#its the way i changed the numbers without ANY fucking clue how that works

[seikkoi]

ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ | t. stark & s. strange x f!reader

Step one: Work at one of the most successful research laboratories in the country. Step two: Don't fuck it up. Step two and a half: Do not fuck it up.

content/warnings: mildly dubious consent (sooo uncharacteristic of me), degradation, power dynamics, voyeurism, shy reader, org*sm denial, v*ginal fingering word count: 2.6k a/n: im having a small fixation on our favorite witchy doctor dont worry abt it

Shitshitshit!

You chastised yourself mentally over and over again, watching the bright blue numbers tick downwards. It might make sense to get up, scramble across the lab, fling your hand around the incubator and pull the plug. That’s what an amateur would do, but you’re an expert and know that will do fuck all for you now. Then again, an expert would have set the goddamned temperature correctly. 

You’d fallen asleep at your desk–a natural consequence of several late nights collecting data (or drowning in term papers and reports). In your half-awake state, right before your head hits the table, you set the temperature twenty degrees lower than it should be. Dreamland gave no clues to the impending doom awaiting you. Instead, you dreamt of a tropical paradise. Your sunny fantasia was inevitably interrupted by the persistent beep that echoed the labs walls.

The digits keep trickling down, and you rest your head in your heads. All you can do is wait for it to hit zero. Thousands of synthetic cultures–gone. That was two months of work down the drain, and your bosses expected a very long report, printed and neatly stapled by the end of this week. 

You were so fucking fired.

The numbers finally stop, the computer beeping tauntingly as if you needed verbal confirmation on how screwed you were. You could not even begin to imagine how you would explain this. You worked at one of the best laboratories in the world, there wasn’t room for rookies errors here. Especially not when they come from supposed wannabe professionals like you (and cost millions of dollars). Your first week some larger-than-life MIT grad used the wrong inventory system and was gone by noon. You weren’t any better, just some Ph.D candidate trying to boost her resume. 

The computer stops, and in its absence you pick up on the slight tick of the clock on the desk. The red analog reads 9:57 PM. Late, but not too late for your bosses to still be around. You’re nauseous with guilt, but you can’t imagine carrying it through the night, working with nothing through the rest of week just to get canned on Friday.

No, you’d accept your fate now.

If you were lucky, you’d only have to talk to one of them. 

You don’t have a preference for either. Stark had no issue showing dissatisfaction through his words, often sternly and without grace. The good part was that he was the same way with praise, although you rarely managed to earn that. Strange on the other hand was, well, strange. You barely interacted with him, but when you did you always left the conversation not sure if he despised you or merely tolerated your presence. It changed your working attitude from focusing on the science to scrambling for perfection to gain even the faintest ounce of approval. 

Obviously, not well enough if you were making Alaska-sized mistakes like this. Both were equally arrogant (unfortunately, well deserved) and you knew neither of them well enough to plead for your job. 

You make your way down the dim hallway, passing the empty offices and labs. More than one mental pep talk passes through your mind. The end of the hallway held your demise, a cracked open door holding an illuminating light and a pair of voices. 

All you could do was hope they weren’t too harsh.

Beyond the wooden door, you listen to two voices argue indiscriminately. 

“I suppose you think we should just give it away.” one says exasperatedly, and you figure this is Stark by the sarcasm laced in each syllable.

“No,” the other sighs, “but our shareholders will never agree to this price point.”

“The shareholders will agree to whatever we tell them to.”

“You’re right, to a point. Still, we need to be realistic in our expectation of returns.”

“We haven’t done all this work for realism. We did it for profit and you want to sell our hard work to the lowest bidder.”

You tapped your knuckles against the oak door, heart beating in your chest. You went through a couple of opening lines–promises about how this would never happen again and pleas for understanding. Logically, you knew neither were likely to be granted. The voices on the other side grant you entrance that you take nervously. Inside, Stark sits at the large desk in the middle of the room. Strange stands beside him, peering over papers that you presume sparked their conversation. 

At the sight of you, both men seem to soften their hardened expressions. Whatever nonsense flared their words a moment ago is gone, replaced by confusion by their junior researcher at their door this late. Strange glances at the timepiece on his wrist before you can say anything, scoffing and shaking his head. 

“Yes, [y/n]?”

The annoyance drips, clearly not amused by your poorly timed visit. You wring your fingers in front of your body. 

“Firstly, sirs, I want to apologize, there was a mistake with the incubator, and the cultures were destroyed.” 

You wish you sounded more confident, but instead your eyes dart between the men and the floor. Your omission tumbles out in a whiny tone, waiting on every syllable for their faces to turn and tell you how stupid you were and how much you cost them in time and resources. That’s not how it goes, however. 

Stark leans back in the leather desk chair, metal creaking as his arms are crossed in front of his body. He makes an annoyed face, sure, but not the angry scowl you were dreading. 

Strange’s reaction is even more peculiar, chuckling slightly and glancing back at Tony.

“Did the incubator make a mistake, or did you?” he says lightheartedly, a grin stretching on his face, yet the words create a swell in your throat. 

Tony seems to find it amusing as well, watching Strange stalk towards you. He stops in the middle of the office. You’re less than two yards away, trying not to tremble under his gaze. 

“I did, sir, I’m sorry. I’ll gather my things and leave.” you whispered, hanging your head in shame. 

Your feet are on autopilot, turning for the door until Strange speaks again.

“Oh, there’s no need for that.” he chuckles. “Right, Tony?”

You turn back to see him looking towards Stark, who hums in approval. Even more confused, you watch as Strange beckons you closer, and you obey on instinct. 

“I don’t think it’s a good look for a Ph.d candidate to have a termination from such a large company on her record.” Tony coos from his chair.

“No, not at all. That might just tarnish her future.” Strange adds.

Their eyes rake over you. Stephen beckons you forward again, and you comply once more. Clearly, they were mocking you before giving you the boot. The condescending drip in their voices leaves your skin hot with embarrassment.

“We wouldn’t want that for you, sweetheart.” Tony sits up as Strange guides you towards the desk, a large hand resting on your back. 

“I-I don’t understand.” you stammer. 

They both share another laugh at your confusion. Stephen stands behind you once you reach the desk. He nudges you forward until your hips are flush against the edge. There’s still separation, but not enough that you can’t sense his body right behind yours.

“I’m sure a smart girl like you knows how valuable you are to us,” Tony locks eyes with you as Strange twirls your hair in his fingers. The touch shocks you to turn back to him, only for Strange to push you back to face Tony. 

“Everyone makes mistakes, after all.”

Your eyes widen when Stephen presses his body into yours, easily towering over you. Heavy hands trail down your jean-covered hips, hot enough to burn your skin through the denim.

“We’re very understanding, I’m sure we can work something out.” Stephen’s voice purrs in your ear, warm breath tickling your throat.

The glittering look in Stark’s eye is all too familiar, watching Stephen’s hands get acquainted with every inch of your form. You shudder under his touch. The blood in your veins runs cold as you catch a wink between the two men–and suddenly, you understand.

“Wouldn’t want your career to end before it even starts now would we?” Tony taunts. 

Fingers tease along your side. Soon, they work their way under your shirt, grazing the skin of your midriff. 

Any lingering uncertainty is snuffed when Stephen presses further into you. The desk digs into your hips, trapping you between it and the tall doctor. 

“I can’t–we can’t–this isn’t–”

Each attempt at a full sentence fails under Tony's lustful gaze. It’s quite enjoyable watching you fail against Stephen. Recruitment always seemed to be just the prettiest research assistants. Who could blame them for finally getting an opportunity for a taste? 

Not to mention you did just cost them a small fortune with your little mistake. Contrary to your beliefs, though, they liked your work ethic (and you, for that matter). Letting go of such a helpful piece of eye candy simply wouldn’t do. That doesn’t mean that kindness is a guarantee. 

“No?” Tony hums. “Well, we could always let you go. We can give a shining recommendation, of course having to mention your little incompetencies.” 

Being blacklisted would kill you. All you wanted was to work in this field. Years of late nights and term papers down the drain was a far greater loss than a few synthetic cultures. 

“Please, you don’t have to do that.” you plead. Behind you, Strange’s beard scratches your throat. His hands travel further north, dancing on the hem of your bra. Goosebumps spread across your skin.

“Like I said, I’m sure we can all come to some sort of compromise.” Stephen’s voice drops low and heavy, enveloping on your covered breasts in his right hand. He squeezes gently, tweaking your nipple through the padded fabric.

“W-what if someone finds out–please, just–”

“Oh, don’t you worry, honey. We know how to be discreet.” Tony smirks.

Your eyes can never seem to leave Tony’s, watching his smile grow as your arousal does. It’s against your doing. Stephen completely surrounds you, touching any part of you he could reach. You gasp when the doctor’s idle hand finds your other nipple, rocking himself into you as you squirm. 

“I think she wants to keep her job, don’t you, honey?” Stephen chimes in.

You nod nervously. If this would save your career, so be it. People have slept with their bosses for less, right? And you certainly weren’t blind, both men were attractive in their own rights, able to pander through a catalog of women much smarter and much more their style. It begs the question why they were doing this all–crossing such a boundary with a goddamned graduate student. 

“Oh no, honey, we’ll need to hear you say it.” 

You barely blink, nor breath, all brain power zeroing in on Strange’s heat pressed into you. Tony raises an impatient eyebrow and you manage to answer out of the need to appease him and keep your job. 

“Yes, I’ll do whatever you want.”

The second the words leave you, Stephen’s hand disappears from your shirt to push you over the desk. You would’ve face planted straight into it had his palms not wrapped tightly around each of your wrists, yanking your arms. You try to sit up, uncomfortably pressed between Stephen Itchy wool suit pants and the wooden desk. Tony gleams down at you as the doctor keeps a firm hand splayed across your back, his right hand reaching around for the zipper of your jeans. 

In the next moment, you feel cool air bend around your bare legs. Before you can have anything even remotely resembling second thoughts, your lace panties are quickly pulled to your ankles as well. Warmth flushes across your cheeks, feeling Stephen’s hungry eyes and fingers on your exposed cunt–all while Tony’s eyes stay locked onto you, smile growing wider as your shame does. 

That became harder the second rough hands grab the supple flesh of your ass before a teasing finger slid across wet folds. You squirmed against Stephen’s hold on your wrists, trying desperately to look anywhere but at your boss as you bit back a soft gasp.

“I think our pretty little assistant is feeling a bit shy, Stephen.” Tony declares, reaching out to caress the side of your face not pressed into the surface. It sends butterflies up your spine at how gently he draws tight circles on the skin of your cheek, humming in satisfaction from how roughly Stephen roams over your body.

“Tsk, I hardly believe that, as wet as she is right now.” he murmurs, distracted by the mess you wish you weren’t making. 

You kept your lips pierced tightly between your teeth, lids squeezing shut when a long digit pushes into your aching walls. A deep groan from Strange echoes behind you. You hardly had time to eat, let alone maintain a social life. This meant it had been almost months since you’d slept with anyone–leaving needy and aching from the simplest touch. Even if it was your boss. 

You instinctively try to pull forward when a second finger is roughly added, and this time you can’t stop the whimper as you stretch around him.

“There it is–feels good doesn’t it? Don’t be shy, honey.” Tony’s voice sounds like smolding ice, freezing your nerves and setting your skin on fire. 

You almost hate yourself for how good this feels, Stephen pistoning in and out of your cunt until the sounds of your arousal against his fingers flood the office walls. All while Tony strokes your face like you're made of fine china. It’s far more than your body can handle, stomach already tightening with each pulse of the doctor’s fingers. 

“Go ahead, hon’, tell us how much you like it.”

Your face warms. From his touch or embarrassment, you’re not sure. You stammer under the heat, trying to look anywhere but Tony’s piercing eyes. 

Stephen’s hand comes down strong on your exposed ass, earning a loud cry from you as you strain against his hold. It shouldn’t make your head spin as much as it does.

“That wasn’t a request, answer him.” the doctor commands, gripping your wrists even tighter. When you take a second too long to muster a response, another strike falls on your opposite cheek. Your nerves are nearly disintegrated, still relishing good his finger feel stretching your cunt.

“It–it’s good, it feels–” you cry out once more when he spanks you again, taunting you for being too quiet. 

“It feels really good, sir.” you say louder, nearly shouting into the wood as your legs shake. 

Tony laughs above you, only worsening your shame. It’s an easily forgotten feeling–Stephen’s fingers curl inside you, testing each angle until he finds the one that makes you squirm. Soon enough, you forget where you are entirely, barely able to tell where your skin and theirs begin. Your high is far too close to care about the way Tony watches you, or how bruised your wrists will be after Stephen’s done with you. 

Just as your mind starts to split into two, it’s quickly interrupted. Stephen withdraws from your soaking cunt, leaning over you to press you impossibly further into the desk, unbuckling the leather belt at his waist. You jerk your head up at the ache between your legs, meeting Tony’s devilish smirk. Warm lips grace your ear, chuckling at your needy panting. 

“Aw, poor thing. Don’t think we’d let you off that easy–you’ll need to earn it.” Stephen whispers.  

As he sinks into you, you get the feeling this mistake will take quite some time to pay back. 

[necromancy-savant]

Multiples of 3 for book asks!

3. what is your preferred genre?

My preferred genre is the stuff you find in the nonfiction section that's all myths and poems

6. do you track the books you read? if so, how?

Nope; never occurred to me

9. do you have a favorite author?

John Milton \m/

12. which book will you read next?

Probably The Two Towers bc I read Fellowship, loved it, and then got distracted by like 5 other books. I need to finish reading Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion

15. have you been/are you in a book club?

I was in a Shakespeare club in grad school! I brought in the production of David Tennant's R2 for us to watch that @skeleton-richard introduced me to

18. do you have any rules if you loan someone a book?

I mean don't write on it or like intentionally be rough on it?

21. do you prefer to read or listen?

Read. I watch everything with subtitles if I can

24. what book to movie adaptation to you dislike?

I mean one time I saw some Iliad adaptation that didn't even have the gods and was boring af but I don't remember what it was. And one time I saw about 10 minutes of some CGI Beowulf bc it was so ugly I had to turn it off

27. is there a book that scared you?

Yes. Well, recently I was having a bit of trouble sleeping thinking about the demons in Camp Damascus, but also I used to stay up late in high school reading my giant Edgar Allan Poe book and then I could never sleep. I don't even remember which ones were the scariest. There was one about a coffin on a boat that fucked me up and wasn't even that scary.

30. is there a book that changed your life?

Phantom of the Opera, then Paradise Lost, then Richard III, and I think now The Locked Tomb

33. what was your favorite childhood book?

Redwall

36. what’s the most you’ve reread a book?

I literally have no fucking clue. I've memorized all of Richard III's lines in that play. I lost count of the number of times I've read Paradise Lost about 10 years ago. I can predict the next words in my translation of Phantom and read it in its original language just because I know what it's going to say, I know all the words to Earnest and Julius Caesar, I have no clue how many thousands of times I've read Enuma Elish or Ishtar's Descent to the Underworld or anything else I've every tried or had to translate. Basically I read the same few books and stories over and over and over and over and

39. favorite quote from your favorite book?

Be then his Love accurst, since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal woe. Nay curs'd be thou; since against his thy will Chose freely what it now so justly rues. Me miserable! which way shall I flie Infinite wrauth, and infinite despaire? Which way I flie is Hell my self am Hell; And in the lowest deep a lower deep Still threatning to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n.

42. do you buy new or secondhand books?

I have so many books I got for free from the grad school English department that they were literally just giving away. I got a whole Faerie Queene that way. I got a complete Chaucer's works that way. One time I went in and some students were going through stuff and I was like "yo is that a fascimile of Poetaster??!!" and my classmate said, "here, it's yours: it should go to someone who will love it" and I was in Heaven

45. thoughts on separating the author from the work?

So...this gets into so much internet discourse and so much discourse within critical theory over the last like 40 years. Basically, yes, historical context matters and knowing who an author was as a person can give some insight into a text, but I'm also not going to give a currently living author money whom I don't want to support. You should read problematic stuff from hundreds of years ago to learn your history; hell, I'd venture to say that if you can do so without giving them money, you should read problematic shit written recently and today to know what it looks like and learn to draw your own conclusions

48. what book would you give someone if they wanted a glimpse into your psyche?

Richard III

[kdipshit]

Trying ;

A different part of me shows up depending on who I’m speaking to, strangers don’t even get the same version of me, yanno that version on you when you meet someone new? I change my personality based on the initial energy I feel. I’m shy sometimes, I’m out the gate other times. It really just DEPENDS. who am I? Well I’m not one thing, I’m a combination of hundreds of thousands of little things, I’m not uniform, I actually don’t have a clue how to start explaining myself, this is the shit I do, I just wrote a cover letter for a job, like a specific job, because I guess I really want it, having a job gives me anxiety issues, but I haven’t had any anxiety issues since not being at work, hmmmmmm, like duh work gives me anxiety, but I have been working on my anxiety, and taking this god damn pills every damn day, I am happy to take them, by the way. I do truely feel like I can take on this job, casually, not crazy hours, super close to home still, I can walk, I’m happy to walk, I’m in my walking girl phase anyways, like its still good to get something off my daily to do list, I slacked off today, I think I got discouraged because I woke up super late even though I set an alarm, It wa like instant failure and bad day, I’ve already missed the morning so why do my Me+ yang, and I said no, I should still do my morning routine even though I woke up late, and I did, and I’m so grateful that I did because I didn’t fall into the trap, I did what I said I was going to do every morning, because it helps my mental health status.

Being fit genuinely makes you pretty, it evens out your skin tone, tightens your skin and like you just look sooooo pretty, I need to be more fit, I don’t have any excuses not to, I’m trying to learn how to do the things I don’t want to do even when I don’t want to do it, prepping me for bigger things in life like going to work when I don’t want to lmao, it’s all connected, and I’m still learning. Until I can accept to have to do the things I don’t want to, I’ll continue to do them, no matter how I feel. Well that’s what I hope I do, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it without constantly writing about it, other wise it just get tangled up in all the other mess…. My main focus remains to slowly unravel, and just all round slow the fuck down, mentally, my thinking needs management and direction, it’s a mess. But I’m doing the messy work, and I’m okay with that, because it just is, and I have to be. I shouldn’t tourture myself though, with doing things I don’t want to do all day long, but just recognising, that things need to be done, no matter how I feel about it. How I feel about it, is irrelevant to the bigger picture, its only when I focus on what the problem should be, is there ever an issue. i am not my feelings and they come and go just as thoughts do.

I caught a glimpse and I’m going after it, no matter how I feel, I’m so grateful for the version of myself I am today, thanks to the many yesterdays, i swear I change faster than one of those skin changer lizards lol, I feel on cloud 9, I’m happy despite all the crazy noise below me, I can breath despite all the chatter, I can sleep no matter how crazy the city traffic is. The moment I say no to doing something that is benefiting me, it turns on the switch to spiral me back down to old ways of thinking, and that’s exactly where we’re trying to a avoid, and may I just say how fucking proud I am of myself, I’ve kept up with my morning routine for like a solid couple weeks, I’ve kept my room clean, I’ve made my bed every morning which is something I’ve never done, I’ve just never cared for making my bed coz I was always in it lmao, and my mum made my bed when I was a kid, I’ve eaten every day, I’ve taken my pills at the same time, I’ve gotten my sleep schedule on lock, I’m literally out like a light by 10pm WHO AM I ???? I’m up by 8-9 which is okay but I’d like to get up at 7am, don’t ask me why, I don’t know, I just love the number 7, plus I’m the luckiest girl in the universe and all that cute jazz. I write every single day like this is a HUGE streak for me, I’m very very proud of myself, I think seeing the streak of my non drinking (7months 29days btw) really motivated me in a way that made me feel capable to streak other good things in my life. Like seeing a meter of my success lmao, not that I need it, it’s just good to have a quick look and be grateful to be able to stand here today. It has not been an easy road, in fact it’s the hardest road I’ve ever had to go down, but I don’t care how hard it is, I can do this. I don’t know what it is I’m doing, but I’m fucking doing it and I’m doing it to the best of my ability, I’m achieving my own trust by consistently standing beside myself, no matter what, by showing up for myself, for putting the thoughts and feelings aside and pushing thru. healthy coping mechanisms have slowly implemented themselves into my life due to my constant effort. I’m not perfect, I’m a rough cut, but I’m getting there, and that’s by doing this shit every single day. Alone. Most importantly.

[bunkernine]

Mythomagic™ Exclusive: Mythocards 🃏

In Mythomagic, players use cards called Mythocards™ to make a move with a variety of combinations and attacks. Most cards have both offensive attacks (ATK) and defense moves (DEF) but some are purely offensive and others are defense. To successfully play a game, each player must have at least 12 cards. Five of them lay face down on the table in front of the player, and the rest is stacked to the side. After that, the battle begins!

Below are scans of 5 Mythocards and the backside. These, with the exception of Nyx and Typhon, are spread out amongst the various GREEK BASE GAME packs. Typhon and Nyx are typically found in the PRIMORDIAL DEITIES pack:

Mythocards vary with how rare they are. There are five levels: Very Common (ROMAN SOLDIER, SPHINX, DRYAD) Common (ZEUS, THOR, MEDEA) Uncommon (TROJAN HORSE, VENTI, HORUS) Rare (ACHILLES, LOKI, FREYA) Ultra Rare (DIANA, HEIMDALL, ATALANTA) Legendary (TARTARUS, ISIS, NEMEAN LION)

There are some cards in which they are even more rare than Legendary! The ATHENA PARTHENOS card is infamously sought out because there are only two in existence.

MYTHOMAGIC ONLINE™ 🎮

Mythomagic Online works very similarly! On the app, the cards display like this:

When tapping them, an in-depth look at attacks and stats appears. Physical cards and figurines can be scanned in only once, and will be swiftly added to a player's inventory. New moves and more information has been added to each card, so old players can have just as much fun as the ones playing for the first time. MMO also interacts with added weapons, locations, and weather, which can drastically change stats in the moment!

Play old school or go digital, but no matter how you play, there's an adventure waiting for you!

⚔️ Battle. 🧭 Quest. 🎮 Play.

→ ((MAJOR thanks to @psycheros cause 💀 these would've been absolute nonsense without you, everyone go follow and spread some love dhdh))

[kittyirked]

Eugh fuck it. I'm bringing my one twitter post here for yall because a lot of you newbies really dropped twt like a hot potato, huh

HEY FUCKOS

before you got stumbling around Tumblr with no damn clue how shit works note that things work very VERY differently there as compared to the old twitter machine.

Firstly, tumblr is VERY anti-ads, anti-capitalist, and anti-brands. Go into this KNOWING that. Don't go using the monetization options without in-site research. A vtuber has already done so to MUCH backlash. Blaze is used for shitposting and pet pics or if you wanna fight god.

tumblr is all about customization:

you MUST search out what you want on your own. you curate your experience there. You have to reblog things you like. Keep the ecosystem alive. Likes are nice and extra. many people use like for bookmarking things (I'm talking abt me)

change your pfp ASAP when you get there. Tumblr has a bot problem and tumblr oldies will block on-sight if they see a default icon, lack of reblogging, etc

one more thing to customization: THERES SO MUCH OF IT!! Make your blog your own!!! I'll give you all my blog customizing resources for fucks sake. It's your space, make it such :3

More on courtesy:

talk in the tags! unless you are adding to a shitpost, conversation, or such, it can be seen as audacious to just add text to a random post. It can be considered hijacking. Tags are not only for organization but also screaming in the void!!!

Once you set up who you're following I recommend fiddling with settings! Just like twitter, tumblr has a chronological vs "best" setting! Fuck with it so you can see more of your new friends' posts!

You can make multiple blogs from the same account (with a bit of limited usability) they're called side-blogs and they're REALLY good for if you want a personal AND an art account! very useful. Not sure if there's a limit to the number of side blogs you can have.

USE XKIT!!!

there are so so many ways to further better your tumblr experience with the plugin. It's on chrome and firefox. I don't know if its on any other browser. It's a godsend, I tell you!!!

when it comes to tags or mentions of things:

just tag it, don't censor it. People have blacklists for the website that help them to not see things so for instance put blood, not bl00d or anything else. by fucking with the word, you mess up their ability to block it

if you want more eloquent and direct help, there are many many posts that I've been reblogging over on tumblr to help you out!! I hope these little tidbits help

that's all of it-- if you wanted to rt the post over on twt for the homies, here's the link

See ya on the flippity flop. have fun!

[nightingaelic]

could you do Fallout New Vegas companion’s reactions to a Courier Six who is also the Lone Wanderer telling their stories from their time in DC? (bonus points for Arcade’s reaction to them hating the enclave, and if that would make him decide to keep his past hidden even longer, or if he would still tell them?)

The logistics and implications of this make my head spin. This is also super long, honestly I should just quit writing reacts and start writing fics OH WAIT

Getting the courier talking was a tough thing to do, but on nights where the moon was full and the coyotes' howls were miles away or at least behind some stout walls, on nights where they were a few beers in and they hadn't seen another living soul in a few days, that Mojave Express deliverer started to reminisce. That wasn't really the surprising part, though. No, the surprising part was what they would remember, fondly or not-so-fondly: A world apart from the desert, a continent away on another coast, and stories of life in a vault, a missing father, pure water and a Brotherhood divided.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade didn't mind these moods, at least when they first cropped up. He nodded along as the courier talked about living in their father's shadow, about feeling cornered by their own family's legacy. He hung on their words about living in the cradle of America's history, about Project Purity, all of the gritty details of modifying a GECK to bring water to a devastated wasteland.

Eventually though, the courier's memories soured, with the arrival of Enclave remnants in their life. Arcade folded into himself with every harsh word, every jolt of plasma that had disrupted his friend's world relived in horrific detail. They gestured angrily as they described their newfound purpose, their battle for power with the fractured Brotherhood of Steel at their back, and their smug satisfaction at the moments they were able to crack open Raven Rock and the Enclave's mobile base crawler and lay waste to their tormentors.

It took a few rounds of these stories before the courier noticed he shrank and grew quiet whenever they neared the end of their story about breaking into another vault to find the GECK. They stopped abruptly one night. "What's up with you?"

"Um..." Arcade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. "Nothing. Nothing, I just... have some personal experience with the Enclave, myself."

The courier sighed. "Yeah, there's a few people walking around the West Coast that have similar stories to mine. Arroyo's full of them, for one. Is it something like that?"

Arcade took a deep breath. "I feel... well, it's a lot closer to home, for me. Close enough to raise questions, so I don't talk about it much."

"Close enough to..." The courier twisted their face up in confusion for a moment, before realization set in and their eyes grew large. "You were... your... oh."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, fuck me." The courier smiled and popped a cap off of another beer. "I've been doing all the talking, haven't I? Let's hear your story about working with the guys in power armor who ruined my life, right after dad did."

Craig Boone: Whenever the courier started up like this, Boone couldn't help but notice a familiar twinge of regret and self-doubt in their voice. It shone through most clearly when they spoke about their time with the Brotherhood of Steel, the men and women they'd fought alongside and lost during their struggle against the remnants of the Enclave. It was there, too, in their story about returning to the vault they grew up in, setting the chaos that had arisen in their wake to rest, but not being able to go back to the way things were.

Boone didn't pry. He knew that feeling well. Instead, he cracked open bottles of beer, liquor, soda, whatever they had on hand during their nights in the desert, and just listened. He'd done the same for Carla, when they were younger and new to each other and he couldn't get enough of her voice and how it flowed endlessly, easily, the way his never could. He absorbed it all now as he did then: The joy, the pain, the loss, the fear, the triumphs and falls and abandoned dreams that filled the courier up and drove them to travel west, beyond anything they had ever known.

That last part stumped Boone a bit, though. "Why didn't you stay?" he finally asked one night.

They looked surprised. "Stay? Stay where? I didn't have a home anymore."

Boone shook his head. "With the Brotherhood. Or some other settlement."

"Like Megaton?" The courier sighed. "I thought about it. Close to the vault, friendly people, easy work... I guess I just didn't want to wind up... stuck."

They flushed red and looked away from him. Boone knew why they were embarrassed, but he also knew the truth in their words.

Sometimes the courier cried after they had finished, though they did their best to hide it. Boone pretended not to notice. He was pretty sure they knew he was pretending, but he was also pretty sure that pointing it out would be worse than just letting it be an open secret between them. The silence between them endured, but something grew inside it and flourished. Some kind of deeper understanding.

Lily Bowen: The more the courier spoke, the more Lily made connections in her muddled mind. Of course they knew the basic layout of most vaults, they had grown up in one. Of course they were extra-sensitive to the Mojave heat, they had come to the desert from the cooler of the two coasts. Of course they'd been extra-wary around the super mutants or nightkin of Jacobstown, they had only known angry super mutants looking to grow their own numbers through any means necessary.

Their shared experience of growing up inside a vault reminded Lily of happier days, and she often asked questions about Vault 101 during the courier's stories. "Were you sweet on anyone inside your old home?" she asked, with a big smile befitting a proud grandma.

The courier blushed. "That's not very polite, Lily."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie."

"No, no it's okay." The courier smiled. "There was a boy who picked on me a lot, but I never figured out whether he did it because he hated me or liked me. His name was Butch. And there was Amata, my childhood friend. She was the daughter of the Overseer."

"Daughter of the Overseer?" Lily grinned. "I'm sure she was a lovely young woman."

The courier looked a little misty. "Yeah. She was. Probably still is."

Lily pulled a handkerchief that used to be a small tablecloth from inside her overalls and handed it over. "Maybe we can go back there together, pumpkin," she offered. "I always wanted to travel to the capital. We can visit your friends, see the sights."

"Yeah, maybe someday." The courier accepted the gift and blew their nose. "I've got some things I need to finish up here before I even think about wandering back east, though."

"Then let's make a list and do our chores," Lily said happily. "Number one?"

"Ohhhh, man." The courier smiled up at her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul got a faint smile on his face whenever the courier started up like this, as if their memories reminded him of another place he had come from, another time. While they couldn't have more different backgrounds, pasts- hell, he had several hundred years on the courier, even if they shared the same road today- there was something in the description of the other roads they had walked that made him feel warm on a cold night.

"What's on your mind?" The courier asked him one night, when Raul's smile grew larger than usual.

"Nada, boss," he reassured them. "You're just a good reminder that I can change my mind about the future anytime I'd like. Tell me the one about that radio DJ again."

"Again?" The courier rolled their eyes. "Why? I could tell you a million stories about Underworld and all the ghouls that lived there, but all you want to hear about is Three Dog. You'd probably have more in common with the Underworld folks, honestly."

Raul nodded noncommittally. "Sí, but my favorite stories are about people who had to rise above bad situations and become someone uncommon. Anyone who's able to do that is either fighting for something great or running from something terrible. Sometimes both."

The courier shot him a skeptical look. "Three Dog's holed up in his radio station 24/7, he's not running from anything or out fighting for anything. All that stuff about 'the good fight' is a load of bull."

"Now, now, Six," Raul chastised. "Just because he looks like your average pendejo doesn't mean he isn't doing his part. You even told me his radio show is inspirational for the Capital Wasteland folks."

The courier held their hands up in the air and bobbled them, as if balancing an invisible scale. "The duality of man. Being an average pendejo, or convincing everyone around you that you aren't actually an average pendejo and can pull off miracles."

Raul laughed. "And which one are you, boss?"

"Eh, I'm still figuring it out."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass was never one for fixating on her own past, but she couldn't help but sympathize with the courier whenever they deigned to add onto their unbelievable story. It was hard enough for her to navigate her own damn life: She couldn't imagine being called upon to steer an entire area's destiny.

After another night of recalling their life inside a vault with their dad, then their unexpected loss of him right after being reunited on the surface, the courier stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," they said.

Cass paused her swig of precious whiskey. "What?"

"I keep going on and on about my dad, and here you are not knowing what happened to yours."

"Eh." Cass took her drink and waved her hand around until the burning swallow made its way down. "S'loads of people in the wasteland without a clue what happened to their pops. I'm not special. In fact, I'd say it probably hurts a bit more, what happened with yours."

"Well, all the same." The courier sank deeper into their seat and examined their own bottle of spirits. "I feel like an open book, tonight. Anything you want to know about where I came from that I haven't already spilled?"

Cass thought for a moment. "Tribals."

"What about them?"

"Does the East Coast have them? You're not the first traveler I've met from there, but none of you have so much as mentioned any tribals out east."

"Mmm." The courier looked thoughtful. "I guess we do have them, though maybe not in the traditional sense. There's a mess of them in Point Lookout for sure, and at least one tribal group in the Capital Wasteland outright, but beyond that things are more... loose. Fewer intact families, fewer intact homes."

"Huh." Cass took another drink. "Maybe that's where my dad went."

She let the courier stew in the awkward silence for a bit before she grinned and reached out to smack them. "Just kidding. Keep going. I want to hear about that giant robot again."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica usually sat and listened, spellbound, picturing a chapter of her order that had realized the very thing she kept trying to tell the Elders and made the ultimate sacrifice to follow their hearts anyway.

Well, maybe Elder Owyn Lyons hadn't come to the same realization as her, but he had had a change of heart that split his company and cut them off from almost everyone they had ever known. It had been five years since the High Elders had instituted radio silence toward their East Coast chapter, and so far there had been no attempts to re-establish contact.

Veronica prodded the courier for any info she could get about the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. The courier let slip pretty early in their friendship that Elder Owyn Lyons had passed away, which wasn't unexpected. The man was 76 years old, after all. She learned on one particularly emotional night that his daughter, Elder Sarah Lyons, was also dead, something she wasn't sure even the Western Elders were aware of. That memory was clearly painful for the courier though, so Veronica didn't press for details.

"And the Enclave?" the Scribe asked one night, arms wrapped around her knees. "Are they completely gone?"

The courier grew cold. "Yes. I made sure of it."

"Right." Veronica nodded. "So the Brotherhood took over the air force base they were at. It must have been chock-full of tech and resources, if it was the Enclave's last stand."

"It was." The courier sighed and shifted in their seat. "And it woke up some of our brothers and sisters to their original mission in the Capital Wasteland. I thought maybe that selfishness had died with Liberty Prime, but... well, I didn't like it, so I left."

"Mmm, yeah." Veronica nodded again, sympathetically this time. "I know how you feel. Felt."

"Feel," the courier agreed. "I just wish there was more I could've done. Maybe there wasn't anything else, short of seizing power."

"You'd definitely get pushback for that in the Brotherhood," Veronica agreed. "But you might get that chance out here in the broader Mojave."

ED-E: At first, ED-E enjoyed the stories, trumpeting and cooing various beeps at the appropriate moments for emphasis. The one time the courier began badmouthing the Enclave, however, the eyebot waited until they had finished before playing back the first tape that Dr. Whitley had recorded before its trip.

The courier listened to the scientist's words from years ago, deflating slightly as it played out. When the tape had finished, they stood up and checked the eyebot over. "He sent you toward Navarro, huh?"

ED-E beeped affirmation, and the courier sighed. "But Navarro was already gone. I'm sorry. I guess I'm... well, me and the Brotherhood of Steel back east are responsible for your previous master's decision to send you away. Might be responsible for more, too."

ED-E beeped sadly. The courier pressed their forehead against the eyebot's metal dome in apology.

Rex: Well, surprising for most. Rex was not most. As soon as the courier got really into their recollections, Rex usually yawned and went to sleep. He stirred when he felt their hand reach down to scratch the ruff of his neck, or pat the glass dome that held his brain.

"Good dog," the courier said, through the veil of sleep. "You remind me of another pup that used to follow me around."

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (15)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda search for their printsessa with the help of Tony.

Warnings: dark themes, gun use, blood mention, serious injury

A/N: am I devastated that this is the final part of one of my favorite things I’ve ever written? absolutely! but I’m also really happy with myself for being able to turn the images in my head for this ending into coherent words. I’ve been holding onto this idea for weeks and I’m ecstatic to see everyone’s response to it. I’ll be letting you know later on this week what’s coming next! 👀

Previous part

-

With Clint’s assistance, Natasha and Wanda were able to quickly create a plan and make their way to the last base, using the fear and anger of their girlfriend’s disappearance to barrel through anyone that stood in the way of intel collection. They wasted no time in waking everyone up when they returned to the safe house.

“Is there a security breach?” Steve questioned as the group gathered, and Natasha tossed the hard drive at him.

“We got everything, and we need to get back--”

“Oh, I get it,” Sam cut in with an eye roll. “They rushed through the mission to get back to their girlfriend so they can cuddle and all that cute shit--”

“She’s missing!” Wanda growled as her eyes began to glow, causing Sam to step back a few feet with wide eyes.

Everyone aside from Clint started asking questions all at once, and Natasha shut them all down with a stern command to be ready to fly out in ten minutes. Bags were packed and bodies were dressed as the team rushed to get to the jet, afraid of what might happen if they delayed the two women any longer.

“While we’re checking out the house, I need someone looking into Wesley L/N,” Natasha ordered, nodding as Tony volunteered and sending him all the information she had.

“Who is this, her brother?”

“Her cousin, if that’s even true--”

“It is, we checked the family history,” Wanda insisted, grabbing Natasha’s hand with a shaky breath. “They’re really close, he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“We don’t know that! Anyone can do something terrible if they’re pushed far enough--”

“Stop! Just fucking stop!” Wanda cried out as she covered her face with her hands, and Natasha moved to wrap her arms around her as she sat in the seat beside her.

“I’m sorry, Wan. I’m just worried and my brain is wired to go to the worst case scenario instantly.”

Wanda simply sniffled as tears started spilling down her cheeks again, leaning her head against Natasha’s shoulder as she accepted the comforting embrace. After a few minutes of silence between the pair, Wanda dropped her hands into her lap as she glanced at green eyes already absentmindedly staring at her, lowering her voice as she spoke.

“I want to ruin his mind before we kill him.”

-

The house felt empty and colder without your presence, every step on the carpeted floor of the front room seemed to echo around the building. Tears threatened to build in Wanda’s eyes again but she held them back, intent on believing that they will find you and bring you back where you belong. Only they could take care of what you needed.

A heavy feeling washed over their hearts when they entered your solo room and discovered some of your clothes and shoes were missing, along with the travel bag you’d first arrived with. The guest room Wesley resided in was also void of his presence, and anything that could clue them into where he’d taken you. 

“Tash, look.”

Natasha followed her gaze to the security room, cursing loudly in Russian when she noticed the door left wide open. She stormed inside, clenching her fist in anger when she noticed the tiny plastic baggie holding the miniscule tracker that was supposed to be in your leg right now.

“He’s a psychiatrist, not a fucking surgeon!” she fumed as she showed the object to Wanda. “How did he get this out?!”

Wanda walked around her to get to one of the computers, logging in as fast as her fingers would allow her to type and bringing up the security footage from the last several days. For the most part, the two of you acted normally, doing all the things you’d told them about like playing games and watching TV, but the sight of the two of you emerging from the TV room in the basement and entering the game room brought something to her attention.

“Did you see that?” She backed up the footage and switched over to slow motion. “She’s limping.”

“Isn’t that the day she hurt her leg in the backyard?”

“Yes, but…” The backyard footage is brought up next and skipped through until the moment of your ‘injury’. “This happened almost two hours later, meaning--”

“It was a cover for the tracker removal.” Natasha cursed once more as she released a frustrated sigh. “She’s getting locked in her room as soon as she gets back here.”

A notification similar to a phone ringing went off on one of the monitors, and the two women scurried over to answer the incoming call from Tony.

“Everything you had on this Wesley kid checks out, no criminal history or secret ties to any Hydra related groups, or anything else you have to worry about. However, I tried tracking and hacking into his phone and it seems to be wiped clean. So I got into his phone records with his cell company and his last call was made to an unsaved number connected to someone named Kendall, last known address in Nebraska.”

“Send it to us, please.”

They were on their feet as soon as the call ended, grabbing the mission bags abandoned in the doorway and heading off to their respective rooms to repack for the trip.

In nearly the same moment, you were in your safe house in Nebraska, rounding the corner to enter Wesley’s room. He knew something was wrong by the way your eyes watered and your shaky hand held onto the bugging device.

“They found us.” There was no questioning tone in his voice, but you answered with a nod anyway.

“Pack everything you brought and get out of here, drive toward the west coast until you run out of gas and hide wherever you stop.”

“What?! I can’t leave you here! They’ll just take you back and it’ll be worse than before.”

“I’ll be fine, Wes,” you assured him with a gentle squeeze of your hand over his. “I planned for this too, and if I know them as well as I think, I’ll be free to come find you.”

-

Wesley was packed and gone within the next hour, and you worked quickly to transform the space, make it seem as if you’d been the only one to reside in the home. Once that was set, you changed clothes and positioned yourself in an armchair against the wall in the front room, a gun resting in your lap. You didn’t move when a knock was heard on the front door that night, simply waited until the visitors got impatient and picked the lock to force their way in.

“You worried us, printsessa, disappearing like that,” Natasha addressed you in a chilling tone as the two of them stopped a few feet away from you. “And we’ll deal with that later, after you tell Wesley to come out so we can punish him first.”

“He’s not here,” you told her calmly. “His only job was to bring me here--”

“And take the tracker out of your leg, which we will be putting back,” Wanda interjected with a stern expression. “Now, you can either come with us to the car willingly or we’ll drag you.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things.” You stood slowly, lifting the gun to your temple as you went. “Your only choices are to leave me here and go back to the way your lives were before I came in, or you can let me die. If you take me again, I’ll just fight you every day until you wish you’d killed me yourself. No matter how you manipulate my mind, my true self will never love someone who wants to control me. I’ll tell you how much I hate you for ruining my life every second I’m able, and I’ll kill myself the moment I get the chance to do so.”

You noticed the glassy look in their eyes as they faced each other, and you knew they were having a silent conversation in their minds. Seconds felt like minutes as they seemed to discuss their options, eventually turning back to face you. Wanda was fully crying now, and Natasha seemed to be physically holding back her own emotional break.

“We always thought we’d be able to love and care for you until our dying days.” Her shaky voice filled the quiet room. “But we understand if you don’t want that, and we’re sorry that you’ll never be able to love anyone else.”

Before you had time to react, Natasha was pulling a gun out and aiming it at your heart, the sound of the shot echoing and triggering Wanda’s instant sobbing. Natasha was quick to pull her into her arms, facing her away from you as you tumbled to the ground, your own weapon sliding away as your free hand weakly pressed against the oversized sweatshirt that covered your wound.

The two women hurried out of the house as you began to choke and cough up blood, not able to stomach hearing or seeing anymore, and the sound of a car speeding off echoed throughout the neighborhood. Waiting another minute or two to be sure they left, you got up to walk off to the bathroom, wiping the fake blood off your palm the best you could. After slipping the bulletproof vest off your torso and washing your hands, you quickly rinsed your mouth and brushed your teeth to get rid of the red stains, lifting your head to look in the mirror with a smile when you were done.

You looked pretty good for a dead woman.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @nat-km-mh @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @bebe404 @seventeen0 @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @fayhar @becka107 @wannabe-fic-reader @beforeoursecrets @cosmicbrownies7 @messuhp @mjaudrey @sxphiaswitch @trikruismybitch @muted-stoneheart @multi-images @just-a-normalpersons @want-to-watch-it-burn @stop-drop-and-drumroll @stickystudentlightmug @pianogirl2121 @welcometothepeanutgallery @witchxaf @natashadeservedmore @sakurat123 @darkangelxoxo @haiiiloeee2

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's Delicate: Part II

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here's the second part in It's Delicate, my first chapter fic. I've planned out kind of where I see this eventually going! Thank you to anyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. It really means the world to me.

Content Warnings: Expletive language (3 uses), mentions of drug use, sexual innuendo

READ PART I

It's Delicate Masterlist

It's Delicate

Sitting on the plane, Spencer looks out from the little window. For hours, there’s been nothing but corn fields and clouds. It’s eerily peaceful, being there high above the clouds. His whole life Spencer has felt this distance between him and everyone else, but nothing makes that feeling more prominent than being strapped in a glorified metal box 35,000 feet off the Earth’s surface. But the thing is, Spencer does need to be flying above the trees to feel lonely. He can do that with two feet on the ground.

Luke sits across Spencer, the table between them and a deck of playing cards are spread out across its surface. He has to nudge Spencer’s leg from under the table, trying to bring him back to reality as he stares out the window.

“Whatcha thinking,” Luke asks, Spencer has been noticing more and more that Luke is one of the few people that actually listens to him.

Spencer, whose mind is racing too fast to even formulate an articulate thought, attempts to dodge Luke’s question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Reid, these cases are hard for all of us, you gotta know that man,” Luke says, laying down a four of a kind.

Spencer narrows his eyes, shocked that it hasn’t clicked yet for the rest of the team. He cracks his neck, preparing to answer Luke.

“We almost locked up an innocent man, Alvez. I almost sent another man to the same fate as myself. What kind of fucked up message is that?” Spencer says, throwing down the cards on the table. He doesn’t wait for Luke to respond.

“I fold,”

Spencer walks off into the small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to think about his increased reliance on coffee, because he knows it’s a hot cup of coffee or a cold needle of Dilaudid in his veins. Spencer checks his watch, it’s 10:17 pm, maybe too late to find a meeting at a church or rec center somewhere.

He sneaks a peak at his phone, which was still unfortunately on Airplane Mode, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to see if Y/N has responded. He doesn’t know much about her, just as much as she knows about him.

It’s a brave new world for Spencer and he’s knee deep into the unknown.

Spencer can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He just knows that the minute he gets home, a certain tech expert will be ringing him. He knows that it’s Luke’s way of caring, but for someone who’s been alone for so long, having people that actually care is almost drowning.

Walking back to his seat, Spencer hands Luke a coffee. He smiles slightly; it’s the awkward smile that he used to make when intimating police chiefs and idiot cops would look him up and down like he’s a TA. It’s a peace offering for Luke, who despite his tough looking exterior, is one of the kindest people Spencer knows.

“Look, Reid. I’m sorry that we didn’t put it together. It’s just that man that we caught, he’s not like you. He’s not innocent of crimes, he’s just innocent of this crime,” Luke says in an attempt to make Spencer feel a little bit better.

“The thing is Luke, I’m exactly like that man,”

Spencer returns to staring out the window. The cards and the coffee on the table are long ignored for the silence that is found when you’re high above the clouds.

--

Spencer hears Tara and Emily murmur quietly about going out for a round of drinks. Luke accepts, while JJ and Matt decline, eager to get home to their families. Emily looks over at Spencer, her eyes silently scanning him, his body language. Spencer knows that there’s nothing he can hide from Emily, so there’s no use in trying to pretend he’s alright when she can take one look at him and know that nothing is right.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. I plan on visiting my mom tomorrow and mornings are usually better for her,” Spencer says, slinging his go bag around his shoulders and making the trek back to the security to check out.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sound of the crickets chirping as he trudges along. Spencer tries not to think about the man, Richard, who was almost locked up for a crime that he didn’t commit. Spencer is pretty sure that being the person to throw an innocent man in jail is worse than being the innocent man in jail.

Spencer’s phone buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence of his walk. He looks at the phone to see a couple of messages from Y/N. Spencer slides open the lock to his phone and hits the button to read her messages.

Y/N: Spencer...that has a nice ring to it. So tell me a little bit about yourself. Your big three, but as books. Go! 🌞🌙⬆️

Furrowing his brow, Spencer reads the message over again. He does not have a clue what “big three” means, but it seems like some sort of pop culture thing that he’s not skilled in. He wants to text Garcia for a translation, but he’s also not too keen on telling her how he came across Y/N’s number.

Y/N: I assume you’re working, but I'm kind of impatient so I’ll give you mine 🙃 I’m a Little Women sun, an Emma moon, and an In Cold Blood rising.

Y/N: Oh no….I hope my astrology didn’t turn you off

Y/N: Not that I was trying to turn you on

Y/N: omg Y/N please shut the fuck up

Astrology? Spencer isn’t one to judge, but he’s a scientist first and foremost. The idea that there is something written about him in the stars seems like ludicrous. He decided to ignore the other messages, particularly the ones with a little more than slight innuendo.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m sorry I just got out of work. As for my big three, I’m not sure about astrology. I don’t particularly believe in pseudoscience. But those are good choices. In Cold Blood is an excellent choice. Capote spent years researching the case. In fact his prose and technique inspired the entire “Nonfiction novel” genre. The world of journalism and true crime would not be where it is without Capote’s work.

Y/N: Oh my god. You are a total nerd. 🙀

That stops Spencer right in his tracks. He’s only a couple of yards away from the Volvo at this point, but somehow it feels a million miles away. You are a total nerd. The words replay in his mind as the small gray bubbles pop up again. Spencer can feel his heart constrict at Y/N’s words. It’s ridiculous, he’s nearly 34 and is getting upset that a stranger called him a nerd. Spencer unlocks his car and tosses his go bag, phone included onto the passenger seat.

After a couple of minutes his phone buzzes again. He’s half tempted to answer it, but the way his heart seems to beat faster tells him to ignore it.

Y/N: I fucking love it and I think you’ll love this too

Spencer’s entire demeanor changes as he reads the message. He’s always had difficulties reading emotion in writing, especially when he can’t analyze the handwriting. Sometimes, it’s even harder to judge inflection during conversations. Maybe that is why Spencer has spent all this time studying people, studying the way that their minds work. Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, another message pops up.

Y/N: Meet Capote and Second Cat

Y/N: They are the loves of my life

Spencer: They are very...distinguished looking. Capote is an excellent name choice then. Second Cat is also quite catchy.

Spencer hesitates before sending the message, he notices that Y/N uses what Garcia calls “emojis” quite frequently. He assumes that it’s some sort of “texting lingo” that expresses emotion in small graphics. Great, he thinks. He already has a difficult time deciphering Y/N’s cryptic wording and now he’s got to analyze these emojis.

Maybe he should profile her. He re-reads the message and settles on a “😄” because he figures that he can’t go wrong with offering Y/N a smile.

Spencer: I don’t have a cat, but when I was a kid I always wanted one, they’re quite good companions for those that live several different kinds of lifestyles. From active to sedentary, they are adaptable and independent. Honestly they are the perfect pet.

Y/N: Is this your way of telling you’re a crazy cat man? 😜 🙀

Spencer, still sitting in his car that’s parked in the parking lot, chuckles at Y/N’s response to his message. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore his rambling when it’s done through 1s and 0s and there isn’t a face to the words.

Spencer: I’m actually more of a fish guy

Y/N: Like a “I-like-to-go-fishing-and-post-picture-of-myself-kissing-my-catch-on-Tinder” kind of fish guy or...I can’t think of any other kind of fish men

Spencer, not totally understanding the obvious joke that Y/N is trying to make, settles on something that he hasn’t really ever tried: being himself.

Spencer: Not quite sure what a Tinder is, but I think fishing is terrifying and kissing a fish is something out of nightmares. But his name is Leo

Y/N: DiCaprio?

Spencer: Uhh, Tolstoy

Y/N: Good😉 ⚔️🕊️ 🇷🇺

Spencer glances at his clock on the control panel, it tells him that he’s been messaging with Y/N back and forth for nearly 22 minutes. He nearly forgot how tired he was.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m so sorry but, I just got to my car to drive home from work. I’ll text you tomorrow morning about the book club, maybe we can figure out some things.

Y/N: OMG Spencer!! you should have told me. I’ve been talking ur ear off. sleep well and yes please tomorrow we can talk about the book club

Y/N: Good night, Book Buddy 😴

Spencer wants to respond to Y/N, but he doesn’t know what to say. She seems to text so easily, and judging by that, she must be around Spencer’s age or a little bit younger. Besides JJ and Penelope, Spencer has never had a friend close to his age. It’s a strange new territory for him and he’s walking in head first into No Man’s Land.

He starts his Volvo, the check engine still lights but, reminding him once again to go get it fixed. Driving away from the parking lot, Spencer hands over his ID to Gina, the security guard. She checks his ID and gives him a tired smile. Spencer, as he drives home to his apartment, thinking about what books he and Y/N will read together. He wonders what kind of books are her favorite, if they have any authors that they can obsess over together, or if what she thinks a poet’s prose is.

The summer air rushing in through the window is nowhere as warm and as comforting as thought of Spencer finally having a friend that isn’t able to read the scars of his past in the text bubbles that pop up on her screen.

--

When Spencer opens his eyes for the first time that morning, he isn’t sure where he is. Sometimes, before he can stop his thoughts from travelling there, Spencer thinks he’s still in jail. He hates the feeling of terror that rushes over him but he hates the idea of being vulnerable a little bit more. But the softness of his pillows and the coolness of his cotton sheets remind him that he’s not sleeping on a hard cot with only a layer of fabric over his body. The light streams in through the half closed blinds, and Spencer judges by how brightly the sun shines in, it must be around 9:45 am.

He supposes that he prefers the way the sun’s rays paint horizontal bars across his face more than the vertical bars that cast gray shadows over his cell at Milburn Penitentiary.

It’s a day off from work, so Spencer didn’t set an alarm, instead allowing his mind and his body to catch up on some much needed rest. The nightmares have been getting better, but his dreams are still haunted by the way that he hardly recognizes himself anymore. Deciding that it will be a day spent in pajamas, Spencer goes to his bookshelf in his bedroom to pick out a couple of novels to read while he drinks his morning coffee and defrosts some of Luke’s strawberry pastries.

Before heading out of his room, Spencer stops himself in the doorway. He replays the events of last night. He declined to go out with the rest of the team, while he walked to his car he thought about the crickets telling the temperature, and he read over Y/N’s messages.

Y/N.

He promised he’d text her back in the morning about their book club. Last night, she didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s long messages and awkward phrasing. He still doesn’t really know how this Book Buddy thing would work, but since he found Y/N’s number on the flyer, he can only assume that she knows what to do. He leaps on his bed, landing with thud on his belly, to grab his phone that charges on his nightstand.

Spencer settles at his kitchen table, a cup of steaming hot Dark Roast coffee in a Captain Spock mug in one hand and, surprisingly, his phone in the other. He scrolls through the messages from last night, Y/N’s cat and emojis tempt a smile to Spencer’s face.

Not entirely sure how to start the conversation again, Spencer looks around for inspiration until his eyes land on a certain fish tank in the corner of his apartment. He snaps a quick picture of Leo and attaches it to the message.

Spencer: Good Morning from Leo & Spencer

Spencer sets down his phone after a moment when he realizes that Y/N is probably not going to answer him back in a couple of seconds. He takes out a strawberry pastry from his freezer and puts it into the toaster oven on a non-stick baking sheet. His thumbs run across the texture of the book he started on the plane ride after his and Luke’s ill fated poker game. It's a thin book of collected essays on the meaning of life. Camus, to Spencer, is a little pessimistic with his droning on about the meaninglessness of life. Though Spence has seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he still has to believe that there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.

His toaster oven rings, altering him so that his toasted strawberry pastry is cooked. He plates his breakfast and pours himself another cup of coffee- he’ll need it to get through Camus’s section on Absurdism this early in the morning. But the flash of Spencer’s phone screen sends him reaching for his phone. Y/N replied to his message.

Y/N: hi leo!!!

Y/N: and you too Spencer :) Did you get a good night’s sleep. You got back late it seems.

Spencer, taking a bite of the strawberry pastry, ignores the burning sensation in his mouth. He types out a response to Y/N as he washes down the bite with a swing of coffee.

Spencer: I did, thank you. Can you tell me a little bit more about this book buddy thing. From what I gathered from the flyer it’s like a little book club of our own and we meet at the bookstore?

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to respond. The little gray dots pop up almost immediately after Spencer’s message is delivered.

Y/N: That’s about right! Is it okay if I call you? Kinda easier to talk that way 🤷‍♀️

Spencer reads over the message a couple of times. He doesn’t really like to talk on the phone and only does it out of necessity. He’s pretty sure that his voice is grating and his vocal fry is quite irritating. Yet, he finds himself replying “yes” to Y/N. Soon enough, his phone buzzes in his hand and Spencer has to remind himself how to pick up a call.

“Spencer? Um, this is Spencer Reid, right?” the voice says. It’s a woman’s voice and he can only assume that it’s Y/N, considering it is her phone number calling him.

“Y/N, uh hi. This is Dr. Spencer- I mean this is Spencer,” he says, nearly forgetting that Y/N doesn’t know him as Dr. Reid, but as just Spencer. It’s been a long time since someone has known him as Spencer.

“Oh great! It’s wonderful to finally have a voice to your name. So about these buddy reads. You seem to have a good grasp of what they are,” Y/N’s voice trails off a little bit at the end and Spencer finds it natural to fill in the silence.

“Yes, the flyer was quite informative. But I was wondering, do we read the same books or do we read different books?” Spencer asks, trying to restrain himself from scaring Y/N off. But something about her made him think that she didn’t scare easily.

Y/N chuckles lightly in the speaker of her phone, “that’s a good question, uh, I was actually going to ask you what you would rather. We can read the same books, or if it’s okay with you we can choose what the other would read for that week,”

“Oh really?” Spencer says, very much aware how his voice rises a couple of octaves. He can’t trust himself to hold back on rambling over the phone Y/N, so he resorts to using his strained, brittle voice that’s full of hesitation and restraint.

“That’s the plan, so whatcha thinking, Spencer,” Y/N says playfully, like she can sense that phone conversations maybe not make him feel at ease. There’s something so natural and silvery about her voice; it reminds Spencer of an audiobook reader. While he’s not too keen on audiobooks, he’s sure that he’d listen to anything she reads or has to say.

“Um, I think it sounds interesting to pick out books for each other. I tend to gravitate towards more technical books or even books that aren’t in English so, uh, I think it would be interesting to get out of my comfort zone,” Spencer says, cringing internally at using the word “interesting” twice in a couple of sentences.

“Well, as long as you don’t pick out something in physics or anything by Ayn Rand then I’d say we’re good,” Y/N says. Spencer thinks it’s a joke, but he’s not too sure how to respond.

“Will you still be my Book Buddy if I read 1 out of 2 of those?” Spencer asks, hoping she’d get that he is trying to continue the joke.

“Oh no Spencer please don’t tell me you’re an Ayn Rand fanboy,” she says, and by the airy way she laughs, Spencer ventures to guess his joke landed successfully.

“So,” Spencer starts, he never has made plans with people outside of his team, and on top of that, there’s something about Y/N’s quickness that makes him a little nervous to meet her.

“I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I? Please Spencer, if you’re going to be my Book Buddy, you’re going to have to get used to me talking a lot, especially you pick out good books, which, I already have a feeling you’re going to be favorite Book Buddy,”

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t really know how to respond. He lets out something in between a strangled laughter and a noncommittal chuckle.

“So,” Y/N says, mirroring Spencer’s earlier words, “so are you free tonight, I can meet you at the bookstore..”

Y/N’s voice trails off and Spencer leaps to finish her sentences. It doesn’t feel like his interjecting or interrupting, but like he’s snapping a puzzle piece together.

“Does 7 work?” “7 is great, Spencer. It’s a date,”

Those three little words send Spencer’s eyes flying wide open. He scrambles to come up with answer to louden the silence that falls, but he swears he can hear a string of quiet curses before Y/N manages to squeak out a small “goodbye,”

Y/N’s last words play back in Spencer’s ears. He scolds himself for being so weird and awkward that the very idea of going on a date with him would send Y/N in a tizzy. It’s not a date, because Spencer can’t think about it being a date. It’s not a date because of the looming photo above his mantle that freezes his future in the past. It’s not a date because of the nightmare of vertical bars that haunt his dreams

It’s not a date. It’s so not a date because Spencer would call Luke to come over to help him if it was.

“Hey Luke,” Spencer says, trying to control the nervous waves in his voice, “no man, I’m fine, it’s uh, easier if you just come over. I’m fine, really,”

Y/N: I really hope you're not an Ayn Rand fanboy 😉

It’s so not a date.

--THANK YOU FOR READING--

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[tennessoui]

33 obikin 🙏

bless i can't write anything straightforward or normal to save my life

33. Celebrity/Fan AU (modern AU, singer Obi-Wan)(1.8k)

Obi-Wan had only wanted to cook, really.

He’d decided on Tuesday night that he would take Friday off as a sort of self-care day. He needed it. In the midst of a world tour, finally with a week to breathe back in his home city, he’d wanted to relax for a day. One day without music or an audience of any kind, just him in an apartment filled mostly with dusty counters and almost expired foods.

He loves his fans, because of course he loves his fans. He loves the fact that people relate to what he writes enough to listen to his albums, although he has gone through several different sounds over the course of his career. He loves that he can be 39 and still touring the world, even though he started his career as a 13-year-old-child-actor turned teen-pop-sensation turned serious musician turned perhaps-washed-up-serious-musician turned very-much-serious-musician-actually-this-time.

If not for his fans, he wouldn’t be able to afford this house on the outskirts of his town. He wouldn’t be able to boast his performances in three-fourths of the world’s major cities. He wouldn’t be able to continue to have a career. No. He loves his fans.

It’s just that sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he just wants peace and quiet, a moment to himself, where he can float away without concerning himself with the flow of the setlist, the timing of the encore, the lyrics and rhythms of songs he wrote a decade ago when he was practically a different person.

It’s just such a shame that Obi-Wan leaves the handle of the wooden spoon too close to the stove’s open flame when he stirs and adjusts the heat to low for an hour so he can go soak off his stress in the bath.

It’s just such a shame that the smoke alarms from the kitchen cannot be heard over the music he’s playing in the master bath.

Obi-Wan sinks beneath the water, enjoying the unyielding pressure. He doesn’t want to retire, he tells himself. He has so many more songs to write. Sure, he hasn’t written an actual good song in two years and people are starting to notice. Sure, the intense scrutiny is driving him up the wall and killing anything creative that he’s ever harbored in his soul. Sure, his muscles and bones ache and he had almost had a breakdown the other day when he first walked through the door of his home and couldn’t remember if there was a bathroom on the first floor, but.

But he doesn’t want to retire yet. He just has to admit he’s waning, even to himself. Whatever inspiration he had has been used up or otherwise escaped. All he has now to his name are songs that have already been sung.

He doesn’t know how long he spends in the bath, really. Long enough that the album changes twice. Long enough that his fingers prune up and his eyes grow lax. Long enough that he tells himself that no matter how soothing the lavender essence is, it would be very dangerous for him to fall asleep in the bath because the news articles alone would be enough to raise him from the dead only to strike him down again.

(Long enough for the wooden spoon’s handle next to the pot to catch on fire. Long enough for that fire to burn down to the oil on the spoon itself. Long enough for the dishtowel it was resting on to ignite as well.)

The smoke alarm clues in before Obi-Wan does.

Luckily, Obi-Wan had paid extra for a smoke alarm that, when registering a certain threshold of smoke, sends a notification to the closest fire department.

Luckily, this all happens while Obi-Wan is unaware, but before he becomes in peril.

He actually remains unaware of the whole thing right up until the moment a fully-suited firefighter kicks through the door of his bathroom.

That’s when he jerks up, very unceremoniously. “Fucking Chr--what?” he shouts, raising a hand to cover his exposed chest for reasons unknown.

“Obi--??” the masked firefighter starts to say, in something akin to shock, but like Obi-Wan is going to give ground here and now. He’s cornered the market on shock on this occasion, thanks much.

“What the--”

“Your house is on fire!” the man yells over him, looking around the bathroom wildly until he sees a fluffy off-white bathrobe hanging by a hook near the door. He throws it at Obi-Wan, who just catches it before it can get wet.

“My house is what?” Obi-Wan splutters, standing automatically to put on the piece of clothing. The helmet of the firefighter turns away to give him privacy. Despite himself, he finds it rather endearing. He ties the belt around his waist tightly, stepping out of the tub.

As soon as he’s out of the water, the other man swoops him up and over his shoulder. Obi-Wan lets out a scream which he’ll probably be absolutely mortified about later.

But now, what’s more distressing is the way his body is responding to the hold he’s been placed in. He’s thirty-nine years old. He’s definitely too old for this. He should definitely know better than to be even slight aroused by such a display of...strength and stalwartness and--

The man walks him out of the bathroom and the very first thing he notices is the heat that hits his skin. “Oh!” he whimpers and then yells wordlessly in absolute panic as he realizes what this heat must mean. His house is on fire. Actual fire. Actually on fire. There’s a fireman here. Because his house is on fire.

He’s only a little ashamed to admit that there’s a fair amount of thrashing that happens immediately upon this realization.

Enough so, in fact, that the firefighter transfers him from over his shoulder to cradled in his arms, so as to hold tightly against the movement of his limbs. “Stop--moving!” the man says irritably. Obi-Wan wants to tell him to work on his bedside manner, seeing as how his house is on fire, but he doesn’t have time before they descend the stairs and he can see the actual flames.

The stairs themselves are fine, which makes sense. Hot air rises. The dining room, parlor, and entryway look like they’re absolutely covered in fire though, so really his fireman was just in time to save him.

The smoke is acrid against the back of his throat, and Obi-Wan buries his face against the textured shoulder of his rescuer's uniform just so he doesn’t have to look or breathe the air, although he feels the smoke already working its way through his lungs. Well. That might just be his imagination.

They’re out of the house in a matter of seconds, and Obi-Wan’s eyes water immediately at the difference in air quality.

The man who’s been carrying him sets him down gently on the lip of the fire truck, far enough away from the house that he’s not in any danger--though most of the place is fine still--but close enough that someone can keep an eye on him. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t remembered to grab his phone. That phone was very important. Hopefully the other firefighters will be able to stop the fire before it reaches his bathroom.

His firefighter seems intent on hovering close to him, even as there's a fire raging in the background. Obi-Wan supposes that there's around five firefighters on his property, including the one in front of him. The other four should probably be able to handle it, whether or not the fifth decides to join in or stay hovering around Obi-Wan like he's a sickly orphan.

“Are you okay?” An earnest voice asks him from under the helmet.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say he’s fine, that at most he just feels like an idiot for being stranded outside in his bathrobe as a group of public service officials fight a fire he certainly, most likely, probably caused.

But he starts to cough instead, and his firefighter steps forward immediately, placing one hand on his back and the other on his chest, both beneath his robe. He hopes the man can't feel his shiver. That would be even more mortifying than his current situation.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Obi-Wan wheezes after the coughs have passed. The helmet the man is wearing only shows a quarter of his face, but he looks awfully boyish. “Aren’t you a little young to be a firefighter?”

“Deep breaths, please,” the man (boy?) tells him, which isn’t a proper response. “There’s an ambulance already on the way--it’s protocol, sir--but yes, I’m trained in emergency medical response.”

“A man of many talents,” Obi-Wan says dazedly, rubbing a hand against his chest where it aches as he watches a few men run around his house with a house. “And here all I can do is sing.”

“Hopefully you still can, sir,” his firefighter responds. “Only I’ve got tickets for your show in two days, and my little sister has been excited for weeks over this.”

Obi-Wan laughs despite himself. He’s sure it sounds at least a little bit hysterical. “Would you like me to dedicate a song for you? The man who saved my life?”

Even the helmet can't hide the nice shade of red his firefighter blushes at those words.

“What’s your name?” Obi-Wan asks, smoothing down his still-damp hair. It feels important to know his name. It feels just as important to look his best, given the circumstances.

The firefighter ducks his head and takes off his helmet. Obi-Wan wonders if the man should be going back to work, or if he’s been assigned victim duty. Either way, Obi-Wan isn’t going to complain, definitely not after his firefighter shakes out his hair and turns to face him with a sheepish grin stretching across a handsome face. “‘M Anakin,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan is awfully aware that he’s dressed only in his bathrobe in front of a very pretty firefighter who seems to know who he is--who seems to have tickets for his upcoming show. “Call me Obi-Wan,” he tells him, already trying to remember his manager’s phone number so that he can bump Anakin and his sister’s tickets up to the VIP section. It’s the least he can do, after all. Anakin had just saved his life.

“Wish it was under better circumstances,” Anakin says with a shy sort of twist of his mouth. Obi-Wan gets the impression that it isn’t just his little sister that’s been excited for his concert. An impression that is solidified quickly as Anakin tacks on, “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Obi-Wan laughs incredulously at this, at the entire situation, at the man in front of him, at the fact that some part of his brain has started composing a song the second his firefighter had smiled at him in his bathrobe with his tired face and wet hair, kitchen burning his house down because he’d forgotten basic fire-safety rules in favor of his own self-care soak.

“Well,” he says, patting his firefighter’s knee, “I don’t have to tell you that I’m a huge fan of your work as well.”

[nightshade-minho]

-Blue Book- (11) 

Warnings: anger, stress, y/n briefly wants to murder felix, a lot of negative emotions, headaches, light suggestiveness, britney spears cameo (nah just kidding- or am i) 

Wc: 4.1k (finally a blue book part that’s longer than 2k)

Stop. Stop thinking about her. Stop thinking about how she’s probably out with Minho right now, having fun and laughing over inside jokes.

Sometimes he wished he could just dig into his brain and remove all traces of you. He simply couldn't think of another way to truly get rid of you, eradicate every remnant that stayed in his brain, reminding him how he’d felt back then. 

Years had passed, and he still wasn't over it. There was a tiny part of him that thought maybe seeing you again would calm him down, and remind him that it wasn't a big deal. You'd changed, and he had too. It was time to get over petty high school grievances.

And yet, when he saw you with Minho again...he realized it simply wasn't possible. You were going to plague him for the rest of your life, and he knew it.

"I know pancakes are a weird choice for dinner but- Are you listening to me? Earth to Chan-"

Chan snapped back to reality, blinking as he stared at Felix, who pushed a plate of pancakes towards him, a concerned look on his face.

"I was asking you where you're staying at right now."

"Oh." Chan nodded thankfully, taking the fork and digging in. He was terribly hungry, and he'd missed Felix's cooking. His pancakes were always so soft and fluffy...a lot like him, to be honest.

To be honest, he didn't quite know yet. He hadn't left his parents on good terms, and now he found himself penniless unless he made up with them. Not one to beg, he'd decided to look around for a job. So far, he wasn’t all that successful. There was a heavy weight on his heart preventing him from truly committing to his work. He found it impossible to focus.

Felix sighed, taking a seat opposite him. " Chan...do you not have a place to stay?"

He shook his head finally, his gaze on the plate as he ate. He'd already told Felix the situation with his parents, somewhat. If his perception of Felix was right, he would be overcome with sympathy.

He was right. Felix wrung his fingers, his thoughts racing. He hated seeing the distraught expression on Chan's face. The words were on the tip of his tongue- the only thing stopping him was the thought of how you'd react.

You'd be pissed, beyond doubt.

Felix swallowed. Then again, this was his apartment. You didn't really have the right to oppose him if he wanted to let someone else stay for a bit. Besides, maybe he'd be able to talk some sense into you?

How bad could it be?

"Chan..." He began, inhaling.

"Do you want to stay here? At least until you find a place."

Chan sighed. There it was. He wasn’t surprised to find out he’d predicted correctly. Felix had been his best friend, after all. He knew him like the back of his hand. "Are you sure you...and your roommate...would be fine with it?"

"I'm positive." He lied, scratching the back of his neck as Chan groaned. 

He didn't really have another choice. Psyching himself up to agree, Chan sucked in a breath and pushed away his intruding emotions.

"Sure."

***

You knocked on the door, inhaling deeply as you ran through all the different ways you were going to murder Felix in your head. You couldn’t believe it. He really had the audacity to not only invite him over, but also neglect to inform you the same.

Tapping your foot, you rubbed your forehead as the door remained closed. Sighing, you dug into your bag for your keys, procuring them after a few seconds of searching through the crumpled chewing gum packets and loose coins. You really had to clear out your bag sometime.

You entered your apartment, yawning as you shed your coat, heading to the kitchen for a drink. Your throat was dry, your head pounding with stress. Ugh, what a bad day it had been. Marginally better due to the time you’d spent with Minho- but still bad. Chan’s sudden appearance really had put a damper on everything you’d done since then.

As you reached the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks.

Fuck. You turned around immediately when you saw who was sat at the table, an empty plate in front of him as he scrolled through his phone. He hadn’t seen you standing in the doorway. Yet.

Carefully, you started padding away as quietly as possible. Unfortunately, the gods really weren’t in the mood to smile upon you today.

“Y/n?” 

His voice was tired, bare of any emotion whatsoever. You twisted your neck to look at him, opening your mouth and closing it. He was staring at you, his eyes devoid of feeling, his lips pressed in a thin line. You had no clue what to say. Looking at his face again brought back memories you’d much rather forget.

“It’s...nice to see you again.” He mumbled, tearing his gaze away from you.

‘Nice’ was really not the word. 

“Yeah. How have you been?” You managed to ask, swallowing the lump in your throat. He drummed his fingers on the table top as his mind searched for an appropriate response. You watched him, your heart clenching as you remembered the way his hand felt in yours. 

“Fine.” He finally decided to say. “I’ve been fine, more or less.” After all, he was used to lying.

“And you? Having fun with Minho?” There was a slight bite to his voice as he uttered the words, making you raise an eyebrow. Suddenly, the anger you harbored towards him was reignited. What was he implying? It shocked you that he could talk like that, without a trace of apology in his tone. As if it was you who’d betrayed him, and not the other way around.

“For your information, yes. We’re having a lot of fun.” You snapped, turning and leaving the kitchen to go straight to your room. Just read a book, listen to some music and calm yourself down. He’ll be gone soon.

Chan watched you walk away, his hands balling into fists. So you had absolutely no remorse, whatsoever. 

He bit his lip, hating the weird amalgamation of emotions that were gripping him like a vice. He’d felt envy flood him as you said it, rubbing it in his face. Shaking his head, he turned back to his phone, biting his lip.

***

You knocked on Felix's door, biting your lip in anger as you waited for him to open it. Tapping your foot, you shook your head. Why was he still here, even? He should be gone by now.

"Looking for Felix?"

You started, turning around with a glare on your face.

Shit. He was way too close to you, his face inches away from yours. All you'd have to do is lean in just the tiniest bit, and your lips would be on his...

"He went out. Errands. Won't be back till tonight."

You groaned, taking a step back as you rolled your eyes. "Okay, whatever."

Chan watched you, an amused smile making its way onto his face. He'd flustered you a little, that much was evident. He wasn't quite sure yet if that was something to be proud of...but it was the little victories that counted, right? A part of him was glad that he still managed to have some sort of effect on you, even after all these years.

"You know if it's important, you can always tell me. Is there anything I can get you?"

You scoffed, shaking your head as you backed up further, your hand on the doorknob. "This is my home." you reminded him, his incredulous sentence rubbing you the wrong way.

Chan almost felt bad for you.

Shrugging, he turned to walk away. "Not anymore."

"Huh?" His words took a while to sink into your brain, and you raised your eyebrow in confusion. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Y/n...is that any way to talk to your new roommate?"

No. No way. Felix wouldn't...

"What?!"

"Not forever." He shrugged, his hand running through his hair. "Just until I find a permanent place to stay. Until then though, I'll be here."

This couldn't be happening. The anger was increasing slowly, rage directed to your roommate as well as the man in front of you. 

Chan looked back at you, sighing as he noted the upset expression growing on your face. Did you really hate him that much?

"Look. I'll stay out of your hair." He muttered, his tone clipped. "I don't think it will be that difficult for us to co-exist if we manage to be civil to each other."

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. "Sure. I don't care." You had already planned on remaining in your room for the entirety of his stay, however impractical that would be. You weren’t ready to dig up all that trauma from your teenhood just yet.

Chan gritted his teeth, his eyes searching yours as he thought of what else to say. The atmosphere was tense- too many things left unsaid, half spoken promises lingering in the air between you. It was frustrating, yet Chan held himself back. He was an adult now. There was no space for immaturity or trivial grudges in his life currently- no, he had to stay strong. With his credentials, it would be fairly easy to land a job. He just had to speed the process up, and soon enough he’d be out of this apartment. 

So he took a deep breath and gave you a smile, turning around to go back to the kitchen. He prided himself in his decision, a small first step to eliminating his inability to let go.

You watched as he left, chewing on your lip. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you turned to go back into your room, grabbing your phone and dialing Felix’s number aggressively.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Um, I left to grab some groceries-”

“Did you really offer to let him stay at our place?” You asked, your tone calm as you gripped the bed sheets.

“W-well...yeah..” You heard him gulp on the line. “It’s just for a few days, Y/n, till he gets a job-”

“And do you know how long that’s going to take?” You hissed, rubbing your temple as you heard his footsteps in the kitchen.

“I...look, Y/n. You have every right to be angry. I’m sorry, I should have checked with you first before making a decision.”

“No shit.”

A sigh. “Look, I won’t be home till evening. Please um...keep it mature. Again, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, cutting the call and throwing your phone onto the mattress. It was going to be fine, as long as you stayed away. The apartment was small, so you couldn’t avoid running into him, though...whatever. It’d be fine, you’d be able to hold yourself out for a few days, if Felix was to be believed. You rubbed your forehead, groaning.

You were in dire need of a nap. 

Sighing, you fell back onto the cushy pillows, curling up on the mattress. Your head was throbbing with the beginnings of a headache. You needed a glass of water, but you weren’t going to leave your room today, at least until Felix comes back.

You hated the way your heart was still pounding, your emotions a jumbled mess. It was natural, right? To be this affected? He was your first love, after all. And he’d betrayed you. 

At first, you didn’t want to believe it. There was a part of you that hoped a tiny part of Chan had actually loved you, a part that hoped Minho was lying. But then you’d asked Felix about the ‘bet’, and the guilty look on his face told you everything you needed to know. 

Of course it had been suspicious, the popular guy coming up to talk to you- a lonely new kid who barely anyone talked to, especially when half his friend group were cold to you. But the more time you spent with him, the more you had begun to feel like he truly did love you. Was it even possible to fake emotions as well as he had? Chan was a good actor.

After you left, Chan never acknowledged the message you’d sent him. Not at all. You’d poured your heart out, for nothing. It had been the final nail in the coffin, the final incident convincing you that he’d never truly loved you back.

You sighed and sat up to switch the lights off, flooding the room in darkness as you buried your face in the pillow. There was complete silence in the room for a few minutes, and you let out a peaceful hum, snuggling further into the blanket. Sleep was beginning to overtake you slowly, your eyes closing as you slipped further into dreamland. You slept for about an hour, untroubled.

That is, until there was a loud crash from beyond the door, forcing you to shoot up and rub your eyes, anger coursing through you. You threw the blankets off your figure, storming up to your door and flinging it open. Ugh, fuck this. Fuck staying in your room and not causing trouble. You needed an outlet for this pent up anger, or you were going to fucking lose it.

“What the fuck was that?” You called out loudly, only to be returned with complete silence. Standing in the middle of the empty living room, you furrowed your brows in confusion.

The bathroom door opened just as you were ready to turn around and head back into your room. Swiveling around, you glared at Chan as he stepped out, a rather innocent look on his face. Innocent...nothing like the fact that he was fresh out of the shower, naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist.

For a minute, you were rendered dumb. Your eyes watched as his dripping wet hair trailed droplets of water down his torso, down the ridges of his abs and disappearing into the towel. You didn’t even know he looked like that underneath those clothes...

“Hey. Sorry for the noise.” Chan mumbled, pushing his hair back as he closed the door behind him. “The shower caddy fell down randomly. Don’t worry, I fixed it.” 

His blank expression slowly transformed into something more devious as he shut the door. He smirked as he observed your expression, his ego boosting as he realized he was the reason you were speechless.

“I- well-” You grunted and shook your head. “You fucked up my nap. Thanks a fucking lot.” You grumbled, crossing your arms as you kept your gaze fixed on his face. “Now if there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving.” You coughed, voice slightly shaky as you desperately tried to conceal your burning cheeks, 

“And...put some clothes on.” You grumbled before heading back. Before you could, though, you felt a hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back towards him.

Stopping yourself before you could stumble too close to him, you looked up at him angrily, yanking your wrist away. “What?” You hissed.

“You don’t look too well.” He said, lifting his hand to your forehead. Before he could press his hand to your skin though, you backed away out of his reach.

“I’m perfectly fine. It’s just a tiny headache.” You lied, your head throbbing with a migraine even as you said it.

“Hm.” Chan’s face softened a little as he sighed. “A headache? Do you need water? I have some pills that could help numb the pain.”

You shook your head vehemently. “I don’t want anything you offer me.” You tried to ignore the flash of hurt in his eyes as you said the words. No, Chan wasn’t the victim here, you were. What right did he have to display vulnerability?

“Fine.” Chan opened his mouth, looking like he had more to say. For a second, he contemplated blurting everything out then and there. He wanted you to know the pain he’d been living with through his years...he wanted you to know that despite your betrayal, you were all that was a constant in his mind. And yet, as he continued watching your icy glare, he knew you weren’t in a position to be amicable. 

“Get some rest.” He muttered, anger seeping in again at your coldness, mixing with the concern that was still etched into his heart.

“That’s what I was fucking doing before you woke me up so rudely.”

Ugh. God, he really did have enough of your behavior. 

“Stop being a brat, Y/n. Just because you’re sick doesn’t mean you get to be snippy with me. You have no right to be angry.”

The fuck? Oh, this entitled prick- 

“I have every right to be! This is my house you just barged into, I make the rules here. So shut up and leave me alone.” You spat out, clenching your fists.

Chan felt an unknown urge creep through his being as you continued your remarks, scrunching his eyes shut and trying to calm himself down for a second. Okay, so this definitely wasn’t the sunshiney Y/n he’d once known. 

“Felix asked me to stay, I didn’t barge in.. God, you really are a bitch. I’m a guest here, and yet you’re treating me like-”

That was the last straw. You inhaled deeply, feeling your headache grow worse as your anger amplified. You’d had enough. Biting your lip, you shoved past him and headed for the front door. You couldn’t be in the same space as this dickhead for a second longer.

“Where are you going?” His voice was confused, as he turned to look at you storming out in your pajamas.

“Fuck you. Away from here.” You explained, flashing him one last glare over your shoulder as you slammed the door behind you.

Chan stood in the middle of the room, letting out a deep sigh at your sudden departure. 

What was he going to tell Felix? He’d promised himself that he’d keep it civil. 

He seemed to be breaking a lot of promises lately...

***

You stood outside of the door, leaning against it and trying to calm down your breathing, chest heaving. Just the sight of him brought back memories you wished you could bury. How could you be expected to live in the same place as him without wanting to tear out your eyeballs?

Just when you’d thought you were finally moving on, he barreled his way back into your life. It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to be mature. 

You just wanted him to know you were no longer the meek little optimistic girl you once had been. Adult life has a cruel way of opening your eyes. 

Rose colored lenses eventually lead to dismay and disappointment. 

***

You didn’t realize you were going to Minho’s apartment until you reached his door, hand poised over the door to knock. Breathing in, you firmly rapped on the wood. A few minutes of silence passed, and you tilted your head in confusion. Minho usually answered the door right away, without too much delay.

You waited a bit before deciding to ring the doorbell, heaving a sigh of relief when the door finally opened, revealing a smiling Minho.

“Hey, thought it was you. I was in the shower.” Clearly. His hair was slightly wet and he’d clearly pulled on the first shirt he could find- unless he actually liked wearing 2009 Britney Spears t-shirts around the house.

Why was the universe chucking so many soaking wet boys at you today? At least Minho was clothed.

You chuckled as you pointed out the motif on the shirt. “’Oops I Did It Again’? Really?”

He shook his head, crossing his arms. “Hey, that music video is a masterpiece. Did you know it was released on my birthday?”

You giggled. “Of course it was.”

He smiled, before standing up straighter. “Wait, why are you here?”

You pursed your lips playfully. “Do I need a reason to visit one of my best friends?”

“Of course you don’t. We just spent time together in the afternoon, though. Is there a reason you’re back so early?” He questioned, placing a finger on his chin and pretending like he was deep in thought. “Oh, got it. You can’t get enough of me.” He said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, walking in as he stood aside to let you in. Minho’s apartment was smaller than the one you shared with Felix, but a lot more nicely decorated. You flopped down onto the sofa, sighing. “That’s not it.” You shook your head. “It’s Chan.”

“Oh. Him.” Minho cleared his throat, crossing his arms as he came to sit down next to you. “What about him?” He asked carefully.

“He’s staying with us.”

“What?” Minho wasn’t sure he’d heard right for a moment, his eyebrows raising slightly.

“Yeah, Felix let him stay. Until he gets a job, apparently.” You groaned, slipping off your shoes and curling your knees up to your chest. “I can’t stand being around him. Not after what he did to me. You understand, right?”

Minho stayed silent for a few minutes, swallowing the lump in his throat as he leaned back. “Right…”

You watched Minho, frowning at his expression. “Anyway, as I said, I couldn’t stay there. Um, can I crash here for a few days? He said he’ll get a job soon and move out, so it’ll be quick.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “Oh? Yeah! You can! You can stay.” He blurted, trying not to seem too eager. His ears turned a light shade of red as he watched you nod in relief, snuggling further into the cushions. “I’ll take the couch.” You mumbled, eyes fluttering as you rubbed your forehead for the millionth time.

“No, you take my bed. I’m alright on the couch.”

You opened an eye, shaking your head. “Minho, this is your home. Unlike Chan, I’m a good house guest.”

“Yeah but... I don’t want you out here on the couch alone. This isn’t exactly a nice neighborhood.”

You sat up, sighing. “I’d feel bad stealing your bed while you sleep on this lumpy couch.”

“Aha! So you admit it’s uncomfortable! That’s it, you’re sleeping in my bed. Besides, it’s big enough for the two of us!” 

Minho wished he could take it back almost as soon as he said it. “Um, I mean…”

 You raised your eyebrows, shrugging. “Uh, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” You sat up, a little shakily as your head swam. “God, my head hurts.”

Minho shot up to his feet, sighing. “Come on, I’ll take you to bed.” He grabbed your hand gently, taking you to his bedroom and making you sit down on the edge. You hummed in content, eyes still closed as you burrowed under the covers, snuggling into Minho’s pillows that faintly smelled of his cologne. It was comforting, and soon you found sleep overtaking you.

Minho sighed as he watched you fall asleep, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was nowhere near sleepy and had originally been planning on making some dinner before you came, but now he didn’t want to leave you alone.

Groaning, he lay down on his mattress, pulling the sheets over his body and making sure to leave a respectful amount of distance between you.

He watched you for a while, your eyelashes fluttering slightly as you slept, chest rising and falling with your breaths.

He didn’t know what he was feeling, exactly. There were strong emotions gripping his heart, most of them towards you, and yet he couldn’t act on any of them. Hell, he couldn’t even comprehend half of them.

Minho turned to face the ceiling, eyes following the tiny crack in the plaster. He couldn’t deny it any longer. 

Guilt. The heavy weight sat on his heart was guilt. Thick, all consuming guilt, that threatened to swallow him whole unless he came clean.

He knew he didn’t deserve you...not just because of how he’d acted, but also because of what he was keeping from you. He didn’t deserve for you to accept his apologies, not after the way he’d treated you. Not after he’d kept the complete truth about Chan from you.

Was he being an asshole? Chan was once his friend. A close friend, one he spent every day with. And yet he’d screwed him over.

For a minute, he wondered what would happen if he told you that he’d been the one to make the bet. He’d made Chan continue with it despite his reluctance. He’d noticed Chan actually falling in love with you, and yet had brushed it over. 

Would you still be beside him now if you knew?

He doesn’t want to find out. No. 

There was moonlight streaming through his window, illuminating the entire room too brightly. The light, combined with the remorse, ensured a sleepless night.

He glanced at you again. At least he’d have you by his side. For now...

[joonsrack]

Masterpiece | KTH x KNJ

+PAIRING: Kim Taehyung x Kim Namjoon

+GENRE: Oneshot, crack, angst, smidge of smut, College AU, stranger to lover

+WORD COUNT: ~13k

+RATING: 18+

+WARNING: Taehyung has face blindness, NSFW, (very) foul language, overuse of the word penis and it’s synonyms, pinning, misunderstandings, Namjoon is like real’ dumb, a little hanky panky but nothing scandalous.

+SUMMARY: 

“So let me recap here, you don’t know his name, his major, his department, his age, his number, nor his face. The only clue you have is this drawing, which basically looks like a textbook example of unrealistic body expectations. You apparently know every nook and cranny of his [REDACTED], but you didn’t have the decency to ask his name? You deserve this.” He cackles, angering Taehyung.

(OR the one where Taehyung has face blindness but that won't stop him from finding love. )

+A/N: Well, it’s been almost a year since I’ve posted anything, and almost as much time since i last wrote anything (except for the occasional guilt writing lmao). So this is me coming back with a vengeance (and the dumbest thing i’ve ever written). This is all thanks to (or to be blamed on) @minloop who put up with my non-stop messaging, gave me some plot ideas, and actually inspired me to finish this in three days. Thank you to my baby @emojihobi​ for the emotional support and the beta reading 💖

+Disclaimer: I got all my info on face blindness from google searches, so please forgive any inaccuracy.

Face blindness has definitely made Taehyung’s life difficult. 

There’s the obvious problem of not being able to recognize your parents. Remember this childhood trauma of holding a random stranger’s hands in the mall, thinking it’s your mother or father? Taehyung had to live through that many, many times; except he wouldn’t realize until said stranger would shake his hand off, or until his parents would swoop in to get him. The fact that he’s never been kidnapped is down to pure luck, really.

Making friends, you guessed it, has also been a challenge. It’s difficult explaining to kids why you ignored them when you saw each other in the hallway. Kids don’t always understand “I didn’t recognize you” as an explanation, especially if you’ve been in the same class since pre-k.

But this? This is a new and unforeseen crisis.

+

 His dorm room is very quiet, which is not unusual since he has a solo room. But he’s pretty sure he went to sleep with a plus one, and said plus one is nowhere to be seen. 

Now, he isn’t a stranger to one-night stands sneaking out after he falls asleep. He likes to take night conquests to his dorm room for this exact reason; He can go right to sleep, while they take themselves out. Easy breezy no string attached-y. That’s usually the way he wants it to be. 

But this time is different. Last night was different. Last night, Taehyung had the best night of his life, hands down. Best bangs of his existence. Bangs plural because they went more than once. How that’s even possible when his teenage years are long gone and days with multiple orgasms are less and less common, he has no idea.

He’s probably ruined for anyone else. Nothing could ever compare to the night he just spent getting his back blown out. 

Now, Taehyung is a sculptor. A very gifted one at that (if his teachers’ praises are anything to go by). Taehyung knows body proportions, knows perfect rations, all that stuff. He knows it on marble bodies, in sketches, in painting. Not on actual human beings.

Until last night.

Last night, he witnessed the body of a god. He scratched at perfect skin, held on to beautifully defined and strong arms, rode perfect thighs. Last night, he shed a tear at the view of some perfect knees. Last night, he realized that art truly imitates nature. 

And that’s not all.

Taehyung can admit he owns a nice dick; it’s decently shaped, the color is nice, and the size is slightly over average. 

But what he witnessed the night before?

The Narcissus of dicks; the most beautiful dick on the planet. The most beautiful dick in history . Probably even prettier than Narcissus’ face himself. (But Taehyung doesn’t know what Narcissus' face looks like, so he’s only assuming.) 

From the perfect red color of its beautifully shaped head to the gracefully intertwined veins leading to a sturdy looking hilt, peppered with well-kept pubic hair, ending in an exquisitely wrinkled ballsack. The girth was over average; big enough to make size queens (such as Taehyung) salivate, but not big enough to scare away enthusiasts. And the length? The dude is lucky he’s a grower and not a show-er, or he would never know peace. Mainly because the likes of Taehyung or Park Jimin would never let him be.

But where is that most perfect penis right now? 

Attached to its perfectly shaped and mysterious owner, probably miles away.

Very problematic, indeed.

+

“So what you’re saying is, you fell asleep, and when you woke up he was gone? Isn’t that how it’s usually supposed to go?” Yoongi sounds disgruntled on the other end of the face call, face half mushed in his pillow, hair disheveled and eyes squinty. It’s not yet 1 pm after all, which is still considered morning for people like Min Yoongi.

“Noooo, not this time.” Taehyung whines,” This time he was supposed to stick around and ask me to marry him in the morning. Isn’t that obvious? We went at it four times for fuck sake, doesn’t that mean anything anymore?”

Jimin chokes on his matcha oatmeal milk latte, eyes going wide. “Four times?! Now that is a monster stamina. He basically squeezed your balls dry.” There’s a pause, then he says to someone off-camera, “It’s rude to stare, ma’am.”

“Stop ruining my morning with your screaming,” Yoongi grunts out, rubbing his eyes. “So what do you want us to do about this?”

Taehyung fumbles around his desk for a moment, looking through his piles of sketches until he finds it, his only clue.

“Do you two know this man?” He asks, pulling out a sketch he did quickly off his memory of the mystery man’s body. He pulls out a second one, this one is a close-up of his perfect penis. He might have gone off tangent with the shading, but he couldn't stop himself, that dick deserves all the shading.

“Jesus fuck.” Yoongi signs.

“Baby, I’m sure you’re aware that if I knew anyone with a body and a dick like that, you would never have been able to put your dirty paws on him.”

Taehyung turns hopeful eyes to Yoongi after glaring at Jimin for a good 10 seconds, but Yoongi only shakes his head no.

“I don’t have a habit of making my friends strip around me, sadly. I wouldn’t be able to tell even if I knew him.”

“You two are useless” Taehyung signs, his body deflating. Yoongi takes offense and hangs up. Or maybe he was going to hang up either way.

“So let me recap here, you don’t know his name, his major, his department, his age, his number, nor his face. The only clue you have is this drawing, which basically looks like a textbook example of unrealistic body expectations. You apparently know every nook and cranny of his penis, but you didn’t have the decency to ask his name? You deserve this.” He cackles, angering Taehyung. 

“I was busy sucking his dick, asshole.” He spits, but Jimin only snorts in answer.

“Good luck finding the owner of Mystery Penis.” He quips back, before hanging up as well.

+

All hope is lost. Never in his life has he despised his face blindness as much as he does right now. Of course, it’s never been easy dealing with it throughout his life. He’s lucky he has two solid friends he can count on. Although Jimin regularly dyes and changes his hairstyle without warning to mess with him. And Yoongi basically has two hours of availability per week, usually arranged around his sleeping schedule. 

But he knows they care for him, and he cares for them. 

He drags his feet to class. He uses ‘class’ lightly; being a third-year means most of his courses are spent in the workshop, working on his graduate exhibition. 

He’s got his trusty overalls on, covered in clay stains. He’s been working with clay for the last few weeks, using the medium for two of his exhibition pieces. 

He greets his teacher at the front desk with a nod, before making his way to his desk. Today’s playlist consists of oldies, and he makes it to his desk just as Lionel Richie’s voice fills the room. 

He snorts, rolling his eyes.

Hello is a classic of sculpting classes. No matter the teacher or the Instructor, they all love to play that song on repeat, and he usually doesn’t pay it any mind. But right now, isn’t there a more perfect song to taunt him?

Lionel Richie asks if it’s him he’s looking for, as he’s pulling his tool out of his bag. He unwraps the plastic wrap from around the latest project he’s been working on, already planning his next move. 

He’s pretty sure the sculpting world is all over that song only because of the music video.

It’s obvious that the whole ‘blind girl sculpting’ thing– 

Oh.

Oh dear god. The music video. 

The music video.

Taehyung has an idea.

His hands move before he can fully realize the plan in his head, rewrapping his project, and getting some new clay from the front of the class.

His teacher looks him up and down in all his frantic and excited glory.

 “A sudden stroke of inspiration?” He questions, sounding curious.

“Something like that.” Taehyung smiles, trying to act inconspicuous. His teacher won’t let him take the clay if it’s not for his graduate exhibition.

He makes it back to his station without any more inquiry and starts to work right away.

Jimin was right, he does know every nook and cranny of that penis. He spent hours getting acquainted with it, and he has an excellent memory (Except for faces, obviously).

All the other students are too busy working on their final projects to notice the massive penis under construction a few feet from them. If anyone asks, Taehyung will proudly answer that it’s a life-sized depiction. But no one is asking, so he simply works on bringing the piece to life. The students in his class rarely talk to him, since he hasn’t gone out of his way to develop any type of relationship with them. It’s easier like that.

Once he’s done, many hours later, he’s alone in the workshop with the sun setting outside.

He ogles proudly at his masterpiece, the erect penis standing tall on his station, truly a creature of beauty. It’s a perfect replica, down to the ballsack wrinkles; down to the cute mole at the hilt. Of course, it’s clay-colored, and it probably won't change since Taehyung hates painting his creations, but he’s absolutely certain that everything else is exactly like the original.

The oven has been preheating for a while, so it’s hot and ready to bake some penis. The only thing left is to leave it to cure for a while. Any ol’ regular penis would have taken less than an hour to cure, but we’re talking about a monster cock here. 

He pops it into the oven, sets a timer, just in time for a knock at the door to pull him out of his penis-induced craze.

“Yo, Tae,” Yoongi’s voice resonates from the door frame.

Taehyung grabs a rag from his station to clean his hand with before making his way to his friend. There’s someone with him, and Yoongi signals at his friend with a lazy wave of his hand. 

“Remember Namjoon?” He asks, but it’s a rhetorical question. Jimin and Yoongi have taken to the habit of identifying the people they’re with, so Taehyung doesn't have to embarrass himself trying to figure it out on his own. That way, they don’t have to explain his condition to every single person that isn’t in his immediate friend circle. 

(Is it even a circle if it’s two people?) 

He sends a nod in Namjoon’s way and gets a wave back, and that’s as far as their exchange goes, as usual. Except today, his whole body language reads nervous and tense. But that’s none of Taehyung’s business.

“We’re going to see some juniors perform in a pub, you want to come with?” Yoongi asks him, and Taehyung knows he means well, but he also knows that Yoongi knows he doesn’t like crowded spaces. 

He and Jimin have tried to get him to go out more, but the only time Taehyung steps foot inside any type of alcohol selling establishment is when he wants to get laid. And there’s only one place he goes to then; that crappy little Bar near campus that’s only frequented by broke students who also want to get laid. 

He doesn’t like anywhere that’s dark where there’s enough people to make him lose sight of his friends. Something about losing his parents at the mall one too many times.

“That sounds nice, but I have to finish this piece I’m working on.” He answers, trying to sound as regretful as he can. It doesn’t really work, judging by Yoongi’s unconvinced humming. 

“Alright, careful when you go back home.” Yoongi finally answers, patting him on the shoulder. 

He starts walking away, but his friend, Namjoon, stays frozen on the spot, facing him. He’s looking at Taehyung in some kind of way, but face blindness makes it hard for him to read other’s expressions. He raises a single eyebrow in interrogation, and that seems to make Namjoon snap out of it. He turns on his heel without as much as a goodbye, which, rude .

“'Kay, bye.” He mutters after him.

But he can’t hold it against him. He knows that ‘Namjoon’ has been a long-time friend of Yoongi and that they’ve spent some time together by association. Taehyung doesn’t go out of his way to get to know new people, so there’s a high chance Namjoon might have tried to approach him with friendship in mind, only to end up frustrated by Taehyung’s lack of interest. Happens all the time. He can’t really help it, reading intentions is not in his toolbox.

He should probably tell Yoongi to share his ‘secret’ with Namjoon. He seems nice enough from what he heard, so he would probably be understanding. It should at least clear up the misunderstanding, and Taehyung might even gain a new friend, who knows?

He makes his way back to his station, works on his actual project while the oven takes care of making his penis nice and hard. 

+

The next morning, he wakes up to ten texts from Jimin, one from Yoongi, and multiple missed calls and voicemail from his workshop teacher.

 Asshole with pink hair:

9:40 am    ur crazy

9:40 am    CRAZY

9:40 am    This is hilarious

9:41 am    That’s why i love u

9:41 am    That is a beautiful dick

9:41 am    Like it was nice on paper, but the 3D version definitely makes me wonder about its  owner

10:26 am  All the student body is buzzing about the mystery penis

10:27 am  It’s on the front page of the school newspaper

10:27 am  omg you dumbass u didnt write your number

10:27 am  you didn't write your number anywhere brb dying of laughter

Hyungie:

11:32 am  You didnt write your infos dumb dumb

Taehyung bangs his head on his pillow, hoping for quick death. How could he forget to write down his infos? How is anyone supposed to contact him?

+

Namjoon has come to learn quickly that university isn’t always the most sanest place on the planet. Cramming, into a single building, that amount of genius with that amount of insanity is bound to create interesting events.

He’s stopped being surprised by most things, might be guilty of doing some of those surprising things from time to time. But today? Today is on a whole new level.

Somehow, his dick is plastered all over the school, in every hallway, on every door. Think Regina George distributing the burn book copy all over school but, multiplied by 50, that’s how many pictures of his dick are distributed around school right now. Not an actual picture of his actual dick, but an actual picture of an actual clay replica, with big bold yellow letters spelling out 'HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PENIS?', and nothing else.

It’s vaguely threatening.

He wishes he couldn’t tell that it’s his penis, then maybe he could laugh with the rest of the student body. But there’s no mistaking it. One look and he knew. The person who printed those flyers made sure to include all the possible angles, too. 

It’s 100% his dick. 

The slight curve is there, the mole is there, everything is there.

The intentions of the maker are unclear, but there’s one thing for sure: he knows exactly who’s behind it. He only knows one sculptor who has seen his penis, and that’s the current bane of his life, Kim Taehyung.

It’s not enough that Taehyung has been completely ignoring his existence before their night of passion together, he’s also been ignoring him after. 

And now this? Plastering his dick all over school? For absolutely no reason? Did he not like the night they spent together? Was this a great big ploy to make fun of him? Is this Taehyung’s way to reject him? To tell him to stay away from him? He knows he’s never been really subtle with his crush, but isn’t this going way too far? 

At least he had the very, very basic decency to forgo his name from the flyers, or Namjoon might have had to run away to the next town. 

Namjoon is not dumb, he knows his ancient Greece lore and what they thought about big dicks.

Taehyung didn’t write this so people would look at the dick, he’s obviously calling him a dick.  And for what, pinning on him for the last year? Can’t a man have a crush in peace?

Maybe he shouldn't have approached Taehyung that night. 

One thing is for sure, Taehyung is sending him a very clear message to stay away from him.

+

He spent a fortune printing all those hands out, and now he has to reprint them all? Taehyung knows very well he can’t afford another round of mass printing. Plus the librarian probably won’t ever let him walk into the library again. She had to come and refill the printer at least three times in the hour he was there. The environmental club was even called on scene by one of the students waiting for his turn at the printer. Talk about a snitch.

He can’t afford to reprint everything, and there’s no way he’ll go around school writing his number by hand.

He listens to the voicemails from his teacher then, uncovering a new hurdle.

The first one goes like this:

"Kim Taehyung I know it’s you, you left that thing on your desk."

Then the second:

"Kim Taehyung, you will take down these handouts right this instant before the Dean can see them, you hear me? He'll put you on probation and my head on a stick."

Taehyung muffles his groans into his pillow. Maybe it’s a good thing he forgot to include his number. He should have thought of that before.

He throws on some clothes, heeding his teacher’s warning. He better get to school quickly.

He texts Yoongi and Jimin to take down as many as they can if they want to see him live for another day. Yoongi doesn’t answer and Jimin only texts back asking if he can keep one for his room.

Some friend circle he’s got there.

He makes it onto campus in under half an hour, and gets to work, taking them down as quickly as he can.

He’s got only a few hallways left to do when someone taps him sharply on the shoulder. He spins around, dreading the moment he comes face to face with the Dean. Not that he could recognize the Dean.

“Are you the Dean?” He stammers in a small voice.

“What? No- you. I swear to god. Just tell me if you hate me that much.” Stranger says, before putting his long leg to good use, striding away from him. He throws a bunched-up flyer on the floor before disappearing down the hallway as quickly as he’s appeared.

Taehyung is stunned for a good minutes, utterly confused

The voice sounds similar, but other than that he has no idea who just spit those words at him. He doesn’t hate anyone, and he doesn't see why anyone would believe he has those kinds of ill feelings towards them.

+

Now that his plan has miserably failed, Taehyung falls into hopelessness once again. He lays in bed, holding his precious sculpture to himself. It’s the only thing he has left from his fateful encounter. Or he thought it was fate, but now he’s wondering if that was life making fun of him. 

Jimin is laying by his side, examining the sketch of the body with clear interest. It’s making Taehyung feel a little possessive. 

“Maybe you should try again in the school gym, no one gets a body like that from not going to the gym. You could say you’re looking for a model or something.”

Taehyung stares at his friend with all the admiration he can muster. 

“I would kiss you so hard right now.”

“We tried that once, remember?”

“Yes, and that’s why I won’t be doing it, but I would, just so you know.”

“Cool.” 

He snatches the sketch out of Jimin’s hands to get to work on the shading, trying to get his drawing as realistic looking as possible. Making a whole body out of clay would take too long, so Taehyung will have to settle for his sketch. 

Once he’s done, some 30 minutes have passed. He whirl around on his desk chair, waving the sketch around successfully, only to stop dead in his tracks. He finds Jimin with his precious sculpture halfway down his throat.

“Jimin!” He exclaims, fuming. “Get your dirty mouth off my penis!”

Jimin startles and chokes in surprise, but then bursts out laughing once the sculpture is safely out of his mouth.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just really curious about the size. You never cease to amaze me.”

Taehyung snatches his precious phallus back, grabbing some tissues to wipe off Jimin's drool.

“If I can’t find him, this is going up my ass, so don’t touch it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jimin grimaces, rearranging himself on the bed. He grabs his phone to waste some time, probably ignoring his other responsibilities as the end of their final semester is quickly approaching. “You want to end up in the emergency room? Just use it to make a mold and replicate it with some silicon at least.” 

Taehyung raises both eyebrows in astonishment.

“Jimin, your genius never ceases to amaze me.”

+

He successfully drags Jimin with him to the campus gym. Normally the prospect of hot sweaty people grunting, in various states of undress would attract Jimin like a bee to honey, but since he’s already banged or broken up with half the people that go there, Taehyung has to keep a firm hold on his friend’s wrist.

“Why do I have to come with you again?” 

“It was your idea, so you’re taking responsibility.”

“I don’t like taking my responsibilities, they suck,” Jimin grumbles, but he stops trying to run away.

The moment they step into the gym, they’re assaulted by the musky smell of sweat and determination. There’s a high volume of people working out, probably wanting to channel their end-of-semester jitters into iron pumping. 

Taehyung spots the front desk, putting his business smile on while reaching into his folder. He hears Jimin greet someone, going off by himself, but Taehyung bears him no mind and heads straight for the Woman working the counter.

“Hi there,” he says, charm on, “ I was wondering if you could help me out,-”

“Yes you can put your flyers up, no you don’t have to pay for it, no we won’t take it down before the end of the semester, yes I do have some tape.” She says without missing a beat, not looking up at him.

“Damn, maybe I’m here because I want to sign up for a membership.” 

She finally looks up from her computer, assessing Taehyung from head to toe.

“No you don’t babe. Here’s the tape.” She says, handing him the tape while blowing a bubble with her pink gum. Multitasking at its finest.

Taehyung doesn’t feel like taking her on a debate, so he gets hold of the roll of tape and gets to work, spotting where other people left their flyers so he can put his right by them. 

He scans the gym once or twice with a quick look, trying to see if, by a stroke of luck, Mystery Man could be there. No one that is shirtless has the body he’s looking for, and he sadly doesn’t have x-ray vision to check the rest. No amount of wishing as a kid made him grow that ability.

He puts up the first flyer, this time containing all his info, and stares at it proudly. He's got a good feeling about this.

Jimin finds him again as he’s putting up his last flyer, sounding excited about something.

“I had no idea Namjoon worked out. He’s got nice arms hidden beneath those sweatshirts.”

“Namjoon? Yoongi’s friend?”

“Yeah! And he changed his hair color, it looks really good on him. A little lighter than he used to have.”

Taehyung nods along, not really pressed to know more. He’s got other fish to fry.

+

Namjoon slowly counts to 30 after seeing Taehyung leave the premises, before he basically sprints to the nearest wall, spotting the flyers Taehyung has put up.

There’s a sketch on it, a sketch of a body. A body that looks strangely like his. He frowns, before reading the caption.

“Sculpting student looking for body model. Body must look like this. Call XXX-XXX-XXXX. Food as compensation. ”

Namjoon cannot believe his eyes. Taehyung knows he’s got that exact body type, yet he didn’t ask for his help. If he needed any other confirmation that Taehyung hates him, there’s one right there.

Just what did he do to the man to make him hate him so much? 

Since he’s confronted him in the hallway, Taehyung still hasn’t reached out to him. It would be easy to do. He knows Taehyung has his number, they exchanged it when they first met, so nothing is stopping him. Unless he’s happy with the way things are.

+

Maybe Jimin is not as much of a genius as he thought. By the sixth person that walks in to be a body model, he realizes this is getting expensive in food bribes and studio fees. He has also stopped putting up the pretense of wanting to sketch anyone anymore. 

But this time, It’s one Jung Hoseok who walks in.

“Have we slept together before?” He asks right off the bat, tired of wasting his precious time. It’s his new modus operandi; invite them in, ask the burning question, then send them on their way with the promised food to avoid complaints. 

“I don’t believe so, but maybe we should fix that,” Hoseok answers, taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Your flyers have a nude body on it, you made me come to a private studio, isn’t this a nude modeling thing?” Hoseok questions, but doesn’t stop undressing. He’s already reaching for his belt. 

Something tells Taehyung this man would be really sad to be told to put his clothes back on. The way he’s unapologetically getting naked tells Taehyung everything he needs to know. 

“So, why are you asking?” He inquires while posing, everything hanging loose and stuff. “Is that how you get laid? Asking hot dudes to model, then seducing them once they’re naked and vulnerable?”

Jung Hoseok doesn’t seem to be feeling very vulnerable right now, but Taehyung keeps that to himself.

“God no. Jesus that would be sleazy of me.”

“Not as sleazy as asking me if we’ve slept together 5 seconds into our first meeting.” Hoseok points out.

“ Touché. ” He admits, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Hoseok doesn’t press him for an answer, and they spend the next few minutes in silence, the only sound coming from Taehyung's pencil on the thick page of his sketchbook.

Jung Hoseok, standing confidently in front of him in all of his naked glory, has a certain aura around him. The way he holds himself, no hesitation to bare it all, head held high; it's like he never had to hide anything in his life. Like he never knew shame. To the point where it inspires Taehyung to utter the next words:

“I have face blindness.” He starts off, which gets his model’s attention. He keeps his eyes down on his paper to avoid eye contact, feeling rusty when it comes to revealing this part of himself. He continues quickly, “I had a one-night stand with this– perfect greek god. He had the perfect penis, too. Best sex of my life.” He's making good progress on his sketch, Hoseok’s body graceful and easy to put on paper. “I’m trying to find him, but I don’t know anything about him, and I can’t tell people’s faces apart." He chuckles deprecatingly, "The only clue I have is the way his body looks. So I put up this ad for body models hoping he would show up.”

Hoseok breaks his pose to slap his hands together, then pointing at him. “Oh my god, are you the one that plastered the whole school with the penis sculpture a few days ago? Was that your version of a ‘Wanted’ poster?”

Taehyung feels his cheeks warm up.

“Yeah, but I almost lost my diploma over that so let’s not mention it.”

Hoseok laughs with his whole body, clapping his hands together a few more times as if to express his excitement.

“That was the best thing to ever happen on this campus since 1993, thank you for that.”

His statement piques Taehyung's interest.

“What happened in 1993?” He asks, expecting anything but what comes outs of Hoseok's mouth next.

“My mom and dad conceived me in the bathroom of the literature wing.”

Taehyung chortles, surprising even himself with how loud it is.

“Now that’s a conception story worth telling your kids.”

“They didn't tell me; They got caught and got expelled the next day. They framed their expulsion letter, it’s still on display in the kitchen.” Hoseok’s voice is dripping with fondness, betraying his love for his family. “The thing is, I learned how to read at a very early age.”

Taehyung is possessed by another wave of uncontrollable laughter. He wipes a stray tear from his eyes, taking a second to compose himself.

“There, you’re looking a little better now. “

Taehyung looks up at the man, standing there in his birthday suit, going out of his way to cheer him up even though they’re perfect strangers.

(Maybe not so perfect since he’s seen him naked, but still.)

He chuckles again, going back to his sketching.

“Wait does this mean you don’t actually need models right now?”

“Well yeah," Taehyung answers, shrugging his shoulders, "But you looked like you would be really disappointed if I told you to stop undressing, so I just went along with it.”

Hoseok nods his agreement, going back into his original position.

“Good call. Now that we’re here you better get the shading of my calves right. They’re my pride and glory.”

“On it.”

+

Who would have thought that this whole ordeal would have somehow turned into Taehyung making a new friend.

He looks at the contact number in his phone staring back at him. It’s written 'Jung Hoseok' with a little sun emoji. He’s told him everything he needs to know to avoid misunderstandings, and Hoseok left with the promise to always greet him first when they see each other in the hallway. It’s sad that he only met the man in his last stretch before getting his degree, but as they say: better late than never.

He’s excited to get to know Hoseok, but he doesn’t know if he should text him first. He’s feeling a little socially rusty, having not approached anyone with the intention of being friends in a long, long time. Which is why he jumps with glee when he sees he’s got a text notification from his new friend. But then he reads the text, and the glee morphes into unadulterated excitement.

 Jung Hoseok 🌞:

4:56 pm    I think i know who your penis belongs to

4:56 pm    can you send me a picture? I lost the flyers i kept from that time

                                       4:59 pm    You sent a picture

 5:01 pm   Yeah it’s really similar 

5:01 pm    Kim Seokjin, XXX-XXX-XXXX, probably currently working the counter at the campus coffee shop. 

5:02 pm     He’s tall, broad shoulders, awesome dick

Taehyung doesn’t even take the time to text back his thanks; he wraps up his project in a disorderly manner, wiping his hands on his shirt with no care in the world. He throws his backpack on and basically sprint to the coffee shop he usually tends to avoid. The owner is totally an evil capitalist, ripping off students with his overpriced coffee.

He gets there in record time, gasping for air as his poor lungs try to keep up with enough exercise to last him a lifetime.

He’s covered in clay stains, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, clothes in dismay, lungs wheezing, so he should probably expect the next few events that unfold. 

He walks into the coffee shop still out of breath, asks if Kim Seokjin is there to the first employee he sees. This is one of those times where he’s happy he can’t read people’s expressions, because he has a feeling he’s being judged very much right now.

“He… just got off his shift.” The man at the counter answers hesitantly.

“Can you tell me where he went?” And what he was wearing?” Taehyung may be sounding a little desperate, but he doesn’t have the time to care.

“He was still in his uniform, so green, and he went that way.” He indicates with a vague wave of the hand.  

Taehyung starts running again, this time looking even more crazed as he scans his surroundings like a mad man, looking for someone tall with broad shoulders wearing green.

He spots him after running for a few minutes, thanking the heavens that the employee sent him in the right direction. He had every reason not to.

“Kim Seokjin!” He calls out, picking up his pace despite his lungs begging for a break. “Wait!”

He sees the man stop, take one look at him over his admittedly very large shoulders, then start sprinting away from him.

“No! Wait up!” He pushes himself harder than he ever has, his legs and lungs burning under the continuous strain, head feeling a little faint. “Please!” He calls out again in desperation. “Please look at my penis!”

This catches Seokjin’s attention, and he thankfully stops running, turning around as if to wait for him. Taehyung slows down to a jog, then to a complete stop, bending over gasping for air. Once his breathing is finally somewhat back to normal, he straightens up, only to come face to face with a bottle of pepper spray.

“W-wait!” He stutters, falling on his ass. “I swear I’m not a creep!”

“That’s exactly what a creep would say.” Seokjin answers, hovering over him threateningly, aiming the pepper spray directly at Taehyung’s face.

“I swear I just need you to look at my penis.”

This was the wrong thing to say apparently, because Seokjin gives the bottle a good shake as if to activate it. “That doesn’t sound as reassuring as you seem to think.”

“No! Wait!” He pleads again. “Not my penis.” He takes off his backpack, frantically digging through it until he finally pulls out his sculpture.  “ This penis.”

Seokjin doesn’t look totally convinced, but he finally lowers his weapon. “That’s a beautiful cock.” He admits after a moment of staring in silence. 

“Thank you. Is it yours?” 

"I don't remember owning that sculpture."

"Not the sculpture; the Penis."

Seokjin frowns, extending his hand, and Taehyung gingerly deposits his precious sculpture into his palm. The man finally puts away his pepper spray to free both his hands. He examines the penis under every angle, trying out the hold, measuring the testicles with his palm, staring at it long and hard.

Taehyung takes the opportunity to stand back up, keeping his distance this time.

“It does look very similar,” he concludes, hands going to his chin. “But this is not my penis. I don’t have a mole there.”

Taehyung deflates. He still asks, just in case. “So we haven’t slept together?”

Seokjin gives him back his sculpture with a snort. “You don’t look like anything I've ever slept with.” 

Taehyung realizes the state he’s in. He must look ridiculous right now.

“I’m from the sculpting department. I didn’t have the time to clean up. I don’t usually go around looking like I just rolled in the mud.”

“Explains a lot.” Seokjin nods, looking him up and down.

He dusts himself off as best as he can, but he can’t do much more cleaning up than that. He’ll probably have to go back home looking like that.

“So what’s your name?”

Taehyung feels dumb, he didn’t even have the decency to introduce himself before pulling out his penis. His social skills are frankly lacking.

“I’m Kim Taehyung. Sorry about all that, someone told me you could have the original version of this sculpture.”

“I’m flattered. It is pretty similar. Can I ask why you’re going around asking people to look at your– At this penis?” 

Taehyung sighs deeply, looking down at the penis in his hand. He did it once, he can do it again.

“Long story short I had an amazing one-night stand with the owner of this beautiful creature, but I have no idea who he is and the only clue I have is my perfect memory of his penis.”

“Sounds like a proper modern-day Cinderella story. But how come you don’t remember his face?” Seokjin questions, a hint of worry in his voice that would make sense in any other situation than Taehyung’s.

“I…. have face blindness, it’s this whole-”

“Ah, Yes, Prosopagnosia, I heard about that in class.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, so this is my only way of finding him.”

“So the Penis Flyers-”

“Yeah, that was also me. Forgot to write down my info, got caught by my teacher, that was a whole mess.” Taehyung admits, feeling discouraged.

“So now you’re basically going around town asking every man to try on the metaphorical glass shoes.”

“Basically.”

“Maybe don’t start off with ‘please look at my penis’ next time?” Seokjin recommends, which makes sense.

“I’ve been told that asking if we’ve slept together first thing is making me sound sleazy.”

“Yeah well, asking people to look at your penis isn’t better.”

“I’ll take good note of that.”

+

He drags his feet all the way back home.

He sees, pushed in the corner of his room, the material he got to make a mold, and wonders if now is the time to give up.

His exhibition is coming up, this whole thing made him late on his projects, and now he’s certain he’ll never reunite with Mystery Man. Maybe Mystery Man just doesn’t want to be found. Maybe he’s seen all his attempts and has simply steered clear, avoiding him all along. Maybe it’s time for Taehyung to make himself a silicon version and move on. He’s exhausted all his options, he’s out of time, and out of ideas.

He’s reading through the molding instruction, glad that this should be easy since he’s using a sculpture and not an actual living and breathing dick, when he realizes he hasn’t exhausted all his options. There’s still hope.

He jumps in the shower, picks out an outfit befitting of his destination, and goes off with hope in his heart.

+

The Bar isn't too busy, this being the middle of a school week, but there’s still some people going about, sharing drinks and being loud, in total denial of the oncoming train that is the end of a semester

Taehyung spots the barman, beeline for him. 

“Hey, do you know who usually works on Sundays?”

“That would be me.” Mr.Barman says, convincing Taehyung he finally has luck on his side.

Mr.Barman is on the tall side, with nice tattooed arms and wavy over-bleached hair tucked behind his ears. He’s making his forearm bulge seductively by polishing some beer glasses, and if Taehyung wasn’t on a mission to find his possible Mr.Perfect, he would be actively trying to get into his pants. 

“Do you, by any chance, recognize me?”

Mr.Barman doesn’t miss a beat.

“You’re a regular. And you gave me a blowjob once. Why are you asking?”

Well, Taehyung might have many flaws but at least he’s consistent.

“I was wondering if you remembered seeing me a few weeks ago– I was with a dude, about this height, with this body,” he adds, pulling out the sketch. He looks a little crazed, once again. But it’s ok, he’s reaching for straws here. “He had dark hair, but that’s all I can tell you. See, I have face-”

“-Blindness, I know, you cry about it every time you get drunk.”

Hm. And Taehyung thought he was a character full of mystery.

“I do know who you’re talking about. He’s a regular too.”

The irritation Taehyung feels is only momentary, everything melting away with this new bit of information. Someone saw them, someone knows what his Mystery Man looks like. He didn't hallucinate the whole thing. 

“Do you know his name??” He asks, pleading with his eyes. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest, desperation tangible.

“No. And he hasn’t been here since that night.” He says, crushing every hope and dream Taehyung mustered up in the last five seconds. He pauses his polishing, head tilting to the side. “But I do remember his face. I can try and draw him if you want.”

10 minutes later, Taehyung is looking at his disability in the face.

“Wow, you did it. You perfectly illustrated how people with face blindness see others.” Taehyung says, looking down at the drawing Jungkook (he asked for his name) quickly scribbled on a piece of napkin. It looks exactly like how he sees others.

Jungkook being good-natured, only laugh it off. “I can’t do much here, I’m working. But if you give me your number, I can try and do a better sketch once I get home. I’m from the painting department.”

“You would do that for me?” Taehyung asks, feeling deeply moved by Jungkook’s kindness. 

“Sure, it’s good practice for my portrait class anyways. You can take this as a thank you for the blow job.”

Taehyung nods to himself. 

“I do give amazing blowjobs.”

+

Jungkook, like any good art student, does not appreciate being rushed.

After a whole week of being told “it’s not ready yet”, Taehyung stops asking. 

He also wakes up one morning and realizes he only has a few days left before his exhibition.

Not only is he not done with all his pieces, he still hasn’t started studying for his finales which happen to be the week before his exhibition, meaning, the next day.

He pushes aside any thought of Mystery Man (except when he hugs the sculpture at night, heart yearning for the original), and jumps straight into his cramming strategy, which consists of hitting himself with the books until he’s absorbed the material. If he’s not studying, taking a finale, or sleeping, he’s huddled in the workshop with the other students of his department, functioning on coffee and eating various shades of sculpting material for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. This is not what Taehyung expected when he was told that artists live from their arts.

The day before his exhibition, he’s barely feeling human, he’s got dried clay in places clay should never find itself, he doesn’t know words anymore and he has basically forgotten his own name.

No matter how fast he works, he realizes he won’t be able to finish his last pieces in time. He’s wracking his brain for a solution, thinking long and hard about just what he could do, when it hits him. 

The solution is right underneath his nose; 

His penis. It was always his penis. 

He’s supposed to expose pieces that he finds impactful, and if there’s anything that had a big impact on his life in the last few weeks, it’s his sculpture.

He can’t tell his teacher, he’ll categorically refuse. Not after the stunt he pulled with the flyers. Plus he wouldn't understand the cultural reset it was for Taehyung, finding and crafting that beautiful creature.

So he sets to work in secret. It shouldn’t be too hard, he hasn’t printed his labels yet. Plus the students are in charge of installing their own corner, meaning he can wait until the very last moment before the opening to put his penis on display.

He needs to find a name for his sculpture, so he texts his friends for help, but as usual, they are unhelpful.

 Asshole with pink hair:

6:45 pm  ‘ Suck on that’

 Hyungie:

6:45 pm    why are you asking me idk

 Jung Hoseok 🌞 :

6:50 pm   “ Long lost lover”

 He’s glad to see that his new friend will fit right in once he introduces him to everyone. 

He isn’t satisfied with the answer he gets, so he sends more text.

 Kim Seokjin:

7:05 pm  “Is this your penis?”

7:06 pm   Or better yet, “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PENIS?”

7:06 pm   that way people will understand how current your art is

7:10 pm   Also I didn’t give you this number to chitchat

7:10 pm   after we find out his identity im cutting all ties with you

7:11 pm   Im just feeling invested right now

7:11 pm   that’s all

7:17 pm   Where’s your exhibition again?

Jeon Jungkook barman and artist:

9:56 pm  idk

9:56 pm  im almost done with the portrait btw

9:56 pm  you mind if I use it for my exhibition

9:56 pm  im really proud of it

 So not much more help on that side either.

+

The next day, Taehyung is busy setting up his corner and feeling emotional over his last exhibition.

He’s done with uni. He can go off into the world and live from his art. Or more like, he’ll first find a side job that’ll suck the life out of him, to pay for his art. Then he’ll spend a few years regretting every decision that led him to be an artist, but just as he’s about to give up, his sculptures will be noticed by a mysterious millionaire that’ll commission him thousands of dollars at first. He’ll refer him to his rich friend who will be all over his art and will throw their money at him.

Yeah, it’s a nice pipe dream.

He makes sure all the labels are in place, the lights are hitting his pieces in all the right way, and that no one notices him putting his penis in the middle of his space 30 seconds before they open the doors.

By the time his teacher notices, it’s already too late; the place flooded with friends, family, and even the occasional art critics that the university invited.

It’s not like his penis feels out of place in his setup. Most of his pieces are on the theme of the human body; studies of movement, skin texture, whatnot. If you look at it as a whole, you almost have a whole body. The only thing missing is a face, which is extremely fitting for Taehyung.

The wave of people coming is not preferable for Taehyung, since he doesn’t like crowded places. He’s never been a fan of their exhibition opening nights over the years. He keeps himself busy by trying his best to merge with the wall while people circle his pieces. His friends know he won’t be able to recognize them in the crowd, so they’ll come to him by themselves, he simply has to make himself visible.

“Hey babe,” Jimin says with mirth in his voice, “Is that greek?”

“Yeah” Taehyung answers, fixing his eyes on his most beloved and central piece. 

“I didn’t know you knew greek”

“I don’t, but Google does.”

The Penis is standing directly underneath his own spotlight, looking like a beacon of light, grabbing the envious stares of the people around it.

There’s a little white label by its base:

   Kim Taehyung

πέος, 2021

Red Clay  

(if you recognize this penis, please ask for the artist)

  “ What does it mean?”

“ Penis ”

Jimin hums, crossing his arm over his chest. “I guess I was not expecting anything less.”

Yoongi chooses that moment to appear, whistling his praise.

“So you did work this semester.” He jokes, bobbing his head with approval.

“Har, har.” Like he’s one to talk. He basically spent the last few months becoming one with his bed.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he expects it to be Hoseok or Seokjin telling him they’re here, but instead it’s from Jungkook, and it’s a picture.

A little gasp of surprise escapes him.

His hands shake as he opens up the text app, his heart thumping as the picture loads. He presses on it once it’s ready, taking up the full screen, and Taehyung can finally-... well, Taehyung can’t do anything with that. His case of face blindness is pretty severe, so even drawings are unrecognizable for him. But it’s something! A new clue! He can make a flyer out of this! He can-

“Why do you have a portrait of Namjoon on your phone?”

Time stops.

Yoongi’s voice echoes in his head, mocking him, but also stealing the carpet right from underneath his feet.

Why do you have a portrait of Namjoon on your phone?

A portrait of Namjoon

Namjoon

Namjoon, who stood in front of him silently, that day Yoongi invited him out, probably expecting some kind of reaction from Taehyung.

Namjoon who frequents the campus gym.

Namjoon, who’s tall and broad-shouldered.

Namjoon, who’s been around Taehyung for a while but was never told about his condition. 

Namjoon, who probably thinks Taheyung has been ignoring him all this time.

“Jesus fucking christ, My Mystery Man Is Kim Namjoon.”

Both his friends voice their confusion as Taehyung tries to rip his hair from his head.

“This penis belongs to Kim Namjoon, who doesn’t know I have face blindness, and who probably think I’ve been ignoring him all this fucking time.”

“Holy shit,” Yoongi says at the same time as Park Jimin, that prick, starts cackling uncontrollably. Taehyung always knew he was evil.

“This is- I’m so sorry but- This shouldn't be funny– But I can’t, it’s too funny.” He wheezes out in between laughter. “He was right there, probably confused as hell as to why you were showing his dick to everyone- I’m sorry this is so funny but also so, so sad. You never- oh my god.”

Under the attention of about half the gallery, he wipes the tears from his eyes, body convulsing with laughter.

“What the fuck are you waiting for.” He finally manages to say, taking a deep breath. “Hyung, didn’t you drag him here tonight?”

That seems to snap Yoongi out of his stupor.

“Fuck, yes he’s here, he’s... There!-” He says pointing somewhere, but then his voice dies down. “And now he’s leaving...”

Taehyung spots the man with a black cap currently walking out the exit with an angry stride. He reacts on instinct, running after his Not So Mysterious Man Anymore.

+

Kim Namjoon is having a very no good, very bad day. 

Not because of school, no. He aced all his finales, he doesn’t even need to get his grades back to know.

Not because of the weather either. No, it’s a beautiful spring day, and there’s a hint of cherry blossom in the air, wrapping the world in a romantic tint.

No, the reason he’s having a very no good very bad day, is because he can’t, for the love of God, get Kim Taehyung out of his head. 

It started with a very interesting dream, clearly drawing inspiration from the night they spent together. It woke him up at the crack of dawn, sweating up bullets and hard as a rock. Finding sleep afterward was nearly impossible, meaning his first precious day of vacation started way too fucking early.

Now music theory never sleeps, so he simply spent his morning trying to forget his dream, channeling all his energy on composing. 

But then Min Yoongi, long-time friend and co-compositor, had to go and ruin his fragile peace of mind by reminding him he had two tickets for the sculpting department exhibition, and Namjoon was obligated to show up. Meaning he would inevitably run into Kim Taehyung; Meaning he would agonize about him all day; Meaning , that he would be thinking about Kim Fucking Taehyung all day.

But it’s ok, because he was finally starting to come to terms with that too. Taehyung would probably ignore him again, and all he needed to do was circle the gallery once and get the fuck out.

But no.

Oh no.

Life had better plans.

Because right into the center of Taehyung's exhibition space, is his very own penis, standing proudly, mocking him.

He can recognize it from the flyers, so he knows instantly that it’s Taehyung’s work. 

He’s stunned by the audacity, wondering once again what he did to draw Taehyung’s ire upon himself. The flyers were not enough, no he had to go and put it on display as his final fuck you to Namjoon. Even wrote 'penis' in greek as a title, confirming Namjoon's theory that this is all a ploy to make fun of him.

Namjoon has had enough, he’s getting the fuck out of there. 

He spins on his heel at the speed of light, taking advantage of every inch of his long legs to walk out as fast as possible. He ignores the call of his name that follows after him, readjusting the cap on his head.

He’s fuming, feeling tears of frustration building up. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s been nothing but respectful of Taehyung. He’s been staying away from him too. 

He doesn’t deserve this.

He makes it a few blocks before his phone starts going off every 5 seconds with incoming texts, forcing him to finally look at it.

 Yoongi Hyung:

6:14 pm   Before anything, know that Taehyung suffers from severe face blindness.

6:14 pm   I know you know what that means you wikipedia rat

6:15 pm   I didn’t tell you cause it’s none of my business who he chooses to tell

6:15 pm   But the dumbass has been trying to find you for weeks using your dick because he had no other way to identify you

6:15 pm   Your pinning hasn't been exactly subtle either

6:16 pm    he ran after you when you left but I bet he’s pleading with the wrong person in the street right now

6:17 pm   Nice dick by the way

 He rereads the series of text to try and make sense of them. Only after the third read, does he finally understand.

Well, shit.

+

“Please Namjoon listen to me, you have to listen to me, I didn't mean to ignore you, I just didn't know it was you!-” Taehyung pleads, holding on to his sleeve.

“Can you please let go of me?!”

His voice sounds a little older than what Taehyung remembers, but he doesn’t have the time to think too much about that. Maybe he’s got a cold or something.

“-I can explain everything if you can just give me two minutes-”

“I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not this kind of person.”

Taehyung isn’t deterred, holding on to him desperately “-Please I swear just two- no, one minute, even one minute is enough-”

Someone clears their throat, tapping him softly on the shoulder. 

“Sorry sir, I believe my friend here is mistaking you for me.”

Now that’s a familiar voice. A voice he recognizes from many occasions. 

Taehyung lets go of his poor unsuspecting victim, taking a step back which is all it takes for them to run away from him.

He finally comes face to face with the source of all his past weeks' torment.

The height is there, the shoulders are there, the body proportions are there, the hair color is completely different, but Jimin did mention he changed it recently. He’s got the black cap on, the one that made Taehyung mistake a perfect stranger on the street for him.

It’s him. He found him. It’s his Mystery Man, his cinderella. He’s got him.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes, that’s me.” He confirms, voice gentle.

“Kim Namjoon.” He repeats, trying the name out on his tongue. His body is filling up with butterflies, and he can’t feel his toes.

“And here I thought you just could never remember my name.”

“I can explain–” He rushes, eager to get rid of the misunderstanding.

“It’s ok, Yoongi told me.”

“And about your penis–”

“Yes, Yoongi told me about that too.” Namjoon cuts him off, the tip of his ears getting pink.

“I’m so sorry– I should have asked your name then. I mean– you made me come four times .”

Namjoon chuckles, catching one of Taehyung’s hands mid flail and holding it with both of his, making his heart jump.

“We’ve basically known each other for years, so maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t. I don’t think I would have appreciated it then.”

“I guess that’s true. I’m still sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, I could have come up to you first. I mean, I’m the one who sneaked out in the morning. I had an 8 am class, by the way. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. But you have my number so… I assumed you would call me. ”

“I have your number...?” It's pretty vague, but it does ring a bell. He's got a blurry memory of time, around their first meeting, when Namjoon and he had exchanged their numbers for Yoongi related reasons. “That’s right, I do have your number. Fuck.”

“Well, I know now this wouldn’t have changed anything for you, since you simply didn't know it was me you were with.” Namjoon snorts, but not unkindly. More at the situation. 

But Taehyung still feels terrible.

“I’m so sorry.” He whines, feeling like burying his face in Namjoon’s chest. But they’re not there yet. “I tend to keep people at a distance to avoid misunderstandings.”

“It’s ok, I get it now. I guess I wish I knew before, but I get it now.”

“Good. I should have told you sooner. I was actually planning on doing it soon if that’s any consolation.”

“It is.” Namjoon murmurs, inching closer to him.

“Cool, cool cool.” Taehyung blurts out nervously.

This is it. This is his chance. Everything that has transpired in the last few weeks is leading up to this moment. 

"So," Namjoon starts when Taehyung has been silent for too long. "Yoongi said you were looking for me... Any particular reasons?"

"Well, yes." He answers but stops. All of this means nothing. It doesn't mean that Namjoon will accept to go out with him. He has no idea how Namjoon feels about him, and he sure as hell cannot tell by his facial expression. He's going in blind, no reason to believe that Namjoon wants to have to do anything with him. For all he knows, Namjoon is only here to settle the misunderstanding, and then be on his way. Maybe he's even mad about the penis flyers.

But then he also remembers that Namjoon is holding his hand right now. It's now or never.

He takes a deep breath for bravery and goes for it.

“Kim Namjoon, can I please take you out on a date?”

Namjoon doesn’t let him second guess himself, word leaving his mouth as fast as a blink.

“Absolutely.”

Apparently, they’ve gathered a crowd because there’s cheerful hooting and shouting erupting around them. But Taehyung pays them no mind as he goes in for a hug, Namjoon meeting him halfway.

“Wait, wait,” Namjoon says, suddenly, taking a step back. “I still don’t know why you put my penis on display at the center of your exhibition.”

Taehyung chuckles, bringing Namjoon back in. 

“Simple, ‘cause it’s a masterpiece.”

+

 2 months later

There’s a knock at the door, which throws Taehyung off. He’s getting ready for his date with Namjoon– their actual first date– and is not expecting anyone. Jimin knows the code, so it can’t be him, unless–

“Hello sir, would you be open to receiving the words of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

“Jimin, I swear to god, I can tell it’s you by your voice. And no one from church would dress like you do, slut.”

Moving in with Jimin is as much a blessing as it is a curse. A blessing because, well, they’re best friends. A curse because his best friend’s favorite hobby is to try and prank him. Taehyung almost misses the time where Jimin was treating his face blindness as a taboo. 

Almost.

The last two months have been a whirlwind of life-changing events for Taehyung. 

First, moving in with Jimin is a pretty big deal. Not only has Taehung been living alone for the last three years, living with someone is sometimes a challenge for him. Wondering why a stranger is standing in your kitchen at 3 am, brain slowed down by sleep and the weak lighting not helping, isn’t always a recipe for success. But he’s slowly getting used to it, and Jimin, as much as he can be a prick, is being patient with him.

The second big event is, well, his current job. Somehow his workshop teacher, even after everything, recommended him for a job at a sculpture academy. He now teaches different types of sculpting medium to children, four nights a week. Pretty sweet gig.

At first, he was going crazy out of his mind worrying about working with children, but four weeks in and he’s feeling confident. He sat down with the kids the first week to explain to them what face blindness is, and although the children were initially confused, they now enjoy switching names with each other for the duration of his classes, to mess with his head.

Jokes on them, Taehyung also called their parents during that first week. So far, none of the children have noticed that their parents have been making them wear certain accessories every time they leave for the academy. Checkmates.

And the last big event, of course, is Namjoon. 

In between moving, his new job, and Namjoon’s own busy schedule, they have yet to go on an actual full-blown date. But they’ve slowly been getting to know each other. They make time to go on quick coffee dates sometimes, and they text none-stop. Namjoon hasn’t seen his new place yet, but they’ve hung out at Namjoon’s plenty of time. 

His boyfriend (he gets giddy thinking about that word) also showed up at the academy a few times to walk him back home (The first time he kept it as a surprise, but he quickly realized Taehyung didn’t like surprises; especially when it means having a tall stranger approach him in the dark without saying anything. Now he texts beforehand.)

“Do you like this outfit? Or should I go with my floral button-up?” He asks Jimin, who’s lounging on his bed after his failed prank attempt. 

“Why are you so stressed? It’s not like it's the first time you two see each other.”

“Because the chances of me getting laid tonight are extremely high and I want to look good.”

“Oh?” Jimin perks up, knowing full well Taehyung and Namjoon have been taking their time to get to know each other. “Should I sleepover at Hobi’s tonight?”

Another new development from the last two months: Jimin and Hoseok’s instant attraction. They’ve been dancing around each other since the exhibition, but it looks like it’s finally getting ‘ sleeping-over-at-each-others-place ’ serious.

“...Good idea,” Taehyung answers, not because he wants the house to himself (though it’s a nice perk), but he likes giving a little push to love sometimes.

His friend circle can finally be called a circle now. Somehow, Hoseok, Seokjin, and Namjoon just naturally fit into his now actually social, social life. Namjoon was the easiest since he already knew Yoongi and Jimin. Hoseok got it easy by becoming Jimin’s more-than-friend, and Seokjin just showed up one day with a video of that time, outside the gallery, when Taehyung thought an older gentleman was Namjoon because of his black cap. 

He looks at the time, curses when he realizes he’s going to be late. He grabs his wallet and puts on his shoes in a rush, and makes it out the door accompanied by Jimin shouting “Don’t you dare fuck on the couch or you’re buying a new one!”

He makes it to the Bar with only a few minutes to spare, and as luck would have it, Jungkook is working. He’s come to recognize his tattooed arm and bleached locks instantly. 

Namjoon would have texted him if he was there, which means he’s cutting it close as well, so he sends a quick ‘here 💖’ text before sitting down at the Bar with a big smile.

“You make me want to puke,” Jungkook says, disgust dripping from his words. 

“Hey now don’t be jealous, I’m sure you’ll find yourself a monster cock as well one day.”

Somehow, he and Jungkook started texting on a semi-regular basis. It’s mostly Jungkook begging Taehyung to introduce him to Seokjin (apparently he’s been crushing on the man since he first saw him at the coffee shop), which Taehyung has to find excuses every time to avoid telling Jungkook the cold, harsh truth.

(“I don’t date men with bleached hair, it ruins my whole aesthetic.” Jin said after the first time Taehyung asked. Which aesthetic he’s talking about, Taehyung has no idea.)

But that also means that Jungkook has heard all about his very fascinating and blooming love story with Namjoon.

“Did you tell Seokjin I said hi?”

“Dude, just go and ask him out. You know where he works, you know where he studies, you even know his birthday, which is really creepy when you two have never talked by the way. Just, go ask him out, he won’t be able to resist you once he actually sees how attractive you are.” He pauses for a second, then adds for safety measure, “But if he reaches in his pocket, just run the other way.”

“What?” 

“Don’t ask, just trust me.” Taehyung has some unpleasant flashbacks of a bottle of pepper spray being waved in front of his face. He shakes his head to try and get rid of the memory.

“And how would you even know that I’m attractive, you don’t actually know what I look like.” Jungkook retorts.

“Shut up, just go and ask him.”

“Just go and ask him what?” A familiar voice asks from behind him, and Taehyung's smile is back full force. He rotates on his chair and jumps into Namjoon’s arms, hearing him groan under the strain of his weight. He can hear Jungkook fake gagging behind him, the actual child.

They share a quick kiss before they both sit down at the bar.

“You’re not seriously thinking about having your date here, are you?”

Taehyung snorts, tempted to mess with Jungkook, but Namjoon is the one to answer.

“No we just wanted to get the evening started with a nice drink, but we have a reservation to an actual fancy restaurant, paid graciously by Taehyung's actual serious adult job.”

“Is it a serious adult job if he had to stop a kid from eating his donut-shaped clay yesterday?”

“Shut up. If you keep being like that I’m going to order the most annoying thing on the menu.”

Jungkook scoffs and walks away, without actually taking their orders.

They both watch him do a big show of ignoring them, answering other customers without turning in their direction.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Namjoon whispers in his ear. “We can go waste time walking around aimlessly, hand in hand.”

“God, you’re so cheesy,” Taehyung mutters, but he actually loves it.

His dating experience before Namjoon amounts to an enormous zero, but it’s not because he’s one of those unattainable, i-don’t-believe-in-love types of people that live rent-free in Hollywood movies. He simply never thought it would be possible to get close to someone romantically with his condition. But since officially meeting Namjoon, he’s been researching, and turns out, he totally can. 

There are even people, artists like him, who've noticed that repeatedly drawing or painting their loved one has made them actually able to remember their face (not 100% of the time, but he’ll take what he can get.). So he’s been sketching, using pictures, trying out different angles. He’s planning on using clay at one point. He’s totally the girl from Lionel Richie’s music video. Which makes Namjoon Lionel Richie.

“Did you know that I was inspired by Lionel Richie’s music video to sculpt your penis?”

Namjoon chuckles under his breath, squeezing Taehyung’s hand just a little bit more. The hot summer air is making their palms sweaty, but they both don’t care. 

“Where is that thing, by the way? It’s been a while since I’ve last seen it.”

“I put it on my bedside table when I moved in and I haven't moved it since. I’m thinking about making it into a lamp. I have to keep it out of reach of Jimin and Hoseok, they both seem a little too interested.”

Namjoon grimaces. Or Taehyung is assuming that’s his grimacing face. 

“Please never let it fall into their hands.”

“I swear on my honor, I shall protect your penis.”

“Thank you, I feel better now. I still can’t believe they put it on the first page of ‘Sculpting Now’. Crazy how all of your friends and the sculpting world know what my dick looks like.

“It’s a masterpiece. If it was mine I would never keep it in my pants, I’d always want to show it off.”

“How are you not in prison right now?”

“I don’t have your dick in my pants, sadly. Did you know that Seokjin almost pepper-sprayed me the first time we met? In retrospect, having a stranger run after you, pleading for you to look at their dick is a good excuse to pull out your pepper spray.”

“Wait, you did what?”

“It was all in the name of love.”

Namjoon shakes his head, probably disappointed in him.

+

Namjoon is utterly enamored. Every time Taehyung recalls a story from when he ran around school trying to find him, he falls a little bit more in love. 

He was so nervous for their first romantic date that he couldn’t eat during the day, but Taehyung is making him feel at ease, as he usually does, so hunger is coming back with a vengeance.

“Should we go to the restaurant now?” He asks, pulling Taehyung along with him. "It's almost time."

“Let’s.” Taehyung agrees readily, “I’m ravenous.”

They quickly make their way to the restaurant, only to find its door closed. There’s a sign in the window reading “Closed for vermin infestation”.

“Oh.” Namjoon says, “Dammit. That’s not good.”

There’s this awkward silence, filled with growling sounds from both their bellies. It’s too late to make reservations anywhere nice, and anywhere else risks being too loud for a romantic Rendez-Vous. Namjoon is scrambling his brain for a solution when Taehyung’s shy voice interrupts.

“Hum, if you want to– Jimin told me he wouldn't be home tonight, so… You want to come over? We can pick up some ramen on the way.”

Taehyung’s face might be neutral, but the blush growing on his cheeks is anything but. Namjoon takes a moment to appreciate the sight that he makes, burning up in embarrassment. Without the blushing, Namjoon would have believed he’s only inviting him for ramen, but the angry red of his cheeks is definitely betraying Taehyung’s intentions.

He nods his agreement, feeling anticipation replace hunger in the pit of his stomach.

+

 Having Namjoon in his space is a new experience. 

The apartment is still messy from their move, boxes lying around, but they’ve managed to make it quite homey. Everything that is necessary to their everyday life has been unboxed, only the odd objects being ignored by Jimin and him.

He puts on some soft music to set a nice mood, and Namjoon is humming along straight away, which is all the approval he needs to feel confident about his music selection. Music Theory graduate approved. 

 He gets to work on the ramen while he directs Namjoon on where to find a cheap bottle of wine and some wine glasses. He sets the table, trying to make it as nice as possible, but it’s really just a pot of bubbling ramen and two bowls with some chopsticks. 

They eat in comfortable silence, the music playing in the background mixing with the sound of their eating.

But then Namjoon dumps the content of his wine glass on his tan-colored pants, and it’s downhill from there.

“Damn it!” He curses, jumping to his feet. He grabs some napkins to try and pat some wine off, but it’s already been absorbed by his fancy suit pants. 

“Quick, take them off,” Taehyung says, not thinking too hard and only reacting to the situation at hand. “Let’s rinse them in the sink.” 

Namjoon complies, taking them off in record time, passing them on to Taehyung like it’s a relay race.

Taehyung deposits them straight in the sink, opening the tap and letting the water hopefully get rid of most of the stain. They both stand there for a minute, staring at the water filling up. 

But then it hits Taehyung that Namjoon’s thighs are currently bare and in his vicinity. He sneaks a quick peek to satisfy his horny brain, but he’s quick to snap his eyes back to the sink to avoid doing anything stupid.

Like, let’s say , dropping to his knees. 

He can feel himself blushing, his cheeks, ears, and neck feeling hot. He knew exactly what he was doing, inviting Namjoon for some ramen, but now that he can act on it, he’s suddenly feeling very shy. 

Plus, not being able to read facial expressions never really impaired his ability to get laid. He used to just– go to the bar, wait until someone would offer him to get out of there, and go for it. 

But this is not a bar, and Namjoon won’t ask him if he wants to get out of there. He has no idea how to tell if Namjoon wants to jump into bed with him. Or not. 

He takes matters into his own hands.

“So, as you know,” He starts, staring intently at the water flowing out of the tap, “this whole face blindness thing– I can’t really read your facial expressions. So in the future, it’ll be hard for me to figure out if you’re angry or happy, or sad, or… or horny. I’ve never done this whole– Romantic relationship thing, but I’m guessing we’re going to have to be really vocal with how we’re feeling, what we want, whatnot.”

He lets his statements hang in the air, staring at the stain that doesn’t seem to want to go away. He’s thinking maybe this will have to be removed professionally. 

But then, Namjoon chooses that moment to drop a soft kiss on his nape.

“Are you asking me, right now, if I want you?” 

Taehyung turns around, letting himself be cornered against the counter. Namjoon has his nicely defined biceps, somehow peeking through his suit vest, on each side of him. He absolutely loves it.

“Yes. I am.”

Namjoon kisses his neck once again, and Taehyung is this close to losing it. 

“I absolutely want you.” His boyfriend finally answers, landing a heavy kiss on his lips, sucking all the air out of Taehyung’s lungs.

 After turning Taehyung’s inside to mush via lips on lips crime, he returns to his assault on Taehyung’s neck, peppering the skin he can reach with sweet kisses, each one sending electricity straight to his groin. 

“Do you want me?” Namjoon questions softly into his ear, making Taehyung's eyes roll back so far he’s scared they’ll never come back. 

“Fuck yes.” He grinds out, voice turning to a whine when Namjoon, emboldened by Taehyung’s enthusiasm, rocks his pelvis into his in a languid motion.

He sees white then, bringing Namjoon’s mouth back to his, smashing their mouths together in a wet and messy kiss.

“How important are your pants?” He inquires in between kisses, enjoying the slow grinding Namjoon has going on. He’s still in his suit pants, but Namjoon only has the thin cotton of his boxer brief as a barrier. Taehyung can clearly feel his monster cock waking up from its slumber. 

“Not very important.” He finally answers, hands letting go of the counter to firmly grab at Taehyung’s ass. 

Taehyung can proudly say he’s got a fat ass, and Namjoon seems to appreciate it if the growl that escapes him is anything to go by.

He gets to work on the buttons of Namjoon’s dress shirt, Namjoon getting the message and taking his vest off by himself. Soon he’s standing there in only his boxer briefs and socks, while Taehyung is still fully dressed.

It’s kind of hot. 

They slow it down a little, Taehyung pushing Namjoon away so he can take a good look at him. 

The light of the kitchen falls almost gracefully over Namjoon’s defined chest, creating shadows that chisel out his muscles even more. It’s a sight to behold. 

He drags his hands down Namjoon's body, teasing a nipple as he goes with a flick of the thumb, mapping out his taut stomach with the tip of his finger, then coming back up to hold onto his strong shoulders.

“You know, I’m like, really good at massages. I feel like this is something you should know.”

Seems like this is all the time Namjoon will allow him away from him. He reels him back in with an arm around his waist, the other taking hold of one of Taehyung’s hands and bringing it to his mouth. He nips at his fingers, maintaining eye contact while he uses his tongue to soothe the sting.

How he’s even real is beyond Taehyung.

“Do you need help undressing?” Namjoon teases, reaching for his belt.

“Let me close the tap and we can move this to my room.” 

Namjoon doesn’t give him a response, only cages him once again against the counter, plastering the full length of his warm body to his. He reaches behind Taehyung and moments later, the soft ambiance music is the only thing they can hear again. 

Taehyung leads him to his bedroom, taking off his vest as they go. Somehow Namjoon already got his belt buckle, so he unceremoniously drops his pants to the floor, then jumps on his bed.

“Welcome to my room. That’s my desk, that’s my bedside table, that’s a replica of your penis, but I heard the original is planning on making an appearance tonight. This is my bed. Hope you enjoyed the tour.” He finally gets to the final button, looking up eagerly as he sends his shirt off to the side, wondering what’s taking Namjoon so long to get on the goddamn bed.

He finds his lover completely captivated by his penis duplicate.

“You’ve got the same one in your pants, you know. Get you your ass over here.” 

“Sorry I was just thinking… it’s crazy how similar you made it only from your memory.”

“Excuse me?” Taehyung objects, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re not just similar, they’re identical.” 

“Only one way to check, is there?” Namjoon taunts, before finally, finally getting rid of his briefs, releasing the Kraken. 

Except he also grabs hold of the sculpture, bringing it close so he can do a side-by-side comparison. 

“You’re right, it is identical. How did you even manage that?” He says, awe in his voice. “Have you ever used it on yours–” 

Namjoon loses his train of thought as he takes in the sight of Taehyung, laying in bed completely naked, pumping himself at a leisurely pace and looking very unimpressed. 

“No, I haven’t. But if you don’t get into bed in the next 5 seconds I just might consider it.”

Namjoon doesn’t have to be told twice.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch:17 I’m Not Going Anywhere

Summary: Katie keeps vigil at Steve’s bedside and in full protective ‘dad’ mode, Tony engages the Stark Industry lawyers when the UN Senate comes calling. But the Winter Soldier has gone back into the shadows, taking one of Steve’s only living ties to his past with him. And no one has a clue where he’s gone.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Violence, bad language words, angst and smut (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s thanks.

A/N: I LOVE LOVE LOVE these edits once more from @angrybirdcr​

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 16

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 “He’s panicking…let me talk to him.” Her voice was soft but full of authority.

Then, a familiar hand closed over the one that he held over the mask on his face and she gently spoke this time directly to him.

“Shhhh…” He felt her other hand gently run over his forehead. “Baby, you’re in an ambulance. Try and stay calm, okay?”

And then his eyes focused, just for a second. The panic that had hit him dissipated as Katie’s face filled his vision and he gripped her hand, not wanting her to leave him.

“I’m not going anywhere…” She assured him. “I promise.”

And he believed her. He felt himself relax and fell back against the bed and his eyes closed again, the last thing he heard and felt was her…

Steve’s hand was still tight around Katie’s when they arrived in the emergency room. She went in with the paramedics who took Steve in charge and, as they escorted Steve into the operating room, the realization that she finally had to let go of him crushed her. The same Doctor who had taken care of Fury and her in the warehouse approached her with a nod, and she was suddenly extremely thankful that the Director had as many fingers in as many pies as he did. It was an overwhelming relief to see a face she knew she could trust.

“Miss. Stark, I need you to leave the room, please. I’ll take care of him from here.” The Doctor put his hand on her shoulder to support his point and dropped his voice. “I promise. Fury’s orders”

Ignoring the urge to argue she let go and took a step back, her eyes still focused on the Steve as he lay on the stretcher.

“Heart’s rate climbing, doctor!” Announced one of the nurses. Katie could still see her soldier’s face disfiguring and the slight raising of his eyebrow and clench of his hand if he were trying to hold on to something. She let out a sob as she realised he was looking for her because she had left him, after promising she wouldn’t, and then the double doors of the operating room closed. Finding herself now alone and completely helpless, her limbs began to clench and she was suddenly very aware she was trembling. Then, it was as if someone had tightened a band around her chest, leaving her panting for air as her vision became more and more obscured by tears of panic.

She caught herself against the nearest wall before feeling her legs give way. She managed to lift them into a bent position, before bringing her arms around them so she could hide her head behind her knees as her throat felt like it had completely closed. She concentrated on Steve’s images floating around her brain, his touch, his kisses, how he held her, made love to her, the feeling of his laughter, his eyes, all their moments together.

We could get married if you want…

His face as he had spoken those words, the look she hadn’t been able to place suddenly registered in her brain. He had been hopeful. She closed her eyes trying to hold on to that memory. Eventually, after what felt like a life-time, she felt her throat begin to open again allowing her to take a deep breath, then the tightness in her chest and lungs eased and finally her brain. The hiss of silence in her ears was replaced by the usual murmur of a hospital and she could once again feel the sensations coming back along her limbs. She loosened her arms around her legs, stretching them out in front of her, and lifted her head to lean against the wall.

She had no idea how long she sat there. Minutes, hours…it all blurred into one as she focussed her attention on the doors he had been taken through. Eventually, her little bubble was invaded by a familiar figure hovering over her before Natasha slid to the floor, legs lying in front of her, her arm wrapping round Katie’s shoulder.

“Any news on how he is?” She asked.

"They’re still treating him, as far as I know.” Katie sighed, her head resting gently against Nat’s.

Natasha nodded briefly in acknowledgment before turning to look at her friend. “And you? How are you holding up?”

Katie looked at her, but didn’t answer as Sam’s familiar voice cut across the corridor.

“Katie! Natasha!” He hastened to join them, letting Katie take in his civilian change of clothes. He was bruised too, but overall, he looked okay. “How is he doing? Any news?”

Natasha took it upon herself to answer Sam. Meanwhile, Katie finally decided to get up from her position against the wall. The sudden movement and the long time spent in an identical position made her stagger a little. Sam hastily raised his hands to catch her.

“I brought you a change of clothes.” Nat spoke gently as she too stood up. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t stay. I’m already being summonsed for questioning, but Hill and I are going to do our best to keep your names out of it, both of you.”

“Frankly Nat, at this moment I couldn’t give a fuck about what my name is dragged into.” Katie snapped, her ton a little harsher than she had intended. She sighed. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay.” Nat shook her head, her green eyes catching Katie’s “Look, call me as soon as there’s news.”

She nodded. “Can you call Tony for me? He’s already tried ringing but I can’t bring myself to try and explain.”

“Sure.” Nat nodded. She pulled Katie into a hug, before she headed off up the corridor.

“Katie.”  Sam spoke gently. “There’s a waiting room down there.”

“No, I’m staying here.”

“You need to get a proper rest. You got shot yourself yesterday, remember?” Sam reasoned, his tone patient/ “Come on, you’re no good to Cap if you aint in top fighting form.”

Katie gave in and let Sam escort her to the waiting room where the two of them sat in silence. It was around four o'clock in the afternoon, some three hours after they had arrived, when the SHIELD doctor made an appearance. Katie was half-lying with her head against Sam’s shoulder as he was changing the annoying channels of the hospital TV every ten seconds.

“Miss. Stark?”

Sam turned off the television almost immediately while Katie was already on her feet in impatience.

"Yeah?”

“Sorry it’s taken so long but there was a few complications.”

“Complications?” Katie frowned “He’s got fucking super serum coursing through his DNA, it’s supposed to help him heal”” “And it did, meaning the wounds had started to close over which caused us a bit of an issue but he’s out of theatre and the surgery was a success.”

“So he’s gonna be okay?” Sam asked and the Doctor nodded.

“He lost a lot of blood but we’ve given him a transfusion and his vitals are stable. He’s gonna be fine.”

Katie let out a sob and covered her face with her hands, relief flooding every cell in her body as Sam wrapped an arm round her.

“We’ve moved him into his own room and it will be a while before he regains consciousness, how long we can’t say.” The doctor continued gently, before looking round and then back to her, his voice lowering “We have an armed guard on his door, Fury’s orders, but you two can stay with him.”

He beckoned for them to follow him through the corridors of the hospital. "He’s doing very well, all things considered.” He said stopping in front of a door. “But, just so you��re aware, he is heavily sedated to ensure he rests as he was quite agitated. Now, it’s just a case of letting him rest whilst the serum work its magic.”

“Thank you.” Katie choked out before she turned to the door and a hand gently touched her arm. She looked up and did a double take as she saw Evans stood there.

“Hey Nova.”

“Evans.” Her voice was a whisper, as he pulled her into a hug. “You…”

“No, I’m not HYDRA, probably the only one in STRIKE who wasn’t.” He swallowed as she stepped back to look at him noticing the shiny bruise adorning his right cheek and the split in his upper lip. “I swear I had no idea. It all started smelling a bit funky when they told us Cap was public enemy number one, and then when I heard his voice on that PA…” He shook his head, sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t try to find you, help sooner…”

Katie shook her head as the ginger Texan man wiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“None of us knew Paul.” The use of his first name made him look at her, and she was swept back into his arms again.

“How is he?” He asked as she stepped back, nodding to the room.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep ya.” He smiled and she gently squeezed his arm. “I’ll be right her if ya’ll need anything.”

“I don’t want anyone in here without my say so.” She instructed. Evans jerked his head to show he understood and she gave him a tight smile as she pushed the door open and stepped into the room, Sam following.

The sight in front of her made fresh tears spring into her eyes and she swallowed as she silently took in Steve’s condition. He was lying, asleep, in his bed with whilst IV’s and monitors recorded his vitals. He had stitches in several places on his face, nasty bruises around his left eye and jawline, and a huge swelling along the same eye that was likely to prevent him from seeing properly for a while. Overall, he was a mess.

“Katie-”

“I’m fine.” She interrupted Sam quickly in a hoarse voice, slightly tinged with her desire to cry. She took a shaky breath as she could hear Steve’s steady heartbeat reaching her ears. “I just need a minute.”

She slowly made her way to one of the chairs by the bed, settling down without looking away from Steve as she reached up to take one of his hands. It was colder than she could ever remember him being.

“Hey, Soldier.” She breathed in a shaking voice before pressing her lips to his bruised knuckles as she held his large hand in both of hers. For a moment, she thought she felt his hand contract in recognition but when she looked down he showed no signs of being awake. “I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m here, like I promised.”

******

The next few hours Sam and Katie stayed in the room with him and eventually Katie had to concede she really needed to clean up. She looked around for the bag which Nat had brought her some clothes in and stood up, grabbing it from where it sat by the door.

“I’m need the bathroom.” She looked at Sam and he nodded. “I won’t be long.”

She headed down the corridor and entered the ladies restroom, leaning over the sink. She glanced at the mirror, her eyes were red, face was dirty, hands still full of Steve’s blood and she looked all in all like a right mess. She set about washing her hands, her face and anything else that she could before she stepped into a cubicle and peeled off her lycra leggings and compression top. Dressing in the jeans and black sweater that Nat had packed, she was also touched to the point of more tears to see her friend had packed her some deodorant, a set of face wipes, dry shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and a hairbrush. By the time Katie had finished she looked almost normal.

Katie pinged Nat a message to thank her and fill her in on the news that Steve was going to be okay and one came back almost immediately

Thank God, and you’re welcome. I just spoke to Tony. He’s on his way back from Australia as we speak, he’d already set off after seeing the news. He told me to tell you to call him, ASAP.

So she did.

“Jesus Kiddo!” Her brother exclaimed when he answered, “I’ve been so worried…how are you? How’s Cap?”

“He’s stable. Still out of it but…” Fresh tears sprung into her eyes at hearing her brother’s voice.

“I’ve had Pepper call the hospital, anything you or he needs…anything…” He stressed, gently “and she’s working to keep the press off your back.”

“Thanks. Where abouts are you?”

“Approaching Singapore airspace. I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise.”

“’kay…”

“Love you Kiddo, he’s strong. He’ll be fine.”

“So everyone keeps saying.” She whispered, the sob catching in her throat.

Tony sighed “Look, this is Rogers we’re talking about. He’s as stubborn as you are.”

“I know.”

“I’ll see you soon. Call me if there’s any news, ok?”

But there wasn’t. Katie sent Sam home in the early hours of the morning but her vigil never wavered. Doctors and nurses bustled in throughout the night. Steve’s vitals were improving but he still didn’t wake up. She managed a few hours sleep, on and off, spreading herself across two of the chairs, waking at around five am. She gratefully accepted the offer of a coffee from a nurse who arrived to explain that they were about to move Steve into a bigger, nicer room, courtesy of Pepper’s discussions with the hospital.

It was around 10 am when Sam returned. The new guard who had relieved Evans for a shift stopped him immediately until Katie popped her head out of the door and told him it was okay. After he had frisked Sam he walked in, holding out a bag containing a breakfast sandwich.

“You’re an angel.” Katie smiled as she tore into it, unaware how long it was since she had eaten something.

The two of them ate as they watched the news reports on the TV in the corner of the bright room. They spoke of the Helicarriers, HYDRA’s plot having integrated the governmental organization as well as the impending investigation. Katie watched the footage of her and Sam whizzing around the sky, and listened as they had even rebuffed Steve’s message for more effect. The attack was all the world was talking about and all the news was focused on Steve’s recovery and the repercussions of his actions.

“The identity of the Avenger Supernova has until today remained a mystery but the rumours are beginning to amass than it is none other than Katie Stark…” One of the news readers was saying,“the sister of Iron Man and girlfriend of Captain America…”

Katie didn’t even flinch. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t find out anyway, as soon as those files they had dumped on the internet became common knowledge it was going to blow up, plus, it was pretty obvious now. What was annoying her however, was that it was as if they blamed them, in particular Steve, for doing what was right.

A few hours later just as Sam had left again, Katie heard a commotion outside the doors to the room and she stood up.

“You know me right? Tony Stark, my sister is in there.”

“Sir, I’m under instructions not to…”

“It’s okay, Davies.” Katie stepped out of the room and spoke to the guard. “He’s good.”

Davies sighed “Mr Stark, I’m gonna have to search you then.” He relented.

Tony shrugged and held his arms out, once he’d been patted down he shot Davies a contemptuous look and he entered the room. No sooner had he done that, Katie was in his arms, sobbing, the Doctor who had been checking Steve shot them both a look as he sidled out of the room quickly.

“Shhhhh Kiddo.” Tony gently stroked her hair as she pressed her face into his chest, his familiar aftershave and touch reminding her of all the times he’d soothed her before when she was upset.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

Tony stepped back to look at her. “Red said you got shot.”

“I did, but I’m okay, see.” Katie shifted her top to show him the patch that was over her wound, which was healing well.

 “Sounds like you’ve been having a bit of fun without me.” Tony sniffed, “It’s okay, I’m not really hurt. Well, maybe just a little. JARVIS is in a whole heap of trouble for not telling me by the way…”

“I told him not to, you were in Australia, Tones.” Katie shook her head gently “Besides, this was all a bit crazy. There wasn’t really time, if we had waited for you to get back it would have been too late…and you could have been in danger and…” She looked over at Steve, his face was still a mess. “Look at him Tony…”

Her brother placed his arm around her and squeezed. “He’s gonna be fine.”

Katie lay her head on Tony’s shoulder as they sat down, his hand gently stroking over her hair, not once trying to get her to leave as he knew she wouldn’t. She’d burst randomly into tears again when she’d told him her car was now buried in the wreck of the Triskelion. It was a lump of metal, not something that mattered, but Tony understood. She was letting everything out, and he simply sat with her and soothed her, informing her that the car was ready for being changed anyway.

 “But I like my car.” She sniffed.

 “Kiddo, it’s almost nine years old. I got you that for your Twenty-First.”

 “And that’s why I like it.”

Tony had to chuckle, that’s what she was like. Sentimental. It was the gesture behind gifts that mattered to her, not the value. He’d brought her up that way to value money, even though they had it in abundance, and he was fiercely proud of the woman she had grown to be. Humble in many ways that he wasn’t.

“You know he asked me to move in with him.” Katie spoke again, breaking the silence after a minute or so. 

“Before marriage?” He teased. “Well, well, well.”

She snorted a laugh “That’s what I said. And then he turned round and told me we could get married if I wanted.”

Tony stiffened slightly before he looked down at her. “And do you want?”

She nodded. “Of course I do. Only I told him to ask me again with a big diamond.” She sniffed again before sobbing. “We both laughed but why did I say that? I don’t need a fucking ring, or-”

“Hey, hey.” Tony gently took her face in both his hands. “You just said it yourself. You both laughed. He won’t have taken it as anything but what it was, a joke. Steve knows you love him. Everyone does. Frankly it’s hard not to, it’s sickening”

She gave a wet laugh and Tony wiped at her cheeks with his thumbs.

“He’s gonna move into mine.” She smiled, as they both settled down again, her head returning to his shoulder. “His place is too small and full of bullet holes and…blood.”

 “Sensible” Tony agreed, pulling her closer.

At one point during the night Pepper called, filling Tony in on the fact that Natasha was to be summonsed to the UN for a hearing and that they wanted Katie there too, her secret identity as an Avenger was well and truly busted.

“Get the lawyers onto it.” Tony replied simply, glancing at Katie who was now asleep, across a makeshift bed consisting of four plastic chairs from around the room, head laying on his lap  As his hand gently smoothed her hair, his need to protect her boiled fiercely within him. “She’s not going anywhere, certainly not yet. Oh, and I need you to get hold of Happy. I have a couple of jobs for him.”

*****

Every single inch of Steve’s body hurt. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his head was full of cotton wool, his eyes hurt as the colours flashed in front of them. He screwed his eyes further shut against the painful light that still assaulted him through his closed eyelids. He took a moment to breathe, steadying himself as soft music flooded his ears. It wasn’t something he had heard before but it was pleasant, soulful, jazz-like. His head stopped spinning and he felt brave enough to crack an eye open. He glanced round the room, puzzled slightly. He was in a hospital. Then he remembered. The Hellicarriers, Bucky, and the last thing he had seen before blacking out, his girl.  He had been cold, and wet, but she had been there.  And she still was, at the side of his bed, head laying against Sam’s shoulder.

 “On your left.” He managed to croak out. Katie’s head jerked up from its resting place and they both glanced over at the bed where Steve was led. He smiled groggily before his head rolled to the side, flush back against the pillow and he closed his eyes once more.

At the sound of his voice,  Katie instantly jumped up and settled on the side of his bed, gently stroking his face.

“Hey.” Her voice cracked. “Welcome back.”

“’M so tired, Sweetheart.” He mumbled as she dropped a kiss to his forehead, his eyes remaining closed as he managed a small smile.

“Then sleep.” She instructed softly, the relief flooding her system that he was with them, albeit not totally, but he was with them. She gently smoothed his hair, and kept that up until she could tell he was back asleep.

 She turned to Sam who gave her a smile. “Lazy bastard.”

A few minutes later a nurse popped her head round the door. Katie smiled and told her about him waking up briefly and she nodded, checking the readings. “That’s a good sign.” she beamed, “His body will be drained, serum or no serum so him resting is part of the natural recovery process. When he comes round fully, come find me and we’ll get the doctor back.”

An hour or so later, the mood in Steve’s room was considerably lighter given his waking up before. Katie, Sam and Evans, who was leaning in the open doorway, were mid a playful discussion as to whether or not Voldemort could take Darth Vader in a fight. (Katie had started this whole thing after calling Evans “Ron Weasley with a rifle” on her way back from the bathroom) and were just about to dive into the whole schematics on Magic vs The Force when a voice spoke from the bed.

“What the hell are you three talking about?” Steve grumbled playfully and Katie’s head jerked up to see his eyes watching her and she was beyond happy to see they were full of their usual warmth, the warmth he had whenever he looked at her.

“Hi!” Katie breathed in relief as she stood up and moved closer to him, settling on the edge of his bed.

“Hey, Doll.” He smiled as she took his hand, her fingers snaking into his. His eyes flickered to Evans, taking in the man’s various bruises and he frowned.

“Got in a bit of a fight with Rollins.” Evans drawled with a nod, and Steve let out the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. The man wasn’t HYDRA. “He didn’t take kindly to me threatening to test out the whole ‘cut one head off, two more shall take its place’ theory on him.”

Steve gave a small huff of a laugh before he winced slightly at the movement and Evans nodded to him once more, before allowing the door to shut, returning to his post. Steve’s eyes fell on Sam who raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know, having a building dropped on my head wasn’t part of the job description”

Steve’s smile spread a bit further before he gently lifted his head up off the pillow, looking around before grimacing at the throbbing that filled each bone in his body “How long was I out?”

“Forty-Three hours and Thirty Seven minutes if you don’t count the last hour you’ve been resting.” Katie smiled gently, glancing up at the clock on the wall as she settled on the side of the bed. Ah, yes, Steve’s brain vaguely registered he’d woken up before, made some quip of some sorts.  “Not that I’ve been counting…” She finished and he smiled again, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Have you been here that whole time?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Sam’s been here too, a lot. As has Tony. He’s just nipped back to my place to change and make a few calls.”

“Trust me, two days aint that bad considering how you looked when you got here.” Sam added jokingly.

“Sam.” Katie reprimanded gently, looking at him.

“Alright,” He relented standing from his chair and holding his hands up, with a smirk. “I’ll go get that hot nurse, give you guys a minute.”

“Utter dog.” She snorted, the pair of them watching as he left the room and she turned to face Steve, tears in her eyes.

“You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He looked at her, and he was. He hated seeing her upset. There was a moment’s pause before he decided he had to know. “What happened after… did we?”

“SHIELD’s gone, Alexander Pierce is dead. Fury shot him. And as far as HYDRA, everyone major that was involved at the Treskellion is either captured or dead.” she paused, not sure if she should be telling him the full scale of what had gone down. Not whilst he was still recovering.

“What is it?” he frowned and she knew she wouldn’t be able to fob him off.

“Nat dumping the files on the internet means my identity as Nova is probably blown wide open. There goes our quiet life.”

“Nothing about our life is quiet.” he said a soft chuckle rising in his chest.

She grinned “True. Gonna be a lot of other shit to mop up though, The Treskellion was the tip of the iceberg. All the main SHIELD bases fell. America, Canada, Europe.”

Steve nodded along then asked the question he was almost afraid to hear the answer to. “Any news on Bucky?

"He’s gone.” Katie told him sadly. “I’m sorry Steve. I know how much he meant to you. But, I think he remembered you. He pulled you out of the river, told me to get help.” She continued to explain about their short exchange on the river bank and Steve listened, unable to stop the hopeful feeling spreading in his chest. Maybe there was a chance for Bucky after all, they just needed to find him. Katie watched him, and he smiled at her.

“I’m glad you spoke to him.” He nodded, and then a cheeky glint flashed in his eyes “Still think all the girls in Brooklyn were dumbasses for hanging off his arm and not mine?”

She gave a bark of a laugh and leaned down towards his face, rubbing her nose against his “Always.” She whispered, before giving him a soft quick peck on the lips.

******

Tony arrived back an hour or so later. He was genuinely pleased to see Steve awake and after gently grasping the soldier’s hand between both of his in a friendly, brotherly, gesture he sat down and delivered some interesting news.

“So the Goth Pirate called me.” He said, leaning back in his seat “He sounded amazingly well for a dead guy.”

“Fury called you?” Steve frowned

“Yeah. He’s laying low, you know, on account of being dead, and he wants to hand control of the Avengers over to us, Cap.”

Steve frowned, before he lay his head back on his pillow. He knew the Avengers would be needed again, especially now with SHIELD gone. He turned to Tony who continued.

“I think that’s the right thing to do, for us to take control” The billionaire spoke and Steve nodded.

“I suppose, but there’s something I gotta do first.”

“Yeah, recover.” Sam shot, drawing a faint smile from Steve but Katie knew full well he didn’t mean that. He was intending to go after Bucky.

They spent the rest of the afternoon making idle chit chat with Tony, who was already planning on further renovating the tower to house the Avengers full time in the wake of Fury’s news. Steve, Katie was pleased to see, was enthusiastic about the plans and listened, looking at the various ideas Tony showed him on the tablet. However, now that Steve was awake, the nurses seemed to be a little more reluctant to allow everyone to stay and at about six pm one of them politely suggested that Sam and Tony should be making their way home.

“You do know I’m paying for this, right?” Tony quipped at her. She shot him a look which made him visibly recoil and he turned to Katie pulling a face as he stood up.

“I’ve gotta get back to New York anyway.” He shrugged, pulling his sister into a hug. “Lawyers to speak to…new suits to build seeing as you blew yours up.”

“You blew it up?” Steve looked at her.

“I needed to send up a signal so everyone could find us.” She shrugged as Tony looked at her reproachfully.

“Yeah, I should be going too. I gotta tidy my place.” Sam groaned. “Someone trashed it.”

“You’re welcome to stay at mine if you want, for as long as you need.”  Katie offered, as Steve let out a sigh and began to mumble an apology which Sam waved away.

“It’s fine man, it won’t take me long to reorganise it all.”

“Speaking of which…” Tony looked at Steve then Katie as he fished in his pockets for something. “I’ve had Happy organise to clear your apartment Cap, now you two are shacking up together. He’s gonna have all your stuff sent Kiddo’s, save you a job. Oh and I figured you might need this.” He tossed Katie a set of keys. She glanced down at them, her eyebrow raised.

“It’s a Q5, rought over from my personal collection.” He looked at her and she smiled at her brother. “Try not to bury this one under a sky-scraper.”

“Thank you.” She whispered, giving him another hug, slipping the keys into her pocket. “I love you, Tone.”

“Obviously, because I’m the best big brother in the world.” He hugged her tight, and Steve nodded to him, thanking him with a look which Tony acknowledged with a sharp incline of his head in the soldier’s direction.

 As the two men left, Steve raised his right arm to bid them goodbye and the pair of them headed off down the corridor, chatting away animatedly. Katie watched them go before turning to Steve, who was yawning like a lion.

“You okay?”

“I just don’t remember the last time I was this tired…or in as much pain”

"Do you want me to get the Nurse, up your pain relief?”

“No.” He yawned again, he hated how it made the room spin.“Think I’m gonna sleep.”

She teased gently. “Again?”

He smiled and looked at her, swallowing. “Will…will you stay?” He asked, tentatively “Until I fall asleep, that is?”

“I’m not leaving you.” She cut him off and dropped a kiss to his forehead as she climbed onto the bed next to him “I’ll be here when you go to sleep, and here when you wake up.”

 “You don’t need to stay all night. You must be exhausted, you should go home and get some sleep.” 

“I’m fine…” She looked at him, before her body betrayed her and she too let out a huge yawn which she tried to stifle. He raised an eyebrow.

“Please honey, you need some rest too.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 Steve shook his head. She really was obtuse at times.

 “What?”

“Nothing.” He lay his head back on the pillow a grin flashing across his face. “Just remembering what a stubborn, pain in the-“

“If you wanna get out of here any time soon, then I wouldn’t finish that sentence…”

“Miss Stark is that a threat?” Steve looked at her, a smile curling further across his face

“It’s a promise…” She grinned,  leaning over to kiss him gently. “Now go to sleep.”

*******

Steve was discharged from the hospital the next afternoon, the doctors having no reason to keep him any longer since he healed so quickly, though a cheeky nurse did warn that it wouldn’t be wise for him to engage in any strenuous activity, with a pointed look in Katie’s direction who merely rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her face.

They arrived back to Katie’s, no theirs, a little after 4 in the afternoon. Steve was dying for a hot shower, and a shave, despite Katie’s protests that she liked the stubble he had sprouted, and whilst he was under the scalding hot waterfall, Katie headed into the kitchen to grab a drink. As she opened the fridge for a bottle of water she wasn’t surprised it was fully stocked including a few bottles of expensive pinot grigio and some beer. There was a note stuck to one of the bottles, in Tony’s handwriting.

Couldn’t have you both coming home to an empty fridge now, could I?

Whatever it is he’s ‘got to do’, I know you’ll follow. So keep safe, stay in touch, and if you need help…you know where to find a good team.

T xxx

She read the note over again and smiled to herself. It was times like this that her brother always came through for her. She fired him a quick text message to thank him before she headed up to the bedroom to see if Steve was hungry.

“Hey love, just wanted to know…” the words died in her mouth at the sight of him, his upper body was flecked with droplets of water from the shower. The knife wound on his shoulder had faded to nothing but a fresh, pink scar and the bruises he sported were all starting to turn yellow now apart from one stubborn one on the right side of his ribcage that was still a mass of purple. But it was the round circle of scar tissue that stood out, on the left side of his lower abdomen, angry and red, where the bullet that had done the most damage had exited that caught her attention. Her mouth went dry and suddenly her eyes were misting over as it hit her exactly how close she had come to losing him. Quite simply, she wasn’t sure she could cope without him now, which scared her as she’d always been fiercely independent.

 “Hey…” he said, swiftly stepping forward, his hands cupping her face as he saw her face crumple “Sweetheart, I’m fine…”

“I know, I know but…” she sniffed. “I almost lost you and I couldn’t bear it if that happened…”

 “Well you didn’t.” He said, gently, “Gonna take more than that to get rid of me.”

His lips brushed hers, the lightest of touches but it set every single nerve end she had into over drive with desire. As her breath hitched she felt him grin against her mouth before he kissed her, slightly harder this time, parting her lips with his tongue. He pulled her close, moving his hands up to the small of her back, pressing her into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, running the fingers of one hand through his hair while the others lingered at the base of his skull, holding him to her. They stayed like that for what felt like forever, the kiss growing in intensity, hunger, until Katie felt him hard against her stomach and her face was raw from the stubble that he hadn’t shaved yet.

 “The doctor said you had to take it easy…” she whispered into the space between them as they each worked to steady our breathing

 “Yeah…” he said, slowly moving her backwards, “But, what do they know?”

“Ermm a lot.” she snorted.

“You need proof that I’m all healed?”

“Depends on what proof you’re talking about…” she grinned as he dropped his hands to her ass, reaching down as if to lift her but she stopped him, hands on his wrists.

“Steve, your ribs…”

“For once in your life will you shut up and just do as you’re told…” He looked down at her. She was about to argue, about to tell him no, but as he looked at her, his eyes alive with desire she knew it was pointless.

“Yes, Captain…” she murmured as his lips crashed onto hers, but he didn’t try and lift her again, instead he backed her up the short few strides, before the back of her knees hit the side of the bed and she dropped back onto it.

“I’ll take it easy…” He whispered as he crawled over the top of her, sliding his hand up her jersey dress and into the waistband of her leggings and knickers, slowly sinking two fingers into her warm, wet depth. She let out a soft moan, open mouth grazing his neck as he felt her clench around him. “Easy,” he repeated before her mouth hungrily claimed his again. He moved his hands to reach down and they parted just long enough so he could pull her dress up over her head. His eyes automatically darted to the bullet wound on her left shoulder, that hadn’t healed half as fast as his, the stitches weren’t due out for another week

“I hate that you got hurt…” he muttered, slipping one bra strap down, then the other, before she arched her back allowing him to reach round and undo the clasp before he discarded it to the floor. His lips travelled across her collar bone and up her neck, drawing a soft groan from her lips as his stubble scraped her skin and once more his fingers claimed her. She writhed with pleasure at his strokes and he groaned gently, his lips working on the spot under her ear. He moved away for a second, to rid himself of the towel and crawled over her so that she was led flat, his hands pulling at the side of her black leggings, removing them along with her panties easily. He positioned himself over her, his tongue dipping into her mouth before he pushed into her, making her shudder slightly. His hands were on either side of her face, caressing her cheek and jaw as he kissed her again, rocking his hips as opposed to thrusting, the contact not breaking for a second. He dropped his head to her neck, his lips gently brushing her ear as he let out a groan, his hips grinding against hers.

It was soft, it was gentle, it was intimate, not rushed and Katie cried out his name loudly when her orgasm took her, her thighs closing around him. He was consumed completely by her, and he followed her over the edge, a loud moan rumbling in his throat. God he loved this woman with every single inch of his body.

“One day,” he mumbled, his lips brushing her ear, “I’m going to ask you properly.”

She understood what he meant. Smiling she looked at him, not a shred of hesitation on her face as her lips met his and she whispered into the kiss, “One day, I’m going to say yes.”

He couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face as he kissed her again, noses sliding carefully against one another to avoid aggravating any bruises before he rolled over pulling her to him, her words reverberating around his head.

 I’m going to say yes.

 His hand gently carded through her hair as he felt her relax into him and he dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

 I’m going to say yes.

 *****

The flashes of the photographers and the hustle and bustle of the audience were invasive. 4 days had passed since they had taken down SHIELD/Hydra and despite the best attempts of the lawyers that Tony had instructed on both hers and Natasha’s behalf, they had been summonsed to Capitol Hill.

What pissed Katie off the most wasn’t the attention, it was the fact they were being held accountable when they had done the right thing. Natasha felt the same, but the pair of them remained professional and unaffected by the staging of the conference before them. They both moved to the fingerprint reader before returning to their appointed places to answer their questions. Nat’s hair was as usual smoothed and perfectly capped on her shoulders, Katie’s was twisted back in a bun. Katie’s face still bore the bruises she had gotten from Rumlow, which were turning and fading and she probably could have covered them better but she’d chosen not to, simply to make a point.

“Miss Stark, you know Captain Rogers the best out of anyone in this room. Why do you believe he felt the need to take down our intelligence service?”

Katie wanted to laugh; it was such a stupid question to open with. But the serious look on his face told her he was serious.

"Taking down SHIELD was the morally right thing to do. If we hadn’t stopped that launch over twenty million people would be dead.” she said seriously. The congressman eyed her before jotting down something on his notepad.

The questioning continued from there. Not many people in the room were sympathetic to all that they had been through. In fact, Katie would go as far as to suggest that most were trying to find a weak spot or a way for them to trip them up. An hour in and it felt like they were going round in circles. Katie was getting pissed off. Besides her Nat shifted slightly, crossing her arms over her chest, the two women resisting the urge to look at one another.

“Why is there no news from Captain Rogers?” asked one of the men of the congress.

That was when Katie lost it. She turned to the front taking a deep breath as she looked up at the ceiling with annoyance, the eye roll she had been fighting came fully as she glanced back at the moron who had been speaking “I don’t know what else to say.” she spoke, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Maybe the fact he almost died might have something to do with it. That said, I think the new rock in the middle of the Potomac speaks for him in this case.”

"Perhaps he can explain to us how he hopes this country will ensure its national security because you have dismantled our intelligence services.” The Congressman insisted reproachfully.

This time it was Natasha that spoke, her attitude ringing across the room, she was pissed as well.

“What information?” She asked angrily. “HYDRA sold you lies.”

“Lies that you took care to spread.” The Congressman reminded, pointing at her with a knowing look. Natasha narrowed her lips to his allusion but it was Katie that answered, the final threads of her self-control finally snapping.

“Ste- Captain Rogers, sacrificed everything to save the lives of millions of people when he took that airship down into the ice over 70 years ago.” she leant forward “Not to mention the fact that my dad, Howard Stark, the co-founder of SHIELD also worked against Hydra in the war.” she took a breath and looked at Natasha “Agent Romanoff was almost killed by Hydra’s most deadly assassin on a mission 5 years ago. And more to the fact, 2 years ago we fought, side by side as part of the Avengers to keep the world and its people safe. And you’re seriously suggesting now that we would knowingly put those same people in danger?”

“Passionate speech Miss Stark, or should we call you Nova…” he said, making her snort and look away “And perhaps you’re right, maybe you didn’t know…but Agent Romanoff…” he turned to Natasha “It happens that a few in the commission have the feeling that, given your state of service for our country and against it, your place is more in a penitentiary than in a senatorial commission.”

Katie looked at Nat who took a deep breath, clearly collecting her thoughts before answering with confidence. "You’re not gonna put me in jail.” She paused for the dramatic effect before letting a small smirk curl the corner of her pink lips as she glanced at a Katie before looking at the front again “You’re not gonna put any of us in jail.” She arched a mocking eyebrow as she kept eye contact with the congressman. “You know why?”

“Please enlighten us.” He replied snidely.

“Because you need us.” Katie answered for her. “With SHIELD gone, the world needs the Avengers more than ever.”

Natasha smiled gently and continued “Miss Stark is right. Yes, the world is vulnerable. And we’re partly responsible, but we’re also the most qualified to defend it. So you want to throw us in prison? Go ahead” she shrugged “You know where to find us.”

With that she gently touched Katie’s shoulder and she rose gracefully from her seat, Katie following her. The pair of them turned to face the hordes of press, all of them were shoving microphones and cameras into their faces whilst they moved to the doors and pushed their way through the throng of people.

“Move aside please…” Happy was in his element, arm round Katie as he cleared a path to the SUV, where he opened the door to allow them to slide in. He pulled away from the kerb and sped off.

“We’ll head to Miss Romanoff’s first, then I’ll drop you home Kiddo.”

“Happy, what would I do without you?” Katie smiled at him. She turned to Nat who was looking out of the window.

“You ok?”

She shrugged “Could be worse.”

“So, what’s next for you?” she asked.

“Gonna take a bit of time out.” she said vaguely, shrugging “You?”

“Steve wants to track Bucky down.” Katie sighed “Although I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.”

She didn’t reply. They rode in silence until they reached her condo and Katie turned to her.

“Nat.”

She looked at Katie, her green eyes locking onto her friend’s.

“Don’t be a stranger. Come over this week, we can get takeout and make fun out of Steve, just like normal.”

She smiled and reached across the seats, giving her a hug. “I’d like that.”

****

The days following the hearing were peaceful as Steve and Katie mostly lounged at home, unpacking some of his things that Happy had sent over. They binge watched shows, cooked, went for walks and then one night Sam and Natasha dropped in for take-out and a few beers. Sam made sure he congratulated Katie and Natasha on them both basically telling the Government to kiss their asses.

“It was the best thing I’ve seen on TV in years!” he gleefully said, as Steve dropped a kiss to the side of Katie’s head. In contrast, Steve had hated seeing both her and Nat getting grilled. He’d offered to go himself but both girls had insisted they could handle it, and he should keep his head down for the foreseeable. It was the one thing that Katie knew she could do to protect him.

It was as Natasha was leaving that Steve pulled her to one side and asked her if she could get any of her old contacts to dig up any information on Bucky. Katie pretended she wasn’t listening to the conversation, but she heard every word as Natasha tried to warn him that it wasn’t a good idea, but, stubborn as ever, Steve insisted so she nodded, and promised to do what she could.

And now, almost two weeks later, they were stood in a graveyard. Katie supposed there were stranger places to meet up with your dead-not-dead ex-boss…

“Funny, most people need a Medium or a Ouija board to speak to dead people.” Sam quipped as Fury approached them.

“I see dead people…” Katie replied in an almost perfect impression of the Kid from The Sixth Sense, causing Sam to snort and Steve to chastise the pair of them for acting like a pair of school children in a graveyard.

“Sorry Dad.” Katie rolled her eyes and he shot her a disapproving look which she met with an equally sassy one of her own, and Steve looked away before he laughed at her.

"So, you’ve experienced this sort of thing before?” Fury asked, drawing up behind the three.

“You get used to it,” said Steve, looking down at the grave stone with Fury’s name on it, placed over an empty, buried coffin.

Katie slipped her hand into his, gently squeezing it.

“We’ve been data mining Hydra’s files. Looks like a lot of rats didn’t go down with the ship,” said Fury, He was standing by Katie’s side, staring down at his own tombstone, with sunglasses on and a hoodie over his head and he looked up at Steve “I’m headed to Europe tonight. Wanted to ask if you’d come.”

“There’s something I gotta do first,” Steve responded, simply.

“I assume you gotta do it too?” Fury looked at Katie. She shrugged.

“How about you, Wilson? Could use a man with your ability,” said Fury, turning his gaze to Sam.

“I’m more of a soldier than a spy,” responded Sam.

“Alright then,” Fury shrugged, shaking Sam’s hand before going over to shake Steve’s. “If anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me right here.” He said shaking Katie’s hand last as he nodded to the grave.

“You should be honoured.” Natasha’s voice drifted across from behind the three of them, making them turn around to see her walking up to them while Fury himself was already strolling away in the opposite direction. “That’s about as close as he gets to saying ‘thank you’.”

“Not going with him?” Katie asked.

“No,” she sang coming to a stop, keeping her hands behind her back.

“Not staying here,” Steve concluded.

“Nah…” she drew out the reply. “I blew all my covers, I gotta go figure out a new one.”

“That could take some time,” Katie raised an eyebrow.

“I’m counting on it.” She smirked, turning to Steve. “That thing you asked for; called in a few favours from Kiev.”

As she removed her hands from behind her back, she revealed a brown folder, which Steve took staring down at it with a contemplative expression.

“Be careful Steve,” she added, repeating her warning and he looked at her, nodding. “You may not want to pull on that thread.”

“Take care of yourself.” Katie said, looking at her, before giving her a quick hug.  “I think I’m going to miss you, just a little bit." 

"Only a little?” Natasha teased right back. “I’ll miss you too.”

She turned to leave and Katie gently reached over to tilt the file down so she could see it, wincing at the photo of Bucky in some kind of cryo-stasis. Steve looked at her, his eyes giving away his sadness and she gently ran her hand up his arm.

“I’m not sure I want you involved in this.” he looked down at her and she rolled her eyes.

“We live together you ass.” She looked at him, sternly “And we’re in this now, the both of us. I’m not going anywhere.”

She felt like she had been saying that a lot recently, and she had. But she wanted him to understand, nothing that happened could and would ever tear them apart.

 As Sam approached Steve closed the folder, but the man had already seen it. He shot a look up to the sky, his eyes locking on Katie’s and she gave him a quick look which was almost sympathetic as she registered Sam’s frustration. It didn’t go unnoticed by Steve either, he knew this could be opening a whole can of worms, or a ‘bucket of vipers’ as Katie had said the other night, but he had to try. He owed it to Bucky.

“You’re going after him aren’t you?” Sam asked.

“You don’t have to come with us.” Steve responded

“I know.” Sam remarked, before a smirk crossed his face. “When do we start?”

**** Chapter 18

**Original Posting**

[the-silentium]

5²

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 2770 words

Warnings: Swearing.

Requested by: @justalittleb1tcrazy​ & Anon

Hi! I love your work, and I have an idea/request if it’s not too much to ask :) i’ve been thinking about a continuation of the 11 Five fic (because I adored it) where the Hargreeves go back to 2019 like s2 and the reader is a part of Sparrow Academy and she’s slightly more edgy personality wise, or something like that lol

Hi! Just finished reading 11 and I sobbed so hard ngl,, would it be alright to ask for a part two?? Maybe it could be about how five goes on after wards, honestly I just need closure :(( it was so good,,,

A/N: Here’s 11 Part 2! Hope you guys like it! @justalittleb1tcrazy​, I already had the part 2 planned in my head, but you weren’t wrong with the Sparrow Academy! (almost) Also, the Sparrow Academy is totally OC, I didn’t go with the comics.

The days following your death were the most exhausting days Five ever lived. Between running around to gather his siblings and trying desperately to find a way back to 2019, losing precious time to sleep wasn’t even an option. He was running on the last bits of adrenaline his body could give him, the determination to find you back in 2019 and apologize profusely while holding onto you for dear life was enough to keep his body functioning for so long. 

When Klaus broke the circle to go fetch the cowboy hat, Five genuinely wondered if the homicidal rage was finally getting to him because the thought of murdering his brother with his bare hands seemed pretty enjoyable at the moment. His patience was running thinner by the seconds and the lack of caffeine in his bloodstream was doing nothing to appease his pulsion. 

As soon as the circle was complete again, the time-traveler visualised the right equations in his mind, warmth radiated through his hands and soon he jumped to the old mansion along with his siblings. 

For a second, Five let himself live the joy of the moment. He finally did it. His dream for the past 45 years was now fulfilled, by his actions the people he loved the most could live in a world where the apocalypse never occurred and will never happen, where they had a real future and where he could live the life he wanted back when he was just a kid in the skin of his now-adult body. 

He dodged Klaus’ open arms and closed his fists to jump to his bedroom, where he knew you were waiting for him to come back from the Icarus Theatre, but the familiar laugh bouncing around in the living room stopped his movement. His heart fluttered in his chest, his desire finally so near. He didn’t lose a second and jumped to the living room, his eyes searching for you excitedly. 

You were seated on the second floor, your legs between the railings slowly swang in the air, your eyes fixated on a book opened in your hands, its words bringing a beautiful smile to your lips. 

He didn’t recon jumping behind you, but next thing he knew, your back was facing him and you perked up at the soft old floor’s whine. 

“Five, you’re back!” The joy in your voice got him to his knees, the relief of finally being able to hold you alive and well in his arms was too much for him to handle. 

On an impulse, Five’s hands reached for your cheeks as you were turning your head to welcome him home, his desperation of the last couple of days showing through the not so delicate kiss he pressed on your lips. 

Stars flashed behind his closed eyelids, not because of the power of the moment like he expected but because of the powerful right hook you managed to land on his temple. Five fell on his ass, stunned, hurt and utterly confused. 

He opened his eyes to see you hurriedly get up from your spot and back away from him. He almost didn’t register the fear in your eyes before you tripped on a nearby bench and fell over. Always quick, Five jumped to your side and caught you before you touched the hard floor. 

“What’s wrong? It’s me, Five!” He asked, his voice laced with worry while his eyes searched your face for any clue of why you attacked him after clearly being happy that he was back. 

“You’re not Five.” You spat with anger. “Let go of me, asshole!” You jiggled in his grip, successfully freeing yourself without much of a fight, your words paralyzing him. It couldn’t be. 

His sibling’s footsteps along with their worried voices echoed around Five but none of their words reached him, his thoughts were way too loud for any sound to break through his mind. 

The answer was obvious. His siblings always managed to fuck up his plans, creating the biggest catastrophes everywhere they went and destroyed everything they touched. They had fucked with the timeline. They had fucked his dream. They had fucked his future. 

Just as Five thought he couldn’t be angrier, a new bunch of people joined your side, one particular brown-haired man wrapping you in his arms from behind and holding you tightly to his chest. The sight of another man holding you made his blood boil in his vein, the feeling reminded him of the deadly phase seven; homicidal rage. If you hadn’t gripped tightly the man’s forearm, Five would have definitely jumped into a fight he was sure to lose but needed beyond reason. 

“Who the hell are these guys?” Klaus’ voice broke the heavy silence of the room. 

The biggest one of the new group turned his head toward his brother and Five already knew what he was going to say. 

“We are the Sparrow Academy. I am Number One.“ 

Five’s eyes were still locked with yours, wishing for this nightmare to end or for you to break out of your act and confess that this was a very elaborate prank like you used to pull on him in your younger years. His salvation never came. 

"Shit.”

Five was surprised his family caught up with the events instead of being clueless as usual. 

Turns out their dad was disappointed enough of them during their meeting in the 60s that he adopted a completely different set of children instead. Five was sure that it wouldn’t hurt that much, knowing his dad replaced him, but it did hurt. A lot. After all he did to save the world, he was replaced like an insignificant object. Oh and to top it all? You fell in love with the current Number Five who can manipulate time as he willed. Out of spite, Five decided to call him Square from now on. 

The lack of sleep mixed with his jealousy was making him very snappy and on edge. When he was trying to stop the apocalypse the first time, you were the only one able to calm him down from his cumulated frustration and anger. You’d take his hand, lay your head on his shoulder and talk to him about anything and everything. 

Maybe it was delusional of him to think that even in another timeline you would remember him if he shared enough time with you. He couldn’t stop thinking that he was the original, the very first Number Five and that you belonged with him and not a pale copy, so he jumped to the kitchen where he knew you were making yourself a drink.

“Hot chocolate.” The sweet scent reached his nostrils and the memory of you showing him how to make it just like you liked played in his mind, stretching his lips into a fond smile. “You never changed.”

“I don’t like what’s bitter.” You shot him a wary look, clearly remembering that he jumped on you earlier. “I thought my Five made it clear, you altered the timeline. Even if another me was with you, I am not yours.” You mixed the hot water with the cocoa mix and turned to get what else you needed to make it perfect. 

You stopped in your tracks when Five showed you the vanilla essence and chocolate chips in his hands.

“Thank you.” You whispered as you took the items from his hands. 

“Happy to know some things never change.” Five stated, following you near the mugs. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw you shoot him a glance when he reached on the shelves for a cup. 

“Do you remember your past and future lives yet?” He questioned as he prepared himself a pot of strong black coffee. 

“H-how do you know?” He was proud that finally your attention was completely on him. “My Five doesn’t even know.” Five tried to ignore the pinch of his heart when you stated that he wasn’t yours. 

“I know a lot about you.” He watched the black liquid fall from the coffee maker into the pot, hoping it would work faster. “Do you remember the 60s?" 

"I remember the French Renaissance, the US colonization and a bunch of other lives but no, I never lived in the 60s.” You frowned, your eyes moving away, surely trying to remember if you really lived in that period. 

“You did, you simply don’t remember it yet. If my theory is right, you won’t remember the 2019 life we had because everything changed in the 60s and erased it. This means that you’ll most likely remember the 60s some time soon and only then you’ll remember our 2019 because it happened back then.” His heartbeat accelerated at the perspective that you’d remember your affection for him and everything would go back to normal. Almost. 

“So you think because I’ll remember my past life I’ll leave my Five for you?” You scoffed. “You’re so frickin’ arrogant.” You grabbed your cup and turned around, preparing yourself to walk away from him. 

“I’m not arrogant!” His frustration exploded. 

“Oh yes you are!" 

"I’m scared!” His voice broke, but he didn’t care. Your furrowed brows relaxed and the insults on your tongue died along with your anger. 

“Why?" 

"I’m scared that I’ve lost forever the person who’s the most important to me. I survived 45 years in the apocalypse for you. I stopped an apocalypse for you. And you don’t even remember me.” At some point tears fell from his eyes, splashing into the cup tightly encased in his hands. “I’m scared I’ll never get to tell you that I love you.” His voice was merely a harsh whisper but you heard it nonetheless. He knew. 

Your footsteps walking away made him close his eyes in agony. Just like the day he found your tortured body lying in a pool of your blood. 

“Stop being an asswad.” You muttered before leaving the room. Five’s cup exploded between his hands, causing shards to cut into his flesh and blood to pool onto the counter. A small smile adorned his lips, a new flame of hope burning into his heart. 

You avoided him like the plague for the next following days, exiting every room he entered and eating outside the manor whenever you could. He found it quite irritating but he knew you needed the time to think. You were starting to remember, he was sure of it by the small glances he received from you everytime you fled to another room. 

He finally got some sleep, his dreams full of the comforting warmth of your arms, sweet words were whispered in his ears while one of your hands lightly combed his hair with your fingers. He desperately wanted to stay asleep, to never leave you again, but life was cruel and he always woke up, the reality hitting him like a brick. You would avoid him, again. He would die inside, again. 

After changing into his newly bought day clothes, Five jumped into the kitchen, his too great need of coffee controlling his actions. He found you seated on the counter next to the freshly brewed coffee pot, a book in hand, a hot chocolate cup in the other. 

“Good morning asswad.” You said without lifting your gaze from your line. 

Five noticed your grip tighten around your book as he made his way toward you. He stopped centimeters away from your knees, his gaze transfixed onto your evading eyes. He patiently waited for you to meet his gaze before bidding you good morning. 

Your breath caught in your throat when he leaned forward, his arm outstretched to grab a cup on the shelve behind you. Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as the others. 

He poured himself a cup full to the brim and carefully took a first gulp of his liquid addiction. He sighed at the taste, strong and bitter, just as he liked. 

“So I do remember it right.” You closed your book and put it at your side on the counter. Your eyes lifted to meet his, causing Five to almost drop his cup at your tired expression. “What am I supposed to do now?” You sighed and rubbed your face with your free hand. 

Five’s stress level skyrocketed. He knew what you were referring to. You were torn apart between living your present or allowing your past feelings to guide who you are now. He had wished the choice would have been obvious, that you would choose him without an ounce of doubt, but you were struggling. 

“My feelings for you were so strong that I feel them now a-and they confuse me so much. I never felt that for-” You stopped yourself but Five knew what you meant. You never loved Square that hard and he was glad. “But what we had was in the past and what I have with him is real.” Tears gattered in your eyes just as panic flowed through Five’s mind. 

“What we had was real! It’s still real now! You feel it and I sure as hell still feel it!” He put down his cup and softly placed his hands on your knees, desperation to prove his point showing in his eyes. 

“I’m just being overwhelmed by my past.” You shook your head as tears fell down your cheeks. 

“No you’re not. You’re panicking because you remembered me and fell in love with me through your memories. I’m the same man and you are the same woman and you know it!" 

A sob passed your lips and Five reached for your waist to pull you into a comforting hug. Before his fingers even touched your form, you disappeared. Stunned, he turned around to find you into Square’s arms, his angry eyes shooting daggers at Five. 

"Stay away from her.” He growled before disappearing with you. 

Five kicked the nearest chair, pissed off by the time manipulator. He could not fight with someone capable of slowing, quickening or even stopping time. He had to put his last hope in you.

Square stayed at your sides for the next two days. Five saw how his constant presence was getting on your nerves, you needed time alone and he was denying you that out of jealousy. 

Five was scribbling into his notebook when you walked up to him, definitely pissed off. Your hands were closed into tight fists and you huffed as you let yourself fall onto the couch next to him. You lifted your feet onto the cushion and hugged your knees. 

He wanted to reach out for you so much, although it was clear that you needed your space. He waited for you to start the conversation, apprehension eating at him. 

“They say ‘You can’t just give up on someone because the situation is not ideal. Great relationships aren’t great because they have no problems. They’re great because both people care enough about the other person to find a way to make it work.’” You took a deep breath before turning your head to meet his eyes. “I want to make us work. Like we always did." 

Five’s heart stopped. Not in agony this time, but in relief. Happiness overwhelmed his senses and quickly, he reached for you to pull you against his chest and keep you close while tears fell from his eyes as the stress lifted from his shoulder. Your arms snaked their way around his waist and for a moment, he let himself melt under your touch that he needed for so long now. 

"I love you.” He whispered the words he so desperately wanted to tell you in the 60s. 

“I love you too.” You snuggled deeper into his neck, your hot breath on his skin giving him goosebumps. “Thank you." 

"For what?” He frowned, genuinely wondering why you were thanking him. 

“You stopped the apocalypse, Five. You gave so much to save the world.” You pulled away, smiling at him brightly. “Thank you." 

Five realised that he was never thanked before for anything he had done for anyone. His composure melted and more tears ran down his face, the very first acknowledgement of his actions and sacrifices hitting him right in the feels. 

"I’d do it all again for you.” He replied with a broken voice, his throat constricted and tears drowning him. 

You pulled him into your chest after letting your feet fall on the floor, where he cried out of relief that you were still with him and out of exhaustion of everything he went through so that he could ensure that you and his family were safe.

[sanstropfremir]

episode 9 baby!!! dear lord that was a lot!!

frankly, i'm still in shock that i full on manifested an opera stage, AND it was a rock opera stage at that! plus i got a jazz stage AND a taemin stage??? if they’re pulling out all my favourites now then what on earth are they gonna do in the finale??? this was a very overwhelming crop of stages, i thought i was going to be prepared, but oh no i was not prepared. i'm just going to get right into it because this one is gonna be long and i have many words. i'll discuss in airing order first, and then put my personal rankings for this round at the end.

btob

costume

changsub, you absolute king. spectacular. stunning. incredible. zoot suit riot playing in my brain on repeat. will i finally get the zoot suit revival of my fucking dreams instead of this current drab ill-fitting suit trend? for those who are wondering why in the fuck changsub is dressed like that and what on earth i’m talking about, the specific cut of suit that he’s wearing is called a zoot suit, which were popular in mexican, black and italian american communities in the 30s and 40s, until they were outlawed by the united states war production board as a fabric rationing method as part of the war effort in 1942. there was a huge amount of mob violence surrrounding the wearing of them (there were actual zoot suit riots) as they were direct counter culture fashion to the predominant drab trends of white americans at the time. i'm actually very impressed they got a proper (modernized) cut of zoot suit instead of just putting him in an oversized one; there are actually specific structural differences. the pegged trouser legs, large should pads, and knee length single breasted jacket are key features, and they were often in much more flashy fabrics than a pinstripe, but they get points for effort. i wish they had put all of them in zoot suits but he’s playing the ‘lead’ actor so i will begrudgingly forgive them.

eunkwang those are the stupidest sleeve garters ive ever seen i love them never take them off. they’re like someone decided to repurpose a suspender in the worst way. excellent. i do love that they’ve got three of them in oxford saddle shoes, another great touch.

love the three piece and the fedora* on peniel. it's also in a relatively close period cut; waistcoasts (vests) were generally cut much higher in the neck pre-war, we only start seeing the neckline slide down in the 60s (i think? i don’t remember when exactly). also love to see a proper sleeve and jacket length, it's good practice to have at least a finger’s width of sleeve cuff visible ahead of the jacket sleeve when hanging at rest. also looks like there’s french cuffs on everyone, which is also great.

minhyuk in his slutty lowneck shirt....thank you. in addition to the zoot suit revival i would also like a revival of those ultra low necklines on mens’ shirts from like 2010-2011. i don’t think those are the same boots from the backdoor stage but those are some beautifully cut boots. i also loved the little details of his crewmember look, especially the chunky watch and the string bracelets; those are super realistic, i know so many crew with them and i had several for many years. and who doesn’t love a visible button fly?

none of any of the other costumes are period in any way shape or form but i’m forgiving it because there’s several layers of meta in this stage, and they explicitly based it on la la land, even though we don’t respect la la land in this house. do i wish they had gone more strictly period with at least the jazz club ‘actors’ a little more? absolutely, but i'm not mad about it.

set

again we’ve got a good delineation of the two different ‘stages,’ there’s the club itself in the smaller stage and the soundstage set in the larger space. you can pretty clearly see all the ‘pieces’ of the set on the soundstage, especially the obvious set painting techniques on false prosc frame and the window facade from that first little scene. also the you can see the castors (wheels) on all the setpieces too, which is another nice little versimilitudinous** (triple word score!) touch, as old hollywood movies were made still using theatre stagecraft techniques.

i love how the visual shorthand for ‘this is a set wink wonk’ is just...leaving a ladder on stage. i see it all the time and it's so funny. it doesn’t always make sense because as soon as there’s actors on set the ladders are the first thing cleared because actors cannot be trusted, but yes there are always ladders, so. also psa ladder safety is no joke, please be careful on ladders.

nice streamline of the mnet deco into the club. i’m consistently surprised at how well the designers have been able to mask it or use it to their advantage, because in the normal kingdom stage lighting it is SO obvious and stylistic that it always sticks out.

i'm going to ignore the fact that they implied changsub and miyeon were drinking wine out of martini glasses.

lighting

no complaints, it does its job. everything is visible and super clear. love that the ‘scene’ changes are made through the lighting, it's a really simple and effective device to change atmosphere. purple/blue/amber are the most flattering colours on human skin and that’s why you see it so commonly in stage lighting. also blue/lavendar is the best way to show nighttime/moonlight.

really nice and subtle projection work, especially with the billboard bit and the blue moon sign in the club. despite being obviously meta/’world breaking’ it’s actually very seamless and fits well into the flow of the stage.

sound

i love love love the big band feel in the intro, combined with the piano lead. very duke ellington, as all things should be.

no complaints. i love big band. i love eunkwang’s voice. i have nothing else to say.

staging

i LOVE this movie within a movie within a performance meta nonsense! it's such a fun concept and it is exactly what i wanted ikon’s first round stage to be! i also love to see btob consistently coming up with concepts that are inventive and fun and allow them to showcase their technical performance skills without the aerobics the younger groups are putting themselves through. it provides a really lovely variety and it just goes to show that you can make impressive, dramatic stages without having to be serious or ‘dark.’

i do wish they had leaned into the band director/lead singer with eunkwang a bit more; this could have been a really excellent place for a tap number a la the nicholas brothers or an homage to cab calloway. i know i know this was meant to be la la land themed but la la land is a cheap and whitewashed version of jazz and look me right in the eyes and tell me this isn’t the greatest tap routine of all time. i know i’ve typed this out somewhere before but la la land is just a conglomeration of old hollywood tropes and so stylistically cheap that this would have such a better visual core if they had actually looked back at the real old hollywood musicals like stormy weather. even singing in the rain and an american in paris have such phenomenal visuals and are really beautiful examples of the scope you can pull off with a limited technical capacity and sticking to these old techniques.

now that i'm thinking about it, oh my GOD i would DIE for a lindy hop routine in kpop PLEASE. i know it would never happen because kpop doesn’t like partner dancing and not a single kpop boy has the chops but oh you think fourth gen has too many acrobatics?

this got off track but i think you see my point.

---

ateez

costume

these are really sharply cut suits. and the detail work on the beading??? so beautiful. i'm disappointed that they gave me a rock opera stage without the true ridiculousness of rock opera costuming, because they could have pushed this a lot farther if they really wanted. a tragic lack of gay little outfits, seonghwa’s lace choker is just not enough! two favourite suits: hongjoong’s and yunho’s.

that being said i do actually really like these. this stage is actually very modern opera with a kpop twist and i'm a little surprised by that? i continue to be impressed by the ateez team who are clearly doing their research.

i'm absolutely not going back through their stages to check all the choreography but i wonder if you can track all the ‘wound’ placements to places they’ve been ‘hit.’ i wouldn’t put it past them to have put that thought in but also i’m not expecting that much either.

who is this white grim reaper bdsm executioner chain arm man. where did he come from. i have no idea and i love it.

why is honjoong blindfolded. it was such a fast beat, if youre gonna blindfold someone give it a little longer and some more obvious narrative weight!

seonghwa does that quickchange, runs across that massive stage to the smaller set, and gets into places in like 45 seconds. it's not the hardest quickchange in the world but still, under a minute is fast for any quickchange, especially when there’s travel time involved. i think the fastest, most complex quickchange i ever did was in university which was a 50s cocktail dress into a flannel and culottes with a shoe, hair, and jewelry change in 35 seconds. and that took three dressers. quickchanges are always impressive. the added bonus of this review being later is that i can specifically reference that you can see him book it the fuck off stage in the full cam!

cute moment with the backup dancers dressed in costumes from the previous stages. i'm assuming this is a time travel reference? i'll get more into my thoughts on this in the staging section. regardless, love to see that iconic seonghwa moment again.

set

this is such a restricted space! they really pared down their dancing space with those staircases and ....arms? honestly i have NO clue what these are supposed to be. the only thing i can maybe think of is flying buttresses??? but why?? i mean, i'm 90% sure theyre just there for drama and i agree but i do still have questions.

there’s a lot of moving parts in this set? the buttresses, and the upstage centre staircase. i don’t think the staircase is totally automated because i spotted some dancers securing it in place, but it’s still a moving part. i do really like that we get that expanding upwards energy, because it's really tough to get functional level movement in this kind of a performance, mostly because of its length and because it moves so quickly. so seeing the downward vertical movement and then the upward movement was actually a really nice visual contrast that made use of how tall those fucking ceilings are, and the fact that they had less horizontal space. in sort of similar way to sf9’s jealousy stage, using long, narrow vertical lines really makes it feel like a castle space. the interiors of castles, especially the really old ones, are a lot smaller than you think they would be.

i’ve actually seen that type of small house/tent/thing several times in various types of performances before, but i think this is the first time i’ve seen it used as a time travel device (other than in the say my name mv). aesthetically it's a bit incongruent but i dont really mind because i'm used to watching rock operas that look a lot weirder than this.

lighting

there is so much happening. i have NO clue what the projections are doing. i dont hate it though, so that’s a plus? there’s a clear-ish colour arc even if it does get a bit funky in the middle, which is why the projections dont feel as insanely distracting as some of the other stages we’ve seen.

the climax is a perfect example of how to light a busy stage with primarily red but still maintain clarity on the performers. a little bit of red goes a long way; the spark stage from last week would have looked so much better if they had done what the ateez designers did here.

sound

i know it's only ode to joy, but answer already gets my motor running and then i get so gassed by the guitars and then by the time those vocals come in i'm inconsolable. i don’t know why i wasn’t expecting a rock opera stage but i'm so glad i got that surprise because i genuinely love rock operas so much. it's two of the most dramatic genres in music, what more could you possibly want?

staging

the choreo for answer is so goofy that I'm kinda glad this was mostly terrible mnet boom shots. i love it, but you can't deny that it's goofy. i spotted a couple of moves from their other choreos as well?

choreographing dance fights is just as difficult as choreographing real fights and i think they did a fairly good job here. i think it was a solid mix of dance and conflict that erred on the side of dramatic rather than accurate and i prefer that over trying to be ‘realistic.’ i’ve only ever seen one truly realistic fight scene on stage and that was for a deeply naturalist play (boring and a waste of the medium), but the best fight scene i’ve ever seen was in the prague national ballet’s adaptation of kafka’s the trial where three ballet dancers beat the absolute snot out of the main character with the most beautiful leg extensions. that whole show was probably one of the best pieces of dance i’ve ever seen, holy fuck it was so good.

despite how insane the music and the visuals were going, i actually really liked how sedate this was, on the part of ateez’s performance. there was a really sophisticated and resigned energy from them that is very different from what we’ve previously seen and i think that was a pretty admirable risk to take. reaching the top and then throwing away the crown? especially in a competition where every other stage has involved stealing crowns or royalty and there’s a group competing that got here through that very concept? that shows a real maturity, peace of mind, and foresight that i did not at all expect from a bunch of 22 year olds.

here we come to a very interesting comparison. both ateez and tbz are very heavily leaning on previously established group lore. we all know my thoughts on why it isn’t working for tbz, but here’s why i think it is working for ateez: it's because it doesn’t matter to the audience’s understanding of the stage. i had absolutely no fucking clue what was going on the first time i watched this, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the music and all the weird shit they were doing. i totally believed that they understood what was going on. there’s a loose enough established conflict right at the beginning that draws us in, and really it doesn’t matter who they're fighting because they win in the end. the key here is that they’re so earnest. they believe 100% in every move they make on that stage. there’s no winks to camera, there’s not a drop of irony. they really deeply care about the ridiculousness of it all and that’s what makes it work. i sure as fuck dont know what’s going on, but i can see that they do, and i trust that. this is what i meant when i talked about convincing the audience you belong on stage in my stage presence post. i’ve never once believed that juyeon was anything other than an idol. he’s talented and very beautiful and he may occasionally stand on that stage like he owns it but it's always as juyeon. as an idol. but when hongjoong flaps around in that gigantic fur coat i 100% believe he’s a pirate captain. I believe he’s a punk rebel leader. i believe him a resigned king. there’s always a level of irony you have to fight as a performer because we all start from a place of disbelief. acting is not just lying to the audience, it's lying to yourself too. and if you succeed in convincing yourself? well, you’re already halfway to convincing us.

i checked it out because i wanted to see if they did the blindfold how i expected them to and was genuinely surprised by hongjoong’s fancam. the boy is EMOTING even when he knew the camera wasn’t on him; that’s a real dedication to craft.

ok i'm finished talking about this stage, this is over two pages in my document, there’s so many things i have not covered here but that’s fine, i'm quite sure any further thoughts will end up out there at some point.

---

sf9

costume

let’s get it out of the way......crop top. crop top? crop top. crop top.

ok, besides the crop top, i think i might actually like the backup dancer outfits more...? i find mannequin adjacent looks really fascinating and i thought there was a lot more they could have done here in connecting the two thematically. i actually think a change of costume on the boys would have been very interesting, especially because there was a lot of inference and direct reference to changes of colour.

ALL the backup dancers are wearing the same wig and i LOVE that.

special mention zuho’s.....jacket? the right idea but it absolutely should have been one of those extreme french cut bodysuits, you COWARDS. don’t come at me with this ‘male version of venus’ if you don’t have your whole torso out! come on!

set

not sure if this is meant to be a department store, a factory, or a white cube gallery. honestly you could make the case that they’re all the same place anyways. more on this later.

i loved the movator and wish they had used it more! that sequence was so good and they could have done some more interesting repetition sequences to further highlight the ‘sameness’/the breaking of that sameness.

i feel like the set could have been used more as a whole? i would have loved to see some mannequin interactions with those boxes, because all they did was dump colour everywhere.

....why did they feel the need to include the rain bit? i know it's likely because it's in the mv and at the 2018 dream concert taemin does perform move in the rain, but with the standing still and the box walls with the words it just looks like a department store ad. which i...dont think is what they were intending?

lighting

nothing really to say here. it has a similar feel to the mayfly rap stage, which is fine because the lighting for that was good. i could tell what was going on all the time and that’s the most important part. notable standouts are the lips sequence, that's fun use of pop iconography and very effective, and the scanning lasers at the beginning.

the repeating sequence in the edm dance break is actually done pretty simply, it's just what happens when you point a camera that’s livestreaming to a monitor directly at that monitor. it's a very cool effect and it was neat to see it used intentionally, especially with the handheld leds.

actually i also really liked the lightbox tables, those were cool.

sound

the remix was fine for the most part, it was about what i expected it to sound like. i did however greatly dislike that unnecessary edm break in the middle. what was the point of that? it didn’t add anything to the overall sound or arc of the stage because it was SO out of place. there was no connective tissue around it.

oh i was also not a fan of the effect on zuho’s mic. no one else had a discernible vocal effect so it felt a little out of place. also for some reason his cadence and tone right at the end made me think of some of the voices that bo burnam uses for his vocal masque sketches/songs, especially repeat stuff, weirdly? took me right the fuck out of it. i listened to it again after i slept and i’m still getting it, so maybe i’m just going insane so best ignore this part.

staging

loved the mannequin tree, not a clue why it was there.

do actually think this is a successful cover because it does what i was hoping it would, which is take move completely out of the taemin context and put it into an entirely new one. however, i’m really struggling to figure out what exactly that new context is? and what theyre trying to say with it?

obviously they went for a ‘show your own colours/individuality’ vibe, like i said in the set section, where exactly is this supposed to be? from the start i get factory/mechanized environment, which is fine and grand because mannequins and making repetitive motions and products and all that, makes sense. but then there’s stacked shelving type units happening and curtains and that combined with the mannequins give me pretty big department store vibes, which is also fine, because that’s still a comment on commercialization and the mass production of product. but then we get to the movator and the repetitive movements of the dancers say pretty clearly factory, but the lighting and projections are very pop art referential, plus combining that with the white set, just makes me think of an art gallery. so now is this a comment on the commercialization and commidification of contemporary art? are they making a statement about being ‘real’ artists among the others who have lost the critical understanding of why pop art was even a thing in the first place? and then the rain bit at the end literally looks like a department store ad, so are they then making another statement that they still are that packaged product? maybe the episode has more clarity in it but i’m genuinely a bit baffled by what the underlying statement is here.

i suspect it is not as deep as i'm making it, but i did say that i was likely to be hyper critical of this stage AND i am a grad student, so here we are.

---

tbz

costume

ok of all the ‘fourth gen’ style costumes we’ve seen, i actually like these ones more than most. i'm not entirely clear on the theme but i'm assuming it's meant to be post apocalyptic, and i'll take that.

backup dancers in black!!! we’re beyond this!!!

this will be a running theme with this stage, but i’m disappointed these don’t have more depth.

set

compared to every other stage, the set here seems especially plain. there’s so little set dec that it's disappointing. i do like the movement of the pieces themselves combined with the blocking; that first slide underneath the arches was slick and i would have liked to have seen more of that.

yea ok the big snake was cool and also a fairly complex build, but the transitions around it were a bit awkward for my tastes. especially the turn around, why did they even show that at all? you have control over what the audience sees, you can totally not show scenic transitions. skz were super smart about hiding theirs in last week’s episode.

also if you have a bigass puppet like that, i wanna see some more movement from it! it doesn’t have to be complex, we literally just saw a kraken balloon arm wave around aimlessly, but at least there was movement! that snake had a long ass body, why didn’t they at least take a pseudo dragon dance movement with it, that would have been such fun to watch with the iridescent scales. there was a lot of opportunity here!

lighting

i don’t hate it but also.... not a lot to say about it on the whole.

there were two really smart ideas here, the first being the front projection section, which i was SO glad to see! i explained in a previous review, but the projections in kingdom are not actually projections per se, because they’re actually massive led screens. there are two common types of projections in performance, rear projection and front projection. rear projection is when the projector is behind the screen, and front projection is ‘normal’ projection. rear projection can produce a crisper image because you have full control of the light values, because the projector is in a separate room from the performance space. but the downsides are that the projector has to be in a separate room from the performance space. so if you’re short on real estate, it's not ideal. front projection is much more common, because the tech is a lot cheaper and easier to access, especially now, and it requires less real estate because you can ceiling mount about the audience (you can move a projector wherever, this is just the most common spot in commercial theatres). but! in order to get an actually crisp image, you have to be really careful with your light bounce. it’s exactly the same principle as how you kinda can't see a projected screen when you have all the lights turned on, but when you turn them off it's a lot clearer. front projection works best in pitch dark, so when you use it in a theatre you gotta be smart about it. i use front projection a lot in my personal art practice as a singular light source, and that’s what tbz did here in that traveling/snake intro sequence. it’s a really fun technique that they used as a good gimmick because it’s not something we’ve seen before, and you get some great shadow effects because the projector is throwing light directionally at the performers (they have it set up close to the floor, it’s probably on a wheeled cart of some kind). however i did not like the snake intro. a bit too cheesy and out of place, especially because the asset quality didn’t match the rest of landscapes that we have been seeing.

the second smart idea, which is partially also a set and blocking thing but whatever, was that final image of the eclipse within the circle architecture with all the members standing in front of it. it was a great shot and a great ending pose, but it felt like a concept photo. like someone had that image as the idea that they then built the stage around, instead of a narrative first and then imagery after.

sound

this remix had SO much promise! those first two minutes were SO GOOD. i love that dirty discordant strings bit, it's gross and right up my alley. but it really fell off in the back half and i'm sad about that.

staging

i'm sorry tbz but.....what did you actually do differently than exo here? with the exception of the continual game of thrones references? nothing here felt transcendentally different from the original monster. and especially coming RIGHT after sf9’s move, which did go beyond its original context. this feels more like an awards show stage cover than a stage at the level of the others we’ve seen just this episode.

again like with the skz stage, there’s no conflict here. no tension. yes they do a great job covering the dance but it just isn’t enough! this is obviously personal preference and i'm sure lots of people liked the fact that it was uncomplicated, but even just a hint of narrative tension could have pushed this into more engaging territory. and if they didn’t want to do that, i would have loved to see them make up for that with extra visual spectacle. this is the no limits round! ikon is putting a full jungle on stage and these are grey cubes!

i think this is a perfect example of what i talked about at the end of my tbz section in my episode four review; this is a good performance, there are good elements at play and good ideas at their genesis, but the core of the issue is that nothing about this is transformative. all of the ideas here are just exaggerations of the original song. fuck, the snake was even IN the mv! and they didn’t even include the best part which is the lip chains! ive said before and i'll say it again; being a good artist has two steps, the first is understanding the material and its context, and the second is elevating the material from that context and synthesizing something new. tbz are really good at the first step, but terrible at the second.

---

ranking

btob - the cleanest and the most fun of the round. everything i wanted.

sf9 - fun and a good cover, despite being conceptually baffling.

ateez - very extra dramatic nonsense with an unexpected dose of sincerity. and it’s rock opera, of course i love it.

skz - fun, with some good thematic devices but generally lacking in arc. also australian accents, that’s an automatic ding.

tbz - honestly the first two minutes of the remix and the costume are holding this above 6th. it just wasn’t fully formed.

ikon - aesthetically this is a great set design and although i do love the opening and closing moments, everything else scrapes me the wrong way. super personal preference here, i’m not expecting anyone else to agree with me.

i feel like my rankings were probably pretty easy to guess if you’ve been around reading the reviews for long enough. i do have very specific tastes after all. i know sf9 ranked first in the episode but i have no idea what the other slots are. i’ll find out when i watch the episode in a couple of days, but i think yea a first for sf9 is fair. i do think its mostly because it’s a taemin song and you have to do something horrendous in order to fuck up a taemin song, but there is a lot of thought and work that went into that stage.

ok i'm done now, sorry this was later than usual, but i was busier and there were four stages that i had to review. also technical difficulties because tumblr is a garbage platform and nothing works properly. comments/questions/opinions always welcome, i know i didn't expand on a couple of points that i could have so hopefully y'all have some thoughts too!

* the type of hat that ~society~ has told you is a fedora is actually a trilby. what peniel is wearing is a real fedora, i felt the need to correct this unjust hat malignment.

** meaning ‘the appearance of being true or real.’ you do sometimes hear it used by normal people, but it’s more commonly used as a descriptor in film and theatre. it’s also one of the five rules of neoclassical theatre, which are: versimilitude, purity of form, five act structure, decorum, and purpose. the most prominent playwrights from that era are moliere and racine if youre interested in what those look like in an actual text.

[withhowsadsteps]

the laptop stand / au!will scho

a/n: i'm back with something, hope you like it! this time it's au!will x reader, not tom. ps. i have NO clue if the term thesis is used in UK for bachelor's and master's degree or is it a dissertation?? Imma use thesis anyway because for me it's a more natural word choice

and i'm gonna apologize FOR ANY mistakes, it's late and i can't sleep so this is what i'm doing 🙃✌️

---

The exhaustion of the past week was clearly evident on the faces of the people studying in the university's library. The smell of fresh coffee someone just bought from the little cafe inside the library filled slowly but surely filled the air and woke her up from her daydream. She had been staring at this tall, handsome guy for at least 15 minutes. Not just because of his looks, but because he was using the book she needed the most for her thesis as a freaking laptop stand. She did not know how she could ask the guy to give her the book in the nicest and least intrusive way possible. She had asked the librarian if they had another copy, but the answer was no.

She slowly made her way towards him. The golden afternoon light hit his face from such an angle that made him look like a literal angel. His blue eyes seemed to shine like the clearest sea under the sunlight. Fuck. Her heart almost skipped a beat. His looks definitely worsened the situation a lot. He had airpods in his ears, so she also had to literally briefly touch him to get his attention. And so, she tapped his shoulder lightly. He took one of his airpods out of his ear and turned to look at her. She did not know, but the way the setting sun hit her face made his heart skip a beat too. The first thing that filled his mind was her beauty. "I'm so sorry I had to disturb you, but are you using that book for something else too or is it just your laptop stand?" she managed to say under his wandering gaze. Reluctantly he shook his head. "You can definitely have it, if you need it" he said and immidiately slipped the book from under the laptop and offered it to her. "Thank you, you just saved my thesis", she sighed, relieved. She thanked him once more and left him looking after her. Neither of them new, that this was not the last time they were going to meet. Turned out, he was a regular at the library. She never used to study at the library before, but she realized that it was easier to work on some of the sources she used for her thesis there. Some of the books were for in-house borrowing only anyway. So, she saw him around a lot. And he saw her. She had occupied his mind since the first day, but he was unsure if it was ok for him to ask her out. He decided to take it slowly. Each time he saw her, he choce a seat nearer and nearer until he was sitting across the table. She smiled at him but quickly turned her face towards the pile of books she had spread around her laptop. She had thrown her hair in a messy bun, but she managed to look very good nevertheless. She looked stressed, no makeup covering up the darkened circles under her eyes. He opened his own laptop and felt kind of out of place, since he only needed his laptop and one simple book. If only he could help her. After an hour or so, he decided it was time to go get a coffee. "I'm going to grab a coffee, is it too much if I ask you to keep an eye on my laptop? I'll grab you a coffee, too." he said to hear. At first she wasn't sure if he talked to her, but after looking at him and seeing him smiling, she nodded. "It's like you read my mind, I really need some caffeine" she laughed. When she finally got up to leave, she introduced herself and he introduced himself, too. William Schofield. The name sounded just as beautiful as he looked. They even exchanged numbers and from then on, they were inseparable.

After she finished her thesis, she did not need the library as much, but she still went there. Just because of Will. Couple of months had passed and she had developed a huge crush on the man. He studied both English literature and philosophy. He was extremely smart and made the butterflies in her stomach flap their wings wildly every time he opened his mouth to speak. He looked at her admiringly whenever she talked about her studies enthusiastically. Her love for her studies and career choice was contagious and motivated him in his studies even more. They completed each other without realizing it. Late nights studying at each other's homes became a thing, too. Sometimes they would take breaks and just talk about everything from literature to movies to their favorite flowers or even their childhoods. It was not too long before they started hanging out more and more and introduced each other to their other friends. Everyone could see that they were meant to be, but them.

One summer weekend, their separate friend groups merged together and rented a cabin somewhere near a lake. They enjoyed the warm summer sun and the cool water of the lake. She was sitting outside late in the evening, with a book in her hands. He watched her from the other side of the patio, smiling. His best friend, Tom, noticed this. "You should ask her out", he told Will, "everyone else can see how much you both love each other but you." he continued. But Will was afraid of losing her. Having her in his life, even if she was just a friend, was all he wanted. She changed his life for the better, she made him feel good.

After everyone else went to sleep that night, he came out of the room he shared with Tom. He noticed a familiar silhouette on the sofa of the living room area, still reading. He chuckled, holding a book of his own in his hands. "Can I join you?" he asked, while sitting down at the sofa. She just smiled at him and nodded. Somehow she managed to gather up some courage, and decided to lay down, laying her head on his lap. His hand that was not holding the book found their way to her hair and he let his fingers run through her hair, soothingly. And that is how they managed to express wordlessly their feelings towards each other. Early the next morning, sitting on the pier while the sunrise painted the sky with its colors, they shared their first kiss.

[skrltwtch]

Silverware

Prompt: on a first date and A is a werewolf and doesn’t know the cutlery is silver (Source in master list)

Word count: 4,897 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I buried my nose in the bouquet of lilies and roses Jake had bought for me. It was the perfect emblem of summer with its warm, sunny hues and fresh, tangy scent — and the perfect segue to the next part of our date. The first part was a visit to the local farmers market, out of which we were now walking. Coming here had been his suggestion. It was something different from the usual first date stuff like coffee or a movie, and I liked it a lot, notwithstanding my initial reservations. I liked him a lot after what I’d seen of him at the market. I felt like the place helped bring out a certain spark between us. For one, there was constant talk about planning for date number two using what we’d seen and bought. If that wasn’t promising, I didn’t know what was!

‘Thank you, Jake. I love it,’ I said about the bouquet.

‘You’re most welcome,’ he said, a broad grin brightening up his face. ‘And thank you for the flavoured olive oil. Makes me kind of wish we didn’t have this dinner reservation …’ His grin turned sheepish in nature. ‘But that’s what’s making me look forward to our next date.’

See?

‘Do you want to call for a taxi or walk?’ he said.

‘What time’s our reservation?’

‘6:00 p.m. on the dot.’

My watch came alive with a flick of my wrist. ‘Let’s walk, then. I want to walk off all the cheese I sampled.’ I’d sampled a lot. In my defence, it was almost that time of the month — and that other time of the month. ‘Do you know the way?’

‘Google Maps can teach me.’

The route Google Maps recommended was scenic. London Bridge looked lovely at this time of day. Its appeal was heightened tenfold with Jake by my side. Could you believe we met on Tinder? It still felt unreal to me. Getting this match used up all my good luck for the year, and we were only at the halfway point. Well, if it meant burning the roof of my mouth most of the time I ate to be able to quit the dating scene for a reasonable amount of time (“once and for all” seemed a little ambitious, though that would be nice), who was I to whinge about the hand fate had dealt me?

The restaurant was located within the Four Seasons. We had been overdressed for the market. Now we were … dressed. I was flattered as fuck that he picked such a lavish place for dinner for a first date. I hadn’t the faintest clue what it was about my profile and our conversations that made him think of a high-end French restaurant helmed by a Michelin-starred chef in a five-star hotel. I did try to talk him out of it (gently). It wasn’t about the cost. Food was one of the things I was more than happy to splurge on. It was just … I never had anyone think this highly of me before, and I wondered if that’d change if … and when … he knew the truth about me.

The host led us into the main dining room and to our table. An amuse-bouche and warm bread came together with the menus. The prices were as expected of the type of establishment this was. Everything sounded good, though this was my first time coming across some of these words. Looking up what each one meant would add to the time something would take to reach our table, and my stomach would sooner eat itself out of desperation.

‘Please don’t hold back,’ said Jake, sensing my indecision. ‘The price is not an issue.’

I did have to hold back. The coincidental timing of this month’s full moon and crimson tide amplified every-fucking-thing I could possibly feel to a divinely hellish degree in the days leading up to them. As it was, I could easily polish off a five-course meal by myself. If Jake wanted this date to go in a less chaste direction after dinner, hell would freeze over before I’d even dream of talking him out of it, first date etiquette be damned. Was the fact that he was such a goddamn catch helping anything? Absolutely fucking not.

‘No, it’s not that. I can’t — I can’t decide what I want,’ I said. It was technically true. I was torn between the beef (never mind that it was £98) and veal … and both of them at once. ‘What are you having? Maybe I can get some inspiration from you.’

‘I was thinking the turbot … or the pigeon. Yeah, I can’t make up my mind either. I’m leaning toward the pigeon …? No, the turbot. Or the scallops …? Fuck. I need an adult.’

‘Let’s choose for each other.’

‘Promise not to hate each other’s choices — or each other?’

‘Pinky promise.’

We locked our pinkies together. I hoped touching him would never grow old.

Once our promise had been sanctified and we separated from each other, Jake signalled for the nearest available waitstaff. One came over almost instantly. The restaurant was bustling with activity, a far cry from however long it had been since we arrived. She took our order in a cordial fashion, not making a bigger deal of how we were ordering for each other than it should be. I chose the scallops for him; he chose the veal for me. I convinced him to start our evening with the langoustine; he sweet-talked me into ending it with the rhubarb. The waitstaff validated all our choices with a knowing smile.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask — and I hope I’m not stepping on your toes here,’ Jake started when our table was just the two of us again. ‘How did you get that scar on your arm?’

It was a matter of time. And bless him. I would never be offended by being asked about the memento of what’d changed my life forever. I would be offended by an adverse reaction to how exactly my life had been changed forever. I raised my arm, giving the scar in question its time in the limelight: brownish-pink, leathery circles arranged in the shape of a crescent, the ones at both ends abnormally large and ragged-looking.

‘My ex-boyfriend’s dog bit me,’ I said. More like my ex-boyfriend was the offending canine. ‘That’s not why he’s an ex, in case you were wondering.’ I’d wanted to be turned. He’d been more than happy to lend a helping set of fangs. Sadly, the idea of us being cute werewolves together was yet another one of those things that simply sounded nicer on paper. It wasn’t all sour between us. We’d sometimes meet for romps. It got lonely sometimes, and it wasn’t like there was an online forum for werewolves to socialise or whatever. I doubted he’d have known of one anyway: he was literally an American werewolf in London.

‘Did it hurt? It’s such a huge scar. Did anything happen to the dog afterward?’ He held up his hands. ‘Am I being nosy? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.’

I smiled in the hope that it’d soothe his worries. ‘You’re not being nosy. It was … okay for what it was.’ Euphoric. ‘The dog’s fine. It wouldn’t be fair to punish it for an instinct thing.’ Yup.

‘That’s good to hear. I think it’s a bad-ass scar. And I didn’t think it’s why he’s an ex.’

‘Thank you. Most people did. Yeesh. Give me some credit.’

‘I’m not most people … I hope.’ He smirked. The apples of his cheeks turned pink.

He really wasn’t. And I wanted so badly to tell him the truth there and then to see if that’d still hold true in the face of a bombshell like that. I had yet to tell anyone about my lycanthropy: if movies, television shows, books, etc., were anything to go by, I’d assume most people would react with fear or disgust, or both. Chris had been thoroughly flabbergasted when I reacted the way I did to learning why he always turned down my suggestions to go stargazing on nights with full moons. I got what I wanted … eventually.

Maybe I should tell Jake sooner than later. Separate the wheat from the chaff. Then I wouldn’t have wasted my time having pined for someone who thought I was some kind of freak of nature.

That conversation — or rather, thinking about that conversation would have to wait, as our starter, bearing a strong resemblance to a flower arrangement with colours befitting the season, had arrived. Food was always the perfect diversion. So would the inevitable back-and-forth about who could have the third and last langoustine. Splitting it was not an option, for one piece was as big as my thumb. I loved the portion sizes of frou-frou fancy food. So much bang for one’s buck.

‘Bon appétit,’ said Jake. ‘That’s one of … four French phrases I know. The other three are “bonjour”, “omelette du fromage”, and — I can’t say the last one in a public place.’

‘Is it by any chance … “voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir”?’ I made no effort whatsoever to lower my volume — or maintain a straight face. Brazenness blazed through my cheeks.

He put a hand on his chest, feigning surprise. ‘Well!’ He tittered. ‘Since you asked ever so nicely, and in French … This is why your choices tonight have been shellfish, isn’t it?’

‘You got me.’

‘Looking at their portion sizes, I don’t think your plan’s going to work very well. Not that I’d need the help of — shut up, Jake.’

‘Keep going, Jake’ was what I’d have said and wanted if my stomach hadn’t started getting on my case for letting good food get cold. (‘Rubbery lobster? Gross!’) There was something hot about someone like Jake — a posh, proper Englishman, the polar opposite of Chris … okay, no, stop bringing him up, stop thinking about him, goddammit — talking openly, confidently, about his prowess. Such words … coming out of his mouth … in that accent … I quickly pressed my legs together to quell any desires. Which hunger of mine was responsible for this?

Wanting to satiate the one appetite I could at this very moment without earning myself prison time for my troubles, I said, ‘Bon appétit, Jake’, and picked up my fork … which promptly fell onto my plate with the fucking loudest clang. The smell of burning flesh tickled my nostrils — my burning flesh. My fingers were sizzling where the fork touched them. Sizzling! I prayed it was only my nose that could pick up this delectable aroma.

I stared at the cutlery. Trust a high-end French restaurant helmed by a Michelin-starred chef in a five-star hotel to use real silverware, not that cheap silver-plated shit. I prodded the fork handle — and withdrew my finger immediately. Not one of my finer moments. Please don’t tell me Jake saw it.

‘Is everything okay?’ said Jake.

Ah, fuck.

‘Yeah,’ I said, examining my palm. Good news: the burn hadn’t healed and wasn’t healing as quickly as my wounds and injuries (not that I had many of them) did after I was turned, so that was one less question to dodge. I didn’t want to keep lying to Jake. I didn’t like that I had been. How would I explain the absence of a second-degree burn that existed mere seconds ago anyway? Bad news: was this never going to heal because of what caused it? I had been so careful with silver since I was turned. How would I explain a perpetual second-degree burn? Would it out me as a werewolf to people who knew what to look for? Was now really the time for Twenty Questions?

Noticing Jake had been waiting on me to provide some kind of elucidation on my well-being, I said, ‘I guess I have a silver allergy. Can you believe it? Who’s allergic to silver?’

He didn’t need to say, ‘What kind of allergy burns someone?’ for me to hear it in my head.

‘Can you eat, then?’ he said.

I shook my head. As far as I was concerned, silver was lethal. No ifs, no buts, no maybes. If a perpetual second-degree burn was the worst thing to come out of fleeting contact with the metal, so be it. I’d consider myself a lucky lycan indeed.

‘Pardon me,’ Jake said to the waitstaff who’d come with our entrées, ‘would you have any disposable cutlery perhaps? My lady’ — he did not — ‘is allergic to the silverware.’

The waitstaff did an excellent job of not acting like this very dashing gentleman had just dropped the barmiest string of words on her during her entire employment in this line of work. Even I didn’t quite believe it myself. ‘I’ll see what we have, sir, ma’am,’ she said, cool as a cucumber. After she finished setting down our food, she collected all the silverware on my side of the table and left.

‘I don’t think whatever she comes back with would help with your veal. I could cut it up for you?’ said Jake.

Oh, my God. Getting burnt by silver must be the universe’s way of course-correcting the unusual jackpot I’d hit with him. Good Tinder matches were a myth!

‘No, it’s fine. Thank you. I’ll manage … somehow,’ I said. The wooden cutlery the waitstaff had returned with didn’t inspire confidence in me to not fling a piece of meat or a utensil at someone while cutting into my food.

‘We could swap dishes. I’d be fine with the veal. It was in my top five earlier.’

I suffocated a sigh. His scallops looked more like an appetiser than a main. But what choice did I have? I could either eat the veal like the animal that put me in this position or go through the restaurant’s entire supply of wooden cutlery with nothing to show for the effort in my belly and possibly injure someone in the process. Neither option would do any favours for my image in the eyes of the guy I liked and whose bones I’d like to jump at some point, enhanced animal lust or not.

So, I agreed. I tried to draw out the meal for as long as I could. Between the teeny serving and the unwieldiness of the wooden cutlery, I was having a miserable time. Dinner had become a silent affair, a far cry from everything prior to this point. Contrary to the vibe I was putting out, the food had nothing to do with my dour mood. For the first time since I was turned, I wasn’t happy about what I was. Could I never truly lead a normal life? Did I have to lie to every potential suitor and fret about whether they’d accept that other side of me on top of all the intricacies of dating?

There ought to be a dating app for verified supernatural creatures.

‘How’s the veal?’ I said. I had to speak up: I wasn’t being fair to Jake by acting like a sullen teenager over something he had zero control over, and the silence was deafening.

‘It’s — I might’ve done you a favour. How about my — your scallops?’

‘As good as three bites can get. I can’t tell if it tastes funny because of the wooden fork.’

‘This has been a disaster, hasn’t it?’ He flashed a wry smile. ‘Can I be honest? I have no idea what possessed me to pick a place like this for a first date.’

‘It’s a nice place. And it hasn’t been a disaster.’ If anything, I was the disaster. As always.

‘How was the market?’

‘The market was great. I had an amazing time.’

‘Thank God. I’ll take one out of two.’

I reached across the table and placed my hand on top of his. He made things extra saucy by interlocking his fingers with mine. ‘Jake, it’s fine. Today has been wonderful. I should be sorry for making things awkward with my … allergy.’ Nope, that still sounded silly.

‘What? No, don’t be. It’s not your fault.’

It … kind of was.

‘How about ice cream after this? My treat. I’m certain the rhubarb will be so very pretty and so very … nothing.’

He hit the nail on the head. The food we had would do wonders for my Instagram feed while having done nothing for my diet. I appreciated his offer, though I was afraid it would take more than ice cream to fill me up properly … Then again, that was a problem that rested solely in my dominion, not his, and it was one I intended to solve by trawling the likes of Deliveroo and Uber Eats in the comfort of my underthings at home — the one true way to enjoy food.

I asked for the bill the second dessert arrived. I wanted to leave here as soon as possible. I had quite enough of the wooden cutlery. I felt like a child using them. And like I told Jake earlier, I was on the fence about whether to attribute the food’s slightly off taste to them or my unrefined taste buds. Even the rhubarb wasn’t spared. Dessert was supposed to be my safe space, dammit!

I footed the bill in its entirety despite his objections. It helped that the waitstaff presented it to me because I’d been the one who asked, and that I was quick with my card. Sisters watching out for each other, everyone. The plan was then to go about the rest of the evening as if it had slipped my mind to ask him for his half or even bring it up in the first place. It was the least I could do for putting a wee damper on dinner with my … me-ness. He was going to treat me to ice cream anyway. There. We were even now.

The best-laid plans of mice and men often went awry: Jake snatched the bill folder and, taking out his phone, said, ‘Do you have Paym, Pingit, or PayPal? Why am I only noticing now that they all start with P?’

I admitted defeat: ‘Paym.’ It might be harder for him — or anyone — to believe I had none of those apps than that I was a werewolf. Did I want to put that to the test? No.

My phone buzzed with the confirmation that my plan had been a dud. ‘Thank you. Now let’s blow this popsicle stand and head to a real one.’

We left and worked on our next destination outside the restaurant. The staff had to want us out of there as much as we wanted ourselves out of there. The time of day meant we had limited options: ice cream parlours in London seemed to think people would lose the mood for sweet treats the moment the sky turned dark and the air cooled. Inanity. We had to return to where our date started for the one place that was open at this hour. It was just as well: I needed the walk this time to clear my head after what happened at dinner. It hadn’t seemed to dull the shine of his opinion of me, at least. He was as chipper as ever. Unless he was a good actor and paid up as soon as he did so he could ghost me after this and find himself a date that didn’t have some bogus allergy to silver …

Me? Over-thinking things? Never.

‘Do you want to do takeout or eat in?’ I said when we found ourselves less than fifty metres away from the parlour tasked with plying us with ice cream for tonight without a say in the matter.

‘Let’s do takeout and walk back to Borough Station. Full circle.’

The place was crowded: the most logical outcome for the only ice cream parlour open at this time near a tourist hotspot in the middle of summer. Customer turnover was quick, however, and we left with our orders within fifteen minutes. As tempting as their sundaes and waffles — towering, decadent creations of sugary indulgence — looked, we went back to the basics after our overly sophisticated dinner. Unlike before, what we wanted came to us in a snap: for myself, a speculoos gelato; for Jake, a gelato, too, but make it salted caramel.

And this time, we could help ourselves to each other’s food. With permission, of course.

‘A fraction of the price, but infinitely better,’ I said.

‘I hope the same can be said of our second date.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘Dinner at Chez Walker. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

‘I do think so.’

‘It would have to be the weekend after next, though.’

‘Why? Got another date next Saturday?’ I had a firm enough grip on reality to recognise and accept that a guy like him had to be neck deep in matches.

‘No … next weekend’s the full moon. I thought you’d know.’

I stopped dead in my tracks. ‘Why would I?’ I buried my stammer under a bemused scoff. Like, why would anyone — any not-werewolf, which, as far as Jake was concerned, was what I was — care to know when the full moon was?

He, too, stopped walking and looked me dead in the eye. ‘Imogen, I know what you are.’

I wiped my palms on the front of my dress. They were suddenly so sweaty. So sweaty. Why were they so sweaty? Could he see that they were so sweaty? I tried to defuse the situation the best — and maybe only — way I knew how: ‘Are we quoting Twilight? I’ll have you know that I liked the book when I first read it in 2007. And I thought the movie wasn’t too bad either.’ This was true, and I wasn’t ashamed of it. Any female millennial who said they had felt nothing for Edward Cullen was a filthy liar.

‘I’m not ashamed either to say I read the book and watched the movie. But I’m serious.’

‘Okay … say it, then. Go on.’ Was that how the line went? I wasn’t going to look it up now. On a list of things that mattered in this moment, accurate movie quotes was nowhere near the top twenty.

‘You’re a werewolf. And I know how this sounds, so don’t humour me or —’ His tone had taken on a jittery lilt, uncharacteristic of someone who ought to be humoured, ridiculed (what his next word had to be), or — my worst-case scenario — feared.

‘How did you know?’

His mien changed in a manner that suggested that wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. Fuck it. Chris had trusted me enough to tell me the truth after a handful of dates, and he did it because he liked me a lot and he wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible so that we could move on in some way. (Me asking him to turn me was the real curveball of that conversation.) The least I could do, really, was to extend that same courtesy to Jake. I liked him. I liked him a lot. If he had a problem with what I was, it was better that I found out now that he did than many months down the road. There was no element of compromise to my … condition.

‘You mean I’m —?’

‘Right? Not crazy?’ I showed him my palm. The burn had taken about an hour to reach the healing stage normal people would reach in a week or so. ‘Yeah.’

‘Damn …’ He cleared his throat. ‘How did I know? I was brought up on a steady diet of horror movies and read way too many young adult supernatural books in the day, more than I’d care to admit. That, and my ex-girlfriend’s second uncle was killed by a werewolf.’

‘Shit.’

‘I’m kidding — about the last part. The first two are true. My ex-girlfriend was a vampire, and one of her uncles — I can’t remember which one; it could’ve really been her second — was with a werewolf when we were together. Vampires and werewolves get along quite well, actually.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

‘How the tables have turned … I’m not.’ He went through his phone with his free hand and, upon finding what he’d been looking for, passed it to me. ‘Look.’

On the screen was a photo of him with his arm around a hazy figure in clothes that were otherwise in focus.

‘Drove me quite mad at first, thinking something was wrong with my phone. Then she went a little … overboard once, and the rest was history. She shared everything about her world — your world — with me. And I’m also in several online paranormal communities, so there’s that. It’s not all as hush-hush as one might think. It just takes an open mind.’

I returned his phone to him. ‘How did you figure me out?’

‘Your “allergy”. I had my suspicions about your scar. Your reaction to the silverware confirmed them. Allergies … don’t do this.’ He took my hand and stroked my palm. The sensation of his fingers on the raw skin was … electric. ‘I’m sorry I put you in an awkward position and you weren’t ready to tell me. What I said … just slipped out. I understand. It has to be fucking terrifying. It’s okay if you don’t want to see me again after this. But I want you to know that what you are doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you. How you were turned is none of my business. The whole thing is, really. I did an arse thing. I’m an arse. First with the goddamn restaurant, now this. Way to fucking go, Walker,’ he said to himself quietly.

I flung my empty gelato container into the nearest bin, and then my arms around him. I helped throw away his for him, too. ‘You’re not an arse, Jake. This doesn’t change anything about how I feel about you, too. I like you a lot.’ His cheeks flushed deeply under the moonlight. ‘I was freaking out about this whole thing during dinner because I like you a lot. I am so relieved that we’ve gotten to lay our cards on the table.’ I fanned myself with my hand. Don’t cry, Imogen! ‘And because I don’t want there to be any more lies between us, it was my ex-boyfriend who turned me, and he did it because I wanted it.’

‘Oh. Yeah, it still doesn’t change a thing.’ His lips landed on my forehead in a peck. ‘Okay, I never imagined the topic of our exes would come up so often during our first date. Oh, well. Guess they had more of an impact on us than we’d like to think.’

‘Yeah’ — I chuckled, ‘let’s keep walking.’

I peeled myself off him. Our hands remained intertwined. Like dinner, the remaining walk — as short as it was — to the station was a quiet one. Unlike dinner, it was more so that we were simply basking, revelling, in the afterglow of our attraction to each other and each other’s presence. The world felt right again, just as it did at the farmers market.

The next time we spoke was on the train platform. ‘Thank you for the lovely time,’ I said, ‘and for being such a sweetheart.’ I waved my bouquet at him. It still looked pristine despite all the walking we did. ‘For everything.’

‘Thank you, too. I had an amazing time with you today. I can assure you that Chez Walker will serve larger portions than what we had earlier.’

‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘The weekend after next, then?’

‘Yes,’ I said, grinning. ‘I’d be down for any time before the weekend, too, if Chez Walker is open then.’

‘I’ll speak with the chef.’

He moved in for a goodbye kiss, which I seized wholeheartedly. His smell and the sound of his heartbeat flooded my senses. I could feel his heart beating against his chest under my touch, thumping, thumping away for every second our lips lingered on each other’s. I had to contain myself and keep things G-rated and light, as such kisses were wont to be, though my instincts were screaming, baying, at me to get to satisfying at least one craving tonight. I was the one to break off the kiss for fear of going too far.

‘Just in time,’ said Jake, his eyes doing that thing they did whenever he smiled. ‘My train’s here. I’ll see you next week?’

‘I thought you said you’ll speak with the chef about next week.’

‘I realised I don’t care what the chef thinks. He’ll be fine with it anyhow: he doesn’t have to bust out the good silverware.’

‘Goodbye, Jake.’

‘See you, Imogen. Message me when you get home?’

‘I will.’

We waved at each other, right before the train doors swallowed him up. My train came soon after, too. I spent the entire ride home wondering not what to fill the void that was my stomach with, but what fresh hell the universe had in store for me in return for scoring me a guy like Jake.