#jupiter's fics

[rebuke-me]

Jammer was technically supposed to get back to the hotel before his coach realized he’d wandered off to find the nearest McDonald’s. Sue him, he wanted a dollar cone, and they’d won their tournament, so he deserved one.

He was wondering how much he wanted ice cream when he saw the fight in the McDonald’s parking lot.

-

aka, what if jammer and evan DID meet in des moines that one time

[cheolism-archive]

CREATURES OF DESIRE.

✰ — choi seungcheol x yoon jeonghan x f!reader ✷ — summary: a scene between you, your advisor, and bodyguard. ✰ — wc is approx. 4k ✷ — tropes: royalty au; princess x bodyguard, princess x advisor; forbidden relationship; (blank)-with-benefits. ✰ — warnings: member x member x reader, threesome; undefined relationship. degradation kinks (cheol x hannie); praise kinks (cheol/hannie x reader), corruption and innocence kinks. blowjob (cheol receiving); anal (hannie receiving); oral sex, fingering (reader receiving). breeding kink (one mention). bickering (use of: brute, bitch, etc between cheol n hannie); adoration (use of sweet thing, precious, etc towards reader). strong influences of societal standards concerning female virginity. ✷ — rating: mature, nsfw; mdni. ✰ — note: this, to me, moreso reads as a snippet to a series, or a larger work, rather than a simple stand-alone. as such, if there is interest, i am willing to explore this story further. if you reach the end of the story and like it and are interested in seeing more, please let me know. there is outright gay sex between cheol and hannie in this, so if you don't like it please don't read it. thank you @seokgyuu for looking this over. this is a product of conversations between @wonustars, @hannieween, and @okiedokrie. tagging @shinysobi, @nebulousbrainsoup, @yuncheoligans, and @kwanisms bc you expressed interest once and i'm a slut for attention. apologies for the chunky warnings and note.

“there you go princess,” jeonghan coos, fingers tangling into your hair. his voice is deep, or as deep as jeonghan’s voice could go, and silky; it settles against your skin like a thin sheet, cloaking you in a soft, airy space. 

his fingers tighten their grip on your hair. you try to be good for him, try to let jeonghan take complete control. his fingers trail along your shoulder, slide underneath the silver chain of your necklace, and then he’s pressing your head forward. 

“good girl,” he hums, his free hand going to wipe a cheer from your cheek. “take cheolie’s cock like a good girl, princess.”

you’re doing your best. it’s just so hard. you’ve warmed up over the weeks with hannie’s cock, testing the waters with jeonghan’s smaller dick. it had been, admittedly, hard. you were applauded for your chastity, and in fact it was your selling point, what had so many suitors clamoring for your virgin hand in marriage. you had done nothing remotely like this before.

and you wanted to learn. for the last few years jeonghan and seungcheol had devoted themselevs to you. not only officially, but personally. you don’t know how many times you’ve had their fingers or tongues lapping at your pussy. but you wanted more. you wanted to do more than just dip your toes into the pool of desire. you wanted to completely submerge yourself. 

jeonghan had cooed and cupped your face in his hands when you came to him, pouting and begging for him to teach you how to suck cock. 

“sweet girl,” he had said, your advisor pressing a kiss to your hairline. “we’ll start easy.”

jeonghan’s cock, while smaller than seungcheol’s, still was not “easy.” seungcheol had helped ground you as you slowly, torturously, tried to take more and more of jeonghan’s cock with every passing week. he had settle heavy hands over your body as you tried to take jeonghan’s dick, words sweetly encouraging. from simply suckling on the tip to swallow around jeonghan’s length they had guided you, though seungcheol more than jeonghan. 

“he likes it when you choke on it,” seungcheol had murmured, nipping at your earlobe, “because he’s mean like that.” 

and you had choked on it. you couldn’t even get a fourth of the way without gagging at first. eventually, though, you were able to swallow down jeonghan’s dick until your nose was pressing against the base of his dick. you were able to let jeonghan fuck your mouth, though only if he were gentle. seungcheol had to guide him then, standing behind jeonghan with his hand’s on the younger man’s hips, rolling them forward and delivering sharp smacks to jeonghan’s ass every time jeonghan tried to fuck his dick deeper. 

you had been able to feel jeonghan’s cockhead press to the back of your throat and swallow around it; had been able to take it as jeonghan rocked his hips, dick slipping in and out of your mouth. 

but that was jeonghan’s dick; this was seungcheol’s. 

when jeonghan had untucked seungcheol’s dick from his trousers, you had, rather justifiably in your opinion, gawked. seungcheol’s dick is thick and long, and jeonghan had praised it as he fucked seungcheol’s cock with his fist. 

“get some of the lust out of him,” jeonghan said, throwing you a smile. “he gets rather pent up really easily. we don’t want him bruising that pretty little throat of yours when the american delegation is arriving in a few days.”

now, on your knees with your mouth stretched impossibly wide – again, in your opinion – and barely able to do anything other than suck at his cockhead, you can’t help but think your throat will end up bruised regardless of method. 

seungcheol’s hands were clutching at the underside of the fainting couch. his breathing was raggedly and loud, just as yours is. you try to look up at him from underneath your lashes, but then jeonghan shifts your head forward again, forcing more of seungcheol’s dick into your mouth, and you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut. 

his cockhead rests heavily on your tongue. you have perhaps a quarter of it in your mouth. it’s just – his dick is so incredibly thick and your lips hurt at the corners from where it forces your mouth to stretch wide. 

“fuck,” seungcheol hisses out. his hand goes to your hair. seungcheol barely manages to scrape his nails against your scalp before jeonghan’s hand is shooting out and grabbing his wrist, forcing seungcheol’s hand back to the seat.

“hands off the princess,” jeonghan scolds, “and use proper language. you’re trying to help her suck dick, not taint her mind with your brutish language.”

you want to remind jeonghan that you’ve been tainted every since jeonghan asked you three years ago if you needed help taking the edge off before the gala intended to honor your promotion to heir apparent; that he was the one who introduced carnal desire, that he was the first one to ever press his face to your – your pussy and lick at the juices that spilled there. 

but he knows this. 

you peak up at seungcheol. he’s glaring at jeonghan, thick brows furrowed. seungcheol seems to feel the weight of your gaze upon him. he looks down, big brown eyes meeting yours. 

immediately, and not coincidentally, a thick pearl of precum hits your tongue. he groans. you can’t help but swallow around his cockhead, tongue pressing against his dick as you try to swallow the pre on your tongue. 

seungcheol’s hips fuck forward in response. his dick is suddenly shoving further into your throat than you had anticipated, fat cockhead striking the back of your throat. 

you choke and gag, fat tears springing to your eyes. seungcheol curses; jeonghan shoves him back, seungcheol’s dick forced from your mouth.

“you idiot,” jeonghan hisses. you cough as jeonghan kneels beside you, one of his hands sweetly cupping the back of your neck while his other wipes at your tears. “don’t cry, sweet princess. it’s okay. ignore that beast. he just can’t help himself.”

“shut up.” seungcheol joins jeonghan on the floor. his brows are furrowed, eyes shining with concern. jeonghan, for all of his animosity, allows seungcheol to gather you into his arms. “i apologize, princess. i should have had more control over myself.”

“yes, you should.” 

seungcheol ignores jeonghan. instead he begins pressing sweet, gentle kisses to your face. you adjust yourself so he can kiss your face easily, and he does so. his kisses are light and you bask in them. 

he hesitates before your mouth. kissing is not prohibited. but it’s difficult.

you make the decision for seungcheol. you straighten in his hold, pressing your mouth to his. 

the kiss is chaste. the smack of your lips against his makes you flush. seungcheol pulls away after a quick second. kissing is so difficult between the three of you, or perhaps more accurately between you and your men, because it was always chaste and quick. they never nipped at your lips or slipped their tongues inside of your mouth; never allowed themselves to pour passion and desire into the kiss. you don’t know how they are able to seperate themselves from their lust. you, after all, are a creature of desire now; it is because of this you chase after seungcheol when he pulls away, trying to catch his mouth. 

seungcheol laughs, lifting his chin and turning his face from you. “can’t do that, princess,” he says. “i won’t be able to stop if you do.”

you pout at him. you don’t want him to stop. you never want either of them to stop. they stood behind you as an advisor and member of your personal guard. they kneeled before you in closed rooms, kisses to your neck and thighs and pussy. if you were a creature of desire, they were creatures of lust and corruption. they were the snake that sang in eve’s ear to take a bite of the apple, and now that you had devoured that apple whole you can’t help but want more and more and more. 

you don’t want them to stop. you never want to stop. 

“she’s been such a good girl,” jeonghan says, turning your head from seungcheol. jeonghan, too, presses a chaste kiss to your mouth. “we need to reward her.”

“i didn’t get to pleasure him thoroughly,” you protest. 

jeonghan frowns at you, as if you were a petulant child begging for sweets. he cups your cheeks. “you did well enough,” jeonghan announces. “and you did your best. that deserves rewarding, sweet girl.”

“but seungcheol –”

jeonghan sighs, as if you were impressing something severe and torturous upon him. “fine,” he says. “seungcheol may find his pleasure in me. i shall pleasure you, princess. this is more than the animal deserves.”

jeonghan helps you stand. despite the fact they never had you kneel without using a cushion, your knees still ached and legs protested. jeonghan cooed at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“up on the bed, princess,” seungcheol softly commands. he offers his hand to you despite the fact the bed – not your bed, for neither were willing to disrespect your virginal bed – was a mere few feet away. seungcheol leads you to the bed, helps you climb upon it. 

“to the head,” he says. 

you do as he says, feeling ridiculous as you climb to the head of the bed, knees catching the fabric of your dress. you huff and yank, and when you finally settle with your back against the elaborate wooden headboard it is to the sight of seungcheol devouring jeonghan. 

it’s horrid, you think faintly, at how wet the sight makes you. 

seungcheol is rough with jeonghan. he grabs at jeonghan, hands greedy and powerful. his mouth is insistent upon jeonghan’s, tongue dominating jeonghan’s mouth and refusing to allow jeonghan do anything other than whimper. one of seungcheol’s hands goes to jeonghan’s trousers, and then he’s yanking them down and revealing the pale skin of jeonghan’s legs.

seungcheol grabs a fistful of jeonghan’s black hair. he pulls jeonghan from him, and then he’s moving both hands to jeonghan’s waist to throw him onto the bed. 

“climb,” he says. 

jeonghan does as seungcheol says. he’s smirking when he meets your eyes, a devilish curl at his lips. 

“please kneel, princess,” seungcheol instructs.

you do as he says. 

jeonghan lays before you, his clever hands quick to shove down his trousers. he kicks them over the side of the bed. his dick is hard, erection making it curve prettily up towards his stomach. 

the bed dips under seungcheol’s weight. he has rid himself entirely of his clothing. his shoulders are broad and the outline of his chest curves gently, his dark nipples stark against his skin. his dick, just as jeonghan’s is erect. you marvel at it despite having had it – well, some part of it – in your mouth minutes ago. it’s big and, though you’ve only seen one other dick in your life, impressive. 

seungcheol braces himself against the bed, and you watch, mouth dry and pussy wet, as the muscles in his biceps bulge. 

jeonghan snorts. “arrogant show-off.”

seungcheol raises a thick brow, and then he’s climbing onto the bed. you watch, breathless, as seungcheol keeps his eyes locked on jeonghan’s. he looms over jeonghan, imposing. 

in another world, you think, he would be king. seungcheol commands a room better than any other; better than yourself, a blue-blooded royal. he is all authority. his body is thick with it, but more than that there is something about seungcheol’s soul that seems to radiate pure golden power.

you could bow to him. he wouldn’t dare ask of it – no one would without repercussions – but you would do it. 

seungcheol’s hands go to jeonghan’s knees. he tries to peel jeonghan’s thighs apart. jeonghan fights, laughing. seungcheol huffs. “don’t be a fucking bitch,” he says. 

“language,” jeonghan returns, letting seungcheol pry his legs apart. 

you wish – you try to swallow back these thoughts as if they were a particularly repugnant vegetable offered by a foreign dignitary – that you could be like them. you could offer all your gold and silver and silk and lands, and none of it would matter. you could never be like them. you were born to a life that forced you to be suspended above all others; to walk on roads glittering with emeralds and diamonds. expectations had to be upheld regardless of how you hungered. 

you wish you could take your desire as liberally as they did. how your cunt throbbed for this wish. you wish it was you parting your thighs for seungcheol; you beneath jeonghan. you imagine seungcheol between your thighs and jeonghan pressing his cock to your lips. 

you wouldn’t be able to take both, wouldn’t be able to handle jeonghan’s dick in your mouth while seungcheol’s was in your pussy. but you would try; could try; want to. 

jeonghan groans loudly and wantonly as seungcheol fucks his cock into jeonghan, the jade plug that so often was within jeonghan’s ass discarded onto the bed. jeonghan’s back arches off the bed, and you watch, completely entranced, as seungcheol’s cock sinks deeper and deeper within your advisor. 

jeonghan’s hand shoots out. he grabs at the fabric of your dress. you lean down and hold his fingers, jeonghan’s hand twisting to lace his lean fingers with yours and squeeze. 

“brute,” jeonghan gasps. “absolute beast –”

“shut up,” seungcheol bites. your pussy throbs with this selfish, horrid want as seungcheol draws his hips back. you can see the dark flesh of his dick as he does so, can hear the lewd squelching of the lube in jeonghan’s ass as seungcheol removes himself. 

seungcheol fucks back in. 

jeonghan moans, brows pinched together and mouth ajar. 

seungcheol thrusts roughly a handful of times before stilling, slapping his hand against jeonghan’s thigh. “take care of the princess’s pleasure, you selfish creature.”

“if you’d stop brutalizing me,” jeonghan retorts. 

“one of these days i will fuck you beyond the power of speech,” seungcheol says. 

“that would require you to be good at it,” jeonghan bites. he looks up at you, smiling despite himself. he releases your hand, grabbing at your dress. “lift your skirts for me, sweetheart. you need to mount my face.”

you blink down at him. you don’t quite understand. “mount your face . . . ?”

“imagine him an animal,” seungcheol clarifies. “that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“kneel around my head,” jeonghan says, ignoring seungcheol. “and i will pleasure you.”

confused, you do as he says. you bunch your skirts around your waist and awkwardly shuffle to kneel around jeonghan’s head. 

jeonghan’s hands slip underneath your skirts. you can feel his palms, warm and light, skim over your skin. he smooths them up your legs and kneels and thighs. they settle on your thighs, thumbs digging into the inner flesh. he parts your legs. 

then jeonghan is raising his arms, shoving the fabric of your skirts up further. he wraps his arms around your waist, and then he’s pulling you down. 

you let out a startled yelp, falling. you catch yourself on his chest. “jeonghan!” you curl your hands against his shirt, lifting your hips up off of him. “i will crush you!”

“good,” seungcheol says. 

“you won’t.” jeonghan’s voice is slightly muffled. you can feel his hot breath against your pussy and you realize just exactly what is about to happen. 

“if only you weren’t wearing your skirts,” jeonghan announces, “then i might see your pretty pussy.”

you gasp. jeonghan thrusts his tongue between the lips of your pussy, and then he is licking a broad stripe up your cunt. 

the surprised noise that leaves you is horribly loud against the quiet of the room. jeonghan licks at your cunt, and the warmth you have come to associate with carnal desire seeping into your soul begins to thicken. 

“you –” his tongue is clever and quick, licking from your clit to your hole and repeating. you want to speak, to protest. but his arms are tight around your middle, keeping you from moving away, and his tongue forbids any real speech. 

then jeonghan suckles at your clit. your knees weaken, and you slump against him further. 

you can’t see jeonghan, but you can most certainly hear him. the noises are absolutely lewd. they don’t belong here, you think, aren’t meant to be heard by your ears. the sounds are slick and loud and your pussy only seems to react positively. you can feel more fluid leak from your cunt, can hear jeonghan slurp against your pussy as he swallows it up. 

jeonghan’s body jerks beneath you. you gasp out, looking up. 

seungcheol is slowly fucking jeonghan. his hips are rolling forward. he isn’t fucking with abandon, but instead obviously taking his time, relishing in the sight before him. 

seungcheol smiles when your eyes meet. “how pretty you are,” he says. “our pretty princess.”

you open your mouth to speak but are cut off with a squeal. jeonghan is suckling at your clit, quick, sharp movements of his mouth. one of his fingers thrusts within your cunt, aimed the front of your body and striking that stretch of muscle that always sends a tingling sensation across your groin. the intrusion of his single finger isn’t so much, the slender digit spurring the hungry, all-consuming desire within you, making you want more.

“and how pretty you sound,” seungcheol chuckles. he fucks jeonghan aimlessly, unconcerned. “our sweet princess with her pretty little mouth and noises. always knew you’d sound sweet, princess.”

you furrow your brow. jeonghan pulls his finger from your cunt. he circles two of his fingers around your hole, relaxing the muscle, and then he’s sliding both of them inside. 

your lips part in a soundless moan. his two fingers burn considerably more than his single finger. it’s a sharp, burning, but not entirely uncomfortable pain as your hole stretches to accommodate the stretch. you can’t help but clench down on his fingers. your pussy gushes around them, and you feel blood flush to your face as the lewd noise. you duck your head, pressing your face against the fabric of jeonghan’s shirt. 

“how fucking precious,” seungcheol says. “hiding like that. how cute you are. how sweet.”

jeonghan pulls from your cunt with a slick noise that sends another gush of fluid from your pussy. “such a wanton little princess,” he says. you clench around his fingers again. “it’s cute how she reacts.”

“makes me want to fuck her,” seungcheol agrees. 

“could,” you gasp out, nose pressing against jeonghan’s navel through his shirt. “want you to. want you to – to fuck me.”

seungcheol curses, loud against the room. he begins fucking jeonghan with earnest. even if you couldn’t see seungcheol’s dick disappearing and reappearing inside of jeonghan’s ass, you could feel it with how every single thrust impacted jeonghan’s body. 

jeonghan’s mouth is forced from your cunt in favor of whining. his voice is high as he does, though still not loud. the sound of seungcheol’s hips slapping against jeonghan’s ass is decisively louder. 

seungcheol is – well – he’s fucking jeonghan like, you think, he’s desperate. he’s quick and harsh. 

“want you to fuck me like that,” you say, each word spilling from your mouth without you realizing it. immediately you feel blood rush to your face and fluid gush from your cunt. 

jeonghan moans against your cunt. seungcheol groans, and then his hand is darting out to tangle in your hair. the tips of your fingers dig into your scalp as he brings your face up and towards him, and then –

and then he’s kissing you. it’s not like any of the chaste kisses you have become accustomed to throughout the relationship between you, jeonghan and him. it’s – it’s like he’s trying to devour you, as he had with jeonghan earlier. his mouth is insistent, his tongue pushing through your lips. 

you instinctively try to close your mouth. you’ve never been kissed like this before. it’s – it’s bizarre, and you don’t know how to react. seungcheol growls, this low, devilish thing deep within him. his hand moves from your hair to your jaw, thumb hooking between your lips. seungcheol forces your mouth open so he can push his tongue back in, laying claim. 

they’re kissing you on both ends, you realize. seungcheol is claiming your mouth, jeonghan your cunt. 

you can’t think much after that. seungcheol spills inside of jeonghan, his kisses becoming less ravaging and more sure and stern. 

jeonghan whines. seungcheol exchales a laugh against your mouth. “make the princess cum first,” he commands, “and then i’ll think about you.”

jeonghan mumbles something against your pussy, but then he’s focusing on licking at your cunt again. he teases and sucks and presses against your clit, those warm sparks spreading through your groin. you can’t decide whether to chase the sparks or squirm away from them. 

seungcheol shifts, and then his hands are on your shoulders. he’s moving you, gentle. you whine as jeonghan is separated from your pussy, but allow seungcheol to continue. 

he settles you against the bed. he grabs a pillow, and as he does, you glance over at jeonghan. the other man’s chest is heaving as he fights to catch his breath. his face, you notice is utterly drenched. 

seungcheol lifts your lower half to settle the pillow beneath your hips. “have to do everything myself,” he says, pushing your skirt up. 

seungcheol spreads your knees apart, giving him a view of your fluttering pussy. he hums. “seems like he did a good enough job. unexpected.”

jeonghan exhales a curse. 

the man before you ignores this. instead he focuses on your pussy. seungcheol gives your pussy a sharp, though not painful, slap with the flat of his hand. you jump beneath him, gasping. 

“won’t take much to get you to cum,” seungcheol either observes or promises. 

then his fingers, far thicker than jeonghan’s, are pressing against your clit. immediately you are bucking up into them, trying to rub your clit against his digits and force stimulation. 

“how desperate you are,” seungcheol says. “i think i could really fuck you like this. bet i’d just slip in.”

“please,” you sob out. 

“you know i can’t,” seungcheol replies, voice gentle and apologetic. 

he slips his fingers on either side of your clit. he rubs at the muscle, and you imagine the sparks of electricity shooting through your body at the sensation. you always focus on the muscle on either side of your clit when pleasuring yourself, and it’s like seungcheol knows this. he rubs against it, hand heavy, words coated in silk and silver escaping from his plush lips. 

“so beautiful,” he praises you. “always so fucking beautiful. i can’t stand it. wanna ruin ‘n worship you. would you let me, you precious little thing? let me fuck you? would you sit on my cock like a throne, princess? let me fuck you and spill in you and make you heavy with babies?”

it’s like a rug being pulled from underneath you, or perhaps like falling. it’s sharp and dramatic as your orgasm rips through you, loud and demanding. you can’t think, can only feel, and even this is overwhelming. seemingly every part of your body tenses as your orgasm causes you to plummet, and you go blind with it. 

when you come to, you’re surrounded by jeonghan and seungcheol. seungcheol is nosing against your neck, humming and wrapped around you. jeonghan is completely nude, shirt discarded and dick flaccid. he is kissing at your jaw, sweet and lazy. 

“hannie,” you call out. 

“no sweeter sound has fallen from mortal lips,” he teases, pressing a final kiss to the hinge of your jaw. 

you whine. seungcheol laughs against your neck. “don’t tease our princess,” he says, though any bite has vanished from his voice. 

“our princess teases me,” jeonghan claims. he pouts back at you. “kissing seungcheol like that. you’ve never kissed me as he did you.”

you roll your eyes at him. you shift, sliding your hand into his long hair and tugging. 

jeonghan’s mouth meets yours easily, and you can’t help but hum as his tongue presses against the seal of your lips. you thought about teasing him, about pressing your lips firm and refusing him access within. 

but then you thought of your cunt, and how neither seungcheol or jeonghan would fuck it; how empty you were, how desperately you wished to be marked inside-out. it couldn’t happen; wouldn’t happen. no matter how much you lusted and desired there were lines that would not be crossed. 

you were a creature of rabid desire, only to be denied your hunger. you had to take what you could, what was offered. 

and so you let jeonghan lick into your mouth and seungcheol grab at your hips from behind you, settling into their touch. 

like what you read and want some more? send the author some support!

[mummyscarian]

i feel like joel is very interesting as a winner. obviously, he has the skills to win it, no doubt, and he was heavily predicted to win because of his and gem's alliance this season, but he's one of the ones that feels unexpected, because, arguably, he's one of the ones more detached from the direct, established fan-lore.

if it had been gem who won, it'd be easy to slot her in with the rest---her plot is often very tied to pearl, another previous winner and lore-heavy character, plus, she's even created her own lore too already (lost her eye to the end portal in secret life)

if cleo had won, then it was merely her right---she won real life, of course she would win the next real season. she was martyn's soulmate too, and the soulmate pairs always win.

if impulse had won, then it makes sense. he's been "second place" for so long, he's been desperate for a win since the beginning, and this time, he had pearl on his side, guiding and protecting him towards it.

if grian had won again, well, of course the Watcher would be the first two-time winner, right?

if it had been anyone else, they would feel easy to integrate into the lore, to give them a place and a purpose. but joel?

hm. much to think about.

[jupiter-letters]

Having thoughts about Husband!Art and his hands...

A/N: A little fic this weepy eyed blonde boy, I watched challengers yesterday and I'm obsessed.I need Art like carnally. People being hot in movies is so back dude. This was written with a fem!reader(afab, no other physical description will be written) in mind. This is my first attempt at smut so go easy on me I beg.🙏🏽

Word count: 1476

TW: Sexu*l content, f*ngering, reader just having a rough day in general.

divider cred || palestine links

One of the things that attracted you to your husband was his hands. The way his muscles in his hands tighten when he grips his racket, how he holds his coffee mug when takes a sip of coffee in the morning and the way they glide against your skin when you make love.

After having a difficult day he'd like to put those hands to use for you as he so often loves to do....

You walk into your home and make a beeline toward your bathroom, you need to get the grime of the day off you. You don't even notice Art on his laptop on the couch, he was about to greet you before he saw the look on your face. He just watches you kick off your shoes and drop your bag on the floor. You always greet him when you get home but he can tell it's been one of those days. He shuts his laptop off and the tv then makes his way to your bedroom. He spots your scattered clothes all over the floor and hears the roar of the bathtub's spout coming to life.

Art leans up against the door to hear what you might be doing, he hesitates before knocking on the door. "Baby?" The sound of running water stops and he hears a small tired voice answer, "Come in.." He opens the door to the sight of you naked and bare, head down in front of the mirror. He looks at you for a moment and turns his eyes to the floor as he shuts the bathroom door behind him. You turn your head toward him but avoid his eyes, he doesn't force you to meet his gaze.

  Art moves behind you in silence and touches your shoulders just to test the waters of how much you're willing to be touched at this moment. You accept it, not moving away but not leaning into it. He wraps his body around you and kisses your shoulders. He kisses up to the  back of your neck. "You wanna talk about it?", he asks as you take a moment to answer such a simple question. You just shake your head, still silent, you do turn around and look up at him. He looks into your eyes, a silent understanding takes over him. "Ok." He whispers, Art moves over to the bathtub and turns the knob back on. He goes to the sink cabinet and grabs some bubble bath. He pours some of the liquid in the water and glides in his hand in the water to make sure the temperature's perfect for you. Once the tub is full you step inside and breathe a sigh of relief. The sweet smell of the bubbles and the warm water expels the tension from your body. Art kneels next the tub, he crosses his arms over the rim and lays his head on his forearms. He gives you a small smile and you return it, you both gaze at each other in quiet admiration. Art takes a hand and caresses your knee with such tenderness, the feeling of his lithe fingers brings you such comfort.

 He moves his body forward and moves his hand further down your thigh looking at you for permission to keep going. You nod your head looking at him expectantly wondering what he was planning to do. Very slowly he slides his hand into the water in between your thighs, eyes laser focused on his own actions. You can feel him gently part your folds, using his index and middle finger to stroke your clit. He moves them slowly up and down, ghosting your entrance. Art looks back up at you when he hears you gasp quietly, he smiles again at the sound. “You want some more baby? Don’t worry I’ll give it to you, I’m gonna take care of you.” he purrs at you, but you won’t get what you want so quickly, he lives to tease you. He adds more pressure to your bud and rubs in more circular motions. Your breath quickens and you lull your head to the side pressing against the tub's rim. He stops for a moment just to move closer to your head so he can kiss your cheek and move onto your lips. You position your body closer to his head and crane your head to taste his lips more. Art continues stroking your clit, rubbing and pinching it between his fingers. He swallows every gasp, groan and whimper you make, stretching the muscles in his neck as far as he can to reach your mouth. The sensation of him touching you and the heat from the water has covered your body in a light sheen of moisture, everything about you is so wet and pliant. He finally feels that you’re ready to take his fingers, he stops kissing you. He wants to look in your eyes as he slides them, he wants to see your mouth part and hear a raspy moan slip from your lips. 

 There’s nothing Art loves more than the look of dazed bliss you get when he’s inside of your body. As he prods your entrance he watches you closely, “Sweetheart look at me…” ,he murmurs. You look up at him, hungry and waiting, the moment you do he slides his fingers eliciting a high pitched moan from you, mouthing widening in pleasure. He continues his slow pace, you can feel the metal of his wedding ring brush up against your lips as he pushes his fingers deeper. He leaves kisses all over your face before returning to your lips, smiling into the kiss. He opens his eyes for a moment to see your legs writhing and clenching around his hand when he curls his fingers every so slightly. The sight makes his arousal even stronger than before, a small wet spot makes its appearance in his sweatpants.  He wouldn’t even need to touch himself, the sight alone of you slowly reaching your peak is enough to make him cum all on his own. The tension in your core continues to build, Art notices you shuddering and finally lets you have what you want. He puts his fingers in as far as he can and makes a scissoring gesture along with curling them pressing into your g-spot at random. As he does this it becomes harder to focus on his mouth devouring you and mind begins to go blank. You grip your hands onto his forearm and shoulder to anchor yourself. He angles his head to kiss the underside of your jaw while he increases his pace. The water in the tub starts to move violently as your body shakes and your legs thrash. You make the attempt to kiss Art again but are overwhelmed by the sounds that escape your mouth, he lets you moan into his mouth keeping his eyes closed and savoring the sounds. One final beckon of his fingers sends you over the edge, tilting your head back, orgasm rippling throughout your body. Art nuzzles his nose against yours and presses his forehead to yours. 

It’s a full minute before he pulls his fingers out of you, when he does he drags his hand up and over your stomach. Between your breasts and glides up the side of your neck, he takes his thumb and caresses your lips before sliding them into his mouth. He smiles down at you and giggles. You laugh with him, “What?” you ask curiously. “I was supposed to help you get clean, not sweaty,” he says with a grin. You laugh again at his statement, “Well…it doesn’t matter, I do feel better now.” He smiles and kisses your forehead, he moves over to the towel holder on the wall and grabs one for you. You wipe some of the suds off you before you stand to be embraced by him with the towel. While he holds you, you notice he’s still hard. You look at him surprised, “You want me to take care of that?” He looks down as if he forgot too. “Oh! No baby it’s ok, I wanted this to be all about you, don’t worry about me.” he tells you softly. His statement makes you soften even more, you step out of the tub next to him. You take the towel from him and wrap it around yourself. “Thank you Art, I mean it. I really needed that.” You take his face into your hand and kiss his lips. “Of course, these hands aren’t just good at tennis y’know. You can use them anytime you want.” he replies smugly. You jokingly push his face away and make your way out of the bathroom looking back at him with a smile. He follows close behind and shuts the door behind him.

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff. ♡

[cod-sins]

.ೃ࿐ Format: Drabble

.ೃ࿐ Ratings: Fluff/Mild NSFW.

Touchy!König who constantly makes you sit on his lap when you're trying to watching a movie just so he can trace and pick with parts of your skin.

Touchy!König who comes up behind you when your cooking dinner. His hands snake towards your stomach locking together as he plants sweet kisses your neck and nibbles on your earlobe.

Touchy!König who convinces you that sleeping over at his house is more important and that he'll make up whatever money you lost for coming in late to work that day.

Touchy!König who enjoys sharing a shower with you because he gets to properly examine your body. He won't keep his hands to himself, he's lathering you up making sure to cup and fondle your chest.

Touchy!König who let's you lay on his chest listening to his heartbeat while he plays with your hair and mumbles sweet nothings in German.

Touchy!König who plants a kiss on your forehead as you sleep knowing you'll be safe from the harm of the outside world.

[buckiverse]

husband!sylus x black!reader, established relationship, domestic fluff, (extremely self-indulgent, im down terrible for sylus)

☆---Husband!Sylus - who is so sweet and attentive to you when you get married. Even more than when he made you, his girlfriend.

☆---Husband!Sylus - who’s love language is quality time. He takes joy in learning you inside and out. This includes anything related to your culture, now his newfound favorite activity.

☆---Husband!Sylus - who loves braiding your hair. There is something about sitting behind you on the couch while you sit on the floor. He’ll have all your usual products on a coffee table in front of you and set cushiony pillows on the floor, so your bottom is comfortable. He’d put on your favorite movie and braid your hair. I’m talking about any style. He’ll learn! Not only will he learn to do your hair, but he will also take it down, and sometimes he’ll help you wash it. He loves spending time with you.

☆---Husband!Sylus loves listening to music with you. When you share your heritage with him, he’ll almost combust. He did everything he could to learn about your culture. He went on a full deep dive, trying to find traditional music. He wanted to go to your family parties and eat your traditional foods. Give this man an oxtail, and he’s never leaving.

☆---Husband!Sylus - who learned how to whine. Okay, he’ll be stiff at first, but don’t count him out! He’s a quick learner. Also, he’s secretly practicing. He’d be taking business calls in his office and practicing his whine. His hips may stutter once or twice, but he will totally dance with you in the kitchen. And don’t play some slower reggae for this man. He will, and I mean he WILL sing to you. (and yes, he’s going to sing exactly how the song sounds)

[ddeonghwa-s]

a moment between infinity .ᐟ.ᐟ

reuniting with your soulmate in the space between one life and the next.

꒰୨୧꒱— jeon wonwoo x reader

꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 2.5k.

꒰୨୧꒱— genre : themes of love, romance; angst

꒰୨୧꒱— tropes : reincarnation, reuniting after life, soulmates

꒰୨୧꒱— cw : themes of life and death, discussion of physical separation, missing life events due to death, lives cut short.

꒰୨୧꒱— tw : for discussion of dying young/living life unfilled

꒰୨୧꒱— notes : thank you lexi @heechwe for beta reading! this sounds depressing but i swear there's tons of love in there!

you see wonwoo as soon as you step out from beneath the shade of a tree you don’t remember walking under. the sun, for a fleeting moment, is overly bright. it pierces your eyes with its light, horribly brilliant and blinding. 

you don’t want to look away from wonwoo; don’t want to close your eyes for even a second. 

the pain you feel from the sunlight is immense, and before you can comprehend the desire, the most rudimentary of all wants, so much so that it’s a need, you are blinking your eyes against the cruelty of the sun. 

he’s still there when you open them. 

(he wasn’t the last time you blinked at him.)

(a moment of stillness, of a deep breath taken before plunging into freezing waters; of the last gasp for clean air before being consumed by flame; of a desperate choke for life as death swings its decisive sword.)

(you remember this.)

(and yet you don’t.)

(it’s weird, you think between the pauses of forever, between one breath and the next, how everything and nothing exists so closely intertwined.)

wonwoo smiles. it isn’t that blinding smile of pure exhilaration you so distinctly remember the twelfth time as the two of you looked down from the bow of the ocean liner, waving down at the citizens of south hampton that had come to bid the ship farewell. instead it was his soft, slowly-growing smile that took you back to the second time, to that little ger on the eurasian steppe, holding your first ever son. 

wonwoo opens his arms. 

naturally you go into them. 

the world is made up of pairs, you know, the wisdom of nothing and everything, of finity and infinity, surrounding you. north and south; up and down; sky and earth; you and wonwoo. two things, concepts, beings so closely intertwined that to force one from the other is to break the thin threads of the cosmos. 

and so, like the sky embracing the earth, you go into wonwoo’s arms. 

he’s wearing the outfit you saw him last. his auburn corduroy shirt jacket smells of gasoline still (for him the last sixty years were a mere handful of hours; for you, a lifetime. and so the scent of death still sticks to him as if no time had passed at all, despite.) and when he lifts his arms to wrap them around you, to envelope you into his body, you can see the turquoise scrunchie he had kept on his wrist for you peak out from his sleeve. 

“i’m sorry,” he says. his voice is as deep as you remember. wonwoo presses his nose into your hair. you burrow your face into him, seeking out this natural scent, trying to bypass all the smells of death. “you said we didn’t need more tape, that it’d be fine.”

“i said we didn’t need tape,” you agreed. there had been moments you felt such overwhelming anger towards wonwoo for going despite you arguing otherwise. this, between nowhere and everywhere, was void of such feelings. instead you pressed your nose deeper and deeper, hands grabbing at his shirt. 

“i wanted to make sure we could finish wrapping presents before your mother arrived,” wonwoo said. “i wanted everything to be perfect.”

they found a ring on him, after; a simple silver band and diamond. 

“i know.” 

you shifted. 

wonwoo sighs into your hair. “i’m sorry. i wish – i have a thousand wishes. a thousand wishes for a thousand lifetimes. would you ever forgive me?”

you hum. you think of a land impossibly far, of a lifetime where you sobbed as wonwoo explained he had to leave, had to fight; how easy it was for you to resume that rage once he returned from the war, missing an arm and a chunk of his ear but still breathing and smiling. 

(sometimes he didn’t return.)

(sometimes you didn’t return.)

(those times, you knew, were seldomly seen. your universes, your forevers, were large, ever-expanding tapestries sewn by the threads of your lives. more often than not, nearly always, the threads revealed a beautiful picture of life and love and contentment; of a small forever trapped within a shared lifetime.)

(seldomly did the threads show another picture.)

(you think back to that ocean liner. to how cold it was; to how he disappeared for a heavier jacket and never returned, to how you slipped and fell and were submerged in a cold unlike any other –) 

“i forgive you each and every time,” you mumble into his shir.t. “just as you do me. i don’t think we’d have as many lifetimes together if we didn’t at least like one another.”

“ew,” he says, voice still gentle despite the teasing sentiment of his words, “you like me?”

as if you hadn’t fallin in love with wonwoo for fifteen generations in a row; as if your soul hadn’t sought his; as if you didn’t press yourself into his arms with every breath between lives, trying to memorize his scent and soul before the both of you take the plunge into the next life. 

“you have to stay with me next time,” you say. you try to keep your voice from cracking; it doesn’t work. you’ve shed a million tears for a million lifetimes – fifteen, to be exact, but math isn’t the sort of thing one worries about in places like this, places where everything of the past exists and nothing of the future; where you bear the weight of fifteen lifetimes on your shoulders knowing none of it will matter. 

“you can’t leave me,” you cry into his shirt. you can feel his chest heave underneath you, can feel the earth and not-earth shift beneath the two of you as wonwoo wraps you tighter in his arms. “you can’t leave me this time. not to fight a war that isn’t yours; to get a jacket; to pick up tape. you can’t leave me alone. i can’t handle another lifetime without you.”

wonwoo’s sob is the quiet, heart-wrenching of one that bubbles out despite all attempts to quell it. you can feel his body lurch against you from the force of it. his weeping is ugly, the sounds of his gasps in your ear loud and wholy unpleasant. 

the two of you cry against one another, clutching at one another. you’ve lived more lives together than apart, have memorized the wrinkles that line the corners of his eyes the older he gets, have learned the breathing patterns of his sleep. 

but still – 

the thought of parting is one you never bear. perhaps if you were a stronger soul it would be easier; perhaps if your soul loved his less it would be easier. 

you think back to the past sixty years. and then you think of your lives from the far past. only a few had forced either of you to live without the other, but the pain of them drowns out the happiness of any other. happiness, you have learned, is a golden thing that only seems to truly glow when the moment has long past, when you look back and think ah, that was an evening well spent. 

pain, on the other hand, is brilliant and loud and sharp. it demands its victim to focus on it. and so despite the lives you and wonwoo have spent beside one another, growing to old, shriveled ages in contentment, the pain of loneliness, of the heartbreak of knowing you would lie without the other half of your small universe, of living without your moon or sk or true north, of the other half of your pair that made up the galaxies and cosmos; of knowing you would never be whole. 

that is why the two of you cry. 

“i won’t leave you,” wonwoo promises. neither of you mention how the promise is empty. he cannot and will not remember any word said in this infinite space, during this small and endless moment between infinity. 

he won’t remember the press of your body against his. he won’t remember how you’re crying against him, how he vows to you, himself, and the universe he won’t leave you stranded in a lifetime again. 

(you remember the first lifetime. you remember the tall grasses of your village, of how you and wonwoo would duck down into them to press full-mouthed kisses to one another’s skin, ignorant and naive and happy in your first life. 

you force yourself not to remember how it felt when your uncle agreed to your marriage to a village that would take nearly a year for you to travel to. how it felt to know that despite the fact your love for wonwoo was greater than any force in the cosmos the two of you still answered to those on earth.

you had promised yourself you would never leave him again. that your second lifetime and all the ones after it would be spent at his side and no one else’s.

you promise yourself this once more. 

the universe says nothing in reply.)

wonwoo leans back, sniffling. his nose is red. he raises his hands up to your face, shaking. when wonwoo kisses you it’s wet and there’s spit and snot, but you lean into it as if it were the sealing kiss of a wedding.

“tell me what you loved,” he begs. “you loved after me. tell me.”

you nod. heartbreak lasts forever, and so does love. love is not something that begins and ends with one person; it is everlasting and multifaceted, existing in the smallest, most inconsequential of things. 

“jungkookie got me a puppy,” you say, voice still wet from crying. “i told him it was too much, that i didn’t have the energy for it. he said that was what i needed.”

wonwoo grinned at the mention of his brother. he leaned forward, tucking his forehead into your neck. “what was it’s name?”

“it was a mutt,” you say, “but i remembered how much you love that movie, the fox and the hound. so i named it copper.

“it was black,” you carry on, grinning at wonwoo’s chuckles that he presses into your skin. “jungkookie said it was a lab-shepherd mix. i couldn’t tell the difference.”

“copper the black pup,” wonwoo says. “what else?”

the sun is gentle in its caresses against your flesh, the breeze sweet in its dance. you and wonwoo settle against grass, curling into one another. you can’t raise your voice too much due to the close proximity, and so each word is a tender thing. 

you tell wonwoo of the red forbidden palace jungkook’s son took you to see during a school trip and how, despite the fact you could hear cars honking, it felt as if you were transported hundreds of years into the past. 

you tell wonwoo about the little bookstore that opened up next to his father’s dentist shop. of the tall, towering bookcases; of the cats that lived within; how as soon as you stepped inside you were met with the smell of real wood. 

you tell wonwoo of a little stray kitten you found in your forties, of how you named it romeo for how clingy it was. 

(“i still say we should’ve forced that bastard to write in an acknowledgement that it was our story he was writing,” wonwoo says, tracing the curve of your cheek. “he gets far too much recognition for his genius as it is.”)

he laughs when you tell him about seeing warwick castle for the first time in this lifetime, about the feeling of having been there despite not remembering. he teases you for it with memories of your tenth lifetime, of running down stone halls with you. 

“we’ll go again,” he says. he presses his nose against yours. you grab his hand, lacing your fingers together. “we can get married there just like we did back then.”

you huff a laugh. “if it’s still there. you said that about persepolis.”

“how was i to know that damned macedonian prince would burn it to the ground,” wonwoo laughs. he grows somber, staring at you with deep brown eyes. “how much time do you think has passed?”

you shrug, thinking. time exists and it doesn’t. here, in this sunny pasture, it’s as if time doesn’t exist at all. that cannot be said for when you wake. 

either a year has passed or two hundred; this cannot be said for sure. 

you and wonwoo both were born within five years after the sinking of the titanic, of dying those horribly cold and wet deaths. you died, the two of you would later realize, thirty years before the destruction of persepolis and were reborn five hundred years later. 

and so that is how time flows. 

“well,” wonwoo says, “it’s not like it matters.”

“no?”

“as long as there’s still trees and air we’ll be okay.”

you gasp, having expected something horribly romantic. you’re not sure why you expected this. you gently shove his shoulder all the same, scolding wonwoo for his jest. 

later, though neither of you can say how much time later, you stare up at the sky. the clouds move. the sun keeps at the same position. 

“when do you think we’ll find one another?”

“you know we can’t decide that.”

“guess anyways,” you demand. 

wonwoo wiggles against the dirt. “you’ll move schools in high school,” he announces, “and i’ll be utterly bewitched by the new girl. she’ll be beautiful and sweet, and i won’t say anything at all.”

“that’s not a very good love story.”

“but then we’ll meet again,” he carries on, eyes tracing the fluffy curves of a cloud. “and i’ll be older and more confident. it’ll be at a college bar. you’ll still be beautiful, of course. and i’ll go up to you and say ‘hey, i knew you in high school.’ you’ll smile at me despite not quite remembering. then we’ll meet again and again, and our lives will become intertwined.”

you look at the blue infinity above you as if it could reveal anything. you wanted to know the secrets of it; how to live for forever with wonwoo, how to meet him earlier and spare no time loving one another. 

you want there to be a forever of this. of being by wonwoo’s side, of having him there beside you. you don’t know how many years you’ve spent without him in total; how many have been spent with him. whatever the answers are, you know it’s either too many or too few. 

there’s somewhere, you want to believe, where you and wonwoo can spend eternity side by side without separation; without life or death pulling you from each other’s side. there’s somewhere, you have to believe, where you can spend every happy moment with wonwoo. where you don’t have to spend this small infinity telling him about the little joys you’ve encountered in the years since he’s passed. 

you close your eyes. you can feel tears sting at the corners of them. the breeze muses your hair. all you want is to be with him, to have him at your side, to hold his hand every day and for the rest of the days. 

where your promises if i won’t leave you mean something, where they do more than just shift the air around you. 

you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with pure air. 

and then

[persphonesorchid]

Orbiting Jupiter - KNJ

Summary: Namjoon has never met someone like you in a long time. Jupiter to his Ganymede; he's stuck in your orbit.

Warnings: Lots of anxiety on Namjoon's part, mentions of being stalked, Namjoon hurts himself more than anything bc he's clumsy. Smut (Minors begone.): Unprotected sex, mutual masterbation, light spit play, Namjoon's daddy kink is a brief topic of interest lol. I think that's all, let me know if i missed any!

Word count: 13.4k

Genre: Idolverse, strangers to lovers, fluff, a bit of angst (it's not much, promise :)) Smut

Notes: FINALLY FINISHED!! This would have been out a whole lot sooner, but i've been dealing with life, stress, a breakup...more stress lol. But it's all good now! I really hope you guys enjoy this, and please leave feedback, even if it's just a little smiley face in the comments! Have a good day!!

Masterlist

Namjoon is dressed casually enough, he thinks. Inconspicuously enough that he won’t be recognized, enough that he could become another face in the crowd; enough to blend in.

It’s early, but the city is bustling with people starting their day. He tries not to be suspicious, as much as he could. Tries to navigate a city he’s been in many times before like he’s lived there his whole life. He tries not to look over his shoulder too much, guard up, like he’s just waiting for someone to run up to him and demand his attention. The mask and hat he picked out before he sneaked out of his hotel room brought him little comfort. He hopes that no one would give him a second glance or look too closely.

To this day he’d never understand how his fans can tell him apart by the way he walks, or by his eyes alone. So, he keeps his head down, hands in his pockets, and tries not to think too much about his stride.

He’s not sure what he’s looking for, what he’s doing out of his hotel room so early. He has no schedule today, free to do what he likes, and he just needed to get out for a minute or two. He wasn’t planning on straying too far, especially since he’s told no one that he was leaving. He found himself just walking, though, enjoying the sights and the people leading simple lives.

He finds a little café after walking some more, and stands outside it, out of the way of the door to avoid being an issue. It’s crowded inside, and anxiety curls in his stomach as he contemplates going in. He believes no one would recognize him, he hopes that no one would look too long, and he steps inside.

It’s a bit quieter than he expected, people talking in low murmurs amongst themselves. The loudest things being the sound of a coffee grinder running and a barista calling someone for their order. It’s a small café, more dining space than workspace, and Namjoon wanders over to the resister and orders without issue.

His eyes trail over the other patrons, everyone absorbed in their own worlds and conversations. The table he eyes quickly gets taken while he collects his iced Americano and he sighs softly, despite the amount of people in, he doesn’t want to leave yet, and the only available spot to sit comes with another person. Namjoon weighs his options. He could go outside, find a little park to sit in and drink his coffee, or he could risk it here, where someone has yet to pay him any mind. It’s been so long since he’s been able to walk freely, he knows he’ll miss it when he goes back through the front door.

So, with cautious steps, he walks over to the table with the only available seat.

“Excuse me...” Namjoon softly calls, briefly contemplating on tapping your shoulder; you’re reading a book, and he knows well how easily one can get lost in those. You look up though, the tiny furrow between your brows gives way to your confusion, as well as the little humming sound you make. “Sorry...do you mind if I...”

Namjoon motions to the chair across from you, and you look at it and then back to him for a few seconds before realization blooms in your eyes.

“Oh! No, of course...just...go ahead.” Your smile is pretty, Namjoon notes, and he realizes, as he thanks you and sits, that you recognize him. You stare at him in a knowing kind of way, and before Namjoon can up and leave, you simply smile the way you had before, as though he was any other stranger wanting to share your table. He watches with bated breath, trying to stay calm just in case, and you just go back to reading your book.

There’s no fanfare, no freaking out and drawing attention, or asking for a photo and too invasive questions. You don’t even look at him again. The sound of you flipping the pages of your book melds into the background noise of the space, and Namjoon finds it strange. He thanks his stars, though, he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and risk losing his head.

He relaxes when you continue to pretend he isn’t sitting in front of you, your eyes following the words on the page. There’s a tap of your fingers against the wooden tabletop, and a minute shake of your head before you close your eyes for a moment. You take an agitated breath, and Namjoon pauses the movement of him trying to get the straw underneath the bottom of his mask and watching you at the same time. He tries to peek at the cover of the book you’re reading, curious.

You shake your head again, muttering to yourself before going back to reading, your expression quickly blanks as you start back up again. Namjoon sips his coffee, for once feeling relaxed in a room full of strangers and lets his eyes trail elsewhere. Over to the little potted flowers that line the windows, or the people passing outside.

There’s a sudden squeak from you and Namjoon looks at you in time to catch the look of utter disbelief on your face. With frantic fingers you fish a bookmark from the back pages of the book before marking your spot and closing the book with a soft smack. Gently, with enough care that someone would think you’re handling glass, you place the book onto the table with a sigh and pick up your drink. You still don’t look his way, sipping at your drink with a frown and an irritated draw to your brows. Not that Namjoon is complaining, he swears he isn’t. It’s just...weird. He expected you to at least sneak a glance by now.

Curiosity should be a cardinal sin, as it’s gotten him into trouble more times than he could count, but Namjoon decides to dig his own grave anyway.

“What were you reading?” He asks, and it takes a moment, you’re clearly in your head, staring off at nothing and muttering into your drink. You look at him when his words finally break through.

“Huh? Oh...” You set your cup down, turning the book to him, “'The Desolation of Devil’s Acre'. It’s the last book of a series I’m following, and the main character is just...” You sigh through your nose, “He’s an idiot.”

You talk to him like any stranger, it almost made Namjoon think that you didn’t recognize him at all. He still sees it in your eyes, and as you’ve been adamant not to, he doesn’t address it either.

“I’d bet...” Namjoon chuckles, “If your reaction was anything to go by.”

There’s an embarrassed air about you now as you let out a soft laugh. Namjoon wants to smack himself though, he’d just told you that he’s been staring at you long enough to notice.

“Ah, yeah.” You wave a hand, “I bought it earlier...I was too excited and just got into it but Jacob is an idiot. He just makes me wanna reach in there and smack him silly.”

“Is it good?” Namjoon nods at the book, taking a moment to look at the cover. It’s black and white, a little girl sits on a black chair, a wall of photos is the backdrop, staring into the camera with big clear eyes and someone’s hand is tugging on the sleeve of the black and white chequered striped dress. It seems like a horror novel if Namjoon is being honest.

“I haven’t read much of this one yet, but the previous ones are amazing. Too bad the movie didn’t follow it correctly.” There’s an excitement in your eyes, and you seem perfectly content to rave about all the ways the movie went wrong and did the book absolutely no justice. Namjoon nods along, throwing questions at you about the books when he can, and by the time you’re done he’s laughing at something, and you are too. His iced Americano is now just an Americano that’s just slightly cold, more water than coffee, but Namjoon doesn’t mind and drinks it anyway. He still hasn’t removed his mask, but you don’t seem too bothered by it.

“It just would’ve been so much better if they’d followed the book correctly. I was so excited about the movie, and they just went and messed it up.” You sigh, taking a sip at your drink, Namjoon’s sure it’s cold by now. “You should give it a read, though...” You tilt your head at him, humming, and Namjoon tilts his head back, you can’t see it, but he smiles, the furrowing of his brows you do see.

“What?” Namjoon asks, a little amused by your sudden pause. You study him for a minute, but he’s comfortable enough in this space you’ve created that it doesn’t set off the usual alarm bells in his head. You’ve done wonders for treating him as just another person. Simply Kim Namjoon, who wandered into this small café and took the seat opposite you, and not RM of a globally recognized pop septet.

“You don’t strike me as a fantasy guy.” You say, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Oh yeah? And what do I strike you as?”

He leans forward a bit, genuinely curious, unintentionally flirty. He does his best to reel himself in, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. You take it in stride, though, despite the flush to your cheeks and the embarrassed air that lingers.

“Philosophy, poetry...maybe a bit of romance.” You finally say, smiling a bit.

Namjoon hums, leaning back into his chair, “You know a lot.” He says, but between the string of words lies the unspoken ‘You know me.’. He studies you as you study him, your face betraying no emotion.

You simply shrug, lifting your cup to your lips again, “Human decency.”

Namjoon quite likes your company, and he spends an hour more sitting opposite you, enjoying the sense of normalcy you provide. He wonders what you both look like to onlookers, like two friends who haven't seen each other in a while and are simply catching up. It feels that way for Namjoon.

He sits there until his coffee is finished and yours is too and you’ve tucked your book away and you're both talking again about anything that comes to mind. You don’t ask him about his work, but you ask about what he’s into these days, he recommends books and music he’s sure you’ve never heard of, and you do the same.

Time passes and then some more, and it's enough time for someone to realize that he’s missing. His phone vibrates against his leg right in the middle of him explaining why he thinks some things that happen in life can’t simply be chalked up to coincidences and he startles, leg jerking, knocking his knee against the underside of the table.

It rattles the empty cups topside with a dull thud and a sharp pain shooting up Namjoon’s leg, you wince with him, and he mutters a string of expletives. Rubbing a hand furiously against the offended spot, Namjoon fishes his phone from the pocket of his jeans, not bothering to check who’s calling before he answers.

“Hello?”

“Namjoon-ah, where are you?” Seokjin’s voice is a little far away and a little distracted. He suddenly yells a curse and Namjoon can only assume he’s spent his morning breaking in some new game he bought. “Sejin-nim was looking for – fuck, I hate this game – something about a briefing. You’re not in your room.”

“Ah, Hyung. I took a walk...I’m not far. Yeah – I'm coming back...Okay.” Namjoon glances at you as he pockets his phone again, smiling with his eyes.

You smile back, waving a hand, understanding as he picks up the empty take away cup and stands to leave. There’s no complaint from you, nothing in your eyes that tells of anything else. “It was nice meeting you.” You say softly, leaning forward a bit even though the chances of you being overheard by anyone else was slim.

“You too.” Namjoon says, and he means it. You’re like a diamond in a coal mine, as finding someone like you – being who he is - was rare. As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Namjoon pauses in the step he makes, faltering at your side and you look up at him curious and confused. He wars with himself for a moment, he’s certain that he’s about to do something stupid.

Something he should never do because of how dangerous it could be not only for him but his groupmates. He stares at you for a moment, long enough that it warrants your concern, and you ask if he's okay.

“Can I... Is it okay if I ask for your number?” The words come tumbling out of his mouth before he can reel them in, and he’s standing there a little mortified.

Namjoon always prides himself in being self-assured, but that same self-assurance leads him to putting his foot in his mouth sometimes and he says things without thinking first. It’s too late to pull the words back or act like he hadn’t asked because you’re blinking up at him, sitting a little straighter now in your seat.

You glance around, brows furrowed, “Are...are you sure?”

For the first time, it seems as though it just registered that you’re speaking to RM of BTS.

There’s a nervousness about you now, as you glance to the side, and Namjoon finds this strange. He’s not trying to sound like an ass thinking that many others would jump at the offer – or be bold enough to demand it first – it’s simply the truth.

He finds your consideration refreshing, though, and he waits patiently for you to make up your mind. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and Namjoon backtracks, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.” Namjoon says, putting up a hand. Despite who he is in the eyes of the public; he’s still a man. A man you’ve only spoken to for a half hour who’s now asking for your number, Namjoon would think very hard about it if he were in your shoes, too.

“I don’t meet a lot of people like you, and I thought it would be nice if we spoke often, but if that’s not cool, that’s okay.”

You shake your head, “No... it’s okay. I just...Are you sure? I don’t want to put you in any difficult spots, or myself for that matter...”

You’re surprisingly calm, looking more wary than anything else, and Namjoon takes that as a good sign. “I’m sure, don’t worry.” He smiles and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans; he unlocks it with a press of his thumb and hands it over to you.

You fumble a little with the device, fingers tapping at the number pads quickly before handing it back to him. He shoots you a quick text, a simple ‘Hi :”)' before he was pocketing his phone again before he was waving and making his way out the café door.

Namjoon tries his hardest to keep walking forward back down the street and not jog back over to the glass window to wave at you. That would be very weird of him.

Namjoon’s day goes on as normal, not like he was expecting anything different. A whirlwind of briefings and meetings and discussions on what would be done during his group’s free time. It's no different to any other time, but by the end of the day Namjoon’s brain feels like mush and he’s lying in bed, palms under his head as he gazes at the swirling patterns etched into the ceiling.

He sighs, it’s long, drawn out and tired. He blinks slowly, sitting up to lean against the headboard. The sun had long set and only the glow of the city lights penetrated the darkness of his hotel room through the large window.

He squints at the lights that are too far off to be anything but hovering blobs in the distance, and briefly, he wonders what you’re up to.

Oh, that’s right.

Namjoon fumbles through the mess of his sheets to find the phone he knows he tossed there somewhere. It’s nowhere near him and he stands, lifting the sheets to look. There’s a dull thud and a clatter, and with a sigh, Namjoon rounds the bed to find his phone on the floor.

He plops back on the bed, pressing the power button and inspecting the screen for cracks. There’s a flurry of notifications and emails and texts from his group mates and work, and Namjoon scrolls through his notification feed. At the bottom, he finds a text from you; a reply to the message he’d sent earlier.

‘Hi (:’

It’s cute in its simplicity, but Namjoon stares at the place where your contact information sits. Just your number and nothing else, and Namjoon comes to the realization that he didn’t ask you for your name at any point this morning.

You had responded hours ago, and had sent nothing else, and with some embarrassment, Namjoon types out a message.

Namjoon: Hey, sorry I missed your text! Busy day, you know?

He frowns at the message when it goes through, at the time stamp that reads a little past midnight. You’re probably asleep and the timing seems a little less than ordeal, a little inappropriate given the hour, but Namjoon lets out a surprised hum when the bubbles appear at the bottom.

Unknown: Hey! No worries, it’s totally okay.

Namjoon: You’re up late...

Namjoon pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, was that a weird thing to mention? He can’t help but feel like he’s blowing this somehow. Is there a right way to text someone you barely know? He shakes his head, deciding not to think too much on it.

Namjoon: Sorry, but I didn’t ask your name earlier.

Unknown: Haha, that’s okay. It’s Y/n. And yeah, I was just finishing up some work.

Namjoon contemplates his next question, nerves running amok in his tummy.

Namjoon: Can I call you? Is that okay?

The bubbles appear and disappear for a moment and Namjoon thinks he’s overstepped. It’s pushing one in the morning and Namjoon’s aware of how it may look to you, how it may look to anyone else for that matter.

Y/n: Sure, we can do that.

Namjoon sighs, looking out the window, away from his phone to give himself a moment. You too – he’s mindful of himself, of course. He taps on the call button before he could talk himself out of it.

The line rings for a couple seconds, and Namjoon thinks that maybe you’ve stepped away for a minute or perhaps this was the wrong move and he shouldn’t have asked, but you pick up before another ring could sound. It’s quiet for a second and then he hears you inhale softly.

“Hey.” Your voice sounds a little different over the phone, or maybe it's just the time and Namjoon’s mind is trying to go places it shouldn’t. You’re as calm as you were this morning in the cafe, nothing in your voice betrays your emotion.

“Hey.” Namjoon can’t help the smile, and he’s sure you heard it in his voice. “I know it’s late, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, you’re good. I had a coffee so I’ll be awake for a while again.”

Despite your words your voice sounds tired and Namjoon feels guilty, laying back against the headboard with a soft sigh.

He asks about the book you’re reading and he listens to your rambles about the chapter you finished. Then you both talk about anything that comes to mind.

“How’d your day go? You don’t have to be too specific or anything, just in general.” You murmur softly, when Namjoon’s laying down fighting to keep his eyes open because he doesn’t want to hang up yet.

“Hectic.” He answers honestly, he can hear you shuffle around, getting comfortable in your sheets. “You?”

“It was alright, I spent half the morning freaking out, really. Today felt a little dream-like. If you hadn’t texted, I probably would’ve convinced myself that I imagined the whole thing.” You chuckle, and then there was a small pause, “Sorry, I’ve been so chill about it this whole time.”

“You’re fine. Handling it better than most.” Namjoon says, “I’m glad you didn’t freak out when you met me though.”

“Human decency.” You repeat your words from earlier, and Namjoon feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “You’ve probably had enough of that to last you a lifetime.”

“It’s not too bad, sometimes anyway.” He says softly, halfway asleep and he’s sure you are too. Your voice is getting quieter, and Namjoon can’t keep his eyes open.

When Namjoon wakes it’s to the sun shining into his eyes and his phone is still in his palm. It’s a little after eight am when he checks, and the call had already been disconnected sometime around seven. There’s a message wishing him a good morning from you, there’s a flutter in his tummy at the little yellow heart that ends the text, and he thinks it may be a little too early for that kind of response. He can’t help it though, and he lays in bed for another few minutes and stares at it with a stupid smile on his face.

He wonders what to do with his day, now with more than enough free time on his hands to do whatever he likes and then he wonders what you were doing today. There’s an all-consuming longing for the sense of normalcy you provided within the day he’s known you, and he knows that isn’t much time to find comfort in a person, but he guesses that’s just how it is when you live like he does. However, he doesn’t want to scare you away with his need to feel something that was long lost to him, so he puts off asking you anything.

He has a few things lined up on his personal itinerary: Museum crawls and sightseeing, all of which he would do alone and hopefully without any troubles along the way. He finally decides to bite the bullet when he’s done with his breakfast and sitting at the small table in his hotel room, fiddling with his phone and his bottom lip between his teeth. You hadn’t replied to his responding text from earlier and Namjoon can only assume you’re busy, but he texts anyway.

Namjoon: Are you busy today?

He locks his phone and cleans up the table, snatching his phone up when it chimes softly, smiling already.

Y/n: Not particularly…why?

Namjoon could never distinguish tone from texts, so he’s not sure if you’re suspicious or teasing, so he replies carefully.

Namjoon: I’m doing a thing today…some sightseeing or I might go to a museum…wanna come with?

The bubbles disappear and reappear and then you’re calling.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t feel obligated to either.” Is the first thing he says when he answers, just to be certain.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I’d love to. I just need to know if it’s okay.” There’s a hesitance in your voice, a certain type of worry.

Namjoon is quick to ease, “I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t, Y/n.” He says with a chuckle.

“Ah, okay.” You laugh a little, “Oh but what about...do I have to sign an NDA?”

Namjoon pauses, he’s forgotten about that. He runs a hand through his hair, “Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.” There’s a smile in your words and Namjoon can’t help but smile back. “Where do I meet you?”

Namjoon sat across from his manager, Sejin, in his hotel room. He clears his throat, feeling a bit nervous about what he was going to ask.

“Sejin,” Namjoon begins, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Sejin, always attentive to Namjoon’s needs, leaned forward. “Sure, what’s on your mind, Namjoon?”

Namjoon hesitated for a moment before continuing, “There’s a friend I met recently, and I was hoping to bring her along with me when I go to the museum today.”

Sejin raises an eyebrow, his protective instincts kicking in. “A friend? Are you sure that’s a good idea, Namjoon? You know how public spaces can get, especially with a girl by your side.”

Namjoon nods, understanding Sejin’s concern. He’s well aware of how things can get, being who he is, especially in the eyes of some of his fans. “I know, Sejin. She's a good friend of mine, she won’t cause any trouble.”

Of course, Namjoon doesn’t know that for sure, but he’s willing to take the risk, and Sejin doesn't need to know he'd only met you yesterday; what he doesn't know won't kill him. One thing he’s certain of is that you’re different, and that’s something he can bet on.

Sejin contemplates for a moment, silent as he thinks before sighing. “Alright, Namjoon. I trust your judgement. But we need to take some precautions. We’ll have her sign a non-disclosure agreement to ensure our privacy and safety.”

Namjoon smiles, relieved that Sejin was willing to accommodate him. “Thank you.”

Namjoon paces in the hotel lobby an hour later, nerves making him unable to stand still for too long. He had met you just a day ago, but there’s something about you that intrigued him deeply. The way you’ve treated him like a regular person, not as the famous musician he was, is perhaps the biggest factor. He found that both fascinating and endearing.

Moments later, you walk into the lobby, looking a bit nervous yourself. You smile when you spot him, lifting your hand in a little wave. Your smile immediately puts Namjoon at ease. You’re wearing a simple dress, a backpack slung over one shoulder, walking over to him in quick steps.

“Hey.” You stop once you’re close enough, still smiling.

Namjoon smiles back, feeling a sense of relief. “Hey, Y/n Thanks for coming.”

You wave him off with a hand, looking around at the large lobby, the lights sparkling in your eyes.

Sejin is waiting at a table near the reception desk, and stands to shake your hand when Namjoon leads you over.

You take a seat and go through the formalities with him, and sign the NDA without complaint. Namjoon can’t help but feel a little worried, like he’s turning your life on its head by knowing him personally.

Namjoon watches the scenery pass by through the tinted glass of the car Sejin rented, the small talk died down as he pulled into the carpark of the museum. He leads you through the private entrance, where the manager meets you both with an enthusiastic greeting.

The museum is empty, and Namjoon catches the wonder in your eyes when he looks at you. “You rented out the whole place?”

Namjoon chuckled. “Yeah, I normally do. It’s more so for safety than anything else.”

You hum, nodding in understanding as you trail next to him. “It’s pretty cool, I’ve never been in one while it’s empty before.”

The private tour begins, and Namjoon’s knowledge and passion for art shines through as he explains the significance of each piece, trying his best to keep you entertained. You listen intently, genuine interest evident, even asking questions in between his rambling.

“You know,” You say, staring at a painting of abstract colours, “This is not at all how I imagined this to go.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He’s long stopped paying attention to the art that lined the walls, admiring you, mostly. “Oh? What did you imagine?”

You shrug, turning your head to look at him, a playful glint in your eye. “Well, I expected bodyguards, and a bit of running around. This is nice, though.”

Namjoon smiles, nodding, “Yeah, I would usually have someone close by, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You frown a bit, “Isn’t that dangerous though? You should have someone nearby regardless.”

“Your comfort is important.” Namjoon says, trying to keep you from worrying too much.

“Your safety is too, you know.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you he’s right outside?” Namjoon smiles, he could see you’re ready to debunk his words with the way your eyes narrow. “Don’t worry, someone’s near, just not as near as they would be normally.”

You stare at him for a quiet moment longer, “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

As the both of you continued your tour, the conversation between you flowed effortlessly. Namjoon took the moment he had to know more about you. Asking about your dreams, how far you’ve gotten in that book of yours, and the places you wanted to travel to. He found you easy to talk to, allowing himself to open up to you in a way he hadn’t with many people.

Something in the back of his mind, a learned warning echoed. He really shouldn’t be, considering everything. He chooses to ignore it for now, as you ask him about his favourite pieces of art.

By the time the tour was over and Namjoon actually remembered to take photos of the art, the sun was at its zenith. He tries not to take too long touring, so the museum can at least open to the public for the rest of the day.

You’re scrolling through your phone, looking at the photos you took of the pieces that caught your attention.

“Wanna get some food? There’s a good place nearby.” Namjoon asks, tucking his phone into his jeans.

You nod, smiling, “I can eat.”

Namjoon drives you both to a diner he’d visited once or twice when he was last in this city. The diner was packed for the lunch rush and Namjoon contemplates his next move in the car.

“Oh, that’s...” You glance between him and the view of the people in the diner, “I’ll go, whatchu want?”

“I can go...” You’re already unbuckling your seat belt and leaning down to rummage through your backpack. You find your purse with a soft ‘a-ah!’, smiling at him as you right yourself and turn to him again.

“It’s alright. It’s pretty crowded... you might not be so lucky this time.” You say, “Want anything specific?”

Namjoon smiles at you, shaking his head with a small laugh, “Anything’s fine.”

You nod, opening the door, there’s a rush of warm air that disturbs the AC, and Namjoon is stopping you. “Hang on...”

He sees you shake your head as he reaches for his wallet, and you step out before he can hand you his card.

“You can get it next time.” With that you’re off, and Namjoon watches a little slack jawed as you go.

Something in his chest flips and crawls up his throat, “...next time?”

You come out of the cafe, balancing two cups of something colourful in a cardboard holder and two brown paper bags a good five minutes later. Namjoon leans over to the passenger seat to pop the door open for you, extending his arm to take the holder.

“I got you a smoothie if that’s okay,” You say once you settle, passing him one of the paper bags, “Ham, egg and cheese sandwich.”

“Smoothies are good, thank you,” The smoothie is a mix of some fruit and another he can’t put his finger on. He hums at the sweet taste, “Oh, that’s good.”

For a moment, you both quietly eat, “Thanks for inviting me to come with you. I had fun.”

“Sure you weren’t bored out of your mind?” Namjoon teases, smiling when you reach over to smack his arm lightly.

“I was not!” Your giggle rings like a bell, “I mean it.”

As the days go by and his time in this city draws nearer to an end, Namjoon tries his best to spend as much time with you as he could. He’d text and call when he can and when your time allows it, learning more about you as he went along and liking you more as he did. He felt strange for the most part, as his two-week break comes to an end and he’s packing his things away and double checking that he doesn’t forget anything or pack something that isn’t his. His phone is propped up against the bedpost, distracted from folding his clothes by the view of you coming back into the frame.

“You’ll be busy once you get back, right?” You ask, sipping juice through the straw of a juice box.

Namjoon sighs, “Yeah, I’ll try my best to keep up with you, though.”

“You don’t have to.” You wave him off with a hand, “You’re a busy guy.”

“Would you miss me?” Namjoon asks, curious, because he’ll miss you. Is it normal to feel this way about someone you’ve known for only a short while?

“Nah.”

“Ow.”

“I’m kidding.”

Namjoon rolls his suitcase behind him, taking a moment to wave at the paparazzi and the fans that litter the terminal. He grips his phone tightly in his free hand, smiling at the cameras. He’s slept a little on the plane over, and even though he’s wide awake now he knows he’ll crash later. His phone buzzes in his hold and he briefly glances at it, he texted you right before he landed, and was eagerly awaiting your response.

He waits until he’s seated in the car at the entrance, he waves one last time through the window before he rolls it right up and settles into the leather seat of the car. The silence is soothing and Namjoon watches as the people outside filter away now that he’s inside.

Y/n: Hope your flight went okay!

Namjoon studies the text for a moment, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He was a little worried, honestly. He likes you, a lot, really, but what if it was simply in passing? A fleeting moment of interest? What if it all amounts to nothing in the end all because you’re you and he’s him? It’s easier to date within your own circle, to be with people who understand the complications and compromises that come with being with someone like him. He feels as though now, with an ocean between you both, everything will simply fade away. He’s known you barely two weeks, and even though he’s let you in, and you him, Namjoon can’t help his growing anxiety at the thought. Funny it occurs to him now that he’s back home.

Namjoon: It did!

He stares out the window for a bit, watching the familiar streets zoom by and shakes his head. When was the last time he actually felt like this? Meeting people is hard enough, and meeting someone like you is even harder. He’s seen and met a lot of people over the years, over his time as RM of BTS, a lot of fans who he thought beautiful and never pursued. He knows what comes of relationships between an idol and a fan, he’s seen it happen and it’s always a disappointment to be used like that. But he doesn’t want to put you in that box, he has no right to when you’ve shown him differently. Though, he’s in his right mind to keep an eye out for tabloids and articles of the things he’s shared with you and he also feels guilty that he does. He’s only known you for a short time, something he constantly has to remind himself of when he’s thinking too hard, but that level of trust is something he’s willing to work towards with you.

Namjoon’s days blur together into the weeks as they would when he’s too busy to do anything else but what’s required of him. Meetings here and there, album preparations; work. As he promised, he tried his best to keep up with you, and even on the days where all he could do when he comes home is pass out wherever he sets himself, you text or call to make sure he’s doing okay with it all. Sometimes it’s too early for you to consider being awake or it’s late at night and you’re too tired to keep your eyes open and Namjoon could barely understand what’s coming out of your mouth.

As the weeks meld into months you both found a routine that works best, and Namjoon finds things to do with you when you’re both free at decent times. Maybe you’ll watch a movie or play games together or simply catch up on things you’ve missed.

Namjoon never really has much to tell, most of his days are filled with work and despite his reputation for spoilers, he’s trying his best to keep things under wraps. You do most of the talking, you never seem to mind it much – smiling with a certain understanding – and Namjoon is always happy to listen about what you did that day or your workplace gossip.

He’s found it impossible to get you out of his head and focus more often, thoughts of you invading his mind more than anything else.

Even now as he tries to focus on putting a track together, he’s barely with it, phone propped up against a speaker and waiting for you to get back from getting some things done. He moved from the living room to his home studio a while ago, determined to get some work done and now just sits and stares at the tracks with a frustrated frown. He squints at the screen, moving some things around and playing the same track over and over.

“Where’re your glasses?”

Namjoon glances at his phone to see you just settling back on your couch, a glass bowl of cereal in your hand. You look cute in blue jellyfish printed pajamas he hasn’t seen you in before, hair pulled up and away from your face and even through the phone screen Namjoon can see it’s still damp.

“They’re…” He thinks for a moment, “…somewhere…”

You chuckle, “You should get those thingies kids and old people put on their glasses so they won’t lose them.”

“Trying to say something?”

“I’m just saying…you either lose them or break them and you can just avoid both by getting the thing. I know contacts are annoying.”

Namjoon smiles, nodding, “Yeah, they’re a pain in the ass.” He sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk to spin around and stretch his fingers. “Isn’t it late for you?”

You put another spoonful of cereal in your mouth, turning your hand to look at your watch and hum, “It’s not that late…trying to get rid of me?”

“Never.” Namjoon smiles at your teasing tone, “Sleep is important, though.”

“Says you.” You point a finger at him, “You texted me at three am two days ago.”

“You were awake though, so…you’re losing this argument.” Namjoon laughs as you snap your mouth shut.

You point your spoon at him, “I’ll win next time.”

“Are those new? The pyjamas.” Namjoon asks, propping his chin on his hand, resigning himself to not getting any work done this morning.

“I’ve had these a while, aren��t they cute? There’s a really big jellyfish printed on the back.” You say, setting your bowl down with a soft clink of the glass against the wood of your coffee table.

“Yeah they’re…” Namjoon feels the words stall in his throat as you stand up, the bottoms of the pajamas aren’t long legged pants as he expected them to be. They end just above the middle of your thighs, and you’re giving him quite the show when you turn and come back down. The sight of the cartoonish jellyfish on the back of the top knocks Namjoon back where he’s supposed to be and he pinches the back of his hand.

When you right yourself, sitting back on the couch, Namjoon can’t stop thinking about the rest of you he can’t see.

“What’s with that look?” You ask after a moment of him just staring.

“What look?” Namjoon asks back, and for a second you simply watch him before you huff out a laugh and look away.

“You’re looking at me like you…” You start, eyes moving back to the camera before they flit away again, “Oh, my mum’s calling. I’ll text you in the morning, okay?”

Namjoon laughs a bit, nodding as he waves you goodbye, “Sleep well.”

“Ah, fuck.” Namjoon grunts, the muscles of his arm strains and he tilts his head back, sweat trailing down his neck. He brings his arm up and then back down slowly, letting a breath out through his nose, “Shit.”

The music playing through his Bluetooth headphones suddenly fades out, the specific ringtone he set for you plays softly. Namjoon sets the dumbbell down on the floor, pressing a finger against the touchpad of one of the earbuds and answers.

“Hey Princess, what’s up?” He pulls at the end of his tee, fanning the cool ac air against his warm skin.

“Joon, it’s a video call.”

“Oh.” Namjoon pulls his phone from his pocket, waving at you with a smile, “Hi.” He gets off the bench he’s sitting on, propping his phone somewhere safe and sits again.

“Hi…are you – damn give me a warning, won’t you?”

Namjoon looks up at you just in time to catch you looking away, not missing the motion of you biting your bottom lip. He smirks, whether you’re aware of it or not; this is payback. He had a hard time not thinking of you in those short pyjama pants for two days, and even though this was completely unintentional, it was worth your reaction.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Namjoon smiles innocently.

You shake your head, “Anyway…guess what.” He hears the excitement in your voice rather than see as you’ve stepped out of frame and then quickly back in with a bottle of water in hand. There’s a big bright smile on your lips and you seem to be bouncing a bit in place.

“Well someone’s excited.” Namjoon chuckles and you wave at him frantically, “Okay, okay. What?”

You pout, “It’s no fun if you don’t even attempt to guess, you know?”

“There’s like, so many possibilities of my guess being wrong.” Namjoon says and you sigh dramatically.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. Killjoy.” You roll your eyes, the action playful, “I’ll be in your area around this time next week.”

It takes a full minute for Namjoon to process and he almost drops the dumbbell on his foot, “Eh?”

“Hyung…I don’t know what to do.” Namjoon whines, flopping back into the couch in Genius Lab. Seokjin pats his back as Yoongi swivels around in his chair to face him, plucking his headphones out his ears.

“That’s a good thing.” Yoongi says, standing to stretch with a groan, “But also…don’t think about it too much. Overthinking doesn’t do you any good.”

Seokjin sighs, shaking his head, “I think it’s good that she’s coming here. It’s a good way to connect, you know?”

“I know, but…”

“It’s different here, right?” Yoongi supplies, sitting back into his chair but he doesn’t turn away, “Feels like you have to run around in secret. And on top of that she isn’t in ‘our circle’, things can get overwhelming for both of you, especially her.”

Yoongi is right, as he usually was. The last thing he wanted was to have his life and the circumstances of it be too much for you to take. Namjoon told the guys about you once or twice, just in case things between you both became more serious than it is now, he didn’t want them out of the loop and have to explain later.

“I don’t want that to get in the way of a relationship should it happen…” Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“Alright Joonie, Hyung is gonna explain something so listen carefully.” Seokjin lays a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder and Yoongi makes a face at the tone he uses.

“Why do you sound like you’re gonna talk to him about safe sex?”

Seokjin ignores Yoongi, turning Namjoon to face him with his other hand on the other shoulder, looking serious. “Namjoon. You’re more than your celebrity status. You’re a person with feelings and desires, just like anyone else. If you like this girl, don’t let fame be a barrier. If things get hard, do what all the other adults do; sit and talk about it.”

Namjoon nods, “Right. You’re right. Thank you, Hyung.”

“Now, imagine if I wasn’t here to look after you guys.” Seokjin pats Namjoon’s shoulder, one of his rare deep chuckles filling the brief silence. “Just take her to see all the good places, have fun and you can worry about the rest after.”

It’s a day after you arrive in Korea that Namjoon sees you.

He’s meeting you a block away from the place you’re renting for the two weeks you’ll be here. There’s a slight chill in the air as the tail-end of summer pulls the beginning of autumn, and you’ve unintentionally matched him with your dark clothes and hat. You both had been texting the night before and Namjoon promised to take you somewhere nice while you were free.

“Hi!” your greeting is cheerful, and Namjoon returns it, smiling.

“Settling in okay?” Namjoon asks as he pulls off the curb.

He is determined to make the most of every moment you both spent together, showing you all his favourite spots. You both wandered through bustling markets, sampled street food, and visited historic temples.

When the sun painted the sky with lilac and indigo and the moon chased it away, Namjoon parked his car in the carpark of an observatory. The observatory is closed of course, but there’s an event that Namjoon booked tickets for the moment he saw it. You expressed your love for the cosmos many times before, and Namjoon was more than willing to indulge you. At times he would sit and listen to you ramble on for ages, telling him any and everything.

He flashes you a dimpled smile, making sure his black mask and hat were secured before leading you to the park located at the back of the observatory. The park was a large space with sparse trees and shrubbery dotting the field, the trees are wrapped in fairy lights, which are usually on at night time but are off to allow the best view of the night sky. There are winding paths of gravel that goes every which way, and Namjoon picks the one where less people linger, leading you down it with your hand in his.

He leads you through the winding trails and the other people here for the event until he finds a clear spot where you both can sit comfortably without disturbance.

It’s a clear night, the stars twinkling in the sky above. It’s quiet between you for a moment, where you watch the sky and he’s looking at you. His heart pounds in his ears and he doesn’t know what else to do but look away when you suddenly turn.

“What?” You laugh, leaning slightly to nudge his shoulder with yours.

Namjoon laughs softly, knowing he’s definitely been caught and shakes his head, “Nothing.”

You sigh softly, wrapping your arm around his and leaning your head on his shoulder. He wonders how you both seem to people that may glance a little longer, perhaps like a pair of lovers simply enjoying the night in each other’s company.

Namjoon enters the code for his apartment door, the beep and the sound of the door unlocking is loud in the quiet hallway. He lets you enter first, sliding you a pair of house slippers before he leads you further in.

“Ah, don’t mind the mess...it’s not usually like this...” Namjoon scratches his cheek, eyes caught on the mess that is his coffee table. There’re wads of balled up paper strewn about it, lyrics he started and decided there was nothing he could do with them, his journal left open and his little green cactus pen abandoned. A stack of books on the floor that’s yet to be read.

He quickly walks over to tidy it, picking up the stray pieces of paper.

“Don’t worry about it,” You say, and Namjoon realises you’re not even paying mind to it. Attention fully stolen by the various art pieces he has hung on walls and settled into corners.

The living room of his apartment is large, and in an attempt to make it look less empty, it’s his usual place to put whatever catches his eye. Most of them are paintings, canvases filled with colours and scenery, a book shelf that holds none, instead, a display for finely crafted pottery, potted house plants and a tiny brass horse Taehyung gifted him some time ago. There are picture frames of his family, the boys and other abstract things he took himself filling the emptier spaces on the shelf.

Glass pane windows take up most of the wall on the other side of the room, giving a beautiful view of Hannam in all its glittering glory.

Namjoon makes his way into the kitchen, paper balls clutched in his hands and he asks if you want anything. You’ve wandered over to the shelf, looking at all the different pieces, telling him that water would be fine.

“These are really pretty,” you say, turning to him with genuine admiration. “Are all of them authentic?”

“Some of them are.” He says, getting a glass from his cupboard, and then quietly: “Most of those are from small local ceramists, some of them from charity auctions and things like that.”

There’s something surreal in having you a room away, and not making jokes with him through a phone screen. Namjoon finds himself a little at a loss, a lot clumsier than usual as he knocks his shin against the leg of an island stool. There’s a searing heat that climbs its way from the collar of his shirt to flush the skin of his neck and ears.

He sees the smile that curls the corner of your mouth when you glance at him, “Are you okay?”

Namjoon nudges the stool closer to the lip of the island counter – glaring at it as though it walked into his path just to spite him; he forgot it out this morning, it’s his fault really – and nods. “I’m good.”

He reaches you in three strides, passing you the glass of chilled water. You take small sips of it, and Namjoon tracks the motion of your throat as you swallow.

He gives you a little tour, telling you about the art and any little thing you ask after. Namjoon’s thrilled to share this part of his life with you.

When it got a little later, Namjoon stands in the kitchen, watching water boil because it’s the only thing you let him do. He feels a little embarrassed as you stand somewhere behind him, donned in an apron he barely uses. He’d suggested ordering in and in very you fashion, you’d asked when was the last time he had a home cooked meal. Honestly, it was a while ago, when he visited home.

You’d shook your head, listing the times he would call you while he was eating dinner and you eating breakfast and it would always be some sort of take-out.

You gracefully allow him to crack the pasta and put it in the pot, but that was the most of it.

“I won’t be explaining to anyone how you hurt yourself in here.” You say, lowering the heat under steaming tomato sauce. You’re making pasta, he thinks, as you’ve told him that your knowledge on Korean cuisine isn’t enough for you to try your hand at it.

“You wouldn’t have to, I hurt myself all the time.” Namjoon chuckles, “Can I at least help you cut those?” he motions at the small bowl of washed onions, not waiting for an answer, he pulls a knife from the holder at the corner of the island. He knows how to hold a knife without too much trouble, at least.

As you skilfully prepare dinner, the conversation between you both flow naturally. Talking about whatever comes to mind, anything and everything and laughing over stories. You both settle to eat afterwards, and Namjoon can’t stop singing your praises, he’d go halfway to say that you cook better than Seokjin…Maybe he’s just biassed.

After Namjoon washed the dishes – he swore he wouldn’t let you do anything more – you both took your drinks of bottled beers to the living room. Sitting on the couch, and a movie playing on the mounted tv that neither of you pay attention to, far too engrossed in talking to each other; the well of topics never seems to run dry. Namjoon thinks that’s nice, there’s always something to talk about with you, even if you’re just telling him workplace gossip from two weeks ago, or rambling on about a shell you found on a beach when you were nine.

“Oh shoot-” You turn your wrist to look at your watch, the glass face catching the overhead lights. You squint at the time, something Namjoon once made fun of you for, because who has analogue watches anymore? He doesn’t find it in him to laugh at you now though, as the realisation dawns on him before you can say: “It’s really late…”

He checks his own watch without much reason – thirty minutes past midnight – and he frowns, he’s kept you way later than he intended. “Shit yeah, my bad. Sorry I kept you.”

You wave a hand, smiling at him, “No, it’s okay!” You place the half empty bottle of beer on the little black coaster on the coffee table. You stare out at the city for a quiet moment, “How hard is it to catch a taxi from here?” you ask, and then, quietly to yourself: “Maybe I should call an uber…”

It takes Namjoon a fraction of a second for his mind to fumble, trying to grasp at the words uselessly before they tumble out into the air. His mouth moves faster, though, “Or you could just stay here?”

He blinks at you and you blink back, the words hanging in the air long enough that Namjoon wishes that the floor would open up and swallow him, never to spit him out again. He stumbles with his words, dropping them as though the gears of his mind are grinding to a halt, coating in rust. “Um-If th…uh…you don…”

Then, you smile, your cheeks squishing your eyes. “Only if that’s okay.”

“More than.” Namjoon can’t help his smile back; grateful you didn’t mention him tripping over himself. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Twenty minutes later, Namjoon is digging through his drawers for something for you to wear for the night, the blush that had flushed his cheeks earlier had returned with a vengeance as he thought about the fact that you’re staying the night and would be wearing his clothes. He’s still beside himself, not too sure what to do, because this is so far beyond the two of you being friends and talking through calls and texts.

He settles on a long-sleeved tee shirt and black sweatpants and meets you back in the living room, where you stand at the window watching the lights twinkle down below and in the distance. When he announces his return, you turn, looking a little worried and Namjoon once again wonders if he’s crossed a line somewhere. You smile softly, taking the bundle of clothes from his arms.

“Thank you…” You say, and then, softer: “Are you sure it’s okay?”

Namjoon plants his hands on your shoulder, squeezing gently before he leads you back the way he came, following your steps closely with his own. He stops you right outside the bathroom door, “Yes, I’m sure.”

Namjoon lays awake in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. You’re sleeping in the room across from him, well, he assumes you’re asleep by now. The clock at his bedside blinks sleepily, but Namjoon finds it hard to let his mind settle.

When you’d come out of the bathroom earlier, a little over thirty minutes ago, you were practically drowning in his clothes. You’d rolled the legs of the pants a few times but it still swam around your ankles and the tee was at least three times your size.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in oversized clothing before. It’s simply the fact that it’s his. It’s been a good few months since he’s met you in that cafe, and a good few weeks since he’s realised he liked you.

It may have happened when you went off on one of your many rambles about something or the other. He’s not quite certain. After spending the entire day with you, Namjoon likes you in his space. Not once have you given him the need to run in the opposite direction, not once have you broken his trust.

Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, kicking his feet under the blanket. Making up his mind, he gets out of bed and marches confidently to his door. He pulls it open and the edge of the door hits his toe. He stands for a moment, with his eyes closed, brows furrowed in pain and a hand over his mouth keeping the pained yelp trapped. “...Ow.”

He takes the five steps across the hallway, raises a hand to knock, takes a breath and turns on his heel. He walks a little ways up the hall.

“Okay. C’mon, it’s not that hard.” He mutters to himself, and then looks back at the door, “This is very hard.”

He’s not sure. He’s sure of himself, and his feelings, but...what if you’re not in the same place he is?

“Joon?” You poke your head out the door, and Namjoon startles. “You good?”

You didn’t look like you went to sleep and he woke you up, though your hair is a bit tousled and Namjoon would like to hope that you’d been just as restless as he was.

“Yeah...”

You give him a look that says you aren’t too convinced, “I heard a thud.”

“Oh...” The ache in his toe rings with a dull echo, and he looks down at his feet and then back at you, “Door...I jammed it against my toe.”

Your eyes flicker downward, and even in the dimly lit hallway he could see your amusement. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, happens all the time.”

“I’m concerned at the fact that you think accidentally hurting yourself this often is normal.” You laugh and Namjoon makes his way over to you but stops short and stares up at the ceiling. You’ve ditched the pants he gave you.

“What are we looking at?”

He glances at you and you’re also looking at the ceiling.

“You’re not wearing pants.”

You must’ve caught yourself, because there’s a soft gasp and the shuffling of your feet. When Namjoon brings his gaze back down you’re peeking at him from behind the door.

“Sorry!” You squeak out, “Sleeping in long pants is uncomfy.”

“It’s okay, I sleep naked sometimes so...” Namjoon couldn’t stop the words before they hit the air, and for a moment they simply hang there as you both stare at each other.

“Not that you should sleep naked...I mean – you can if you want to, really, doesn’t bug me at all...” He’s really trying to reign it in here. “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping like that. As long as you’re comfortable!”

“Relax,” You laugh, sticking your hand out through the gap in the door and the frame to wave him down, “I’m not sleeping naked. I get cold fast.”

“There’s a solution for that.” Another pause, and Namjoon realises how his words sounded as you raise a brow at him, “The heater. There’s a heater in there. I wasn’t suggesting that I could...”

Namjoon sighs, he really does put his foot right in his mouth. So he does what’s best for everyone and just closes it.

Just when he was beginning to think that this moment would be at the top of his 'Awkward situations you’ve created' list, the gap widens just a bit and there’s something shy about your small smile and the way your eyes stay glued to the floor.

“I wouldn’t mind...” Your words are soft and Namjoon wonders for a moment if he misheard. This is the most shy he’s seen you in a while, looking up at him through your eyelashes, fingers caught in the hem of your borrowed tee-shirt; wringing the life out of the piece you hold.

“Yeah?” His voice is equally as soft, giving you room to change your mind if you so wished. You nod mutely and Namjoon gives you a second more to think carefully, only stepping forward when you step back and pull the door with you.

You leave the door open a crack, so that the light from the hallway bleeds into the darkness, and Namjoon watches as you walk over to the bed and crawl under the blankets.

There really isn’t much to this room, equipped with the essentials and a few nick-knacks and a bookshelf he’d put his other books on because there was no space on his other ones. There was a landscape painting hanging above the headboard, something he put there to give the room a bit more personality.

You’re peeking at him from the blankets, the soft mounds of material hiding most of your face from view. It’s a lot cooler here than his room, though the floor is cold under his bare feet and he briefly wondered if you need socks.

He walks soundlessly over and out of habit, he’s already pulling his tee-shirt over his head but pauses when it hangs on the length of his arms. “Shit – sorry.” He pokes his head back through the neck of the tee, “I run hot so I don’t usually sleep with a shirt on.”

“Is that why you sleep naked, too?”

Namjoon is grateful for the dark as heat runs up his neck. He takes it in stride, though, “Yeah. Clothes are constricting sometimes.”

There’s something else in your voice when you giggle, and there’s a shifting of the blankets. “You can keep it off if you want.”

Namjoon hums, “Are you okay with that?”

“As long as you’re comfortable.”

“Your comfort matters, too.” It’s not as though you hadn’t seen him without a shirt before; you shaded video calls during his workout sessions. Even though most of those are spent with you trying not to look at him – Namjoon’s caught you staring more times than he could count. This is different, though, he reminds himself; you’re no longer oceans away.

“I’m comfortable with it.”

“Okay.” Namjoon pulls his shirt off and folds it neatly, placing it on the nightstand before he climbs into bed next to you.

His side of the bed is cold, but he could feel your warmth just inches away. He turns to face you, lying on his side, finding your eyes in the dark.

“Hi.” You’re already facing him and in the darkness, Namjoon smiles.

“Hi.”

Your toes brush his under the covers and Namjoon hisses softly, “Are you cold?”

“A little...”

“Want me to get closer?” Namjoon whispers, and to his surprise, you move over first.

There’s a slight chill to your skin as you settle, resting your head where Namjoon extended his arm and then, close enough that your legs tangle with his and the ghost of your breath tickles his chest. You smell like him, like watermelon and mint; He’s once again grateful for the darkness.

Namjoon lets his other arm rest in the dip where the softness of your stomach meets your waist. It’s quiet when you both stop shuffling about, and your breaths are a tad nervous on the inhale.

“Okay?” Namjoon tries his best not to disturb the quiet, speaking softly. He feels you nod, and a slow flow of warm air as you sigh.

“You’re really warm.”

Namjoon chuckles, and silently, holds you tighter. He lets his chin rest on the top of your head, your hair tickles his nose. It smells faintly of his shampoo – he’s never loved it more. He wants to stay there forever, wrapped in the sweet, gentle scent of honeysuckle, melon and something uniquely you.

Namjoon wonders – and he knows, there’s no point in dwelling on the thought – what would’ve happened if he’d walked out of the cafe that day. Held captive by his responsibilities and his duty to keep his group and their image as spotless as possible. It would’ve been different had you not been the way you are.

He calls your name softly, and he wonders if you can feel the rapid pace of his heart beneath the warmth of your palm. It kicks against his sternum like he’s been running, and he takes a breath. There’s something unspoken here, in this darkened room where only the walls are listening.

Somewhere along the way, during the days that dragged the weeks into months – somewhere – a line was blurred.

Sleep wraps around your tired hum like a warm blanket, the sound of the sheets shifting further shattering the quiet as you lean back a little to look at him.

He lets his hand find the warmth of your cheek, moving until his thumb is resting against the front of your ear and his fingers are nestled in the softness of your hair.

“Wanna ask you something.” He says.

“What’s it?”

Distractedly, Namjoon’s fingers rub tentative circles in your scalp and catches the way your eyes flutter at the feeling.

He smiles when your eyes open and meet his, with the dark he grows confident, and softly: “Can I kiss you?”

His words hang in the air, heavy with desire and affection. In that moment, the weight of his request carries with it a profound realisation.

It’s not just a simple act of physical connection he seeks, but rather a deeper, more profound expression of love. His request bears the weight of all the emotions, vulnerabilities, and hopes he has placed upon this relationship.

The answer now rests in your hands, and Namjoon waits with bated breath for your response.

“Please.” Your answer dances between you both, and Namjoon angles your head upward slightly, and closes the gap with a tentative kiss. Your lips are soft and taste of mint when he runs his tongue along the seam of your mouth. He doesn’t ask for much more, gentle in the way that he pulls you closer, fingers tangling in the soft hair at your nape.

In this moment, there is no need for words. The brush of your skin against his, the sweet taste of your kiss, and the way your bodies gravitate towards each other speak volumes.

Namjoon cherishes every second, every breath shared, as he grows more intoxicated by you.

His heart pounding in his chest, all thoughts of caution and restraint fade away. Giving in completely to his desire and lust, he pulls you close, not wanting this moment to end. The kiss is now an embrace, with both of you giving in fully.

His lips caress yours, his touch slowly becoming more and more intimate. His tongue finds yours, and Namjoon swallows the sound you make.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, you both take in a deep breath. It’s like everything around you becomes blurred, with only the two of you visible.

He runs his hands through your hair, looking into your eyes. He draws closer again, resting his forehead against yours.

He’s quiet, still for a moment, simply watching you in the dark. Your fingers tap softly against his chest, confusion and worry sit on the furrow of your brow.

“What wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, your eyes each and then your forehead where he lingers. “It’s nothing... it’s just...”

“I want you to understand...” He continues softly after a breath, “My life can be overwhelming, it’s hard even for me some days. There’s times when I feel like I’ve worked hard only to get myself trapped in a bottle. Dangling above the view of millions who think I should live my life their way.

It isn’t easy. There’s always a risk that maybe one of us would slip up or something else. Privacy is something hard won and I’d hate for anything to happen that puts you in a position that you’ll regret.”

Namjoon lays his worries bare like cards going all in, focusing on the texture of your hair between his fingers. He allows you a moment to absorb his words, to really think.

The life of an idol isn’t for everyone; so many have cracked under the pressure of it. The life of an idol’s partner does not come any easier. Your relationship would be kept buried like a dirty secret to feed into the delusions of a certain variety of ‘fans’, all for the safety of the people involved.

If by some miracle, or a stroke of good luck, you choose to continue onward despite the challenges it would bring, Namjoon would be eternally grateful and he would spend his days making sure you never regret that choice.

“Joon...” Your hand meets his wrist, curling at his pulse. “I’ve known from the beginning what it would be like. You’ve got fans all over the world who adore you, and who would do just about anything to get close to you. It’s not easy to live a life like that, to be constantly watched and judged.

“But I knew that going in,” you continue. “I may not have expected to fall in love with you, but now that it’s happened, nothing else matters. I know what it’s like to have eyes always on you, and I’m willing to do anything to make it work.”

“You...you love me?” Namjoon's mind feels as though it blanked, though somewhere in the back among the cogs grinding to a halt your words have registered. Right now, he could only tunnel focus on that one thing.

“Oh god.” There’s a smile blooming on Namjoon’s lips as you groan an embarrassed sound, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. He laughs softly, leaning back to catch your gaze but you evade him, bringing your hands up to cover your face instead.

Namjoon briefly wonders if this is what a moon orbiting a planet feels like. Ganymede does not question the gravity of Jupiter. It simply orbits the planet, accepting its fate. And Namjoon accepts his fate of being drawn to you. He is not swept up by your presence, but rather firmly grounded, and held in place. His feelings for you are as natural as the pull of gravity, as certain as the rotation of the Earth.

In your presence, everything shifts, and nothing else becomes important. Your gravity becomes his universe, and he is perfectly content to reside in it.

“I love you too.”

You peek at him through your fingers, and Namjoon doesn’t let the moment pass, prying your hands gently away from your face. He leans closer and presses a kiss to your lips, there’s nothing gentle about it this time – all teeth and tongue and quiet sounds that Namjoon swallows. He eases you onto your back with a gentle hand, slotting himself between your legs.

He trails his kisses down your neck, catching the skin with his teeth and sucking to leave his mark. He trails his hand down the length of your thigh, over the band of your underwear and under the soft cotton tee-shirt. He brushes his fingers along the curve of your hip, feeling the warmth of your skin and the way you tremble beneath his touch. He travels further still, up your ribcage to your breasts, feeling the soft curves and the way your nipples harden beneath his caress.

He feels the goosebumps that erupted at his touch, feels the hitch of your breath in your chest. Namjoon sucks a mark against your collarbone, he shifts so that he’s at your side, giving his hand more room.

He traces feather light touches along the expanse of your stomach and you giggle into his kiss. His fingers glide just above the waistband of your underwear, teasing until you whine his name.

Namjoon chuckles as he pulls away, “Can I?”

Words seem like more than you can manage and you nod. Namjoon gives a fleeting kiss, as his fingers dip lower, pushing aside your underwear to find your heat. The arousal clinging to your panties cools rapidly against the back of his hand, and Namjoon dips a finger into the warmth of you.

He keeps his eyes on your face as he does, watching the way your eyebrows furrow and your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth. He nudges his nose against your cheek and runs his tongue along the shell of your ear. He’s barely touching you, keeping his fingers just shy of where he knows you want them the most.

It’s a while of teasing you this way, and Namjoon likes the way frustration bleeds into your soft, breathless moans when he circles your clit with his slick fingers and pulls away. He gives your neck and chest most of his attention, with gentle squeezes and his tongue tracing abstract patterns, drawing your nipples into his mouth with soft tugs of his teeth.

When the next whine of his name comes with teary eyes, Namjoon takes pity on you. The wet, tightness of you makes him groan and he pulls a hissing breath through his teeth, pressing his erection against your hip where he ruts in sync with the movement of his fingers.

He curls them upward, your back bows and he presses the heel of his palm against your clit. He kisses your cheek when your fingers wrap around his wrist, “I got you, baby.”

You gasp, your pleasure mounting until you can’t take it anymore. You writhe beneath his touch as you reach the peak of pleasure, calling out his name as you fall over the edge.

Namjoon gives you a moment to breathe, running his hand along your thighs and tummy. He takes your face in his hands once your breaths evened out, pressing his forehead to yours and breathing in your scent. His lips find yours in a gentle, yet passionate kiss that leaves you both breathless.

“Good?”

“Fuck – yeah.” Your fingers tug at his hair and Namjoon groans.

“Want me to go on?” He asks softly, pressing a kiss to your temple and then, almost jumps right out of his skin when your other hand squeezes at his cock in his sweats. He lets out a chuckle that gets muddled by a moan that rumbles in his chest. “Baby.”

Namjoon sees the smile that curls in your lips, the innocent way you blink at him. You hum softly when he mouths at your jaw, a shudder runs through him and he can’t stop himself chasing the friction with a buck of his hips.

“You wan’it?” Namjoon’s drunk on you and you’ve barely done anything. You’re tugging at the drawstring of his sweatpants, and he groans, letting his forehead rest against your chest when your hand wraps around his cock and tugs upward. “Ah, Fuck.”

He feels your hand against his chest and lies back when you push gently. He watches as you tug his tee-shirt and your underwear off, and he quickly follows to take his sweats off.

He slides his hands up your thighs when you settle on his. A breath catches in his throat when you wrap both hands around the width of his cock. His fingers gripping where your thighs meet your hips, and he watches with heavy lidded eyes as you lean forward slightly and spit. The dollop of saliva lands deftly on the head of his cock and Namjoon’s eyes roll back as you focus there.

You’re twisting your wrists, the slick sound of it and Namjoon’s harsh breaths are the only sounds in the quiet room. When he feels his lower stomach clench he grabs your wrist and still your movement.

“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think of literally anything else, “You’ll make me cum if you keep doing that.”

Your giggle rings like a bell and Namjoon smiles at the sound. Sitting up he pulls you forward, trapping his throbbing cock between his stomach and the heat of your cunt. He groans at how wet you are, blunt teeth nipping at your jaw. “Wanna ride it?” He breathes, “Hm? Wanna fuck me?”

He feels your nod, feels the shuddering breath you release against his hair. “Words, Princess.”

“Yeah, wanna fuck you.”

Namjoon helps you balance, guiding his cock – slick with your juices – to your entrance. He sucks on your tongue as you come down slowly, and Namjoon swears he’s seeing the pearly gates behind his tightly shut eyes when your walls flutter.

He lies back, giving you a moment and short, shallow thrusts. You look so beautiful above him, your hair a rumpled mess, throat and chest covered in bruises of his own making. He gives a single thrust, a hand sliding up your sweat slicked skin to palm at your breast, his other hand landing a harsh slap against your ass.

You squeak out a moan and Namjoon chuckles, doing it again, “C’mon, baby girl. Fuck me.”

Your hands press against his tummy, hips rising slowly and coming back down. He lets you set the pace, content to lie back and take what you give. He could feel your arousal dripping down his shaft, and Namjoon tightens his grip on your hips.

He plants his feet flat on the bed, meeting you halfway with his thrusts. He pulls you down with a hand behind your neck, when your chest meets his he wraps his other arm around your waist and sets a brutal pace.

“Feels so fucking good.” Namjoon groans, “Pussy’s so good—fuck.”

You’re moaning right in his ear, whining, breathless sounds that makes him fuck you harder. Without warning, your thighs squeeze at his sides and you tremble above him. Your orgasm pools in his groin in a gush of warmth, your moans pitching an octave with his name and Namjoon swears, fucking you through it.

“That’s it, baby. Good girl.” Namjoon groans, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He slows his thrusts and gently eases you off him, he settles behind you when you’re on your stomach, lifting your hips to meet his.

Your moans are muffled by the sheets when he thrusts forward. He holds you steady with a hand gripping your waist and the other on the back of your neck. He focuses his thrusts on the spot that makes your walls tighten and drip.

He looks down to watch his cock disappear inside you, and the way your ass jiggles from the force of his thrusts. “Fuc—M’gonna cum. Where you want it?”

You meet his thrusts halfway, “Inside.”

“You sure?” Namjoon pants, slowing down just a bit.

“Yeah—wanna feel you. Please, daddy.”

Lightning shoots down his spine, curses in his mother tongue trapped behind his teeth as he spills his release inside you. He holds you pressed against him, balls deep, moaning at every throb of his cock.

He pulls you closer when he lays down, peppering kisses all over your face and wherever he could reach. When you’ve both caught your breaths, you finally speak, chin propped on your hand on his chest.

“Daddy, huh? That does it for you?” You’re giggling and Namjoon throws an arm over his eyes, groaning.

“Shut up.” He can’t help his smile, “You’re the one who said it, so I think it’s the other way around actually.”

“We’re both gonna lose if we go there.”

A half hour later, after the sheets in the guest bedroom were stripped and you and him are settled for the night in his room, Namjoon wouldn’t change a thing if he had the power to. He’d go into that cafe and sit at your table every time.

Ganymede has no choice in the matter, he would orbit Jupiter as long as she allows it.

Tagging (Bold means i couldn't tag ):) : @xpeachesncream @luaspersona @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @eoieopda @euphoricfilter @mssukeyna @allhobbitstoisengard @dontstoptime @eren-fall @blog-name-idk @idkreallys-blog @thvunaise @menialthoughts

[respawningjupiter]

Never running to AI for fic ideas again.

[somewhereincairparavel]

okay but imagine jason grace who is with the daughter of neptune who is an ‘underdog’ in camp jupiter. her parentage wasn't valued in camp jupiter because romans didn't use the navy as much. they feared neptune, but didn't respect him. and jason grace, the golden boy, was only expected to be in love with other ‘perfect’ people like reyna to hold up the ‘royal’ leader couple reputation. the daughter of neptune had no choice but to be put in the worst cohort, and endured judgy stares from campers. as though they were waiting for her to create a storm so big that it would wash away the whole city.

but jason is love with her. it's a romeo and juliet situation where they both have to sneak out to see eachother because the upper cohort did their best to make sure they both don't get too close with eachother. fearing the chaos that would ensue, had the two rival parentage kids ever interacted. reyna would be aware of the secret relationship, and would support it wholeheartedly, even covering for them, being best friends with jason and the daughter of neptune as children.

the daughter of neptune always feels as though he and reyna would've been a better match, agreeing with the camps harsh standards. and has an inferiority complex. jason would have to reassure her and give her so much love and words of affirmation.

[ameagrice]

Capsize

percy jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-eight | headlock

You sit up so suddenly that your forehead collides with someone else’s. Groaning, your hand on your head, you open your blurry eyes and blink until your vision returns to normal.

The sky is still bright. Someone’s used Percy’s burial shroud as a pillow for you, where it rests on the floor, balled up. Your head hurts, though you can’t be sure if it’s from smacking against someone else’s, or if it’s from passing out.

“Well,” someone chuckles with humour, “that’s one way to wake her up.” They extend a plastic bottle down to you, shaking it impatiently. Clarisse is standing above you, laughing. “Take it, then!”

You’re aware of water dripping down your face, but even more aware of the parched feeling in your throat. You remember you barely managed to get breakfast, never mind a proper drink. If you went and checked your levels now, they would scream dehydrated.

“Are you okay?” Annabeth crouches with concern, laying a hand on your shoulder. “You fell pretty hard.”

“Yeah.” You cough to clear your throat, dancing your eyes around the small group. “I feel…fine…”

He stands at the back, with his hands in his pockets, head ducked awkwardly. There’s Annabeth next to you, Clarisse in front, jabbing jokes (although, that look she’s trying to cover up might be worry), and then there’s him. Percy Jackson. He glows with health, and even looks a couple of inches taller than he did the last time you saw him. That might just be because you’d been cloaked in the dark tunnels though.

“You’re not dead.” You blurt, without thinking. “You’re not dead.”

“Great, right!” Clarisse slaps a hand hard on your aching head. You wince, leaning back. “I’ll grab us some food. You look ashy, and I’m starving after the show.”

Ouch. But food would be nice. You feel your stomach eating itself, and sigh.

“So,” Annabeth breaks the ice. “Percy isn’t…gone after all.“

“I feel like I’m in a bad dream,” you raise your eyebrows and shake your head slowly.

“This is a good thing…isn’t it?” Annabeth nervously looks between you and Percy. “This is…Percy’s breathing! Yay!”

“Where were you?” You ask. “I waited for you.”

“Oooookay,” Annabeth pats your shoulder. “Let’s get up. We can talk about this somewhere more comfortable.”

So you move to the Big House. The whole time, Percy can’t look you in the eye, always focussing on your shoulder, or just staring at his feet. He answers Annabeth only in short words and humming replies. It strikes you as weird because Percy’s a talker.

Inside, Chiron fixes you a glass of water and a snack, and tells you to sit on the couch before you fall over again.

Then the interrogation begins.

“Where have you been?” You demand, swinging your hand around so violently the water in the glass spills over on to the carpet with a thud. “We spent weeks thinking you were ten feet under and then you just show up like, what? Like you’re the guest of honour?”

Leaning on the arm of the chair opposite, Percy crosses and uncrosses his arms, mouth opening and closing when he thinks better of whatever he was about to say. Chiron, the silent observer, clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Percy mumbles, “I got lost.”

You splutter for words, throwing another tip of water on the carpet. Chiron buts in, pushing a mediating hand between the two of you. “Now, now. This is a shock for everybody, I know. Drink your water, dear. You’ve barely woken up.” As if that’s the reason you’re in shock.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “Just…you’ve been gone for weeks. What happened? You sent me away and then…”

At last, his vibrant eyes meet you. Freckles have come out, dark against his tan skin. Percy’s mouth twists, he looks away almost in guilt. Instantly, your stomach grows heavy, your eyes harden in suspicion.

“I caused the explosion at the mountain,” he starts, “that was my fault. There were too many of them there—monsters, I mean. I blew the place up, and I thought I’d died. But I woke up in the middle of nowhere, my skin was burned up, and everything was hurting. And, well, that was it. The island healed me up, Hephaestus dropped by to see how I was doing, sent me home when he was ready, and here I am.”

You grit your teeth. You don’t move. You don’t blink. Annabeth shifts on the back of the couch, taking the glass from you.

“And where was this ‘oh magical island?’?” You pry. “You Must. Have. An idea. Right?”

“I—I don’t know. I just woke up there. I think Hephaestus sent me there to get better.” Percy avoids you again. Chiron has grown very serious.

You sit forward violently. “Hephaestus who can’t acknowledge his own children, sent you to a magical island to get better,” you emphasise each and every letter, “out of the goodness of his heart—AFTER, might I add! AFTER you blew up his forge?”

Chiron snaps your name angrily. It might be the first time he’s shown any sort of anger towards you that you can remember.

“I know how it sounds,” he raises his hands in a placating manner. “Just hear me out before you go trying to kill me, please. It sounds ridiculous from an outsider’s point of view, but trust me on this. When he came back for me, Hephaestus, he told me that we can get through the maze.”

“Oh, you want to go back down?”

“What did he tell you?” Annabeth sets a hand on your shoulder, cutting you off from saying anything further. “What’s next?”

“Well he sort of told me that I already knew how to get through the maze. At the time I wasn’t sure what he meant. But now I do.”

“So what’s the answer.”

“We need a mortal. We need a mortal’s help for this,” he grimaces at the look on your face. You can’t explain what look it is, though. “Just like Theseus had Ariadne’s help originally.”

“I’m sorry,” you snort. “Are we forgetting whose quest this is? Why are you calling the shots?”

Chiron looked uncomfortable. “Did you have any particular mortal in mind, Percy?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” he laughs lightly. “She’s called Rachel. She lives in New York. A while back I ran into her a couple of times, she has enough Sight to help us with this.”

You see red. “This is my quest. We all understand that don’t we? I was quite literally chosen for this. Why are we giving away this to some random girl in the city?!”

“I understand how you’re feeling,” Chiron manages, “This is your quest. But you need help.”

“Oh, and this random girl is supposed to help?” You flat your hands. “Please! Can’t you see how bizarre this is! It’s wrong! It’s cowardly! It’s—”

“Hard to admit we need a mortal’s help,” Percy cuts in gently, frowning. “But it’s true.”

Falling silent, you drop back into the chair, suddenly tired. Raising your gaze from the carpet, Percy is still looking at you, with a little bit of sorrow in the guilt. He looks away, and Annabeth pats your shoulder.

“Want me to leave you to talk about it?” She says. You can feel yourself falling away very quickly from the current scene, the situation becoming that of background noise, like you’re in a bubble. “I’ll go check on Clarisse?”

“If you could, please, Annabeth…”

So she does. Which leaves yourself, Percy and Chiron to talk things over.

“We can talk later about your—choices, Percy,” Chiron coughs. He addresses you briefly. “But this is your choice, if you should go on with the quest, my dear. Your choice only. As only Percy has returned thus far, I will allow you to choose another person to accompany you the rest of the way, should you choose to go.”

Your head snaps up. The line between your eyebrows appears again, so close to turning permanent. “What?”

The air stills. Chiron side-eyes Percy briefly. “Three people is right for a quest. You first chose Grover and Percy. Since Grover has, circumstantially, chosen to leave for the time being on his own journey to find the god Pan, it is only Percy, and yourself, now,” he says somewhat disagreeably, like even he can’t comprehend how the situation has turned to this.

“Wonderful,” you snap, “that’s—that’s brilliant. Supposed we’ll have to have Rachel Dare’s help then, won’t we?”

‘Three’s a crowd’ sits on your tongue. You don’t have the guts to say it just now. Percy tips his head down, and waves of immaculate hair tumble with the movement. You find yourself transfixed on it, and not in a good way. You don’t need a mirror to understand the firm, and angry look on your face. Something scratches in your stomach, bothering you deeply. On the arm rests, your hands clench at the material. You don’t blink. Don’t even move. What did Chiron say? Something about Percy’s choices. Percy’s choices…

Had he chosen this?

You eye the silver line in his hair. Was this, weeks of torment and starving and hunger for something not edible but emotional all Percy’s choice? Were you but a knock-on effect in the sea that was Percy’s choices? Had he really chosen your sleepless nights and hungry stomach and teary eyes over something he refused to disclose? Without so much as a sorry?

Percy’s choices led you here. They always had, of course. Because now you’re thinking about it, it was Percy who chose to sit next to you in class, to enter your life. It was Percy you were with when you found out you’d only known half a life, the other beginning at Camp. It was Percy who took you out of the equation for his first quest, and Percy who, by Chiron’s choice of words, made a choice that caused him to disappear for weeks on end. He came back, why? Had he come home only because you were the afterthought filling him with guilt? Is that the look in his eyes and on his face? Is it eating him up inside?

Yes, you hope.

You hope it is.

The most awful part of you hopes it is hurting as much as it hurt you to think he was dead and buried somewhere you’d never reach again.

“Let us not burn a hole in Percy’s forehead,” Chiron jokes with mirth and worry, reaching forward to unfurl your fist. “You should get something to eat. The girls will be waiting for you. I have to talk to Percy.”

Not even a sorry, you think, getting to your feet again. He doesn’t look up, not even when you open the door. Not even a sorry.

You don’t find Annabeth or Clarisse. You go back to your cabin, have a total nervous meltdown, cry a lot, and fall asleep in your bed, tired, until nightfall, when the others fall in after dinner. Nobody’s surprised at all to see you curled up in bed, but a few people were nice enough to bring back a good plate of food and a bottle of water.

Sometime around midnight, when everyone is asleep, you climb out of bed and pull on a sweater over your pyjamas, pulling on the hood strings as you step out and close the door silently behind. It’s not a good idea being out after lights out—the harpies go insane, and the creatures in the forest come out with confidence. But there’s something magic in the way their bioluminescence creates pockets of light in the trees, and the sound reminds you of movies. If you look past the potential danger those little creatures possess, it’s really beautiful.

But they’re not what you’re looking for right now.

The lights are out in every cabin but one, whose very essence seems alive now the only inhabitant is home. The light coming through the curtains is warm and dull but there, like the beating heart of the building. At the door, you hesitate. Is it worth talking to Percy? Has he bothered with you? But you’re here now so you may as well.

You knock three times and take a step back, waiting. Percy drops something inside, and before you know it the door opens. He’s still wearing today’s outfit of shorts, t-shirt and jacket, but you don’t feel embarrassed of standing before him in your old pyjamas and Hollister sweater. Percy blinks like a deer in the headlights, his mouth opening and closing but not saying anything.

You inhale deeply. “Imgladyourenotdead!”

He comes back to normalcy. “What?”

Exhaling, “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Oh,” he pauses. “Me, too. I mean I’m glad you’re, like, here. Not that I’m not glad I’m not dead. Which I am glad about, but—”

You break out into a smile, which causes Percy to relax. His shoulders grew softer and deflate, and a dopy smile replaces his deer look. He steps back and opens the door wider, inviting you in. You accept his offer.

There are pieces of paper strewn all over the floor by Percy’s crumpled up bed sheets, hanging half off the bed. You can’t quite make out what the papers say, the majority of them balled up or ripped to shreds. A water bottle lays leaking on the floor; that must have been what he’d dropped. Greek letters on one of them, but you’re not close enough to read it. You’d learned in high school that Percy was dyslexic, and never figured it was a big deal. For Percy, coming to Camp and realising his brain was hardwired for Greek and Ancient Greek over English; everything made sense. He still struggled with it at times, but you’d noticed the improvements.

“I’m sorry,” you squeeze out. Apologies have never been easy for you. “About earlier. Being so angry. I was just…shocked. You know, we really thought you were gone forever. Thought I’d have to wait a couple decades to see you again Downstairs.”

Percy hums. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean for, well, all of this. I tried to get back. It was just out of my control.”

You turn from the papers, walking backwards until you sit on Percy’s bed, listening intently. “Where did you go?”

He opens his mouth, but looks away, and pauses. “I don’t know. Some island. Like I said, Hephaestus sent me there. He didn’t explain much to me. I just woke up there. The island healed me.” His words are heavy and meaningful, and you can almost convince yourself he’s telling the truth. But you know he isn’t. You know Percy.

You only nod, slowly, watching him nervously look away.

“You look…” he trails.

“Like a sack’a bones?” You laugh through your nose. When Percy goes to protest you simply shake your head. “It’s not a lie, Percy. I was worried sick. Literally. I didn’t want to believe you were dead.”

Your honesty sends him awkward. Percy’s cheeks flush red, and he rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m sorry.” He might be awkward, but he’s honest.

You face forwards, Percy sitting next to you. The bed drips.

“I had the strangest dreams out there.”

“Oh yeah?”

He chuckles quietly. “Yeah. Um—you went missing, and I couldn’t find you at all. It was like you’d been wiped off the earth, or, more like you never even existed. Nobody remembered you. You came home in the end, took a while though. We travelled half the country to find you. More of a nightmare, really…” his words make you feel uneasy.

“Maybe your brain was just reflecting real life. To be thrown on some unknown island alone for weeks like that?” Something peeks out of the pocket in Percy’s shirt. “…had to…mess with your head. What’s that?” You nod to the little sprig.

Percy’s eyes turn to saucers. He coughs, recovering quickly, and raises shaky fingers to pull the tiny plant from the pocket. Its roots are skinny and frail, but the flower they lead to is bright white. The petals are perfectly rounded, five total. They’re dotted with almost see-through circles.

“It’s beautiful,” you reach out to brush your finger on one of its petals. It almost looks like it’s glowing, but with the light from Percy’s nightshade it’s hard to tell. “You found it on the island?”

He swallows hard. “Yeah.” And says no more.

You sit until late into the night and early morning watching the flower glow gently. You see the sky begin to turn orange, signally dawn is coming, and finally retreat to your own cabin for some sleep. For once in what feels like forever, you feel nothing but comfort, slipping under the covers as your cabin turns a warm shade of orange and yellow as the sun comes up, quiet and basking in the knowledge that everyone is, finally, safe.

It’s late afternoon when someone wakes you up. Apparently it was a unanimous decision to leave you alone until time got on. By the time you’re up, dressed and ready for the day to head over to Sally Jackson’s home in Manhattan, it’s almost three o’clock in the afternoon. You eat a steady supply of toast and jam, down a cup of apple juice, and take a bottle of water in your bag for the ride.

Chiron waits for Percy and yourself by the camp border. He doesn’t look particularly pleased that you’re both leaving, but you don’t care. There isn’t much to be done about your current situation, so you carry on.

You feel rejuvenated today, almost bouncing in place, waiting for Percy to finish packing his bag on the grass. Is it the good sleep? Or the weight off your shoulders now Percy is home and breathing?

“No detours,” Chiron instructs, pointedly looking at you. You hold up your hands in surrender. “No wandering. I’d like this to be a straightforward journey, today. Too many things have been going wrong; this trip has to be straightforward.”

“That’s us told,” You pipe up, tilting your head.

Percy elbows your leg.

Chiron only smiles, tensely. You get the feeling there’s something they’re not telling you, but let it drop, for now.

Percy’s mom is absolutely ecstatic to see her son again, for obvious reasons. Her cheeks drench with tears as she holds him to her, rocking side to side in place at the front door. As much as Percy will try and hide it, you know his teary look is legit, and not the result of some dust in his eyes. Sally lets him go and steps out of the way, letting you into the apartment. She doesn’t miss you, though you’re not anticipating her considering you as well. She grabs you by the arm when you pass her, and just about suffocates you in her embrace. You’re not going to say no—it’s nice to just be held and loved by a mom. The older girls at camp are a godsend for trials and tribulations you might be facing, and they’re sisterly, but not motherly, so it isn’t quite the same. You could get high on the feeling of being loved on.

Sally Jackson smells like Elizabeth Arden’s green tea perfume, and a mix of something sweet, and laundry powder. The apartment smells strongly of baking, and when you round the hallway to the living room adjoining the kitchen, you see plates upon plates of cookies and cakes.

“Damn, Sally,” you breathe. “You’ve been busy.”

“Mom!” Percy complains. “What are you going to do with all of this!”

“You’re going to eat it!” She instructs with a laugh, wiping her eyes and briskly walking past the two of you. She pushes you both to sit on the couch, and you do without complaint. Sally returns with a plate of chocolate chip, and raisin, cookies in one hand and a plate with two strawberry-frosted cupcakes in the other. She sets them down on the table, and then turns around with a quiet, ‘oh, forget it’ and leans around to squeeze you both into a bear hug. Percy’s cheek presses against yours, boiling hot to the touch, embarrassed. You simply melt against Sally and return her hug, going as far as throwing one arm around her and one around her son.

“I told them you’d be alright,” she muffles into her son’s hair.

“Here I am,” he drones, bored-sounding. You know for a fact it’s all pretend; Percy’s a mom’s boy.

“Tell me everything,” she demands, pulling back. “I want to know every little detail.”

You let Percy tell her what’s happened, having your input only when he forgets certain things, like him tripping over a crack in the tunnels, or nearly falling down a mine shaft that opened up out of nowhere. You had caught him only by the strap of his backpack, before it broke off in your hand.

Sally takes a deep breath in when you’re finished with the stories. She slaps a hand on her knee, blinking. “Well, now I know how the Alcatraz incident happened. But at least you’re safe.”

Percy coughs awkwardly. “Yep! That pretty much covers the whole…thing.”

“I wish Paul were here right now. He wanted to talk to you, Percy, about what happened at the school. He wants to get things straight again.”

“What did you tell him?”

You settle back into the couch with a frosted cupcake, accepting that you have no place in this conversation. You busy yourself with the magazine lying discarded where Sally must have sat before you rang the doorbell. It’s open on pages eleven and twelve: THIS YEAR’S HOTTEST ACTORS. That, you can get with.

“What could I say?” Reasons Sally. “He knows there’s something different about you. But he fully believes you’re a good person. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s willing to try to understand. He has to give the school a reason though—he’s the one who got you admitted there. It’s a little bit difficult, because you ran away after the fire broke out.”

Percy exhales heavily. “I’ll tell him properly after we’ve finished this quest. I want him to know.” Percy, willing to open up to somebody after the horror that was living with Gabe.

“You’d do that?” Says Sally.

Percy shrugs. “Well, yeah, but he’ll think we’re crazy.”

“He thinks that already,” she chuckles.

“Then we have nothing to lose!”

“So, what happens now?”

Silence encases the room for a second or two.

“Percy has a plan,” you blurt, and shovel cupcake in your mouth.

“I’m thinking, if we go off of the old myths and legends, we could use a mortal who has the Sight to help us. I know this girl who was at the school induction day, she might be willing to give us a hand.”

Sally nodded slowly. “It might work. You need her to find a path or something?”

Percy hums. “Exactly that.”

“I think it’ll work. Just be careful, all of you. I know you think you’re invincible—”

Percy groans. “Mom!”

“You think you’re invincible!” She repeats louder. “But you’re only nearly sixteen! You’re still babies, alright? Now, go use the phone in the hall. You’ll be fine for a few minutes.”

Percy went out to use the phone, while Sally launched you into another hug, and then demanded you put your feet up for five minutes and watch the television. The Ellen Degeneres show is playing, and you let yourself get comfortable, listening to Sally humming in the kitchen and Percy’s mumbling on the phone. He enters the room and looks your way straight away.

“Half an hour,” he says, “Rachel’s meeting us in Times Square.”

Sally said goodbye at the door with a thick voice and tears in her eyes, and made the two of you promise to drop by on the weekend. You wished you could swear that yes, you would absolutely come around for more cakes and iced coffee, but unfortunately, the world hated you and all you stood for, even though you were barely sixteen and troubled to hell. Percy’s face shone with not just health but pure happiness from being around his mom; by the time you walked into Times Square, that facial expression turned weary.

“Where are we meeting her?”

You didn’t have to wonder for long. Seconds later, Percy pulled you to stop in front of a living statue group, each member showing in shades of gold, green or silver from head to toe. At first you struggled to understand why on earth Percy thought this display would be cool to look at, and then you realised the display was Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “What. A. Loser.”

“Hey!” Hissed Percy, genuinely upset. “Could you stop it! For five minutes?” He snaps.

You blink, stunned. Percy doesn’t get angry at you, like, ever. Have you really been that irritating that he’s snapped at last? You’re annoyed at life recently, struggling like hell to understand if it’s because of hormones, the quest, or your situation. Or all three factors combined. Most likely, that is it. But how do you explain that to Percy, who is not just your best friend suddenly pissed off at you, but he’s a boy, and he’ll never understand that you don’t want Rachel’s help not just because this is your quest, but the fact that it’s Rachel, and you know from a girl’s point of view, how she feels about Percy. You can just tell. And just maybe you’re jealous.

Still, mulling over this, you get even more annoyed at Percy trying to save Rachel’s feelings. A kid walked up from the taxi stand, tucking away half a sandwich in foil into a bag beside the stand the kids stood on together. When he got into position, Rachel dropped hers with a smile so creepy when it was covered in gold.

“Hey, Percy!” She grinned, completely ignoring you. She climbed down from the stand, and swiped her own bag from behind a sign, pulling the straps over her shoulders to go. Was it your comment? She accidentally-on-purpose pushed you aside, linking her arm with Percy’s. Definitely your comment. “Great timing. Let’s get coffee.”

You followed behind the pair on the path among throngs of tourists and people trying to get to work. Since it was Saturday, the place was absolutely buzzing, and if you actually cared about being hit by a car, you’d have been more mindful of the state of the roads. You stop outside a coffee shop labelled JAVA MOOSE, the interior decorated with a large stuffed moose head on the wall above a couple of round tables and tub chairs, with light wood and orange-yellow light fixtures hanging over the tables.

Rachel takes a seat heavily in one of the tub chairs. You follow suite. Nobody seems to care or spare a second look at the girl coloured gold, or that she’s staining the seats with her paint. A barista behind the counter laughs loudly at something a customer points out. You sit opposite Rachel, Percy falling in next to you.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about my art project,” says Rachel. “So, you’re a half-blood too? Like Percy?”

“Announce it to the world, why don’t you?”

Rachel shrugged. “Okay.” She stood up, then, on top of the chair and everything, and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey! Everybody! These two aren’t even human! They’re half Greek god! And they’re sitting waiting for monsters!”

You cringe. “Well, when you put it like that…but sit down, seriously. You can’t just shout things like that.”

“But why not?” Rachel blinks innocently. “It’s New York. Nobody cares.”

“Can we all get along for a few minutes?” Asks Percy, throwing in a placating hand over the table. “Please? Look, Rachel, it’s the same as I told you before on the phone. We need your help navigating the maze. The last few times haven’t gone so great. Which is why we’re here. Asking you for help. You have this thing called Sight, only certain mortals have it and it pretty much enables you to see parts of our world that you wouldn’t without it.”

“You want me to help you get through some maze that I’ve never been down.”

“Yes. You can see through the Mist, like the mortal Ariadne in the old tales. The Labyrinth won’t confuse you as much as it’s been confusing us.”

Rachel took in a deep breath. “And if you’re wrong about this?”

“We’ll be lost. Either way it’s dangerous so it evens out.”

“I could die. That’s what you’re telling me. Dead, dead and deader.”

“I thought you said monsters don’t care about mortals?” She probed. It makes you wonder how much Percy has already told her about your world. “Your sword…”

“Celestial bronze doesn’t harm mortals! And monsters would mostly ignore you. At most they’ll get a hint that you’re a little different but not entirely. You’ll blend in.”

Rachel looked between the two of you, but mostly Percy. “Alright. I’m in.”

“First thing,” Percy winced. “We need your help finding an entrance into the maze. There’s one in camp but it’s off limits to mortals. You wouldn’t even be able to cross the border.”

“What does this entrance look like?”

“Could be anything at all. A boulder. A run-down storefront. Some wall,” you chip in. “It’d have the mark of Daedalus on it. The Greek L. Delta.”

For once, there seemed to be a shared understanding between everyone at the table. Rachel dipped her finger in a puddle of water at the edge of the table and drew the Delta sign out.

“Like this?”

“Like that. You know Greek?”

She hummed as if you’d said something really funny. “Lol. No. Just follow me to the Marriott Hotel. I’ve got to show you something I think you’ll really like.”

“And that is?”

“I think there’s an entrance to the Labyrinth in the basement.”

wowcher, I was gone a while. any thoughts on our characters this chapter?

taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @rottenstyx

@rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual

@marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol

@twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky

@emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl

@tojismassivemantiddies @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138

@obxstiles @mxltifxnd0m @cxcilla @itzjustj-1000

@sp00kcanwrite @randomesthings @fratbrochrisgf

@prongsflower @bugszi @tired-jaz @mitsuriscannongf @i-love-books-and-the-bible @dusk-reaper

[rebuke-me]

Jake had decided that flirting with Jeremy was the funniest thing ever, because he would not stop doing it. It had started as little things. Things that were completely normal to compliment. At least, according to the internet. It was not, in fact, gay for Jake to be telling him that he liked his shirt today, or that his hair looked nice.

And then the joke just kept escalating.

~

jeremy is fucking stupid and doesn't realize he has a boyfriend for a scarily long time

[cheolism-archive]

SLOW WORSHIP

✰ — lee seokmin x readeer ✷ — summary: a study in the worship of lee seokmin. ✰ — wc is approx. 1.3k ✷ — genre: smut, stand-alone, no plot only porn ✰ — warnings: blowjobs, cum swallowing, cumming-on-face, repeated use of the word embarrassing. ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: spur of the moment fic written in an hour lmao! the result of seokmin's new photoshoot!!! everyone can thank @onlymingyus for alerting me to the existence of these photos lol.

you drop to your knees like it's the easiest fucking thing in the world to do.

seokmin gets embarrassed at how you look up at him in awe. then his dick hardens further in his boxers, and he can feel wetness leak from the tip and he gets embarrassed further.

he feels ridiculous.

the robe they've put him into is faux fur, soft to the touch and in a deep brown. his pants are white and unbuttoned, pulled down low enough to expose the grey band of his boxers with red lettering.

he's half naked. he's dressed up as someone who is distinctly not him.

because seokmin truly doesn't feel like himself. if seokmin were to pick an outfit, it'd be a polo and jeans or some oversized sweater that reached down to the palms of his hands.

yeah: this feels like some sort of seokmin that is distinctly not him, but then --

but then you put your hands on his thighs and his mind goes blank.

even through the white fabric of his pants seokmin feels electrified by your touch. the weight of your hands is usually comforting, but now seokmin feels as if it's all he can pay attention to and he just wants more of it.

"what're you doing?"

you hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants. you peel them down. it's slow going, and you have to move your hands beneath the brown robe to pull the waistband down over the curve of his ass.

the white pants fall around his ankles, the fabric bunching around his bare feet, and then you're pressing your face into his cock.

well, not into it. but your nose presses into the fabric, sliding along the curve of his dick through the grey boxers.

"fuck --" he groans out your name, long fingers tangling into your hair. seokmin tightens his grip on your hair. he wants to pull your face back. he wants you to stop doing something so mortifying.

because it is mortifying and embarrassing, but then you let out a hot exhale and seokmin pushes your face further against him.

"lemme," you murmur. you press your tongue against the bulge, and seokmin does a full-body shiver as you run your tongue up his dick. it's far different than when you do it without fabric separating his dick from your tongue, but his toes still curl.

it's the drag of it, leisurely and torturous; the warm and wet.

you mouth against his dick, and seokmin can't help but tip his head back in a moan.

"seokminie," you say. he glances down at you. you reward his attention by mouthing at the tip of his dick, and seokmin feels utterly humiliated by how his dick lets out a little spurt of cum, further wetting the boxers.

your hand goes up and cups his balls, thumb gently swiping over the fabric. seokmin groans and shivers.

"please," he says.

your hands go to the waistband of his boxers. you pull them down, though you're far slower with it than you were with his pants. you sit back on your knees, watching as the fabric clings to his thick golden thighs.

he whines out your name, and you laugh.

"don't worry, pretty boy," you coo. you pull down his boxers enough to where his dick springs free. it's fucking embarrassing how his dick, nearly on the far side of too-long, though his thickness is just-right, springs out and slaps against his abdomen.

his dick is an angry, dusky color. the veins are thick and particularly delicious, and the first thing you do once his dick is free is tip forward and press your lips to a vein.

mouth slick and plenty wet, you slide your tongue from the base of the vein to the tip. it's so slow and seokmin feels like he's on the verge of claiming it's torture.

you pay special attention to his dick veins, tongue treating each weaving line like royalty. you alternate the duration of the licks. some are lingering and worshipful; others, quick and eager. regardless of the duration, each is wet and delightful.

seokmin's balls feel so tight and heavy. he wants you to hurry up, wants you to take his dick down your throat, but.

your hands go to grip at his thighs. you can't wrap your hands around them, not even close. the tips of your fingers press into his flesh as you mouth at the base of his dick.

your hands slowly slide up. they slide up over his thighs, which were still slightly oiled from an earlier shoot session. your hands go to the jut of his hips, and then to his abdomen. you pet his stomach, palms sliding along the ridges of his abdomen.

then you grab his dick and seokmin fights against every bit of his being in an attempt not to cum.

you move up on your knees, guiding the dark tip into your mouth.

and if he thought he was going to cum before, then --

you take the head into your warm mouth. slowly, as you seem reluctant to do anything quickly this evening, you begin to press his dick further into the tormentful warmth of your mouth.

seokmin's dick is too big to fit into your mouth entirely. but you go until the tip is against the back of your tongue, and seokmin is torn between praising you and whimpering.

you worship his dick unhurriedly, drawing back gently. the slide of your tongue against his cock has his fingers curling in your hair, thighs tensing. you hold his hips in your hands as you languidly fuck his dick in and out of your mouth, nails leaving little indents in his flesh.

you pull off of his dick. you hold his dick with one hand, licking at the tip sweetly.

"baby," he whimpers.

you laugh at him, eyes crinkling. "can't believe you're dressed like this and here you are, whimpering like a dog for me."

seokmin pouts. you guide his head back into your mouth. you open your mouth wide, and then you're swallowing down around it once more.

your mouth is wet. your hands slide to his back, to his ass, and then you're pressing his hips forward. you push his hips towards you, forcing his dick further into your mouth, forcing it to press further and further.

once satisfied, you peer up at seokmin.

he groans.

seokmin begins fucking into your mouth. he watches with rapt attention. your spit makes his cock glisten with wetness, and when he pulls back far enough to where the tip is millimeters from your lips, there's a cute string connecting his dick to your mouth.

seokmin can't help but moan and fuck his dick back in.

you're so perfect.

he feels horribly hot in his robe despite it being the only thing he's wearing. the faux fur hangs down around him, and when he brings your face to his groin, fucking his cock back into the heat of your mouth, you're framed by the brown fur.

it's all so lavish and ridiculous. you on your knees, unashamedly for him. his expensive pants and boxers pooling around his feet, the even-more expensive robe bouncing with every thrust into your mouth.

seokmin sets a steady rhythm. he trusts into your mouth, swift and precise. he loves this. he loves the slick, wet noises of your mouth around his cock. he adores the little moans and whimpers you let out, the tears catching at your lashes.

your hands shift against him. you keep one hand on his hip, the other going down to his balls. you fondle them, smoothing your hand over them sweetly.

his balls tighten to the point of pain; his dick throbs.

seokmin cums down your throat. you can't take all of it. you have to pull off, gasping for air, and his thick white spunk stains your lips and face.

he can't help but feel a little ashamed. his cum marring your face, the way your lips are raw from your worship of him. how you grip the faux fur robe in both hands, face tilted up towards him, eyes shining.

it's all so embarrassing.

but then you're pulling off your own shirt and seokmin can't find it within himself to care too much. 

[tuxebo]

when water meets wine. | (pjackson)

the blessing of hera includes violet eyes and slightly elongated hair, which is easy to miss. also sensing emotions and using feathers as weapons aren't really useful to any capacity, neither is a blessing in marriage for a thirteen year old, the real blessing of hera comes in the goddess's intentions.

now, i'm not saying hera is a good person, far from it, but it's never bad to be a powerful person's favorite. from putting leo in a fire as a baby to tampering with percy and jason's memories and making them switch places, what if she did a little more.

being a child of one of hera's friends was the easy part, receiving the blessing was not. various challenges since the day you were born, think leo but worse. your father has found you rolled up in a hallowed out cabbage of lettuce in his green house, as if you grew from the seed; bundled in a blanket stuffed with atropa belladonna, the plant made you (an infant) fly for days much to your father's dismay. might i note, he couldn't take care of the sores you got because you were in the air.

none of this was normal. all of this only had one possible culprit, your mother. their poor relationship only grew more strained, her visits were nothing more than a screaming match. of course, there was another woman there to comfort you, someone you never told your dad about. you ran to her like a sheep to its shepherd, not realizing you were running to the very root of your problems. she was the dirty water to your seed, no good but water no less. her hands ran down your hair with a gentle smile, eyes boring into you with intentions you could never quite place.

when you got to camp, she disappeared. it was so strange, you began to believe it was all something you made up in your head to deal with the nightmares, until zeus pisses hera off yet agan.

before your mother even claimed you, you were invited to stay in hera's cabin — by the goddess of marriage herself. in hindsight, she probably might have killed you if you took up that offer. in other words, you denied it but did get punished for it once more. a child of demeter who killed everything they touched, how fitting.

furthermore, to be tasked as one of percy's peer mentors? a mockery.

blessed by hera and punished by her as well, you saw the world through violet eyes.

coincidently, the only thing percy jackson could remember were violet eyes. he thought those might've been his eyes, though his reflection told him that wasn't the case. no one had violet eyes but you, hera made sure of that. she knew the son of poseidon would stop at nothing to find that exact shade, even if he had no clue who you were (at least right now.) if there was someone, however, she paid off the mist to change the color when percy saw them.

when hera placed him in camp jupiter, everywhere he searched for those eyes. he became praetor, wanting to get an eagle's eye view to hopefully spot them. the closest he got to finding you was when he ran into aphrodite, the goddess with violet eyes. there was no way the only person he could think of, though, definitely not after talking to her.

when he was at camp, you taught him many things. even if he couldn't remember, plants came easy to him, which ones to steer clear of and which ones would give him exactly what he needed. you, daughter of a forester who was a former biochemist, taught him all this and it came to percy very naturally.

you were one of the demigods sent to retrieve percy, from camp jupiter. your (peer) metorship with percy earned you a spot on the argo ii, also hera but whatever.

once you were standing before the long line of curious roman demigods, and percy jackson, a gush of water pushes you forward and interrupts any thought you might have had. you were pushed into the son of poseidon's arms, much to everyone's (except hera's) confusion.

there must've been a dryer way he could've done that, at least.

[strawberrus0da]

Art for my Radio Delay fic

[isathewanderer]

help

im trying to think of what i should write next after i finish my big bang fic!! vote for which one u wanna see next pls 🙏🙏🙏

okay turns out i have WAY too many ideas to fit into one poll 💀💀💀hopefully not everyone votes for different things and we get a winner? lmk if i should make another poll w different options bc i have WAY more

shoutout to @shroombert as always for helping w fic ideas <3