at him with a flashing guilt in your eyes. He suppress himself from laughing loud to prevent making you feel more embarrassed. He sighs and licks his lips.

“Let’s go, I’ll ignore it for you.” and he slide both of his hands inside his trouser’s pocket before walking towards the direction of the faculty.

Your gaze bore onto the back of his head, mind slowly spacing out. People around you often says how you two can never get along with each other. It is true. Most of the times, you two are arguing. But what other people doesn't know is that you secretly likes the bad boy, Park Jongseong.

“Saw you with Jay a while ago.” you sighed and looks at (friend name) smiling meaningfully at you.

“Don’t even start...”

She laughed, “Come on! I seriously think he likes you back. Why not confess?”

She rests her back at the railings of the corridor while you stand facing it, watching the field beneath you filled with students either playing soccer or trying to kill time until their next classes.

“It’s not that easy.” that’s true. Jay live through the days knowing that always you despise him. With how stingy you act around him, he probably have no clue. He will surely tease you to death once he knew his feelings for you. That’s honestly the last thing you wanted.

“Hmm, I know.” and your friend let out a heavy sigh.

This time, you smirked and raised an eyebrow at her.

“You basically indirectly confessed to Park Sunghoon. Almost everyone in the school knows about your feelings.”

She lets out a strained sigh and threw her head back to stare at the blue clear sky. Her pretty face is so admirable, something you can’t just miss if walking pass by her. Just like what you said, its not really a secret that she likes ‘thee’ Park Sunghoon. He’s one of Jay’s good friends and very popular with the girls as well.

“Yes. That’s so awkward.”

You stared right at her, “Why do you like Sunghoon so much?”

She glances at you, “Hey, what do you mean by that?” and she push your shoulder jokingly.

You made face, “It's just Park Sunghoon is so cold. He seems so mysterious.”

She chuckles, agreeing.

“And mysterious guys often have many secrets. You never really know.” its not that you’re being a bad friend of trying to be a kill joy. This is just you looking out for your friend, your best friend.

“That’s what I love about him.” she says bluntly, like a natural response.

It made you roll your eyes and act disgusted by it. She fights back with rolling her eyes as well that made you both giggling. Your vacant hours are perfectly spent talking about nonsense stuff, jumping from one topic to another.

Everything’s going smoothly, not until one morning. You woke up into the noise of your phone continuously ringing. When you stir from your sleep, leaving your dreamland completely, and glances at the wall clock. It’s just 4 am in the morning.

“Hello?” you answered your phone half-asleep, still dozing off a bit.

The muffled cries from the other line was like a slap that strips away the sleepiness. You momentarily pulls your phone away and checked the caller’s id. Seeing your friend’s mother’s contact instantly made you sat up from your bed.

“Auntie? What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly and reaches for the lamp beside the bed.

“Y/n...” she starts. Her heavy breaths and nonstop sniffing made you aware of how she’s crying so hard. Her strained voice is very obvious as well.

“(Friend name) is missing.” the line was clear and her words, despite being a little off, were clear. What doesn’t register to your system is what she’s trying to say.

“What do you mean missing? Hold on, Auntie.” you stood up and quickly grabbed your jacket to keep yourself from freezing then hurriedly head out.

“She didn’t come home last night! And I called your mom to check if she’s there, she said she didn’t came to your place.”

Your brows narrowed down and you saw your Mother on the phone, talking to somebody. When her eyes caught you, she signalled that she’s talking to someone important.

“Ah yes, she said her daughter didn’t come home last night... Yes, officer.”

“Mom is calling the police, Auntie. We’re going there, okay? Please calm down. I’m sure she’s all right. She probably just went somewhere and forgot to inform us.” you tried to console her while your head started to unconsciously list down places that you can go to.

After the calls to some of your Mom’s friends and the police, the two of you headed to her home to comfort her. A police car was already parked outside of the house and one officer is by the door, talking to your friend’s Mom.

Her tear stained eyes darted at you and quickly, you embraced her.

“Shh, Auntie. It’s going to be okay.” you whispered as your Mom continued talking to the officer because your friend's Mom are currently at her best state to talk.

“I’m so scared, y/n! What if she’s in trouble?” she cries hard on your shoulder that breaks your heart.

You tried to act strong in order not to make her feel down even more. She trembles in between your hug and you caress her back to somehow make her feel better.

“I'm sure she will show up. We will find her.”

Only, you didn’t. It’s been a whole week ever since your friend disappeared. Day by day its getting worst for her Mom and for you. She’s your best friend. You cherish her and she’s like a sister already. Not having her around made you feel so empty.

“Hey,” your head lifts when someone approaches your table.

It was Jay.

Usually he will have his mischievous grin, but not now. He have this soft, worried gaze while looking on you. He kept his stares, watching closely as you try so hard to pull a smile for him.

“Hi.” you greeted shortly.

He licked his lips, “I’m so sorry about (friend name).” he says that you answered with a nod.

He gestures the vacant chair beside you, asking if he can sit down and accompany you. Normally, you would decline and curse at him but a part of you wanted his presence so you nodded. He sat down quietly, eyes still darted at you.

“Any updates?” he asks.

Your eyes dropped at the stacks of missing posters in front of you, sitting at the table. A beautiful smiling picture of (friend name) printed on it and a big red ‘MISSING’ below.

“No. The police only have one person as their witness and its totally not helping.” your tone sounding so down, hopeless.

Jay sighs and rested his large hands on your back to caress it. Your eyes instantly waters, the tears you’ve been holding back starting to show. With lips slightly shaking you glanced back at him.

“J-Jay, I’m scared...” you admit, first time showing him a vulnerable side.

He was speechless, but you can see through his eyes that he’s so worried for you. He’s been noticing how you’ve been neglecting yourself ever since your friend disappeared. And its making him so sad.

“I’m so worried for her. What if something bad happened to h-her?” your voice cracks and eyes brimming with tears.

Jay was quick to console you.

“Hey,” he whispered with his softest tone then cupped your face, making you face him. “We will find her, okay?” those familiar words are the same ones you’ve been repeating to your friend's mom ever since she disappeared. Constantly repeating it to convince her and also to convince yourself.

Jay pulled your body closer to him, caging you into a tight, warm hug. Something you really needed at the moment. You cannot put into words how grateful you are that he’s there for you.

Ever since your friend vanished, things started to get messy. She’s been your comfort person and with her missing, its like you’re losing your mind.

You felt Jay’s lips on your forehead as he whispered comforting words.

“We’ll find her?” Jay stares right to his reflection at the bathroom’s mirror. He scoffs to himself, muttering low curses while washing his hand.

“How can we find someone who is not even really missing?” he mumbles and his gaze lifts as one of the bathroom stalls opened, revealing one of his close friends.

“Jay, man.” Jake and walks near the sinks to wash his own hand.

“You need to stop talking to yourself. People will think you’re crazy.” he grins teasingly at Jay and he just frowns.

Another stall opens and Sunghoon walks out from it, eyeing their direction.

“He is really crazy, tho?” he commented that earned a bark of laughter from Jake.

Jay clicked his tongue, “That’s big words from somebody who kidnaps a girl because he likes her so much?”

Sunghoon seems unbothered about his statement. Not just because it was true, but because he thinks its nonsense to argue with it. He just shrugged it off and smirked at his friend.

“You’re going to do it soon too, tho?” and starts washing his hands as well.

“Yeah, Sunghoon’s right.” Jake commented.

Jay whips his head and diverted his attention to his other friend. “Actually, you’re the crazier one.”

Sunghoon’s grin grew wider and just listens to his friends that are starting to bicker like little children. Jake complains, totally disagreeing about what Jay said.

“What? No, I’m not!”

Jay scoffed, “Really? Is it not crazy to put his girl inside a psych ward just because he learned that she’s leaving him?”

Sunghoon whistles, “I have to agree on that one, dude.”

Jake glances at Sunghoon, a hint of betrayal flashes through his eyes.

“For the record,” he starts and they look at him with eyebrows raising while waiting for his defence. Jake licks his lips as he tries to come up with a good comeback to what Jay fired at him.

“Fine!” he hissed, “And so what if I put her in ward? At least I’m sure she won’t be able to leave me, even if she wants to.” the smug smirk on his face is wide.

“Should I put mine in the ward too? Do you have a vacant room?” Sunghoon chuckles while asking that question to Jake.

“Yeah, we have vacant room for you as well.”

Jay laughed and watch how Sunghoon swat Jake’s arm. They soon decided to walk back to class. His eyes darted at your direction right away and Jay’s heart cracked at the sight of your sad face.

After class, Jay offered to help you with the missing posters and you’re very thankful for him. Their group of friends has been doing a lot and you couldn’t be more greatful. As far as you remember, none of them are personally close to you or your friend, but still with big hearts they offered to help.

While heading back to the building to get your things, your eyes unconsciously darted at one of the bulletin boards. From a distance, multiple papers are pinned to it. But one stands out the most, at least for you.

Your eyes trailed over to the tall figure that stands in front of it, staring right at the missing posters of your friend that you’ve placed their a few days ago.

The boy is very familiar to you. His fair complexion, uniform looking so neat and face looking so blank. You slowly head his direction and stood a few feet away.

“Terrifying isn’t it?” you said that caught his attention. From the corner of your eyes, you saw that he whips his head to the side and look at you.

“Do they have a lead?” he asks, almost sounding like a monotone.

That’s the first time you and him talked. Being in the same school together for years, this was the first interaction.

“Yeah, they said someone saw her being taken on her way home.” you answered.

An emotion flickers through his eyes for a split second, but it was impossible to tell what it was. He kept his blank face, eyes icy cold.

“I hope she will be found soon.” he stated.

His words are nice. It's the words you wanted to hear from most of them and you’ve heard that a lot of times already. But for some reasons, Sunghoon’s words felt empty. It slightly caught your attention. Then you realized that he’s always like that. Quiet and reserved. He’s not called the ice prince just for nothing. And so, you tried to just shrug it off and thanked him silently.

He was about to leave when you grabbed his hand. He turns his head to look at you and it made you feel on edge. His eyes are so intimidating.

“Here, in case you see her.” and you handed him a poster.

It maybe a bit stupid knowing he probably have a copy already since its been distributed to the whole school. He accepted it without any word then left. Your eyes lingers to him and watch how he walks away.

A small smile spreads across your face. “Come back now, (friend name). I can’t wait to tell you about how Sunghoon seem to worry for you.”

“So what did the detective said? Any updates?” your hand halts from holding your chopsticks because of Jay’s question.

It’s been a month ever since your friend disappeared and you grew closer with Jay. All the time, he was there to support you and comfort you.

“What?” you asked, glancing at him whose now enjoying his food. He slurps over his soup before throwing you a short glance.

“About that new detective (friend name)’s mom hired.” he repeated himself.

You stared at him without saying any word. That same emotion that you’ve been pushing at the back of your mind for weeks now. Jay’s been very nice ever since the disappearance of your friend and he fills the absence for the mean time, making sure you aren’t being too hard on yourself.

But it may sound nonsense, lately you’ve been noticing odd behavior from his friend group. Or you can say you’re sensing this weird vibe from them.

It may appear because they’re a different league that’s why, and that’s whay you try to convince yourself with. But something really doesn’t sit right for you.

Example for that is this...

How did Jay even knew about that detective your friend’s Mom secretly hired recently?

“Why are you looking at me like I’ve killed someone?” Jay chuckles awkwardly while placing an opened bottle of water in front of you.

“How did you even knew about it?” your tone sounded really curious that caught him off-guard.

He curses inside his mind, quickly thinking of a good escape to this mistake. Despite the slight panic, he tried hard to compose himself in order not to be too suspicious..

He scoffed, “What do you mean how did I know? Of course, through you.” he kept his stares to your eyes.

It made your brows narrowed, head tilting over to the side.

“Me? I told you about it?” you sound unsure about it, recalling and backtracking any past events where you might’ve mentioned it to him.

“Yes, baby.” he laughs, relieved that it shaken up the tension a bit. “What’s up with you? Seems like you are really stressing yourself too much.”

You stayed silent for a while before smiling.

“I guess you’re right. It might have slipped off my mind.”

He nods and slides a new side dish near you, “You should eat more.” he diverted the topic smoothly.

The tension dissipate and just like normally, you two went on your day. He kept talking about this place he’s been with his parents and how much he wanted to take you there this weekend to help you relax a bit. You tried so hard to listen, dismissing that negative thought off of your mind.

But it didn’t. Instead, it made you more observant over his group of friends. Giving meanings to every normal or little things they do.

“I’m on my way home now.” you said through the phone while going out from the bookstore.

Jay’s on the other line, calling to check on you after hanging out with his friends. According to him, practice ended earlier so they decided to go have fun.

“All right. I’m also near my house. Call me once you’re home?” he says softly.

“Hmm, take care.” you hummed.

“You too baby, i love you.”

Your heart races, mixed of emotions occupies you. These days, after being suspicious of him, your feeling starts to get shaken a bit. It made you realize how much you still don’t know about Jay.

After spending a lot of times together, you still barely know him. Except for the fact that he’s Park Jongseong, the rich bad boy from your school who happens to have feelings for you all this time.

“Y/n?” he calls you lightly that snaps you back to reality.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I said I love you.”

You gulped, “I l-love you too.”

The other line went silent for a while before you heard Jay’s gentle hum. He always does that whenever he’s satisfied hearing you say those words to him.

Before its also felt so good whenever you say it to him. You meant it with all your heart, but right now, you aren’t sure anymode. You still love him, after all you’ve been interested to him for a long time. It’s just, a mix of fear envelops those feelings.

Your eyes then caught the person you’ve been waiting for hours already.

Park Sunghoon.

“I’ll call you later, Jay.”

“Okay, stay safe.” he says in a low tone and ended the call.

Today, you made a bold decision to tail Park Sunghoon. He’s on your top list of suspicious people that are potentially involve to your friend’s disappearance.

He walks towards the bus stop and you can tell from the way his shoulder’s hanging low, he’s dead tired. Probably because of practice and hanging out with his friends.

You tried not to be too suspicious, making sure your presence is not noticeable. But Sunghoon usually don’t care about his surroundings. He just mind his own business and go on with his life. If he’s not involve or any of people he’s close with, he does not care.

As you approach him closer, you noticed him pulling out something from his pocket. At first, its so hard to tell what it is. But once you get a clear view, your stomach drops and heart felt like it stopped beating. Head empty as your feet moves on its own.

“W-Why do you have that?” you couldn’t help but to stutter and fear consumed you when he whips his head at your direction.

Sunghoon’s face remained emotionless. He doesn’t even look guilty at all or caught off-guard by your presence. It was like he was expecting it, like he knew you were there, following him.

“This is mine.” were his words.

Your eyes remained looking at him with such horror, tears brimming. With trembling lips you shake your head.

“N-No... that’s (friend name)’s! I gave it to her! My granda made that.”

You can’t be wrong. It’s impossible to have the exact same handkerchief. Your granda personally made that for you and your friend.

He took a step closer that made you instantly step back in fear. You roamed your eyes around and her heart fell at the sight of the bus stop being totally isolated. It is already a bit late and so there are a few people here. It's just the two of you.

The thought of being here with the possible reason why (friend name) went missing scared you to death.

“W-What did you do to her?” your tone sounded so accusing as your fist balls to prevent it from shaking. With clenched jaw, you gather all the courage to look over his deadpanned face.

He was just caught red handed but he seemed unbothered at all. He approached and caught (bestfriend’s name) off guard. She hit him with her bag and he was stunned for a moment.

You just caught him red handed, but he seemed so unbothered. He took a step closer that caught you off-guard and made you hit him with your bag. Something got caught with his gym bag and when you look down, your favorite keychain lays beneath his feet.

“Where is y/n?! Give her back!” you tried screaming through your lungs, hoping that someone may hear and help you.

And someone did. That person slowly and quietly looms closer, taking advantage of your full attention being on Sunghoon to take action.

Sunghoon turned his head towards you and you can’t describe what you felt when you met his cold dark eyes, “You will never find her, no one will.” and with that, he advanced making you scream in fear.

“Quiet, baby.” from your back, an arm hold you still, tugging your body closer to theirs. His free hand then went towards your face to cover you with a cloth, that slowly took your consciousness away.

Even before you can react and try freeing yourself, Jay’s familiar face came into your view.

“Shh, its all right. I’m here.” his whispers are muffled as everything slowly became black.

Sunghoon slid his hands inside his pockets while watching Jay fixed his hold on you. Eventually, a familiar black SUV parked near where they’re at then one of Jay’s men went outside to assist him.

He carries your unconscious body easily then carefully placed it inside the SUV. Sunghoon was just there, silently watching. His eyes roams around to check if there’s anybody to witness what they’re doing.

“Perfect.” Jay whispers and pants with a smile.

He closes the door to their car and glances at Hoon, still standing by the bus stop. He nods his head with a thumbs up that his friend only nonchalantly responded with a nod.

After Jay went inside the car and drove off along with you. Sunghoon trudges towards the bench when he stepped on something. He looked down and saw your keychain that fell off a while ago.

He sighs and picked it up. He stared at it for a while and realized that (friend name) had the exact same keychain. A small smile appears across his face, remembering you. His head perks up after hearing the arrival of the bus and as he walks towards it, he unconsciously slides the keychain inside his pocket.

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This is a special commission, requested by myfavouriteenglishstuff as a birthday gift to @follow-your-fire (Amithia), as it is a scene from her fanfiction. So happy birthday!! ❤️❤️ The title of the fic is “Lacuna” <3 

My other Merlin art