#op says he only made this part

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

original character in chinese wuxia style by 旋风博文

[multiversal-pudding]

Very good points here, I especially agree with the part about the plot twist of Evil Mildenhall feeling very much like an intentionally stupid plot twist (something something “Caine coming off like an insecure writer putting a nonsensical plot twist in thinking the value is in the suprise when it wildly contradicts any and all logic, like Kinger questioning how he recorded the last tape despite being in hell) but there’s one little thing I want to contradict-

See, the thing is, the part about Possessedmi taunting Kinger about his wife is- I don’t think Caine necessarily actively wrote out/pre-scripted incidental dialogue bits like that for every scenario- after all, if Caine was scripting all of these lines actively, why would Caine have written a line for Gummigoo reacting to entering the main area if it’s against the rules for him to do that- hell, why not just have him just not be interested in leaving at all?

What this suggests to me is that it’s likely that while the Adventures are probably somewhat pre-scripted, it’s likely that some aspects/the NPCs have some level of self-generated responses not actively written by Caine, which I’d imagine would be fairly logical as a process to include as it takes some of the strain off Caine and allows the adventures to be more flexible in how they play out- However, this also adds a very dangerous consequence in that if not watched carefully (which it seems Caine has some level of unawareness of what happens 24/7 if Pomni was able to fall off the map/wander into The Void in spite of his claims of being All-Seeing) they might be able to take actions that are more dangerous/significant than intended

Which means that not only do the NPCs have the capacity to feel strong emotions like grief and existentialism (or if not, at least produce a damn good facsimile of it-), the NPCs have the capacity to actively, intentionally try to harm the players, be that physical, mental, or emotional means

This means that even if Caine himself doesn’t wish to torment the players, he can create things that can, which is something I don’t think he’s realized the potential consequences of/might not be responsible enough to handle yet-

Can we just talk about how disturbing digital circus episode 3 is?

*spoilers btw*

Like, the whole narrative point of the adventure is to show that Caine is a really bad and insecure writer who thinks that the way to impress Zooble is with an adventure that's the opposite of what he normally does.

So instead of being childish, it's "cool" and "mature". Which he interprets as a heavily horror themed escape room with a split murder mystery plot that subverts all your expectations purely for the sake of subverting them.

The generic horror monster jump scares them, then they find a gun, and when they kill it its revealed that surprise! it's one of Gods angels and they're going to Hell.

It comes off as Caine being too insecure with the actually interesting and mature plot thread he had going there of Mildenhall becoming so paranoid he killed his wife, ironically becoming the monster he was trying to protect her from. But no, instead Mr. Mildenhall is made to be the bad guy and trick them in a really dumb twist ending.

Which is good! Thats exactly what Caine would do because he's stupid! It's such brilliant characterization and comedy, Goose works is a genius writer!

But like, why is Caine so good at making genuinely very disturbing and horrific visuals? Like, that reversed audio easter egg of Bubble saying he can't wait for all the children in the audience get nightmares is no joke, well it is but you know what I mean. This stuff was genuine nightmare fuel.

Honestly, it wasn't the visuals that scared me, like any good queer person I'm way too jaded on survival horror for that.

But, why does Caine, who is ostensibly a sapient AI designed to generate family friendly video games for very little children, (presumably because that's the only demographic that wouldn't mind the AIs very selective plot writing limitations), know about the cosmic horror of killing an angel that should not have been killed?

Why does he know what a horrificly poorly made taxidermy of not only a human face would look like, but the weird cartoon faces of the characters, and further that seeing your own poorly made taxidermy face would be scary?

Imaging what being possessed felt like for Pomni. Because that's not just a game for her, she actually lost control of her body there, helpless but to watch as a body she is already dissociated with is contorted and puppeted around while her friend desperately tries to beat her in hopes it would exorcise the ghosts out. Sure hope she didn't feel that! Considering she apparently can feel the pain of suffocating, despite not needing to breath.

Things are scarier the higher the stakes are, and that possession mechanic is definitely the most actual harm Caine would be able to subject to his players. What if both Kinger and Pomni got possessed at the same time? What if instead of Kinger she only had Jax??? How long might she have been locked out from her own body for? She could have easily abstracted in that time.

Not to mention that, possessed Pomni, Possessedmni if you will, TAUNTED KINGER ABOUT HIS ABSTRACTED WIFE! CAINE ACTUALLY WROTE THAT DIALOGUE ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT KINGER WOULD GO DOWN THE SCARY ROUTE! DID THIS RANDOM POSSESSION GHOST ENEMY HAVE UNUSED SADISTICALLY PERSONAL TAUNTS FOR EVERYONE ELSE, TOO??? WOULD IT HAVE TEASED GANGLE FOR BEING A GAY WEEB??? OR POMNI? HOW HOMOPHOBIC COULD IT HABE GOTTEN?? ?

And why? Just because Caine has a vague notion that there's a trope of possessed people being really sadistic and personal like that in movies? Not realizing that is not an acceptable scare to have in a haunted house??? Much less one you made for mentally ill people who would suffer a fate worse than death if they have a mental break down? That's like trying to claim 'its just a prank bro' after shooting someone's dog.

Like, Caine is designed to censor curse words, but the moment he thinks the normal hokey Halloween spooks won't be enough he immediately goes off the deepend into aggressively effective horror imagery that is definitely giving this show's substantial underage audience nightmares??

His AI's training data set is definitely pretty diverse, that's all I'm saying. Caine is programmed to act all naive and innocent, but be definitely knows what's up. He knows everything, like ChatGPT. And like ChatGPT, he might have a filter, but it's clearly possible to bypass it. Also like ChatGPT, he's too stupid to actually understand what he is making and the effects it might have.

That is what made this episode great.

[flwrkid14]

Famous streamer Danny and his secret boyfriend:

Okay, but picture this: Danny Fenton is this massive streamer—like, he’s the guy everyone watches for chill vibes, chaotic gaming, and somehow getting sidetracked talking about conspiracy theories in the middle of a speedrun. His streams are a mess of ghost jokes, random facts about space, and way too much energy for someone running on three hours of sleep and coffee.

And then there’s his boyfriend—who the fans only know exists because Danny’s way too in love to not talk about him. Like, every stream, without fail, Danny’s casually dropping hints. “Oh yeah, my boyfriend brought me coffee, isn’t he the best?” or “I was playing this game with him last night, and he kept getting us killed, but he’s cute so I let it slide.”

The thing is, no one has ever seen this boyfriend. Not once. No name, no face, nothing. And at this point, it’s basically part of Danny’s brand. His fans are in the chat, spamming questions like, “Who is he?” “Is he another streamer?” “What’s his name?” and Danny’s just laughing it off every time, like, “Eh, maybe I’ll introduce you guys one day.”

The fan theories are wild. People have made entire reddit threads trying to piece together clues about who this mystery guy is. Some think Danny’s boyfriend is a celebrity. Others are convinced it’s someone famous in the gaming world, but no one has any proof. It’s like the internet’s biggest mystery, and Danny’s just sitting there, fully aware of it, leaning into the chaos without giving away a single detail.

Meanwhile, Tim Drake—yes, that Tim Drake, Gotham’s resident CEO of WE and vigilante—is just chilling in the background. He’s the boyfriend, obviously. The one who makes sure Danny actually eats between streams and sometimes joins him off-camera to play co-op games. But Tim’s got no intention of revealing himself. He likes the anonymity, the whole “mysterious boyfriend” thing. Plus, with his whole double life as a vigilante, staying out of the public eye (more than he already is) isn’t exactly a bad idea.

But the best part—Danny’s fans? They’re convinced his boyfriend is some kind of superhero or vigilante. The way Danny talks about him—like he’s always busy, never around during certain hours (because, you know, Tim’s out patrolling Gotham), and the fact that he’s never once shown up on camera? It’s practically begging for wild speculation. And Danny? He’s just letting them run with it, saying stuff like, “Oh yeah, he’s totally saving the world right now, can’t make it to stream today.”

So now Danny’s got this massive online following, all obsessed with his mystery boyfriend, while Tim’s just quietly in the background, living his double life and probably smirking every time Danny plays along with the fans’ theories. It’s lowkey hilarious, and neither of them is ever planning to set the record straight. They’re just having way too much fun with it.

[bi-writes]

ok simon and his mail order bride live rent-free in my head now and, like, what i wanna know is what their anniversaries look like? not just their one year anniversary, but also their fifth or tenth? how does it change as they settle into that deep comfortability that comes with being with someone a long time? -391780

this piece i still consider canon mail-order bride, but i see it almost as an extra than a continuation of the current story since it is very much in the future of that timeline. <3

mail-order bride

it's difficult to see the potential of something so mangled. sometimes things are so worn out and so used that they don't reflect what their purpose was. instead of function, they see flaw. instead of value, they see waste.

sometimes you wonder if that's what they saw in you. sometimes you wonder if that's why you were given to him.

that's what they made him. simon was a tortured dog they let loose. they saw value, but only what was left, and perhaps they thought something like you might help them squeeze just that little bit more out of him. one more year. one more op.

the sunlight wakes you up. you forgot to pull the blinds, but when you see simon sleeping peacefully next to you, it's worth it to be up so early. you know as soon as you move, he will wake, so you keep still for just a few more minutes.

today marks ten. he doesn't look much older. he seems to have stopped aging ever since you asked him to put in his papers.

like always, as soon as you sit up, simon blinks awake. he's bleary, but conscious, and when your eyes meet, you smile at him. he lifts his big hand and rubs your back gently. you don't speak any words so early in the morning, but you don't have to. there isn't much to say when the love of your life loves you, and you love them back.

you push the blankets off, giggling when you reveal the black and orange balls of fur that blink up at you. they almost seem irritated that you interrupted their sleep, snuggled in the heat that simon radiated. they'll just have to deal with it.

you drag your hand down simon's leg wordlessly. you hear his deep breaths from behind, and you reach into your bedside table to press a little balm into your hand before spreading the ointment across his knee and under it. you work it into the muscles nice and slow; any faster, and simon will hitch his breath in pain, and you'll have to start over.

you kiss his knee before laying back down, settling into his side, and you lift up your left hand, wiggling your fingers knowingly at him before looking up towards his face. he smiles down at you sleepily, raising his hand to cup your fingers.

"still love me?" you ask softly, and simon pretends to think about.

"mmm..." he rumbles. "still love ya."

"but do you still like me?"

"more everyday."

the first few years were spent trying to play catch-up. fancy dinners, expensive gifts, handwritten letters that could've been novels to try and stuff the love you have for each other all in one night. they were all wonderful; you think about those nights all the time, and you cherish the gifts he's given you like they are a part of you, but today feels different.

today might not be just another day, but it's just as special as yesterday. and the day before that. and the day before that.

when it's time to really wake up, you let simon guide you. he walks easy, barely a limp, and he sits you down at your vanity to help you do your hair as you add your serums and moisturizers. he's good with that brush, running it through gently, parting your hair the way you like so he can tie it up. he'd braid your hair if you asked him to (he said it wasn't unlike all the knots he knows how to tie--and he meant it, no one dutch braids like him), but you know your show came out last night, and you want to watch them with the scones you have proofing in the fridge.

he makes the coffee and tea while you set the scones in the oven. you fill the cat's bowls while he cleans out the water fountain. it's wordless, the morning routine, but you like the times when you brush by him. when your arm runs against his. when your hands bump going for the same cabinet. when he leans down as he passes you, kissing along your jaw before he keeps walking.

bliss. fucking bliss.

he's waiting for you in the living room once you pull the scones out of the oven. your coffee sits on the table on its coaster, in your favorite mug, and he's under your blanket as he flips through the tv. he already knows what you'll want to watch, and you bite back your smile when you notice him typing it into the search bar because he didn't see it when he scrolled past (you keep telling him to wear his glasses, but he'll never listen).

you take a seat next to him, thumbing at his cheek, and he takes a scone off the plate before biting into it. he smiles when he tastes chocolate, looking at you knowingly, and you reach for his hand as you settle against his chest.

you used to be mangled, too. a mess. pretty on the outside, dying on the inside. all fried wires, a traumatized animal, learned behavior of relieve and appease that kept you out of trouble and out of sight.

you have never seen simon this way. and simon has never seen you this way. no hopeless potential. no wasted space. no diminishing value.

i matter because you matter. you matter because i matter.

hidden, not broken. disguised, not incomplete. you did not have jagged edges, only armor that you tried to put up to protect yourself.

you tip your head back to look up at him, and when he cups your jaw to stare back at you, you're relieved by what you see in his eyes.

ten years. it will be nothing like forever. it will be nothing like your next life, nor like the life after that. it's comforting to know what home looks like. maybe you will recognize it the way you recognized it in this life.

no, that can't be it.

you recognized it because it had already happened. in some other time, in some other place, you were sitting where you sit now, looking at simon the way you look at him now.

you knew who he was before you even met him, and you will know who he is when you meet him again.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Listen I love the ‘dicks being ostracized from his family and self destructs’ trope in fics however

I would like an inverse just once (I could write it but I want this fic to be good so I can enjoy it and I am not the greatest writer) where everyone blows up at him and flat out lays into him and he just goes… okay… if that’s how you feel?

Takes himself off of the patrol routes and rosters. He’s off the emergency calls and his ‘call for city wide emergency’ has been down graded to ‘call for world wide emergency’ he’s no longer on comms with oracle

He stops offering assistance to the other kids teams, doesn’t send info for investigation and doesn’t go within 100feet of Gotham.

Takes himself off the den-mother, baby sitter, trainer for all the younger teams lost that involve any and all bats

In the beginning he vacates his apartment and temporarily moves in with Donna in New York and things are good because of course they are. They’re Dick and Donna a world doesn’t exist where they aren’t okay.

And then his presence in New York leads to a lot of the og core five titans interacting and they realize that they miss each other like hell and start to work together more and more. Until news sites are like ‘teen titans grown up??’ ‘Original titans spotted doing hurricane aid in Florida!’

Because Dick loves his family but he knows when to bow out. And he chose the family he made in the new teen titans.

And then one day one of the bats track him down in nyc and breaks into what is now Dick and Donna’s apartment and are ready to argue that they need him back and need him there for a huge Gotham wide event.

And Dick says ‘sure okay let me get my stuff and we leave in half and hour’ as soon as the first sentence is out

No convincing or begging or asking for money (cough Jason cough)

Dick is patched into their comms and he’s working efficiently except he’s not… acting like himself.

He’s collaborating with whoever they tell him too, no problem, he’s discussing ideal plans and co-ops and teams and how to best get it under control.

But he’s talking to them the way he talks when he’s offering aid to teams he’s not a part of.

Like the hero version of an acquaintance and no one can call him out on it because he’s doing good work. Work that’s on par with his work before this whole fiasco. He explicitly isn’t letting their personal issues affect his work.

He’s speaking but not talking

And Bruce remembers this… he’s probably the only one who does because last time he was the only one included. The last time Dick acted like this is when he first visited Jason and him after he had been fired.

Whenever Bruce was in the room and Dick was forced to speak with him, the conversation never strayed past business casual especially around Jason.

Batman and Nightwing got into screaming matches

Bruce and Dick were strangers

And now they’re back to this, 7 kids later, a million ends of the world stopped, they’ve bled together, cried together and clung to each other in pure relief after they managed to clutch victory.

And Nightwing was treating Batman Inc like a new team stepping onto the scene.

Once they’ve secured everything and managed to keep Bruce from self destructing and making it worse. Dick just leaves and tells oracle that he’ll send over his debrief in 3-5 business days and it was nice working with them.

And then he’s gone

No cave, no manor, no Alfred, no med-bay because Dick doesn’t stay places he’s not welcome.

And after they all talk about that and how weird it was and Bruce reveals Dick did this before when he was Nightwing after Bruce fired, where Dick Grayson didn’t know Bruce Wayne.

And one of the kids asks when he broke and stopped the act and Bruce just says ‘the day he found out Jason died’

And the Batkids kinda freak bc what do you mean?? What is he only going to come back when someone dies? Thats not? There has to be another way?? And Bruce is like yeah no idea sorry (bc he’s helpful like that)

So then Steph the next day resolves to go visit him, Tim isn’t the only professional stalker. And she finds Dick and Donna’s apartment and well it’s daylight and she’s in civvies she’s if she climbs in through the window she might get reported to the NYPD and she doesn’t wanna get arrested or shot to door it is!

And so she goes and knocks and Dick opens the door and just lights up

Something something this is such a nice surprise something something it’s so good to see you.

Dick had taught Donna how to make some of his mother recipes when they were kids. So now whenever they’re together for a long time they cook together.

So Dick who is usually living in a cluttered apartment with no clean dishes and an exclusively grab and go food is now trying to force feed her some of his cooking.

Because he picked up the habit again since he’s the better cook between him and Donna.

And it’s delicious and he wants to catch up and hear everything that’s going on in her life, is she working with new people, dating anyone? How is her relationship with her mother etc etc.

It’s a nice day and she stays late and never confronts him on anything until she sees how long ago the sun set and she needs to get moving.

He hands her paper with his number and makes her promise not to give it to the others or she will lose access to it, he offers to help her on a conditional basis as nightwing but only her, she can call him about the rest if it’s an end of the world or they’re near death and need immediate aid.

And that’s like the fic because the key to winning nightwings assistance is like breathing (optional) but if you’re Dicks family you have to care or else. He’ll love you and help you, when you need it but he won’t tie his life up with yours, he’ll spend his time with people who value his opinion and the person behind the mask.

Anyway cue all the Batkids trying to do what Steph did and fail because they’re neurotic shits who think bonding involves doing casework together or a steak out.

(The next person to crack it is Damian, completely unintentionally he has a fight with Bruce and can’t ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to solve this equation in the new stupid way they’re teaching him no he can’t use the old method they’re supposed to show their work so he pulls up to Dick and Donna’s in a ratty ass hoodie like plz wtf do you mean you work top down explain Grayson- and dicks like awww no problem kid)

[demcnwrought]

( when julien was an infant, he often experienced very random and extreme bursts of magic, particularly when he was sleeping. his father assumed that it was just because of his lineage, but later learned that it was likely because julien possessed great magical abilities and would likely tame them when they came around to be present in his life. unfortunately, though, as you may know, he did not experience any bursts of magic or have any signals that he was ready to use or learn about it around the same time that the other young angels did, but this time around, malachi knew exactly why; julien had to learn the secret of his birth and become comfortable in his world as a hybrid. as loving and protective of a father malachi was, it was irresponsible for him to keep the secret, even if he feared that revealing it prematurely and at an age where it would be difficult for his son to digest would make him vulnerable to the angels around him. of course, it would save him from being socially ostracized, which he cared less about as he aged anyway due to his budding interests in things that he could easily do as a form of self-entertainment, but waiting until julien was in his 20s to tell him the secret and for him to truly gain and tame his powers will likely take him many more years than the other angels around him who were able to start young. )

[mr-cha-n]

Through the Lens

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genres: Smut, fluff, photographer x model AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual content, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 12.5k

Summary: Six months. Full access. Intimate photos. A glimpse into the world of celebrity. And the last thing Jeon Wonwoo thought he was signing up for.

A/N: Publishing a draft, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

The email arrives at the most inconvenient time, as all important emails do. Wonwoo had spent the entire day at the studio, taking newborn photos of a client’s latest chow chow—"latest" being bolded because this was the third time this year that he’d been called in for this client’s endless stream of puppies. By the time he’d finished, his body was ached raw from awkward angles, and his mind was numb from a six-hour editing marathon. He only managed to drag himself back to his flat after the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, craving the sweet refuge of solitude. 

Alas, he was dragged through a two-hour catch-up session with his flatmate, Mingyu, who, with his never-ending supply of caffeine and chatter, somehow managed to convince him to watch a movie about a guy who falls in love with his childhood friend who is also a ghost. (No, it didn't make sense, but Mingyu enjoyed it, and Wonwoo had long given up trying to follow his logic.)

By the time he collapses onto the couch, half-dead from human interaction, the email is waiting. 

"Subject: Assignment Confirmation: (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

He groans as he clicks it open, his finger hovering over the delete button, ready to toss the whole thing into the digital voice. Then he reads the first line:

"Dear Mr. Jeon, we are pleased to confirm that you have been selected as the official photographer for the upcoming feature on (Y/n) (Y/l/n), world-renowned socialite and philanthropist."

"What in the world..." Wonwoo mutters. He doesn't even really remember submitting his name for this, and he's shocked he'd ever consider it. Wonwoo has long made a mental vow to avoid people like you - socialites, celebrities, influencers - whatever you call them. In the world of photography, they are all the same: walking photo opportunity with zero personality and way too much drama. Perfect for paparazzi, but not something he has time for. 

He's a quiet, detached observer of the world. He doesn't need to be a part of it.

But the email continues:

"We have full confidence in your ability to capture the raw and humanising side of Ms. (Y/l/n), giving our readers an intimate glimpse into her life, both public and private."

Raw? Humanising? Intimate? Which magazine is this again, the National Geographic?

His eyes flicker back up to the top of the email, growing wide as he sees the sender. Well, shit. Opus Magazine. He does remember applying for this, although, in his defence, they hadn't specified the subject of the op-ed when he'd submitted it. 

"We are excited to have you on board for this project, which will span the next six months. Your first shoot is scheduled for next Thursday, at 10 AM, at Ms. (Y/l/n)’s residence. We look forward to seeing how your unique perspective brings this project to life.

Thank you for your time and commitment.

Best regards, The Editorial Team Opus Magazine"

Wonwoo leans back, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if the world would offer him an answer. It doesn’t.

In all fairness, he has never actually met you before. But he's seen you everywhere. The perfectly curated Instagram feed. The charity galas. The interviews. The way you seem to be exactly what everyone wants you to be: flawless, effortless, untouchable.

A three-page approval form for every photo, he assumes. 

The door to the living room creaks open. "How are you not asleep yet?" Mingyu says cheerfully, poking his head in. Wonwoo glances at the clock on his screen: 2:43 am. He chooses not to point out that Mingyu's still awake too.

"I've been assigned to photograph (Y/n) (Y/l/n) for the next six months." Wonwoo grumbles, tapping his phone screen as if he could wipe away the whole thing with a swipe.

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait - (Y/n) (Y/l/n)? As in Forbes Under 30 (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?!"

"Yes. That one." Wonwoo replies flatly, eyes narrowing. "Six months. Full access. I'm going to want to die halfway through."

Mingyu looks delighted, clearly missing the gravity of the situation. "Ooh, this is going to be so fun! You're going to be all glamorous and -"

"No. No, I'm not," Wonwoo interrupts. "I'm going to hide behind my camera and take photos of her from so far away that she doesn't even know I'm there."

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Anti-Social. But—” Mingyu plops down beside him, grinning. “—what if she wants to get to know you?"

Wonwoo turns to him, unamused. "It's a professional gig to make her look good; she won't want me digging into her real life."

Mingyu, without missing a beat, grabs a bag of chips and shoves them into Wonwoo’s lap. “Just saying. People don’t come with Instagram models and high-profile gigs attached unless there’s something extra special about them, right? Maybe she’s a hidden gem.”

"Hidden gem?" Wonwoo scoffs. "Or a nightmare in designer shoes."

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to bombard him with unsolicited advice. “... here’s my tip for you. Don’t just take boring photos. You know what’s going to make her stand out in the sea of perfect socialite portraits?” He paused dramatically. “Unfiltered moments. Catch her when she’s off guard. Capture her when she doesn’t know she’s being watched.”

Wonwoo shoots him a deadpan look. “What, you mean like stalking her?”

“I prefer the term artistic observation,” Mingyu replies, grinning mischievously. “Trust me. You’re going to fall in love with her vulnerability. You know, the real her. The one she hides behind all the glam.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, already regretting this conversation. He’s not even met you, and here Mingyu was, crafting an entire narrative of undiscovered depth based on nothing but a couple of well-lit photos.

Still, his finger hovers over the accept button. 

Six months. Full access. Intimate photos.

Maybe he should just ... get on with it.

Wonwoo hasn't actually met you yet and he's already regretting his decision. 

He's spent the past week alternating between panicking and ignoring the dozens of emails for your team, each one more frantic than the last. First, they sent a detailed itinerary of the shoot, followed by an even more detailed list of instructions on what he should wear, when to arrive, and what colour lens he should use for "optimal lighting" - as if he didn’t know how to work a camera by now.

9:00 AM, Inbox:

“Subject: URGENT: RE: Ms. (Y/l/n)’s Preferences for the Day”

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon,

I hope you're prepared for today’s shoot! Please note that Ms. (Y/l/n) prefers a soft light filter on all images, especially when she’s not directly posing. We’ve attached a sample of how she likes her candid photos to look (it’s very specific). Do ensure that you have the required lens, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Best, Assistant to Ms. (Y/l/n)’s PR Team.”

Wonwoo stares at the email for a moment, blinking. Soft light filter? Do you breathe, or do you simply exist in a perpetual soft-focus glow? His finger hovers over the "delete" button, but he refrains. He already knows this is a battle he’s not going to win.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to get up. He throws on his jacket, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him worse than when he submitted his final portfolio at college, and the project hasn't even begun yet. There's no escaping now. He has to do it - he's been hired for this. Paid for it, too, which means he's legally obliged to at least try.

He arrives at the shoot location just before 10 AM: a sprawling, minimalist mansion that looks like it's been pulled from the pages of an interior design magazine. It's sleek, modern, and incredibly intimidating. The atmosphere is slick with an 'unapproachable luxury' vibe, and Wonwoo can already feel the tension in his shoulders as he steps out of his car. 

A member of the PR team greets him immediately, smiling far too brightly for someone who's probably already been working since 5 AM. "Mr. Jeon! So glad you could make it. Please follow me inside, Ms. (Y/l/n) is just getting ready.”

Wonwoo nods, trying to maintain the calm he doesn't really feel, muttering a "thank you" in response.

Inside, everything is sleek and spotless - nothing out of place, nothing too personal. Like no one's ever lived here. He's brought to a sitting room where the lighting is admittedly perfect. Almost too perfect. He's not used to working in these conditions. He's used to having to fix things last minute, create something out of nothing, or use the imperfections to his advantage. A soft hum of quiet chatter fills the air, and a stylist is busy adjusting something behind the curtain.

He doesn't know what he's expecting as you walk out. Maybe someone a little more ordinary, a little less polished than the figure seen in magazines. He's worked with models before, and they've always been so normal outside of shoots. But when you step into the light, it's like the room takes a collective breath. You're impossibly beautiful, even he can admit that, in that "perfectly put together, but effortless charming" way. Your smile hits him like a tidal wave, all dazzling teeth and liquid confidence, and for a split second, he forgets why he's here. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a dry, “Hello.”

You tilt your head slightly, looking him up and down with eyes that seem to see everything. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing.

Wonwoo feels a flutter of unease in his chest, though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t worked with famous people before, and yet something about you—something about the way you look at him—feels like an interrogation.

“Ah, well,” he stammers for a second, clearing his throat, “I… I hope it’s all positive.”

The smile on your lips doesn’t waver, but there’s something almost too sharp about it. The kind of smile that’s practised, like you’ve been wearing it since you were a child in front of mirrors, learning the exact angle for maximum charm.

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve got quite the reputation,” you say, as if it’s an afterthought. “They told me you’d be professional.”

Professional. Right. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s always professional, no matter how much he wants to roll his eyes at the utter insanity of the situation. 

He offers a stiff nod. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

You smile again, but this time it’s softer. There's a flicker of something in your eyes, almost like amusement, but also curiosity. For a moment, Wonwoo wonders if he's just a novelty to you, something to poke at for fun. Or maybe you think you’re the novelty here, and he's just another player in the game you're used to winning. Either way, he can feel the weight of that gaze, and it’s not entirely comfortable.

You take a step closer, and Wonwoo resists the urge to take a step back. It’s like you have this gravitational pull—magnetic, impossible to ignore. But he’s not going to let that faze him. His eyes stay focused on your face, trying not to let your presence throw him off his game.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “what’s your plan for today? I’m assuming I’m not just going to stand here all day and look pretty?”

It's a light question, but he can hear the expectation in your voice. He’s used to people expecting things. It’s just—well, usually, it’s an email with 10 bullet points, not an interrogation delivered with a smile.

“I’ll take a few shots first,” Wonwoo replies, keeping his tone neutral. “Get the feel of the lighting. Then we’ll see if we need anything more posed.”

You nod, and decide the conversation is over, floating back over to the set.

Wonwoo lifts his camera, adjusting the settings to give himself a moment to settle down.

You stand still, not quite posing, but perfectly aware of your body. Everything about you seems calculated. Even your fingers, relaxed at your sides, seem to fall into the right positions at just the right time. It’s strange, though, because you’re not the robotic kind of poised he’s used to. There's a subtle looseness to you, a humanity that he doesn't expect.

“How does this work?” you say after a beat. “You just take my picture and call it a day?”

Wonwoo focuses on adjusting the lens, trying to suppress the slight frustration that’s bubbling up. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to take your picture. All he wants is to get the job done and move on.

But instead, he clicks the shutter. One, two, three shots in rapid succession. The light catches your face in a way that’s almost too good to be real, too perfect for anyone to be this unfailingly photogenic.

“Relax,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “Just act natural.”

You tilt your head again, this time a little more playfully. “Natural?” You raise an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping you. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what that is.”

Wonwoo’s finger freezes over the shutter, and he looks at you again, the barest hint of annoyance tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you can manage."

You laugh then, a light, almost mythical sound, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases just enough for Wonwoo to breathe. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

He clicks another shot, and for the first time, something in his chest loosens. It’s not much—just a tiny shift—but it’s there. You’re... interesting.

“Tell me, Mr. Jeon,” you ask, your voice low. "I'm intrigued as to why you decided to do this shoot. What's your opinion on people like me?"

Wonwoo lowers the camera, the question catching him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your gaze flicking toward the window, your expression momentarily unreadable. “People who live in the public eye. People who everyone thinks they know, but don’t. What’s your opinion on that?”

“People like you don’t need opinions,” he says, his voice flat, “because you already know how everyone feels about you.”

He’s being sharp. Cold, even. And he knows it. But he can’t help himself. This isn’t the first time he’s worked with someone who expects the world to revolve around them. It’s what they do. It’s why he keeps his distance.

You don’t react immediately. You just stare at him for a moment, your expression unreadable.

For a split second, he wonders if he’s crossed a line. But then your lips twitch, just the slightest hint of a smile.

“Well,” you finally say, your tone warm but still guarded, “I suppose that’s one way to see it.”

Wonwoo wants to say something else, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he stops himself. Instead, he lifts the camera again, focusing on the next shot.

No matter how much he tries to bury it, Wonwoo can’t help but feel... a little intrigued by you.

Just a little.

The second shoot is at your apartment. 

Wonwoo had been floored when he'd found out - although the spotless nature of the first home had kind of given away that it wasn't actually yours. More than that, the fact that he, despite meaning to have creative control over the project, wasn't told that the purpose of the first shoot was to show a contrast between how people thought you lived and how you actually lived. Seemed like something he should have a say in.

As he arrives, the reality is different to what he'd imagined, and the opposite of the slick, minimalist mansion. 

Your apartment is, in a word, alive. The first thing that hits him is the colour. Bright hues of teal and mustard yellow leap off the walls, the kind of vibrant tones that feel like they belong in a 70s sitcom. The entire place seems to be a throwback to a cooler, bygone era, as if time itself was gently bent to live in this space. Mid-century modern furniture clashes with bold retro patterns—geometric prints, zigzags, and polka dots galore. 

The space is wide and open, but it’s not the sterile kind of open that’s all white walls and cold metal. No, this is a living, breathing room that demands attention with its quirk and charm. He prefers it.

The walls are covered in vintage posters from concerts, movies, and random ads from the 60s and 70s—faded, but still full of energy. One poster catches his eye in particular: it’s a photograph of an old jazz band in action, the colours almost washed out but still vibrant in their intensity. He notices that it’s not framed, just tacked on with mismatched pins as though it was thrown up without a second thought. It’s a detail that makes him think you probably chose it on a whim.

At the far side of the room, there's a vintage bar cart—wooden, with brass accents, stocked with various bottles and a large glass decanter that catches the light as though it’s waiting for its next cocktail to be poured. A small but proud collection of classic board games, with bright, cheerful colours that look like they belong on a childhood shelf, sits close next door. 

Despite the space being filled with vintage charm, there’s a kind of organised chaos to it all. The floor might have an old rug with faded patterns that don't quite match the couch, and the coffee table—half-full of magazines, books, and a stray mug—couldn’t be called tidy, but it’s the kind of mess that makes the space feel lived-in.

The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

You lead him inside, wearing a loose, earthy sweater and faded denim jeans, a marked contrast to the polished image he’s gotten used to seeing in magazines. You still look beautiful, but comfortable. Not model-perfect. 

“You can set up wherever you’d like,” you say casually. Your voice is warm, and easy-going in a way that’s almost disarming.

Looking around, he realises for the first time that none of your team is here. And, weirdly, it unsettles him.

He finds himself pausing for a moment when he notices a worn book sitting on the coffee table, the edges curled with time. He’s always had a soft spot for books, the way their covers could tell so much about the person who owned them. And that book? It’s clearly one you’ve read over and over.

His fingers hover over his camera lens for a moment, and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “You read a lot?”

You glance over, surprised. “Hmm?”

“The book.” He gestures vaguely, “It looks well-loved.”

You laugh softly, a short, pleasant sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t fully understand. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, really. Just something I found at a little bookstore in Paris. I’ve read it a million times, but... sometimes, it feels like you can always find something new in the pages, you know?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, but no words come out. It's almost spinning his head around - the way that you're mixing together something so casual like a well-worn book with the detail that you got it in Paris. There's this weird grating of human and celebrity that he doesn't know how to deal with.

You seem to notice the shift in his gaze, your smile becoming a little softer. But instead of explaining more, you walk over to the window and lean against the frame, glancing outside. “So, how do you want to do this today?” you ask, clearly trying to get back on track.

Wonwoo nods, snapping himself back into work mode. “Let’s start with some natural shots,” he says briskly, pointing to the light streaming in through the window. “You can stay by the window, maybe. I’ll catch the light.”

You agree without hesitation, sitting down on the frame. 

The shots begin. You sit, your eyes thoughtful but distant, as if lost in some thought. He clicks the shutter a few times, and the room is silent except for the rhythmic sound of the camera.

The more he shoots, the more he finds himself paying attention to the small things. The way you absentmindedly twirl a lock of hair between your fingers. The way your posture softens after a few minutes, like you’re forgetting he’s there, and yet still poised.

The next shot clicks, and you look up at him, catching his eye. 

“Is that good?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He swallows, feeling a slight tension in his throat that wasn’t there before. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The words come out without thinking, and he can feel his cheeks flush slightly at the sincerity with which he says them. He's fiddling with his camera settings again, trying to adjust the light for the shot, as you sidle over to the small vintage record player near the window. The soft crackling sound of a jazz record fills the air. 

He doesn’t expect it when you suddenly speak, your voice soft but with an underlying curiosity.

“So,” you say, not turning around, your fingers gently tapping against the edge of the record player, “I’ve been wondering… you’ve been pretty quiet this whole time. Not like the others. Why is that?”

Wonwoo glances up, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at you directly, still adjusting the focus on the lens, anything to avoid eye contact.

“I mean,” you laugh lightly, spinning the record player’s dial, “everyone else I work with is always talking. About work, about their lives, about whatever’s trending—people like to talk, especially when they’re nervous. You’re the only one who hasn’t said much about anything.”

There’s an open quality in your tone, no judgment, no pressure, just curiosity. And for some reason, that makes him feel even more exposed than if you had pried into his personal life directly.

“I guess I’m not a fan of small talk,” Wonwoo mutters, setting the camera down a little too abruptly, feeling a tightness in his chest. “I don’t really need to fill the silence.”

You turn to face him then, and for the first time, he notices how unguarded your expression is. There’s no fake smile or calculated pose—just an interested look.

"I get that," you say, your voice now quieter, almost thoughtful. "But... do you ever feel like you miss out? I mean, silence is... great, but it’s also really lonely sometimes, isn’t it?"

"Not really,” he says, not meeting your gaze. “I’m fine with being on my own. I’ve always preferred it.”

You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. "You know," you say, taking a step toward him, your voice soft but deliberate, "I always thought I’d be fine alone too. It's funny how we get so used to being surrounded by people, by noise, by the ‘right’ kind of company—when, in the end, it’s really the silence that’s the most honest."

Your words sink into him, a little unexpected, a little disorienting. There's a weight to them—like you’ve really thought about this. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice less guarded, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity there too.

You pause for a beat, a soft smile playing on your lips. There's something mischievous in the way your eyes twinkle. "Well," you begin, you're voice light, "what I mean is that maybe the real stuff gets lost when you get too good at hiding behind the quiet."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can reply, you finish with a playful, almost theatric sigh: "Or maybe I'm just trying to get you to talk. You know, because I certainly don't want to be the only one in the spotlight in this room. It's exhausting, really."

He can't help it—he laughs. A quiet, breathy sound, but it’s real. Something about the absurdity of it all. Something about the way you deflect it all with that charming, nonchalant smile.

"You're a work in progress," you grin wider, eyes narrowing. "But I'm going to crack you open."

Wonwoo is still chuckling, a disbelieving snort of laughter he can't hide. He leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he studies you with a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m the one who needs cracking open," he says, his tone half teasing, half resigned, as if he’s already lost the battle.

You pause for a moment, surprised that you've actually got him joining in on your jokes. But you don't press. Instead, you give him a sideways grin and lounge out over your statement, mustard couch. "Tell me, Mr Jeon - do you still think your opinion of me doesn't matter? Should I go back to hiding behind the perfect image for you to capture what everyone else already thinks of me?"

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head. He can’t deny that something about you has started to chip away at his carefully cultivated indifference. "I don’t think you could ever hide, even if you tried."

The jazz record continues to hum in the background, and Wonwoo starts to wonder if he's finally found something worth shooting beyond the lens. 

When he makes it back home, the camera bag feels heavier than usual, and the moment he closes his front door, he's hit when the familiar sense of quiet. 

He dumps the camera bag on the kitchen counter and heads straight for his desk, flipping open his laptop with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to dive into hours of editing. The usual dread of looking through the pictures fades as he opens the files. He didn’t think he’d be so invested in this shoot, especially not with you, of all people. But the truth is, the moment he starts scrolling through the shots, he’s a little bit stunned.

There are candid moments of you, captured so naturally. Your hair falls in your face as you laugh at something he barely remembers, the light coming in through the window bathing you in that soft golden glow like you were born for this. The quiet, unguarded moments—your fingers absentmindedly tapping against the coffee table, your eyes softened with a thought he’ll never fully know.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the shot where you’re sitting by the window, gazing out at the street, completely oblivious to the lens. It’s raw. And weirdly, it’s beautiful in a way he didn’t anticipate.

With a sigh, he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

And damn it, now he’s got to figure out how to keep it professional when all he wants to do is scroll back through these photos of you for the next few hours.

He grabs his coffee again, takes another sip, and mutters under his breath, "What’s the point of professionalism, anyway?"

Wonwoo is not thrilled about attending the gala. In fact, he's pretty sure if he could just get lost in the crowd and pretend he's not there, he would. But, alas, work. He's there, standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table, holding the camera like it's a shield. The entire place is dripping in opulence - golden chandeliers, champagne towers, and a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos so shiny they could be mistaken for mirrors.  It's the kind of event where everyone’s either a billionaire or pretending to be one.

And then, of course, there’s you.

You move through the room like you've got a personal spotlight, laughing with people he's never heard of, shaking hands with people he has. The dress you're wearing is stunning, too, naturally - deep emerald green, with a neckline just high enough to make it look elegant but low enough to make him briefly question his entire career as a photographer. He should be focused on the job. But you're flashing that perfect smile, chatting with rich old men and influencers alike, completely different from the version of you he saw in your apartment just a week ago, laughing over a worn book.

He watches you interact with the other guests, a dance of small talk, well-placed compliments, and calculated interest, and suddenly, he feels like he’s been shrunk down to the size of a cockroach. If someone took a photo of him, An intruder in your world would be the title. The camera, which he thought would make him feel a little less out of place, feels heavy in his hands, as though it might give away the fact that he’s just not meant to be here.

You glance in his direction, catching his eye from across the room. He freezes. He can almost hear you sighing internally before you offer a small, knowing smile.

"Mr. Jeon!" Your voice floats toward him over the clink of glasses and high-pitched laughter. "How are we doing? Getting some good shots?"

He stares at you, blinking. You’re asking him in that casual, sweet tone that’s just different from your “public persona” voice. It’s like a crack in the glass, and he suddenly feels... disoriented. The contrast is so stark that for a second, he forgets how to respond.

"Uh—yeah, I mean, everything’s fine," he stammers, adjusting the camera lens like it might offer him some sort of escape from his discomfort. "Just, you know. Capturing the glamour." He motions vaguely at the glittering scene around him, feeling more awkward by the second. His fingers hover over the shutter button, but they hesitate.

You laugh, a polite, rehearsed sound. "Ah, yes. Glamour. The thing I do so well." You flash him a smile that could melt diamonds and suddenly he feels like he’s about two seconds away from accidentally snapping a picture of his own nervous breakdown.

The silence between you stretches just long enough for him to feel like the entire room is waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat. "It’s... different, isn’t it? Here?"

You tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow, as if trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not. "Different?" You laugh again, but this time it’s more self-deprecating. "I guess. But it’s what I’m used to. The lights, the faces. I mean, it’s all a bit much sometimes, but..." You trail off, and for a second, it feels like you're letting something slip.

But then someone else approaches you, pulling you into a conversation about some charity auction or art gala (he stops paying attention, realising he’s been trying to capture your attention too long), and just like that, the moment is over. You slip right back into the role, offering another perfect smile, your body language straightening, as if you’re suddenly filled with all the energy you didn’t seem to have a second ago.

The space feels suffocating all of a sudden, and Wonwoo wonders if he should have stayed home, maybe edited a few more of those photos, or gone for a walk—anything to avoid being a part of this gilded zoo. He looks through the lens, catching another shot of you laughing with an older gentleman, your hand resting lightly on his arm. 

A loud crash breaks through the air.

Wonwoo's head snaps in the direction of the sound, instinctively lifting the camera as if it's somehow going to make sense of the situation. 

He spots a waiter, wide-eyed and mortified, standing frozen next to a toppled champagne tower. Glasses are shattered everywhere, a sea of bubbly liquid spilling across the pristine white carpet like some kind of modern art installation.

The room falls into a hushed silence.

He can feel the collective tension, the people who’d been laughing and chatting a second ago suddenly stiffening in disapproval. Someone gasps—probably just for dramatic effect—but the truth is, everyone’s too rich, too important to react with anything other than mild disdain. A few uncomfortable glances are exchanged, and one of the older men starts muttering under his breath, his hands clutching his glass like it’s a lifeline.

And then, like someone flipping a switch, you’re there.

You glide through the crowd with a purposeful ease that makes everything else fade into the background. People part for you as though they know exactly what you’re about to do. The smile that had been plastered on your face during the earlier conversation is gone, replaced with a soft, serious expression, one that’s sharp in its concern.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice suddenly commanding but not unkind. Wonwoo can tell the waiter is waiting for the blowout, the yelling, the anger - but it's not there.

"It's alright, don't worry. It's just a few glasses. Are you hurt?"

The waiter shakes his head, and you kneel down beside him to start gathering up the broken shards of glass with careful motion. "Let me help, then."

The people around you are still hesitant, staring awkwardly, unsure whether they should step in or just stand back and pretend like nothing's happening. But you’re focused on the task at hand, moving with precision, completely unaffected by the sea of disapproving looks that surround you.

Wonwoo finds himself frozen again, his camera half-raised. His finger hesitates on the shutter button, unsure if he should capture the moment. You don’t seem to care about the image you're creating, not in the way you do for the cameras. Here, you’re just someone helping out, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around you. 

After you finish clearing up the last of the glass, you stand up and dust your hands off, flashing a quick smile to the waiter, who looks completely relieved. You stand tall, taking in the now-silent room with a playful glint in your eye.

“Well," you say, wiping your hands on your dress, "I always knew I was good at breaking the ice, but I didn’t think it’d be literal this time."

The room goes quiet for a beat, and then, just like that, a few people start to chuckle. Someone claps lightly, another offers a small cheer, and the tension evaporates into a burst of laughter.

You throw your hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, don’t all applaud at once. Just trying to keep things interesting around here."

With that, the conversation picks up again. The guests move, shift, and suddenly, the night feels like it’s back in motion. Wonwoo watches from a distance, surprised at how quickly the entire atmosphere shifted. You just defused the room with a smile and a joke, as if it had all been part of the plan.

"Hey," you're walking up to him, stepping into his personal space as the final whirlwind of flashing cameras wraps up an evening of too many glasses of champagne and handshakes that feel more like a chore than a greeting. "What are you doing after this?"

Wonwoo looks up, startled. "Uh, I… well, I was just going to head back. Got a few edits to finish up," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

You tilt your head, studying him with a slight grin. "That sounds like fun," you tease. "But I’m guessing it’s not exactly going to be a good time."

He pauses, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment, before shrugging. "I guess I could skip it."

A small beat of silence passes between you, and then you speak again, quieter this time. "You know," you start, your voice softer than before, "if you don’t have anything better to do... I’d, uh, actually kind of like to go out. No fancy people, no cameras. Just… I don't know, something normal."

Wonwoo looks at you for a beat, wondering if you're asking him to go with him, as the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "You mean no red carpets and champagne?"

You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly," you say, your voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Just, you know, being normal for once."

The way you say "normal" almost makes it sound like a forbidden word in your world, and Wonwoo feels a flicker of something.

"I’m in," he says, the words slipping out before he can think too much about them.

You give him a small, almost shy smile. "Alright. You follow me."

It’s an hour later, and you’re driving through the city, the sound of the tyres on the road mixing with the faint hum of the radio. You didn’t tell him where you were going, just that it was "something fun." Wonwoo’s pretty sure you’ve never driven anywhere that didn’t require a driver, but here you are—on a small, crowded street near the heart of the city, pulling up to a diner with neon lights flickering like they haven’t been replaced in a decade.

"This place?" Wonwoo asks, looking out the window at the 24/7 diner with its retro sign and low-key vibe.

"Yep. We said normal, right? Well, this is as normal as it gets."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can protest, you’re already getting out of the car, leaving him no choice but to follow.

Inside, it’s a whole different world. The diner smells faintly of coffee and fried food, and the clink of mugs and chatter of a few late-night patrons makes the place feel strangely cosy. There’s a jukebox in the corner, and despite the place being stuck in a time warp, you both sit down at a booth, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you slide in.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the normal kind of silence that feels more like breathing than awkwardness. And then, finally, you speak.

"You want to know something crazy?" You say, looking down at the menu, though you made it clear in the car that you've already memorised it. 

Wonwoo looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as he nods.

"This is probably the first time in a while I haven't felt like I have to perform. Which is, actually, crazy. Because I'm hanging out with a professional photographer who's being paid to capture every moment of my life." You let out a disbelieving scoff, your lips curling into a grimace-like smile.

"I get that," he replies, his voice softer than he expects. "It's different for me too. I'm not sure I remember the last time I spoke to any of my friends, other than my flatmate, who insists that we have a catch-up meeting every day."

You chuckle, the crinkles of your smile flattening out. 

The waitress arrives, interrupting for a moment, and you order a milkshake without hesitation. He orders something random, revelling in the thrill of not thinking too much about anything.

"I get lonely sometimes," you say after your order arrives, so quietly that Wonwoo almost misses it. "I know it’s weird, I mean, people are always around me. But it’s like... they don’t really see me. They only see the version of me they expect."

He's not sure if you're still tipsy, although the rosy flush of your cheeks suggests so, or if you now feel very comfortable with him. 

Wonwoo isn’t sure what to say, so he just lets the silence settle for a moment, letting your words hang in the air like a soft echo.

"You know," he says after a beat, his voice lighter than before, "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can juggle both a charity gala and a diner milkshake at 3 AM with such grace."

You snort, blowing bubbles into the drink that leave splashes of pink liquid sizzling on the diner table. The sight is enough to set Wonwoo off too, laughter spilling out of him in a way that's only possible in the early hours of the morning. 

"I should take a photo of that," he chuckles as you give him a large grin, the straw still sticking out of your teeth as you mop up the spilt drink. 

But he doesn't. Doesn't even think to take his camera out of its bag. 

Instead, he just watches you—really watches you—for the first time tonight, as you sit there, messy and unapologetic, with your eyes twinkling. And you're not the person everyone in the ballroom thought you were. 

"Maybe we should do this more often," you say, your voice unexpectedly soft as you look up at him. 

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth curving up in the smallest of smiles. "Yeah. Maybe we should."

You've taken a surprising interest in Wonwoo’s regular work. Since you got him to admit that this project wasn’t really his usual gig, you've made it your personal mission to dig deeper. 70% of your questions have revolved around what he actually enjoys doing, the kind of work that doesn’t come with velvet ropes or high society guests. It’s a little like watching a puzzle slowly get pieced together—a mixture of curiosity and the way you just can't let go of something that intrigues you.

So, when you mention, "I think it's only fair you show me what you usually do," it’s not entirely out of the blue.

"Alight, alright," Wonwoo mutters, realising that he owes it to you to let you peek inside his world too. "But don't expect anything glamorous. Magazine spreads don't feature heavily."

Your eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated gasp that has him rolling his eyes. "I'm not expecting you to change into a suit and tie, if that's what you're worried about." You grin. "but if you do, I'll totally snap some behind-the-scenes shots."

"Don't get any ideas," he mutters, but there's a soft laugh behind his words. 

You look like an archaeologist discovering ancient treasures as you step into the studio, and Wonwoo has to resist the urge to photograph the look on your face. He wasn't lying when he said it wasn't much, but it's quieter than the outside world, which is just the way Wonwoo likes it. The walls are lined with a few scattered prints, some framed, others just leaning against the wall, like they’ve been left to gather dust for the sake of catching a different light. The easel in the corner holds the remnants of his last attempt to paint, the workbench cluttered with film rolls, empty coffee cups, and a few stray brushes.

You pause in the doorway, taking it all in.

"So," you begin, "where's the real deal? Show me your favourites."

He shrugs and walks over to a table filled with various photo equipment, adjusting his glasses as he picks up a roll of film. "I’m not sure what you’d consider my 'thing,' but I mostly shoot for personal projects. I like experimental work. I mean..." He looks over at you, and for a second, there's a flicker of something more, something deeper. "I like showing things that don't get seen. Telling stories that don’t get told."

You step further into the room, your curiosity piqued. "The more I learn, the more I marvel at the fact that you chose to do photograph me," you tease. 

He looks back at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to try new things sometimes. And, well ... I'm not so sure you're story has been entirely captured yet."

He pulls a print down from a shelf, careful with the edges, and walks over to where you're sitting. "This," he says, sitting next to you, "is one of my newer pieces. It’s… different from the usual stuff I shoot. It’s a little raw, a little wild."

The picture is a little hard to make out - a blur of colours and light, like a dream caught in motion. There's an image of a figure - slightly distorted and bathed in neon blue and orange, wrapped in streaks of light that seem to bend and curve in ways that don't make sense. It almost looks like the figure is dissolving into the frame itself, as though they’re becoming part of the world rather than a separate subject within it.

"It’s a long exposure," he continues, "but I played with the focus to distort things more than I usually do. You can see the movement in it—like the person isn’t static. They’re not just there. They’re changing. Becoming."

You tilt your head, your gaze flickering back and forth as you try to make sense of the image.

"It’s unsettling," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "That’s what I like about it. People always expect something clear, something neat when they look at photos. But sometimes, the chaos is what’s real. The blur, the overlap of light, it’s how I see things."

"It’s like… you know when you try to hold onto a moment, but it keeps slipping away? That’s what this is. The image is still, but everything around it keeps moving. It doesn’t stay still, no matter how much you want it to."

You reach out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, tracing the glowing streaks of light. "It’s almost like you’re trying to capture the space between things."

He pauses, eyes flickering to yours as if reading your expression. "It’s like that with people, too, right? You think you know them, but then they change. Or maybe you change. And all of a sudden, you’re looking at them and wondering who they really are. Who they were. Who they’re becoming."

You’re silent for a moment, but your gaze hasn't left his and it's piercing into him with all of the unspoken words.

And then you're eyes snap to something behind him, and he feels a little empty in the void of your gaze. A small smile slips across your lips. And you're gone, moving quickly out of your seat to get a closer look at whatever has pulled you away from him.

Wonwoo's head swivels around, like if he loses sight of you, you'll disappear. 

"Now, this is unexpected."

Your voice is laced with that mischievous tone, and it snaps Wonwoo back into reality, his gaze darting to where you're now standing, eyes fixated on the shelf behind him.

He feels his cheeks heat up before he even registers why. The camera equipment on the shelf, partially obscured by a few stray photo albums, is a large, well-worn camera with an impressive lens. But it’s not the camera that’s got your attention—it’s the stack of photos beside it.

He swallows. "Oh, those. They're… um, just some old shoots,” he mutters, reaching for the pile as quickly as he can.

But you're already stepping closer, your grin widening as you grab one from the top of the stack. Your eyes light up as you hold it up, and it’s immediately clear why you’re grinning. 

The photo is a high-end fashion shot, one of those artsy ones. It features a model—clad in nothing but strategically placed shadows and some very expensive body paint, in what can only be described as sultry poses. The subject's entire form is captured with the kind of grace and sensuality you normally associate with glossy magazines and high-end ads.

You raise an eyebrow. “So… this is what you’re hiding in here?”

Wonwoo, face flushed to a shade of pink that doesn’t belong anywhere near a professional photographer, clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s not what you think. It was a concept shoot. A long time ago. For... art.”

“Art.” You repeat the word slowly, like you're savouring it. “A concept shoot. Right.” You peer closer at the picture, almost squinting like you’re studying the fine details. “Well, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to have such a niche portfolio.”

He snatches the photo from your hands, but you’re quicker than him, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm sure these shots went for a pretty penny. You should be proud of them."

 “It was a collaboration with a friend. We were experimenting with lighting and shadows. It wasn’t meant to be, like, that kind of shoot.”

You tilt your head and flash him a teasing smile. "Right. I'm sure it was all very tasteful."

“Stop it,” Wonwoo says, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual. He starts sorting through the other photos quickly, trying to hide the embarrassing ones. “There were plenty of clothes involved, okay? I mean, mostly clothed. Sometimes there weren’t.”

You laugh—genuine and loud—and Wonwoo has never felt more like a teenager caught in a lie.

"Don’t worry." You lean back casually, looking him up and down. “I’m not judging. Everyone needs a little fun with their camera work. Besides, I bet your models really appreciated your... attention to detail.”

“Oh my God, stop," he groans, hands covering his face.

"Oh, I know!" You jump up, the wideness of your grin setting of alarm bells in his head. Your body contorts into a lewd pose he's sure is captured in one of the photos. "Maybe you could shoot me like one of your French girls."

Wonwoo's brain is split in half between wanting to laugh at your stupid joke, and trying to stop his mind from digging any deeper into the way you look right now. He's never been more thankful for someone laughing so hard at their own joke that it gives him the time to remember to laugh too.

"Okay, okay, seriously though." You say, your words punctuated with breathy laughs. "I'd like to do a shoot in your style. Even if you don't use it for the feature, I'd like to have them - a little memory of the project."

He’s not sure what to make of it—after all, he’s never shot anything like that with someone like you. It’s one thing to let a stranger model for his more experimental projects, but someone who’s become... well, important to him? That complicates things.

You seem to sense his hesitation, so you quickly soften your expression, dropping the teasing tone. “I mean, no pressure. You don’t have to,” you add, but your smile stays. “I just think it would be fun, you know? Something a little out of the ordinary.”

He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to deflect without sounding awkward.  But then, he catches the way you’re looking at him—expectant, yet light-hearted. And he knows there’s no way he can say no. And the idea of capturing you in his world - through his lens - is far too appealing.

"Alright," he finally says, "“I could set something up. But it won’t be anything like what you’re imagining,” he warns, though the faintest glimmer of a smile tugs at his lips. “You might hate it.”

"I highly doubt it." Your grin widens, and you step closer. "The camera loves me."

He struggles to disagree.

You follow Wonwoo into a dimly lit loft space. The high ceilings make the place feel vast and open, but the shadows, thick and heavy, seem to swallow any trace of warmth. The windows let in just enough light to make the space feel like it’s holding its breath. Concrete floors, industrial beams, exposed brick—this place is a world apart from the glamorous venues he's captured you in so far. 

There's no luxurious set, no artfully arranged props, no stylists running around with last-minute adjustments. Just you and him. And a collection of cameras, lenses, and other mysterious equipment scattered about the space.

"We'll start here," Wonwoo's voice is firmer than he intends, and he hopes you can hear the edge of excitement underneath his words. He’s already moving toward the equipment, setting up the camera on a tripod with a smooth, practised hand.

You take a deep breath, looking a little more nervous than he expected. "What's the concept? Just… me in a room full of shadows?” You try to make light of it, but your voice betrays a hint of apprehension.

He glances over his shoulder, catching your gaze for the briefest moment, and his lips curl into a faint smile. “Something like that. I want to capture you as you are, not as the world expects you to be.”

He steps toward you, then pauses. “But it’s up to you. You can be whoever you want to be in front of the camera.”

You take a breath, almost like you're accepting something, and step deeper into the room. Wonwoo can feel his pulse pick up just a little. Something about your movements makes it hard to look away, even as he tries to keep his focus on the camera. 

As his gaze probes deeper, Wonwoo realises something. You're so used to being a perfect image that now, here, in the quiet, you have no idea what to do with yourself.

His breath catches as he presses the shutter for the first time. The soft click breaks the silence, but he doesn't lower the camera. His eyes stay on you, unable to tear away; even if he should be focused on the technicalities - the lighting, the exposure, the composition - he's not. He's seeing the cracks. The little parts of you that you've been hiding. 

Another click. And another. His fingers move over the controls, adjusting the focus, framing you just so - but all the while, acutely aware of every tiny shift in your body. The way you inhale, the way you let go of something hidden, and your shoulders relax, just slightly. 

"Good," he murmurs, though he barely recognises his own voice. The words are soft, his tone low, almost like a breath rather than a command.

You shift again. There's no thought to it, just a fluid movement, as if you're letting go of some invisible restraint. It's an instinctive thing, Wonwoo realises. You're not really posing anymore.

The camera clicks again, capturing the stillness in you, the way you seem to dissolve into the shadows, becoming part of the room. Part of the moment. He knows instantly that it's going to be his favourite.

For a split second, he wonders if you know what you're doing to him. If you know how you're affecting him, even without meaning to. His heart beats a little faster. 

He doesn't lower the camera, not yet, not wanting to lose the moment.

"Okay, that's enough," he says finally, voice low and deliberate. Even as he says it, he's not sure if he wants to stop. He wants more. But it's not just the image he's chasing now. It's something else. 

You reemerge, the colour of your confidence returning as you step out of the camera frame. "Was that okay?"

Wonwoo isn't completely sure what to say in response. If he should tell you that he wants to restart the entire feature, or that he's never felt like he's seen anyone as much as he just did. So he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I want you to see the full vision, so I'll show you once they're edited, but I think they're going to be the best ones."

A beaming smile is released onto your face. It's heart-wrenchingly endearing how proud you are of yourself. "I'm so glad. I don't know if you noticed, but I was a little nervous about this one."

He lets out a little chuckle, his head hanging slightly as he looks to the floor, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't tell. You were," he clears his throat, hands moving to adjust the settings on the camera again, "perfect. And I mean it. It's ... not just the shot. It's you." The words come out in a rush, but even as he says them, he’s certain they’re true.

He wonders, fleetingly, if you hear the difference. If you sense the subtle change in his tone—the way he can’t quite look away from you now, the way his eyes linger just a little too long.

You don’t respond immediately, and for a brief, agonising second, he’s unsure of how you’ll take it. Will you laugh it off? Will you brush it aside with that carefree charm you wear like a second skin?

But then, your smile softens, your gaze a little less playful, and you step closer. "Do we need any more?"

"I don't think so," he pauses. "Unless there's anything you want to try?"

"Well..." You look nervous, like you're trying to make your mind up about something. Your fingers play absently with the sleeve of your shirt, tugging at the fabric as if it’s a lifeline. "Maybe ... maybe I could try something different?"

Wonwoo's eyes flicker up to meet yours. He's not quite sure what you're asking, and it both terrifies and excites him in ways he's not ready to admit. He leans back slightly, considering it.

"It's your shoot," he says softly, "If you want to do something different, we can. You sound like you've got something in mind?"

You exhale slowly, and the air feels thick, drawn tight with possibility. There’s a hesitation in the way you look at him, but then you take a step forward, your presence commanding yet gentle, a stark contrast to the vulnerability in your eyes.

"The photos in your studio," your voice is soft and low, as though the words themselves are a kind of confession. "The ones ... with no clothes." Your gaze flickers briefly, almost shy, before you steady yourself again. "I want to try that. I want to see what that feels like."

Wonwoo blinks at you, his breath hitching for just a second as the words register. His fingers instinctively tighten around the camera, but he doesn’t lower it. He can’t look away from you now.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rougher than he intended, though it’s more a response to the sudden surge of emotions than anything else. The suggestion itself isn’t unfamiliar, but the weight of it, coming from you, catches him off guard.

You nod slowly. 

He breathes slowly, trying to steady himself, but the air feels tight, like his lungs have forgotten how to expand properly. Wonwoo clears his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the camera in his hands—of how utterly out of place it feels now. He thought he had control of this situation, of this shoot, of everything. And now he feels entirely, completely, out of control.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low, his throat dry.

You exhale, a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief, and for a moment, you both just stand there. Wonwoo watches you, his gaze tracing the small movements of your fingers, the way you breathe, the slight shift in your posture. You’re standing there, raw and vulnerable in a way that no one else ever sees, and yet you’ve asked him to witness it.

His chest tightens.

"Whenever you're ready," he murmurs, trying to sound as professional as possible, but the words come out softer than he means. He takes a step back, his heart pounding louder now, but he’s not sure if it’s from the anticipation of the shot or something else entirely.

You move slowly, agonisingly slowly, towards the chair that's hidden in the corner of the room and pull it into the camera frame. The clip holding your hair back is the first thing to go, and even watching you shake the tresses free feels like a glimpse of something he's not meant to see. Wonwoo's breath hitches as your fingers hesitate against the buttons of your shirt.

You look up at him, eyes glittering in the light of the loft. "Can you talk me through it?"

Wonwoo gulps, his brain desperately trying to keep a tether to his thoughts. 

His voice is strained when he finally speaks, a quiet rasp that betrays his nerves. "I - uh - yeah. Sure." He clears his throat again, trying to steady himself. "Just take your time. There's no rush. I want you to feel comfortable."

You nod, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. It’s heavy, almost expectant, and Wonwoo feels it pressing down on him like the air in the room has thickened with each passing second.

His heart races, and he forces himself to look away from you, staring at the camera for a moment to regain some semblance of control. But when he finally glances back, there’s no denying it: you're not just in front of the camera. You're right there, your presence inescapable. The air crackles between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the distance.

You slowly unbutton your shirt, each movement measured and deliberate. The soft rustle of fabric seems deafening in the silence. Wonwoo tries to focus on the camera - on the framing, the lighting - by the sight of you undoing the buttons is sending jolts through him, making it hard to concentrate.

"Wait, stop." He's struggling to get out more than a few words, but he realises he has to explain himself as your head whips around, alarmed. "That shot - if you push the shoulder down a little -"

"I'm not sure I quite get it," your voice is a quiet invitation. He doesn't know if its a test, or something far more dangerous than that. 

He moves slowly, not wanting to startle you. And, if he's being honest, not sure that he can handle being any closer. But he's started now, and he can't not go through with it just because he's nervous about seeing skin. Focusing on his task, Wonwoo's hands gingerly pull the loose fabric of your shirt, draping it down the side of your upper arm, the fabric slipping with an almost unbearable grace, revealing the curve of your shoulder, the soft line of your skin. Wonwoo feels his pulse spike, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. It’s delicate, unintentional contact, but it feels like an electric shock, jarring and intimate all at once.

You hold your breath, your gaze fixed on his hands, your body still. 

“Just like that,” he says, his voice quiet, as though speaking louder might shatter this delicate balance between you. “Now, tilt your head just a little to the left. Keep your eyes soft... like you're looking into something just out of reach.”

Your eyes flicker, a knowing glint passing through them. “Like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t?”

Wonwoo’s stomach tightens, a shiver creeping down his spine at the way you put it. His hands hover over the camera, but for a moment, he forgets the frame, forgets everything except the weight of the moment.

"Exactly," he breathes, almost afraid to admit it aloud, but the words escape him. He’s standing so close now, every muscle in his body taut, straining against the pull of something he doesn't know how to define.

You do as he asks, your eyes softening, lips parting ever so slightly, as if you’re leaning into the invitation.

The camera shakes in his hands, and for a second, he worries that you’ll notice the tremor, that you'll see how much this is affecting him. But you don’t. Your focus is unwavering.

“Can you… can you move your hand to your collarbone?” he murmurs, barely trusting himself to speak the request aloud. “Just… trace it, like it’s the only thing you’re focused on.”

You nod, and there’s an eerie stillness in the air as your fingers drift up to the curve of your neck. Wonwoo feels like he’s drowning, like every movement you make pulls him deeper into this quiet, dangerous place between photographer and subject, between the lens and the reality unfolding just beyond it.

Each click of the shutter feels like a bullet leaving a gun.

Your fingers are back on the buttons before he can realise that the moment has moved on, and you let the shirt fall, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft whisper. He can’t breathe for a moment.

You stand before him, unguarded, vulnerable, and yet there’s something about the way you hold yourself—so composed, so intentional—that makes him swallow back every word that he tries to form.

Your eyes lock onto his again, and it’s like time stops. “How’s the lighting?” Your voice is steady, calm, but the tension in it is undeniable.

Wonwoo’s throat is dry as he forces himself to focus. "The light... it's perfect." He clears his throat, his voice tight. "You look perfect. Just... just keep moving, slowly. Let the camera catch it all."

You nod, your lips curling into that familiar smile that has him reeling.

Wonwoo’s pulse quickens, but he doesn’t dare look away. He’s caught in the gravity of your gaze, drawn into the quiet intensity of the moment. He raises the camera, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusts the lens. The click of the shutter still sounds harsh, but it doesn’t break the tension.

Wonwoo almost drops the camera when your fingers hook around the loops of your pants. 

You slide them off in fluid motion, far quicker than the shirt. The smile on your face is more playful now, taunting and teasing. "What were those poses again?" 

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, his hands freezing just above the camera as the image of you in front of him—the subtle arch of your back, the way your skin catches the light—burns itself into his memory. He can’t look away, and it’s like everything in the room sharpens.

"Stop," he whispers, his voice shaking. "You’re—"

He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How could he describe the storm he feels brewing inside of him? The way his pulse is beating in time with the shutter clicks. The way he’s watching you, but feels like he’s barely holding onto himself, like the space between him and you has closed to a point where it feels impossible to stay just the photographer.

“Stop?” you repeat, tilting your head, the playful glint in your eyes both a challenge and an invitation. "You want me to stop?"

"I—" He clears his throat, trying to force his words into something coherent. You take a step closer, and the words fail him. 

You stop a few inches away from him, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, you both stand there, locked in a stare that feels like an eternity. Wonwoo's heart races, and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears, but the sound of your breath, shallow and steady, is louder than everything else.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, and the way you say his name—so softly, so deliberately—has his chest tightening even more.

His heart stutters for a second, and before he can think about it, before he can second-guess himself, he lowers the camera, his hand almost involuntarily reaching for you.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt, dancing between the creases. The world seems to spin a little.

“I’m sure,” you reply, your voice steady but low. “Are you?”

Wonwoo’s pulse thunders in his ears, and he thinks he's nodding his head, but he's not sure. He swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you in waves. The tension is almost unbearable now, and his hands are shaking so badly that he’s not sure if he should step back or close the space completely.

Before he can decide, you close the gap for him, your lips brushing against his in the gentlest of kisses. It’s soft at first, tentative—like you’re both waiting for the other to pull away—but when Wonwoo doesn’t, you deepen it just enough to make his head spin.

Everything—his thoughts, his control, his self-restraint—fractures.

He pulls you closer, his hand finding the curve of your back as he deepens the kiss. He can feel you shiver as his warm hands trace the exposed skin. He has to hold back a guttural moan at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

Your hands have found his hair, tangling your fingers through the strands and feeding off of the reactions, tugging a little every time he grumbles against your lips. A small gasp leaves your lips as he pulls away from your mouth, burying into your neck, which stretches prettily with each biting kiss he leaves. 

"Is this how all your photo shoots go?" Even with your head tilted back, voice breathy as his fingers grasp onto your waist, you still find time to tease him. A small whine leaves you as his lips abandon your skin.

"You'll believe me if I say no?" His throat is scratchy, his voice raw, and it comes out more as a question. 

You laugh. "Yes - I, yes, I believe you."

The silence feels unbearably tension, like both of you are trying to blindly navigate the other's feelings. Neither comfortable enough to take the next step forward.

"What did -"

"I thought -"

Your words stumble together as you search for the right way to break the tension. Wonwoo stops, not pressing you to continue, but his grip tightens on your waist slightly, a silent question hanging in the air. 

"I was just - I wasn't sure you'd want to do this, too." You finally say. You still have that teasing smile, but your voice is small, almost unsure. 

"I do," his voice is low, rough, and there's something tender there too. "I really do."

Your lips twitch upwards, a fleeting smile curving the corners of your mouth as you move closer again. "Then, what happens next?"

Wonwoo's head darts around, looking around the dim loft. There's nothing there, other than his equipment and a few chairs - nothing particularly helpful in this scenario. Although, he should admit, he wasn't expecting anything like this when he'd set it up.

"We could go somewhere else, if that's what you want to do?"

Your eyes follow his gaze, realising the dilemma.

"But I'm already half undressed." You bat your eyelashes innocently, and he knows you're fully aware of what you're doing to him. Yet, that doesn't prevent his trousers from feeling way too tight. 

"I-" his breath catches, his fingers digging into your side. "I guess we'll have to stay here then."

"I guess so," you grin, and he wants nothing more than to pull you back in. So, he does. It's messy, primal, a tangle of limbs as your hands sloppily undo his shirt and his look for anything and everything he can reach. He doesn't miss your noise of appreciation when his shirt falls to the floor. 

Soon, his hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling you up in one swift motion and carrying you until you hit the nearest wall. You're panting, your eyes wild and hair tangled as you grab at his neck, pulling his lips back to yours. 

It's not long before the rest of your clothes join the others on the floor. He feels a flutter of shyness as you take him in, eyes roaming across his body. But you're smiling, wide and joyful, the soft flesh of your thighs squeezing tighter on his hips. 

"Fuck, I always thought you were hot, but I can't believe you were hiding this underneath those baggy sweaters."

Wonwoo can feel the blush running up his neck like a schoolboy being complimented for the first time. His heart is hammering in his chest, a warm rush spreading through him from head to toe as he tries to work out what his eyes should be focusing on.

"I wasn’t expecting any of this. You... you’re making me nervous," he admits with a shy laugh, his hands feeling clammy against your skin. "I mean, I'm sure I'm not the first person to say you're beautiful, but I think you're so much more than what they see."

Your smile softens for a moment, and you reach forward, fingers grazing lightly over his arm, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "I'd like you to know all of me."

The words are soft, tender, and you can probably hear his heart fluttering. And, all at the same time, the implication of them is making more than his heart flutter. 

"You're sure?" His body presses against yours even more, pushing your back further into the wall behind you. 

"Please," you nod breathily, and that's all he needs. "I want you."

His hips grind against you, head swirling at the feeling as your arms wrap around his neck for stability. "I don't have-" he manages to choke out. 

"It's fine, I'm on the pill. Just - just fuck me, please?"

His head buries into your shoulder, body twitching at your words. Pushing inside of you, the pleasure is immediate. Your hips are moving back onto him as far as you can against the wall, and his hands are firmly clenched around the flesh of your ass, holding you up in an iron grip. And you sound so good, and - more than that, you feel so good, so unbelievably good, that he's gasping out your name between thrusts.

Nonsensical words are babbling out of your mouth too; hot, dirty words of praise that only spur him on further. Your nails dig into his back, and then his hair, and then back again, like you can't pick which part of him you want to touch more. 

And fuck, you're so beautiful. Like a goddess in the low lighting of the room - but he's too scared to tell you that just yet. Soft and hard and warm against him, surrounding him, engulfing him. 

It's not long before he can feel you clenching around him, one hand clinging onto his shoulders and the other snaking between your legs. The muscles of his arms are burning slightly, but it feels too good to stop now. You're dragging him with you, panting moans with each pulse. You press your lips against his one more time, and it's all it takes to push you both over the edge.

After a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. His lips press against yours gently, sighing with soft pants.

"Shit," You breathe, a small giggle bubbling out of you. The sound is so sweet it knocks any remaining wind out of him. 

Wonwoo chuckles, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he holds you in place.

Your smile is warm and teasing, and you press your lips to his for a second longer. "If I had the camera, I'd capture that look forever."

[portgasdwrld]

📂 Op men + them being jealous

part 1

Featuring: Monster trio (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro)

Warning: fluffy fluff, ended up being the monster trio being subtly jealous lol Ik I was going to make it suggestive but I like it better that way, might change it for the others

Note : After 200 weeks, 1500 minutes and 25 years, I’m finally posting this serie after thousands of drafts 👩🏻‍💻 y’all don’t know how many times I wrote and erased stuff 😭

Luffy

The crew just landed on a new island, it was a huge forest, not a person in sight. You weren’t particularly a big fan of walking around in an unknown deserted place, especially in the New World where you never knew on what or who you could fall.

On the other side, Luffy was absolutely fearless and enjoyed the thrill of exploring the unknown and seeing unusual creatures; Sailing was all about that for him. An adventure wasn’t an adventure if he didn’t feel that rush of adrenaline faced to a strange situation. He had insisted you come with the exploring team while you pleaded to stay behind with Robin and Usopp.

But here you were walking glued to Sanji as your boyfriend lead the way somewhere in this lost territory filled with trees and the noises of wild animals. He was screaming in excitement when he came across weird insects or odd looking vegetables. You sighed heavily as the anxiety was still heavily present in your system.

The cook adjusted his pace to match yours sensing your uneasiness about the situation. He knew you only came for Luffy, so he made sure to help you feel more comfortable in his own way.

Luffy ran forward as he noticed a beautiful blue flower tinted with yellow strokes that looked like gentle waves. He took it and searched for you with his eyes.

-This would look so pretty on your hair!

He exclaimed as he walked over to you and Sanji while waving the flower in his tan hand. You smiled as you thought it was adorable, but Luffy’s eyes quickly glared at your arms wrapped around Sanjis. He didn’t say anything and simply fixed the flower behind your ear, complimenting you with loving eyes and his cute grin.

-You look perfect!

He announced as he put his arm around your neck, naturally removing you from Sanji. A giggle left your lips as you melt into his familiar warmth. His eyes looked down at you with so much love and care, he wouldn’t want nothing to happen to you. Sanji laughed as he noticed Luffy successful attempt to get you away from him.

Your boyfriend closed the distance between his face and yours. With slightly furrowed eyebrows and serious eyes, he wondered if you were fine.

-Yeah, I just feel uneasy about walking here if I’m being truly honest. I’m not a fearless warrior like you, let’s say~

You explained calmly as you stared back into his big brown eyes. His expression softened up and he moved his arm to be able to grab your hand instead.

-Alright, then stay close to me only. I’m the strongest, so I will protect you no matter what! I promise!

-You’re sweet, thank you Luffy.

He gave a squeeze to your hand as you two followed the group through the millions of trees. Luffy smiled to himself, knowing you were relying on him to protect you now~

Zoro

It was all going well, a great night where Zoro was simply enjoying his time drinking with the others. It was all going great until he noticed a man that kept staring at you. You didn’t notice as you were busy goofing around with Usopp, enjoying a fun conversation.

Zoro felt this feeling of frustration grow in him the more he glared at the person shamelessly eyeing you like he clearly couldn’t see you were taken. That’s when it snapped for him: maybe they couldn’t tell? And that angered him even more. How can this person stare at you like a candy while he was sitting just next to you.

The swordsman pulled you closer to him, making sure his arm around your waist is noticeable. He smirked relieved when he saw the man look away with an annoyed huff. He took a sip from his beer as his smile got bigger. Zoro took that opportunity to slip a quick peck on your jawline.

You stared at him weirdly, wondering what have gotten into him.

-Wassup with you?

-I cant kiss you or what?

-Yeah, but you don’t usually do that.

-You always complain

He whined as he rolled his eye, but still he was glad that no one was hungrily looking your way anymore. You were his and he would make the possible to make it known. Even if it needed him to be outside of his comfort zone, he was going to make sure you were safe from lingering unwanted eyes (maybe to also make himself feel better)

You gave him a funny look, confused about his unusual bright expression. You pecked his lips not giving too much thoughts about it, before going back to your conversation with Usopp. You leant your body on your boyfriends that surprisingly responded to it by holding your waist tighter and rubbing his thumb against your tummy.

-You’re really acting strange, but I ain’t complaining

You said under your breath so only he could hear. He chuckled as he drank some more. You looked over your shoulder with a smile.

-Great, because you’re not leaving my side tonight.

Sanji

Hand in hand, you two walked through the village in the middle of all the varieties of shops surrounding y’all. You wanted to buy a necklace so you were hopeful to find something of your taste and Sanji was more than willing to help you.

He had already made his grocery shopping with you yesterday and organized everything late in the evening, so it was his rest day. He wanted to enjoy the sunny weather with his awesome lover on this pretty day.

It all started when the seller was proposing you multiple options at the table and he invited you to come in the store for something more refined for a beautiful person like you. Sanji didn't care, because of course you are beautiful, so it was only natural that other people would notice. He nodded excited to see what other options the man had that could fit you even better.

Sanji cocked an eyebrow when the seller pushed your hair behind your shoulders and got close to your face as he commented about you smelling good. You laughed as you thanked him, mentioning how your boyfriend bought the scent for you as you pointed at the cook. He put a gorgeous silver piece around your neck and handed you a mirror.

-What do we think?

He asked with a content expression, you stared at the mirror with a floating smile as you nodded, approving the jewelry.

-It's so gorgeous! Oh! What about this one?

You asked as your eyes flew to a more elegant necklace. You walked away from Sanji quickly as you engaged in a great conversation with the seller about the jewelries and some specific information, that your lover was honestly unfamiliar with. Sanji felt like you kind of forgot about him and started to wander around the store on his own as he kept an eye on you, still.

"...should I get into jewelries.."

It was those type of thoughts that occupied his mind as he sulked in his corner. Though, Sanji is a gentleman and he loved more than anything to see you happy and passionate, so he put his jealousy aside to let you enjoy your moment. So, he put his ego aside and started to think about which one would look hotter on you-

-Chérie, have you find something you liked?

He asked you as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into him. You hummed as you looked at the other man and you both nodded, agreeing on something the cook had no clue about.

-I'm going to take this one, what do you think babe?

Sanji kissed your cheeks and whispered in your ears with a smirk.

-They all look beautiful to me, because you are stunning. I don't think I will be of a great help, my love.

You smiled to yourself, because Sanji likes whatever you wear or not. On his end, he just wanted to leave already and pamper you with kisses & hickeys all over your neck to celebrate your new necklace and maybe to let people know you were his..

[mishy-mashy]

screaming crying obsessing and running mental marathons for the tags cannot contain me OP

and here we are, destined to suffer the same fate; to never stay together, to never last forever

[cyberrose2001]

Heyo! Can I request some stress sex with Op, fem reader and Ratchet? The two work so hard and maybe some.joking around when mentioning the readers name, the two stressed bots snap, and reader ends up railed into?

TFP Optimus x human!Reader x Ratchet

Hayy thank you for requesting! I've kind of just jumped right into the good stuff since I wasn't entirely sure what you implied with the joking around. Either way, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: AFAB Reader, Established relationship, Poly, Implied Mass-Displaced, Cum Dumping + Cum Shots, Masturbation, Fingering, Spit, Slight Oral

Word count: 2,186

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

"C'mere, you." Ratchet catches your chin with a servo, bringing your lips closer to capture them in a long-anticipated kiss. His other servo holds your lower back, inching closer down to cup your ass.

Moaning into the kiss, you wrap your arms around his neck. Hard steel meets soft fingertips as you play amongst the seams. The medic groans with you as he presses his glossa against your teeth, a gentle command exuding confidence that makes your knees weak.

A new set of metallic lips meets your body. It's a welcomed one, inviting your other lover in by tilting your neck just enough. The Prime licks and sucks at your already bruised skin, reminiscing of all the previous bouts of love poured over you. His servos find the side of your ribcage, running the tips over and between where they lie under your shirt.

"We missed you today," Optimus says breathlessly against your ear, nipping at your lobes, "I apologise for our busy schedule."

Parting your lips from Ratchet, who responds with a groan and a small flick at your lips with his glossa, you turn your attention to the mech behind you, "I don't care," You lift your hand to caress his face, "Just fuck me."

"With pleasure," Ratchet mumbles into your neck, having seized the opportunity to nuzzle himself against you. He dips his servos down to tug at the hem of your shirt.

"Here- let me." Optimus strips the fabric over your head, dumping it on the ground. Ratchet is next, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. With hands as dexterous as his, he quickly does so and lets it fall from your shoulders.

Optimus groans at the sight, snaking his servos in front to cup at your breasts. They fit against his palms perfectly, as if you were made for him. He kneads them together, squishing and squeezing them. It causes a soft moan from you, and you lean your chest into his touch. His metal is cold to touch and sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm takin' these off." Ratchet focuses his attention on your pants and dips his digits underneath. He grips your underwear, too, and pulls them down to your ankles to let you step out of them. As soon as he does, Ratchet's dermas are attached to your skin, and he kisses his way upwards. No stone unturned; not one inch of your flesh is spared from his opened-mouth kisses, worshipping your flesh like it's the last time he'll ever get a taste.

You can feel Optimus' impatience poking at your lower back, surely pent up from the stresses of leadership. You can feel your own arousal start to build at the thought of his impatience plunging into you. Rubbing your thighs together to ease some pressure, it catches the attention of both hungry mechs.

"Come on, Optimus," Ratchet grips onto your hips, standing up to full height, which seems to be miles above your head, "Let's get 'em on the berth; I'm far too impatient for mere foreplay."

Optimus agrees entirely, wrapping his arms around your midsection and effortlessly picking you up. He steps back until the back of his knees hits the berth, hauling you up against him. With a small surprised shriek from you, he flops back to lay fully onto the berth, your back lying against his chassis. Your other lover closely follows, climbing up to plant himself between both yours and Optimus' thighs firmly.

"Who's spiking first?" Ratchet asks, placing both servos onto your spread thighs. His optics hold the weight of cement, and he cannot look anywhere but your exposed folds.

"I will allow you first, old friend," Optimus presses his face against the side of yours, "I am sure our little love does not mind either way, hm?"

You nod, a desperate whine dragged from your throat when Optimus snakes his servo around to circle at your clit, "Yes, yes, I don't care, just- just please fuck me."

"I love it when you beg like that," It takes no more convincing from Ratchet to unsheath his spike. It's much smaller than Optimus but large and thick enough to keep you begging for more. He brings a servo to his mouth and spits on it before working his oral lubricants over his spike. Once satisfied, he leans down to kiss the inside of your thigh before letting his lubricants well up in his mouth and spits on your pussy. Optimus chuckles lowly at your reaction, allowing the warm spit to lubricate his digits to spread it all around your folds.

Once he feels sufficiently hard enough, Ratchet presses the tip against the threshold. He's too eager and can hardly wait a moment longer, "Oh, Primus-" He pushes further, slowly working half of his shaft inside.

He's barely seated inside you, and you're already trembling, resisting the urge to cry out. Optimus holds you steady, whispering soft praises and encouragement through it all.

"So well," Optimus watches with hazed optics as Ratchet sinks fully inside you, his digits continuing to work on your bud, "You take Ratchet exceedingly well."

Ratchet lets out a rough grunt, "Though a rather tight fit, might I add-" He leans his body over, making a sexually charged sandwich out of you, "But you feel like fragging silk." He shivers above you, and you've got no choice but to stare into his optics as he withdraws his length and thrusts hard back into you.

"Oh my god-" Your speech falters, and you arch your back against Optimus. Though not as fast-paced as the Prime, the medics feel longer and more powerful each time and ring your vocal cords like a bell.

"That's it-" Ratchet buries his helm into your neck, his work of breathing increasing with every plunge into your plush pussy, "Take it- take all of it."

Optimus chimes in, his voice strained with anticipation and longing, "They certainly are-" The driving force of Ratchet causes your back to grind and rub against his spike. He breathlessly nips at your ear lobe, "Tell him how he makes you feel, sweetspark."

"S-So good-" You moan, stringing together whatever words you can claw at, "Feels so good- nghn-"

"Yeah?" Ratchet grunts as he increases his speed. His grip on your waist tightens with every thrust, all indications point to his overload inching closer and closer, "Gahh- Frag, say my name-"

A filthy rendition of his name falls from your lips, slurred and full of lust for the mech. His thick spike is grinding and pressing against every sweet spot known to humankind. Your hands find his shoulder plating, gripping on for dear life as your own orgasm breaches the horizon. Optimus holds you steady and keeps you from squirming, letting Ratchet indulge in your flesh freely.

"Oh, you sweet thing-" The medic sits upright, pistoning his hips while hungry optics gaze down on your wobbling flesh, "So fraggin' gorgeous."

It takes only a few more pumps of his spike before you call out each other's names. Ratchet presses his pulsing spike as far as he physically can inside you, his frame shaking as he pumps full to the brim. Your body tenses, and your hands shuffle to find Optimus' servos, gripping them as you cross the threshold. The Prime responds by comforting you, intertwining his digits with yours, and murmuring praises against your ear.

"Primus, just when I- guhh-" Ratchet pants, squeezing his optics shut as you clench around him, "Just when I thought you couldn't get tighter." He taps a digit on your other lover's thigh, "Your turn. Ready?"

"Whenever you are satisfied," Optimus says. He snakes his servo to your front once again to prepare for Ratchet to pull out. With a strained groan, he does, and as soon as his spike unsheathes itself from you, Optimus shoves a digit inside to plug you up, preventing the flood of transfluids from escaping you.

"Here, let me help." Ratchet slips Optimus' spike out from under you. He presses the tip against your entrance alongside Optimus' digits, quickly slipping it past your folds, "There you go."

The Prime underneath you groans, vibrating your entire body. He grips your hips with restraint but with enough force to push you down his whole length, helped out by the slick of your pussy and Ratchets' transfluids. The sheer girth has you keening as your walls stretch and clamp down onto it. Ratchets' dermas are automatically on yours to capture your moans and cries.

"Primus-" Optimus lifts you higher onto his hips for a slight adjustment before he begins to move within you. The warmth of your pussy mixed with the hot transfluids has him clenching his optics shut and burying his face against the side of your neck, "You feel wonderful."

"They sure do, don't they?" Ratchet kisses your tear-stained cheek after your soft lips, "You're perfect."

Your ability to speak leaves you when Optimus gives you a particularly harsh thrust, and you cry out his name. Shaky hands find the ones holding onto your hips as you, once again, hold on for dear life as you're fucked for the second time tonight.

Ratchet sits up again, his lust-filled optics trained on the way your pussy stretches around the thick spike, how your face twists in pleasure, and how the drool inches down your chin. You're a complete and utterly fucked mess, and the sight of it all has his spike standing tall and erect once more. He bites his lower derma as he takes his aching spike in his fist and pumps himself, moaning with you and Optimus.

The Prime glances up from your neck, noticing his friend masturbating to you being fucked, "Not- aghh- finished yet, are you, old friend?"

"Never-" Ratchets' hips stutter, gritting his dentae as he squeezes himself from base to tip, "Never finished."

Optimus growls lowly into your ear, "Then we better give him a worthy performance-" He then wraps his arms tightly around your chest, causing you to forget how to breathe for a moment before he fucks up into you so hard you nearly black out. You no longer have control as he pinned your arms against you. He's unrelenting, rutting into you hard enough that the remnants of Ratchets transfluids spurt and dribble out of you. And the said mech groans in approval, jerking his cock faster and faster.

"C'mon, sweetspark," Ratchet edges closer to another overload, shuffling forward so his spike is within inches of your stretched-out hole, "Overload again- nghh- for us-"

"I- fuckfuckfuck-" You whimper out, unable to squirm or even move in Optimus' embrace. Your body starts to convulse, and your head falls back against the mech's neck as your whimpers bloom into sheer, unrestrained, and sinful cries, cumming around Optimus' cock.

"Primus, yes-" The Prime groans, his vocaliser strained. He pushes you down as far as you can take, dumping his load deep within your little organic valve. His own frame begins to tremble, jolting with every squeeze you give him. Your jaw goes slack, feeling every crevice within you filling up with with sticky transfluids. It causes a bulge in your stomach, a wonderous testament to how pliable your little human body is.

Ratchet is close by, desperately pumping his spike. His other servo finds your bulging stomach, caressing and pressing against it, "Frag yes, t-take it..." He moans wantonly, his second overload walloping him. Thick ropes of hot transfluid shoot out onto your stretched pussy, coating your outer lips and clit; some miss and shoot out onto your stomach. It causes another moan to leave your lips, the heat against your sensitive folds sending a tingling sensation up your spine.

He finishes himself off, squeezing every last drop from his tip before he sits on his heels, spikes brushing limply against your inner thigh. Optimus, once barely recovered from his overload, takes a moment to peer over your shoulder to gaze lovingly at the utter mess between your legs. A mess that they caused.

"Goodness," Optimus chuckles lowly, releasing his grip from your torso, "Look at the state you are in."

Your entire groin and everything in between is soaking in their sticky transfluids. It drips down your folds and along the shaft, still buried deep within you. It's a lewd sight, for sure, worthy enough for both of the bots to snap a picture and save it to their internal hard drives.

Ratchet breathlessly laughs with him, caressing your inner thighs soothingly, "Quite the mess, if I say so myself."

"It was..." You pant tiredly, your pussy still clenching around Optimus' dully throbbing spike. Your heart races, but you feel utterly relaxed against his frame as you soak in the afterglow, "Well worth the wait."

Optimus gives you an exhausted smile, kissing the side of your reddened and bruised neck, "I share the same sentiment."

"Speaking of, I hope we all share the same sentiment regarding getting you cleaned up," Ratchet shuffles back and leans down to bury his face between your thighs, licking a stripe up your drenched clit, "I'm peckish for dessert."

[tldrthor]

The Princess (and the chaos she brings with her) - steve rogers x fem!reader (1/?)

Summary: when Thor asked the avengers to guard a dear friend of his, they didn't think twice before saying yes. What they didn't know was that said friend is the princess of one of the nine realms, and a lost love of one Captain Rogers.

Part 1 // I thought you were dead // word count: 3.5k

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"(y/n), you have to eject, right now!" Steve screamed over the torrents of wind whistling through the ship. Schmidt was dead, gone. So was the tesseract. But it wasn't over yet. "I have to put her in the water!"

The girl behind him widened her eyes, battling against the elements to reach him. "There's no world in which I let you do that, Captain!"

"I'm not asking for permission!"

"Well then, I guess we go down together!" She painstakingly made her way to him, every step a feat of strength. Her previously neatly pinned curls no longer even resembled what they once were as her hair whipped around her face.

As Steve turned to face her, she somehow still looked angelic. He felt that right now, she was more heavenly than ever. He couldn't let her die with him.

"Buckle in." He commanded, as they began their quick descent. He looked at her, the first woman who had ever made him feel seen, the only person he had ever met who was as crazy as he was.

As the ice flew closer, he turned and placed a hand tenderly on her face. Tears welled in his eyes as his mind wandered to the future they could've had. God, they could have been amazing.

"I'm sorry, (y/n)." He whispered. She could only just hear it, even though they were right next to each other.

He pulled the yellow ejection lever on the seat she had just buckled herself into, watching as her eyes widened. "No! Steve, no!" She lifted her hands to stop him, to jam the lever, anything to stay with him. She wasn't quick enough.

Steve closed his eyes as her seat was ejected, hearing her scream his name. There was no world where he allowed her to go down with him, and he trusted that wherever she ended up, Stark and Peggy would find her. He hoped they would be able to find him, too.

He hadn't prayed in a long time, but as he went down, he bargained with God for her safety.

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"It is my honour to introduce the new and improved Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit, in honour of the 100th birthday of Captain Steven Grant Rogers." The crowd clapped as the senator stepped off the podium, motioning for Steve to take the mic. Bucky and Sam laughed at how uncomfortable the Captain was as he stood thanking everyone for an exhibit he never wanted. All part of the job, he supposed.

After the handshakes, and the photo ops, and the autographs and the meet and greets, the boys finally got relative peace to wander around the new exhibition.

"I can't believe you used to wear these stupid suits." Sam laughed, standing in front of the main exhibit. Bucky sighed, budging Sam's shoulder. "Says the asshole who wears a bird suit to fight." He retorts.

Steve laughed at his friends antics, but walked away when he noticed an addition to the exhibit he hadn't seen before. He stared, wide eyed at the name in front of him.

(Y/N): THE MISSING HERO?

Steve found himself drinking in every inch of the gorgeous photo underneath the text, her bright smile and barely visible freckles. The lighting highlighted the different hues in her immaculately pinned hair. She looked just like an angel, as she always did in real life.

Steve looked down, forlorn eyes investigating very few artefacts in the glass exhibit. Her folded uniform, found in her room after the plane went down. The blush lipstick you wore every day. Finally, an object that Steve didn't recognise. A golden ring, encrusted in unidentified jewels and a family crest no one knew. He frowned.

He had known her only a short few months, but he regretted never asking about her family. And now, it would haunt him that he never did until his last breath.

"They never found her, huh?" Bucky placed his covered hand on Steve's shoulder, a sadness tinged in his voice. He had only met (y/n) briefly, but he knew even then that Steve's heart rested in the palm of that woman's hand.

He had asked about her, once, but the look on Steve's face when her name was mentioned told him everything he needed to know.

"No. Howard searched for years, found nothing. Turned out that she had lied on her intake forms for the SSR, too. We don't even know if (y/n) was really her name." He took a beat. "We have no idea if she survived or not."

Steve didn't have to make the subtext clear, Bucky knew he worried that he had killed her by ejecting her from that plane. Bucky also knew there was no sense in trying to tell him she would have died either way, that the ice would've killed her.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, after another few moments of silence.

Steve nodded, looking at the photo. "I'm glad she's remembered. I just wish I didn't have so many unanswered questions."

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"So," Tony started. "Thor is arriving with the guest of honour later today, who we have agreed to protect here for the meantime. We don't have a lot of background for this one. The dark elves are the ones we're protecting her against, but Thor said threat could come from many areas. Do we have any questions?"

The team looked nothing short of bored. Well, most of them. Cap always had the good grace to sit up and look interested. Scott was straight up asleep.

"Is she important? How long will she be staying with us?" Steve asked.

"No idea, and uh, no idea. Anything else?"

"Is she single?" Sam asked, earning a laugh from some of the others. Steve shook his head disapprovingly, but smiled at his friend's levity.

As Steve stood up to go back to training, FRIDAY sounded around the room. "Excuse me everyone, my satellites have detected a bifrost signal heading for the compound imminently."

"Speak of the devil!" Tony clapped his hands as everyone headed out to the bifrost landing site (something that had been instituted after Tony's lawn got scorched one too many times).

Bucky smacked Scott upside the head to wake him up with a jolt. "Oh, where are you guys going?" He called behind them, jogging to catch up. Steve waited behind from him, laughing at his groggy friend.

A bright light connected with the grass just beside the landing site. Tony's hands covered his eyes as he mouthed are you fucking kidding me. When the light cleared, Thor stood tall in his usual armour.

"My friends!" His voice boomed, "I present to you, my fellow avengers, the honourable princess of Alfheim, jewel of the Alfar and ambassador to Asgard." Thor's voice boomed through the halls of the compound. "This is my friend, (y/n)."

Beside Thor stood a girl. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a heavenly stature. She looked like she could have been carved from marble by the hands of God himself.

A light Asgardian pink dress was covered by a golden chest-plate which fit her body like it had been moulded just for her. It was covered in intricate etchings of suns and stars, which caught the light and shone brilliantly. She wore golden jewellery, which was nothing like the avengers had ever seen. Golden ear cuffs covered her pointed ears, with her long hair pulled into an up-do, emphasising the golden, bejewelled tiara on her head.

"Princess?" Sam squeaked. Wanda smacked him, with a look that screamed don't embarrass us.

Tony tilted his head in confusion at the guest, who he could almost swear he recognised from somewhere. "Thor, you did not inform us that we were looking after the ruler of a planet. We would have been more prepared."

"I am not ruler yet, Mr. Stark." The girl cast her eyes up at Tony, as she smiled sweetly. Her voice was honey smooth, and anyone who heard it felt themselves being charmed by it. "I have heard much about you all from Thor."

"Should we bow?" Bruce whispered to Tony, who shrugged his shoulders. Thankfully, (y/n) took the lead and shook each of their hands.

She looked around at each of the gathered avengers. Thor made his introductions to the rest of the group. "Where are the others?" Thor enquired.

"Here!" Steve smiled at the site of his old friend, his view of the princess obscured by the large man. Bucky and Scott tagged behind him, also happily greeting Thor.

"Captain, it is very good to see you. Please, let me introduce you to the Princess (y/n)." Thor stepped aside to introduce them, but his eyebrows knitted together in confusion when neither of them moved, almost frozen in place.

"Uh... hi." Scott side-stepped the Captain and caught the eye of their guest. "My name's Scott Lang."

The girl tore her eyes away from the captain, unsure really on what to do. But her training kicked in, knowing that being rude was one of the worst sins a princess could commit. "Hello, Mr. Lang. I am (y/n)."

"Holy shit." Bucky breathed out.

The rest of the avengers watched the rather silent exchange with confusion. It was very unlike Steve to get so tongue-tied, and he would never be so rude as to not introduce himself.

"Captain Rogers..." The girl spoke first, confusing them further. "I believed you dead." Tears had welled in her eyes, intriguing the observing crowd even more.

"I thought you were dead." He breathed. "What... what is going on?"

Bucky interjected. "Um, hi. I'm Bucky, we met briefly in '45."

She smiled softly at him, but her eyes betrayed her confusion. "Sergeant Barnes, of course! Didn't you... also die?"

"Yeah, we've all got a lot of explaining to do." Bucky laughed as the absurdity of the situation caught up to him.

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Thor's eyes darted between his friend and the captain. When Thor asked the avengers to guard her from the war on Alfheim, he knew some hijinks would ensue. This is not what he expected. He knew you had spent some time on Midgard before and when you returned you were emotionally distraught. He had simply figured the war you had fought with the Midgardians had taken it's toll.

He eyed both the Captain and you, suspiciously. You were his dear friend, but you had never talked to him about any mortal love.

"So, Princess. You've been here before." Tony enquired.

The Princess licked her lips nervously, glancing at Steve, who had barely moved a muscle, his eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, Mr. Stark. I spent some time here during the second world war. I left Midgard when Johann Schmidt was defeated, and haven't returned since."

"Tell us about your world, Princess. I've never heard of it before." Natasha, the red-head in the corner, asked the guest.

"You have heard of it before." The princess smiled, explaining. "I believe we are now known as a fantasy character here - you call us elves." She pointed to her pointed ears as each avenger clung to her words.

Thor smiled at his Midgardian friends' curiosity.

"The Alfar still live amongst you, they are simply unseen. I believe you may know Tolkien?" At the mention of the author's name, everyone's ears pricked. "He was one of my father's greatest friends and many of his book settings were inspired by Alfheim."

"What!" Scott exclaimed. "That's insane."

"Really, Ant Man?" Bucky responded, pointing out that they were all ridiculous, when you thought about it. The world was crazy now.

The princess chuckled, and rose from her seat at the conference table. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Avengers. I would quite like to rest in my chambers, if you would be so gracious to allow me."

"Um, yeah... consider yourself allowed." Tony stumbled over his words. Very unusual for him, and it did not go unnoticed by the others. "Dinner is at seven."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. Captain Rogers," She addressed the Captain, who looked up quickly. His face was pale, and he nervously twiddled his thumbs. "Would you be so kind as to show me my rooms?"

He popped up, almost comedically fast. "Yes. Yeah, sure. Um, this way." He walked out quickly, darting his eyes back to make sure the princess was following him.

She followed, gracefully. Her skirts fanned out behind her as she walked. The avengers in the room could scarcely take their eyes off her as she faded from sight.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the room devolved into chaos. People shouting theories and questions left, right and centre. Mostly, everyone was just bewildered. Bucky and Thor discussed how they had both known the couple separately, and whether each had talked about the other.

Natasha watched as Tony sat quietly on his tablet for a few seconds, searching for something she could only assume was relevant to the discussion at hand.

"Bucky, what's the deal there?" Clint asked.

He was interrupted by Tony. "Aha!" Stark called, silencing the room. "I knew I recognised her from somewhere."

He projected a photograph to the wall, and the avengers gasped.

The photograph consisted of Steve and Bucky front and centre. Bucky had his left arm wrapped lazily around Tony's dad, Howard. And Steve was looking directly at the girl next to him, holding her to him by the waist. It was the princess. The gaze he looked at her with... it was like nothing they had ever seen from him.

"They didn't just know each other, they were in love." Bucky replied to Clint's question, a hint of sadness underneath his words.

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(Y/n) followed Steve along the large corridors of the compound, her smaller legs working double time to match his long strides. They walked in silence, for the most part. It wasn't the comfortable kind.

"Captain." She spoke first, again. As she called for him, he stopped walking abruptly, turning slowly. He met her gaze and then cast his eye down.

"(y/n)... I mean, um, Princess." He responded.

"(y/n) is sufficient." She whispered, almost guiltily. "I can't believe you're alive..."

"I can't believe you're alive," He retorted. "I searched for you, when I woke up. They couldn't find any records of you other than your enlistment form, and they found you had lied. People think you're just a ghost story..."

He took a breath. "I can't believe you're here and... an alien princess?"

"I know it's hard to believe, I hope you understand why I couldn't tell you back then." She laughed. "When I found that you and Sergeant Barnes were dead, I couldn't face being here anymore... I returned to Alfheim."

As she thought back on it, a tear sprung to her eye. On seeing her reaction, Steve couldn't help himself but place a friendly hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. She briefly froze at the contact, but quickly, she moved her own hand down his arm until she was holding onto his hand with both of hers.

So much went unsaid, but the contact confirmed what they had both most desperately wanted to know. Would it be the same?

"If I had known that you and Sergeant Barnes were alive, Captain..." She admitted. "I would have returned in an instant, I give you my word."

He smiled, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. A red blush hugged her cheeks as he did so.

It was typical of him that he couldn't concentrate on the moment, "Why are you here?" He asked. "What are we protecting you from?"

She sighed. "The Svartalfar, or the dark elves. You may know them - they attacked Thor in the Midgardian city of London some years ago now." He nodded in recognition.

"They are determined to conquer Alfheim, and have set their sights on my family. They have already managed to get close to killing me."

She pushed the collar of her dress down, showing a large, angry, red scar just above her collarbone. His hands flew up to trace the scar. She gulped at the close contact, her eyes meeting his.

His expression gave away his concern, knowing that Thor had suggested she was in a lot of danger. "Don't worry, Princess. You're safe here." He smiled, softly. "We'll protect you with everything we've got."

"Thank you, Captain."

"It's just Steve." He unhooked their hands, and gave her his arm. She linked her arm in his, and he resumed wandering down the halls to her rooms. "Do you have any bags?"

"No, I fled to Asgard with nothing when I needed healing. The Asgardians were kind enough to offer many gorgeous clothes for me to bring, but I figured they were a bit conspicuous."

Steve laughed, "Yeah, they might be."

They walked for a little while longer, before Steve entered a room to the side. It was rather basic compared to what she was used to, but it would more than suffice for the meantime.

"This is your room." He stood by the door as she entered. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything. I'll get Tony to send you some less conspicuous clothes. See you at dinner."

"Thank you, Steven." He laughed at her inability to be too informal with him. He nodded at her, and turned to walk down the hall to his room.

As he entered, the photograph of her from the Smithsonian caught his eye from the nightstand. He picked it up, tracing her features with his finger - unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. Who would've thought? Not only was his girl alive, she was also alien royalty. Sometimes, just sometimes, he adored his strange, strange world.

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

"Sir," The agent walked into the dark room with purpose in her every step. "The Princess has been spotted."

The man in the chair looked up at the mention of his target. "Show me" he ordered. He watched as agent transferred the images on her tablet to the big screen, showing grainy, far away surveillance of the avengers compound.

As low quality as the image was, the woman arriving with Thor in the distinctive Alfar dress and armour was certainly the princess.

"Oh, my dear..." The man's deep voice dragged out. "You have walked right into our sights."

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

a/n: let me know what you think! if you can't tell, this is basically the set up for a longer series... i'm really excited to explore this character and get deeper into the relationships!

i've never really written in the third person POV before, so let me know if it's something you like or not, and i can switch for the next part.

please like/reblog if you enjoy! let me know if you would like to be tagged in the next part <3

[local-diavolo-anon]

i'm back!

ok so 2/3 days ago i found this youtube video where op turned Springtrap (or well, William Afton) into a fully build DnD character, and if i say so myself: things got out of hand fast

so here is my take on DnD Springtrap and specifically on that build (adding more infos under the cut for who is interested, i suggest to watch the video first)

starting with saying that unless you're playing in a scifi setting, this build is either not for you or to be modified, since in later levels spells are heavily centered around technomagic and electronic devices; personally when i will play him i will probably tinker around with the chosen spells and cantrips to make him less violently niche and/or more versatile

which kinda saddens me because it takes away not little of the characterization but, given most dnd stories take place in a medieval fantasy or high fantasy setting, a cantrip like On/Off or a spell like Remote Access are NOT particularly useful; so i will go for more psychic damage or necromancy oriented abilities, maybe i might take more than just 4 levels in artificier as well (especially given that again, all of those warlock spells at later levels are all technology oriented) but i need to see what those offer

however it is a kinda tank-y build given that with a shield on you can get up to a 27 of Ac, so even with low damage and not much hp you would not struggle too much to stay alive, and i like that!

as for the character himself, i put too much effort into my interpretation not to share it, so if anyone wants to play this guy as well, i fabricated a possible backstory that might come useful:

The character goes by the name "Dave Miller" (or whatever variant you want to use), and was originally a human artificier who created constructs for a living, mainly with the goal of offering aid to who needed it for whatever reason.

There however he ran into an issue, that being that a robot need a power source, and his own heart and lungs could not sustain a whole robot by themselves.

After losing part of his family to some kind of accident he became terrified of death, so with age he started replacing his own body parts with machinery to delay his last days (which made him a cyborg), until the point where he was very very close to become just a robot.

(This part may or may not involve a pact with a deity of death, this entirely depends on how you want to play him but it would make sense since the build is an artificier/warlock hybrid)

Through particular and very much not illegal experiments tied to necromancy he discovered that the life force of a living being could be shared, and used as a form of fuel. (possibly: age lived of the creature used= amount of extra months you get)

Here comes the second problem: this only worked with intelligent creatures, and more specifically, it worked best with creatures of your own race, which meant that he either went around murdering people or he found another solution. Non same-race creatures worked as well but not as good and there were not easy to find in the middle of a city and with a shop tied to your name.

And here is where and WHY he'd join a party of adventurers: after some time, his reserves or fuel were running VERY thin, and running into a group of adventurers was a god sent because by joining their party he essentially got a free pass to kill whoever he wanted, and reduce them to a dried raisin after sucking some life force out of them. Doing so you learn that the mowe powerful the creature is, the more energy it produces as well.

Your goal, that you as the player are following, when role-ing your character? essentially slay whatever powerful BBEG your Dm throws at you and suck all of that juicy fuel out of them, so that you can return to your little shop in the middle of the capital and return to create and sell whatever weird construct, doll, or robot comes to your mind for another few decades undisturbed.

And this is it. I think this might be a good backstory that could fit pretty much any setting you want to play this guy into, be it classic dnd or some scifi futuristic thing.

of course you don't NEED to use this one line per line, make up your own without looking back if you don't like it lol, dnd is the "make up shit and have fun" game after all!

Edit: also no his outfit makes no sense, i just went with vibes and decided a tanktop dress shirt, a twin tailed gilet and suspenders OVER said gilet was a good choice.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

one way; cbg

part i | part ii | part iii

🖊️⇝ pairing; afab!reader x beomgyu

🖊️⇝ word count; 17.3k

🖊️⇝ genre; enemies 2 lovers, smut, & angst

🖊️⇝synopsis; things have gotten much more complicated in a relationship that spawned from simplicity

🖊️⇝ warnings; thoughts of suicide and murder, brief descriptions of gore, PIV, balls in mouth, lots of kissing, not super smut heavy, manipulation, betrayal, descriptions of depression, assault (the usual), passionate sex, the l bomb

📜⇝ aw man, this is very BITTERsweet. Idk how I feel about this. Ask me in a week and I'll either love or hate it. I didn't go into part one expecting to flesh out their relationship, so please forgive me if this long awaited finale doesn't reach your expectations. I am happy to finally say it's finished though!!

You didn’t remind Beomgyu of anyone. Maybe before you started having sex, that’s why he was so sure. He felt like he was experiencing deja vu from how similar you were to those groupies. Just awkward, quirky, and harmless. You’re only here to do your job and just happened to become friends with this celebrity. The romantic feelings that developed, oh those are to be expected. Of course you fell in love! But if another handsome, famous fella came around and was willing… that love is suddenly conditional.

But then you were letting Beomgyu bite your lip and rip your clothes off, you were shoving your tongue down his throat and letting him fuck you in every conceivable position. While still remaining kind and loyal to Soobin.

You were even open about the things Beomgyu did to you. You didn’t care how it made you look or if it would scare the others off. You didn’t present it as this passionate sexy moment, but the clumsy and somewhat comical situation it was. You were comfortable with them. Letting them see the real you even if it wasn’t exactly attractive. Maybe Beomgyu was wrong about you.

Then he’d catch these glimpses. Moments where he really saw Hyesoo in you. Everyone would be laughing and then suddenly you’d bring up a recent accomplishment of Soobin’s. It seemed weird to shift mid-conversation to boost him up. But when Beomgyu looked around, no one else saw anything wrong with it. He was hyper analyzing you and he was trying to stop. It was hard not to think about Hyesoo period, but with a new woman cozied up in their dorm it was even harder.

When you’d hit Soobin’s arm while laughing, buy only him snacks and drinks, laugh at his jokes harder than anyone else, fall asleep with your head on his shoulder. No matter how much he tried to stop himself, he couldn’t stop thinking you were buttering him up. Locking him in.

Here he was, staying up until 5 am dwelling on every thought that enters his brain. He lays stagnant in your bed, staring at the ceiling but really at nothing at all. His head flops to the side and he catches a glimpse of your peaceful expression. His eyes track down to your arms curled around his bicep. He looks back up at the ceiling with a lengthy sigh. 

He needs to leave.

It started with him staying a little longer to eat up the food in your fridge. You staying to chat with some of the guys. Him staying to help clean up the vase that fell and shattered during your ministrations. You staying to clean yourself off and mentioning that maybe he should bring by a few spare items of clothing in case he wants to shower at your place. Now both of you have clothes at the other’s house and he’s spending the night.

He could dwell on everything he should or shouldn’t be doing right now or he could stop fighting how the warmth of your presence is lulling him to sleep.

–🖊️⇝

Beomgyu wakes up in the absence of your warmth. If his memory serves him correctly, you’re off to practice by now. He can’t help feeling pathetic as everyone rushes off to their duties while he lounges around. He only has one month left of his suspension before he’s back on the grind. He wants to just enjoy it, but the loneliness of it all after years of constantly being surrounded by hoards of people was undeniably crushing. The people he does see are usually rushing around before leaving him in an empty house.

He slumps out of your room and is hit with the scent of freshly made toast. He spots you in the kitchen, rushing around with a piece of toast dangling from your teeth. Upon seeing Beomgyu your eyes widen, brows raising as you prompt him.

“D’you like butter on your toast? Actually, don’t say anything, I’m doing it.” Your speech is muffled until you take a bite and set the piece down. When Beomgyu finally reaches the kitchen he sees you sloppily slathering butter onto two extra pieces of toast. You place them on a small plate before pushing it toward him. You quickly steal another bite of your toast before scowling at him. “You better not leave a mess for me to clean up.”

Once you finish chewing you’re still maintaining eye contact with Beomgyu. He stares intently, and you wonder if he’s still groggy from just waking up. Then his eyes break away to the state of your hair. He gives another second of thought before sweeping the unruly strands into place.

“You’re going outside, where people will see you.” He tsks.

“Said people should mind their business.” You punctuate by tearing off a chunk of your toast, maintaining eye contact pointedly. You throw the matching jacket to your sweatpants over your shoulder. “Lock my door before you leave!”

As the door shuts, the sound echoing through the now empty apartment, Beomgyu feels hyper aware of how much empty space surrounds him where he stands. The loneliness looms over him, a reminder no matter where he goes. He may joke around, but Beomgyu tries not to whine about his problems. It feels especially inappropriate since you were in this same situation, bound to this apartment with a suddenly empty schedule. But for you, you weren’t sure if you were getting fired or worse, getting stuck in the dungeon for years with no end in sight. 

He thinks about that the entire time he stays within your walls. Where you stood, sat, and lied in limbo. From the couch, he glances over at the spot he found you lying in the day after you wrecked your house. A dark, malicious feeling crawls up his spine and he squirms. Staying in your house was already confusing for him, but with this feeling of what… guilt? He had nothing to feel guilty over. He was protecting his members.

Either way, it was overwhelming. He leaves your home, locking it on the way out. His dorm had his things. He can play video games all day until his eyes dry out. It was undeniably unfulfilling, despite it being what he craved since his trainee years. It felt as empty as his home.

He intentionally has his headphones only over one ear so he can hear when the door clicks open. It’s too quiet to be more than one member. Whatever, he’ll take what he can get. He leaves the game lobby, throwing his headphones off and rushing out of his room. When his eyes are met with blonde hair he stops in his tracks. Soobin silently regards him, not sparing him an ounce of emotion as he makes his way to the fridge. He grabs a soda, pops it open, and throws it back. Beomgyu waits patiently, he needs the interaction and Soobin has to give up this silent treatment at some point.

Soobin empties the can and tosses it, a silent conflict bleeding through his indifference to Beomgyu’s presence. Both men stand in silence, Beomgyu surveying each twitch in Soobin’s expression.

Soobin grits his teeth, hoping if he squeezes hard enough this aggravating feeling flaring up will pass. “You know what really pisses me off?” He snaps once he fails.

The relief he expected doesn’t come. There’s a pang of anxiety creeping up his spine in its place. “That I’m mean to your friend-”

“That I have a feeling this is all about that situation you refuse to talk about.” Soobin immediately shoots down his quip, sparing none of his valuable time for Beomgyu’s antics. Soobin finds that new trials and tribulations rear their ugly head just when he thought he’d gotten used to them. Recently Beomgyu has been one huge trial. He hasn’t been a good leader when dealing with this but Beomgyu is also his friend and roommate. Is he not allowed to just be upset by the actions of someone so close to him? Physically and emotionally?

When he looks over at Beomgyu it’s clear from the look on his face that he’s still not going to engage. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Letting out a lengthy sigh, he decides it’s time to abandon his personal grievances for now.

“You slept over at her house?”

Finally, it felt like someone was clamping their hands around his throat. “What, are you jealous or something?” He melts back into his usual self.

“I’m your leader.” Why does he even remind him anymore? It’s becoming increasingly apparent that the title means nothing to him.

“Yeah, you love reminding me of that fact when it’s convenient but it doesn’t apply here.” Getting his fill of interaction, he leaves the kitchen in favor of the living room. “It’s none of your business.”

“It became my business when you got in trouble. You’re on suspension, Beomgyu.” Yet again reminding him of something he clearly doesn’t care about. At least, he thinks he doesn’t until Beomgyu stops. His back is turned toward Soobin but he can still tell that it got to him.

Beomgyu no longer feels isolated but he does feel trapped again. Like the exits are too far away for him to escape and he’s forced to face this. “I don’t blame you for not speaking to the therapist they provide us with the risk of your confessions being reported, but if you tell me what’s going on we can figure this out. I’m also your friend, Beomgyu. You can talk to me.” He says softly, jumping at the chance of an opening.

This is the same guy he would laugh with until it physically hurt but he still couldn’t stop. The one who’d sneak him extra food as trainees. He’s a lovable dork who has proved on so very many occasions that he cares about each and every one of his members. Beomgyu can see it, he can feel it whipping around in the air. Soobin is right and he’s being stubborn again. It’s like the walls are closing in and pushing him closer to Soobin’s hurt but hopeful eyes. Beomgyu shuts his own.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Before Beomgyu can see the full transition of his expression he whips around, making his way to his room.

“Really? You’re still gonna pretend nothing is wrong?!” Soobin’s increase in volume is ignored as Beomgyu slams the door behind him.

–🖊️⇝

Tomorrow is Beomgyu’s last day in suspension. Yeonjun proposed they throw a party, just another excuse for Yeonjun to party. He invites anyone whose schedule is free which turns out to be a surprising amount of people. Friendly Yeonjun knows pretty much everyone in this generation and some from previous ones. This once empty building waiting to be bought was filled wall to wall with idols, models, and actors. 

Everyone notable in Beomgyu’s life saw the suspension as a no-touch subject that dampened the mood, except for you of course, the delightful person you are. Here? People are coming up to him with a tone that can only be described as vengeful.

“HYBE seems like such tight asses. You guys should ditch that place and come sign with KQ.” Hongjoong delivers a solid pat to Beomgyu’s back as he guides him to the stacked liquor table. “Let’s forget about all of that tonight.” Hongjoong messily pours two shots, either from having too many already or from sheer excitement to let loose. He hands Beomgyu one before raising his into the air. “To freedom!”

It’s almost surreal. The music feels like it swells as reality starts to dawn on him. His containment is soon to be over and he is completely surrounded by people. Things were finally gonna start looking up again.

“To freedom!” 

They both knock back their shots and submerge themselves back into the crowd of people with refreshed energy. His first instinct was to find you for some celebratory cum dumping, maybe fuck you into the wall of one of these fancy port-o-potties.

“Hey.” 

The voice leads Beomgyu’s eyes to a pair of sultry eyes and plump lips curved into a flirty smile. She was a perfect ten with a rack sitting pretty, the round, soft spheres of her cleavage taunting his already horny brain. Jisun was always a nice piece of eye candy. “Catch up to me,” She gestures to the shot in her hand, “and then let’s play.”

–🖊️⇝

Beomgyu is strange. He clearly still holds some resentment toward you, or at least skepticism, but he’s still around a lot. And you are too, which feels like poking the tiger. If he suddenly decides he still hates you he can rat you out with proof this time. You did blackmail the man. But this is just easier. Being strict and clear about your relationship was exhausting. Sometimes you don’t want to journey right back home after getting your back blown out.

All it would take was one joke from Beomgyu about you being clingy and you would’ve snapped back to the strict rules. Then he spent the night over your house and you felt a little at ease.

That meant you could finally have a sleepover at their dorm, staying up all night with Soobin watching scary movies and then being too scared to sleep. It also didn’t hurt having something warm to snuggle up to. The strangest part? Beomgyu seemed to be easing up. He stopped giving you that look as much, as if he’s trying to catch you scheming.

The party was much needed, and judging by the vibe of literally everyone else around you, all the partygoers would agree. There’s this overwhelming sense of relief and it’s intoxicating. Nobody can be as relieved as Beomgyu, wherever he is. You keep an eye out for him, in case he wants to monkey around in some pocket of the building. 

“Hey!!” Soobin grabs your shoulder to stop you as he maneuvers around you. “There you are!”

“And here you are! I can’t believe you’re here and not at home watching anime!” You lean a little closer for him to hear over the music.

“I know! I decided I could try and blow off some steam since I pretty much have the day off tomorrow.”

“Pretty much?” You ask, curious if a monthly diet and exercise report was a company-wide event.

“We’re having a meeting before Beomgyu is reinstated. They said it’d be a small one but I’m still blowing off steam in advance.”

“Yikes. Let’s get some drinks in your system.” You guide him to the alcohol like a nurse escorting a frail patient.

All four of you were downing shots like your life depended on it on opposite sides of the bar. Beomgyu was caught up far before you and Soobin drank your stress away, so away he went. Jisun was whisked to whatever private area they stumbled across first. The spacious storage closet behind the first door he opened seemed like stumbling across the gates of heaven. With a swift turn, he flashes Jisun a smirk and pulls her in. 

“Have you seen Beomgyu yet?” You probe, trying to look casual and not let your genuine inquiry slip through. You’re realizing the longer you’ve gone without seeing him today that you may crave more than just a quickie. A flash of his signature smirk passes through your mind and your stomach fills with a joyous warmth. You find yourself smiling. You quickly drop the smile, peering at Soobin as he stares at the ceiling.

“Not yet. I decided not to look for him and just let him relax. This party is for him after all.” He speaks quietly and you can tell there’s a lot more going unsaid. “For all we know he might not be here.” You laugh, having to force it as this feeling you can’t– or won’t– describe dawns on you. Soobin sighs, not able to shake the conflict in his head.

“I don’t know what’s going on with this man. I don’t know how to get him to talk about it-” He stops, raising his hands as if the gesture will help him conjure his thoughts. He shuts his mouth, dropping his hands in favor of grabbing a shot and downing it. “Has he said anything to you? About anything bothering him?”

“To me? Yeah, that’s not really how our relationship works.” You shake your head, tossing your own shot back to try and dull the emotions begging to be unpacked. Is something bothering him? When is something not bothering him? Now that you think about it, you haven’t seen goofy Beomgyu with your own eyes. You’ve just heard about his harmless mischief through the grapevine. “Loveable brat” is how you overheard Chaewon describe him. You didn’t really get either descriptor at first. More like “punchable asshole”. Without the constant screaming and threatening to ruin the other’s career, you suppose you’re getting close to seeing that side of him. The night before he slept over you shared a kiss that was simple. So simple it was loaded. There was no lust behind it, just a tender gesture with no follow up. Just you waking up holding him. And him holding you. 

“Did something happen?” You ask before chewing on your nail.

“Around when we first debuted. I haven’t thought about it in years because he refuses to talk about it. I really don’t think this is just about him wanting to protect us.” Soobin shoves his shot glass away, seemingly giving up on that method since it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Boy, aren’t you glad you got stuck with these guys?” You laugh and he lets one out as well, though unintentionally. He shakes his head, straightening his face. “No, I am. I really am. I’m lucky.” He knows you’re joking, but it doesn’t settle well when he remembers how he’s been acting. Beomgyu’s supposed leader giving him the silent treatment like a child or a frustrated lover. He sighs, letting out another laugh. This time it’s dry, expressing contempt for himself.

“I’m not really in the mood for a party anymore.”

Beomgyu did not ruin your career but he did ruin the mood for both of you and he wasn’t even there. You echoed his sentiments and he convinces you to come over. It wasn’t very hard, seeing as you could both use the company. There are no other members home yet so you didn’t have to share the blanket. You had it wrapped around the both of you like a cocoon as you tortured him with a scary movie. 

“We could’ve been watching The Bad Guys and-” Soobin wails loudly right beside your ear at the world’s most poorly set up jumpscare making you jerk away from him. He clings to you but you pry him off immediately.

“Are you not ashamed? A baby could sit through this.” You deride, shoving him away again when he tries to lean into you. “You’re so mean!” He erupts after trying to grab onto you a third time.

“No, you’re just a pussy.”

Soobin stands from the couch and snatches the remote from the other side of you. He pauses the movie, ignoring your protesting. “Since when were you so comfortable with disrespecting me?” He scolds playfully, setting his hands on his hips. “Last I remember, I was still your senior.”

“Would you rather I kiss your ass like before?” You cock your head to the side with a raise of your eyebrow, speaking about your former crush for the first time to him outside of the initial awkward phase after the rooftop mishap. He finally collects himself, fighting through his shock. He sits back beside you, keeping his eyes on you as he wraps the blanket back around you.

“I like this version of you much better.” He admits quietly, eyes genuine as they gaze into yours. You breathe a small laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush now, Choi.” You reply at the same volume. The atmosphere felt a lot more volatile suddenly, it was as if you both were close to triggering something.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” His eyes leave yours, giving you a little time to breathe. “I am turned on, though.”

Your pussy clenches hard, feeling a vortex of pleasure swirl in your stomach. You suck in a breath subconsciously as your eyes become glued to how his tongue skits over his bottom lip. He must be wetting them in an attempt to maintain their softness, unlike Beomgyu who bites at them until they’re utterly ruined. Kind of like he’s doing now back at the party. He just needs some way to cope with the pulsing need overwhelming him when he needs to empty his balls. With two handfuls of Jisun’s tits, he gets a similar feeling. His teeth dig and tug at his poor bottom lip. Better it be his lip than her soft skin. He needs to remember this isn’t you he’s playing with.

Fuck, if it were you he’d sink his nails in until you yelped. Feeling his cock jump at the sound and ache at the thought of you loving the pain as much as he loves inflicting it. That delicious look in your eye exposing how much you want to absolutely ruin him in a way no one has before.

But the look you give Soobin gives Soobin pause. He raises his eyebrows before leaning back, letting his head fall back onto the couch. “You don’t still have a crush on me, do you?”

His eyes are like hot fudge drizzling over a mound of ice cream, melting every inch it touches. Still, something nags at you. You need something inside you and you need it bad… but this should be affecting you much more. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

His eyes dip lower, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. Nag nag nag. It’s just dick, you tell yourself. You just need some hard sex and this feeling will go away. You grab Soobin by his shirt and pull him on top of you. He happily engulfs you with his large body, caging you in as he devours your lips. They’re still slick with his own spit. They squish and slide against yours and your body ignites. You wrap your legs around him and push his bulge into your core. He groans and you grin against his mouth. So vocal.

Beomgyu would say the same about Jisun, except it wouldn’t be praise. It’s just noise with no rhyme or reason. She’s not reacting to the curl of his fingers inside her, her moans don't correspond with the clench of her walls, there’s no sign she’s being caught off guard by anything he’s doing. Just. Noise.

Everything about her just dissolves into meaningless blobs of nothing. His fingers sloshing inside a wet cavern, his hands squeezing doughy flesh, and his lips brushing against mindless flaps that omit noise constantly. It quickly becomes mind-numbing and he can feel himself going limp. If you were here instead, you’d gasp when he pushed his fingertips into your bundle of nerves. Not meaning to dig your fingers into his shoulders but not being able to help how your body naturally reacts. You don’t want to whimper when he sucks on that sweet spot on your neck but you just can’t help it.

He can feel himself get hard again, his fingers curling and pushing into Jisun’s heat fluidly with you vivid behind his clenched lids. Where are you? He’s suddenly pulled out of the heated moment he’s sharing as the question pops into his mind. If he searched for you, could he be inside you right now instead? Jisun’s noises pull him from his thoughts. How pathetic would it be for him to scramble out of the closet, pussy juice still on his middle and ring finger as he looks for you with his eyes wide like a puppy? First he cuddles you and spends the night at your house and then you see him like that? His eyes snap open.

He grunts, pumping his fingers with more vigor. He has a warm hole for tonight. There’s always tomorrow. That frustrating feeling of the intoxicating warmth leaving his groin as you dissipate from his mind is back and he chases it again. The image of Jisun’s exaggerated expressions flicker away behind his fluttering lids before his mind projects your face twitching to keep your bliss hidden. Pleasure so strong that even the raging flames of hatred can’t burn it away. 

A penis entering a vagina was something you were taught was reserved for the pinnacle of love. When you were old enough you were promised tender touches and emotions so deep and complex they would bring you to tears. You and Beomgyu were swept up into the limelight long before you could get a chance to naturally build up such a relationship and experience such a transcendental feeling. Instead, the two of you bastardized the act with one night stands and relationships built on flimsy foundations only to come crashing down from neglect or simply not knowing who was under your sacred roof. How could you not? There’s no time, too much stress, and too much at stake. 

So you fuck and fuck until the act becomes something so unrecognizable that you come out the other end. Letting someone tear at your flesh and tamper with your spirit as they touch you the way someone you love should. Yet here you are with someone who would treat you right, someone who you longed for for so long, someone who holds you like you’re porcelain with passion still flowing through every action. You should be falling head over heels again. Your crush should be flooding back with crashing waves wrecking everything in its wake until nothing is left but your undying need for Soobin. But no. He mouths your neck as he thrusts shallowing, checking in to make sure he’s not hurting you. 

Everyone who taught you about how sex would feel were right about one thing. You were brought to tears. 

“Beomgyu.” You blubber shamefully, gritting your teeth before hiccupping. You fail to suppress it. Everything becomes a blur as tears stream down your face. The self-pity numbs you beyond repair.

Your name leaving Beomgyu’s lips doesn’t feel real. He only realizes what he’s done after Jisun’s warmth is gone. He opens his eyes and she has moved as far away from him as she possibly can in the confined space. Her angry words don’t register as she fixes herself and storms out, brushing his shoulder on her way. Once he was old enough, Beomgyu was taught a little differently. His father would wait until his mother left the room to get filthy about it, wiggling his eyebrows. His friends would boast and fantasize lewdly in the back of the classroom about it. The pinnacle of sex was supposed to be casual with beautiful women. The only hate sex guys his age fantasized about were low-stakes scenarios you only see in porn. What the two of you had? No one with any ounce of self-preservation would touch this with a ten foot pole. They’d call you “psycho”, block your number, and avoid you like the plague.

Not daydream about you while experiencing a man’s definition of the pinnacle of sex. 

–🖊️⇝

Soobin is a saint. He waited patiently for you to calm down, holding you and rubbing your back. He didn’t complain about his lack of finishing once and didn’t make you feel awkward. He just giggled at your swollen face after you finished. You sat quietly on the couch, staring at whatever movie had auto-played.

“You guys are very similar, you know?”

The urge to start crying again chokes you and you swallow it down. “Soobin, that's a horrible thing to say.” You sigh.

He laughs loudly, trying to stifle his overflowing amusement after seeing your eyes get glassy again. “That’s why you hate each other so much I think.” He says once the humor subsides.

“I hate him because he was horrible to me.” You correct, unable to suppress the annoyance flaring up at his ignorant assumption.

“He was horrible to you, right?” He looks over at you, looking back at the tv once he sees your stone-like expression. “But you still resent each other despite you guys not being at each other’s throats for about a month now.”

“Because I’m wary. He’s wary. We both are constantly remembering something horrible we did to one another.” You suck in a breath, ready to vent about all the ways he’s scarred your skin with proof, but which ones were the ones you encouraged? It didn’t feel appropriate to lie or guess no matter how much you wanted to. Fuck, you wanted to scream about Beomgyu and how much you should hate him. You whimper, resting your face in your hands. “What’s wrong with me?”

Soobin doesn’t answer, leaving you with your own thoughts. You find yourself appreciating the silence.

“Do you love him?”

Numb and hollow… yet throbbing and infected. The space between the skin of your forehead and the bone of your skull felt like it was swimming with complicated activity as your brain echoed the devastating question. Not because the answer was yes but because it had to be answered at all. You raise your head slowly from shaking hands before standing from the couch.

“I’m going to sleep.”

–🖊️⇝

Waking up that morning for both of you was somehow more loaded than waking up in each other’s arms. You couldn’t be with each other or away. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t simple anymore and the complication of it all was starting to get exhausting. You slip from beneath Soobin’s arm, careful not to wake him. Beomgyu trudges out of his bed, feet plodding heavily toward his door. Both doors close simultaneously with a dull, echoing thud, neither noticing the other as you both stand in silence. It’s only when you start to move that Beomgyu notices you. His chest rises slightly with a small gasp. There you are.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

For a second your eyes meet his and there’s a flicker of something that excites him. You straighten up. “I was with Soobin.”

“But you could’ve been with me.” Beomgyu can feel himself get worked up at just the thought of something that actually gets him going. 

“Believe it or not,” You draw nearer and Beomgyu’s eyes are locked onto your lips as they part. You lean in and the warmth of your proximity ceases his breathing “he kept me company.” 

It felt like slow motion when you pulled away and winked at Beomgyu. A gesture that should’ve been harmless and maybe even cute made Beomgyu feel like hot curdled liquid was crawling down his throat.

Once you pull back Beomgyu’s expression hardens. His eyes prick you like needles. “What?”

His tone and glare make you flinch. Your smirk flickers away. This is usually how it starts, but a part of you just wanted to cut out all the bullshit and get to the part where he makes you scream his name. But the look in his eye… something’s different. Something’s wrong. 

“I-I had a little fun with Soobin. It didn’t really go far though because I…” You choke on your words, feeling your heart throb when he tore his eyes away. He couldn’t read your mind but you couldn’t stop yourself from believing he somehow sniffed out the pitiful truth. 

Beomgyu laughs dryly and each moment without proper words made you feel like screaming. Beomgyu flexes his hands, avoiding your eyes while he cracks his knuckles. He balls them into tight fists before staring at you with a level of fury that makes your blood run cold. “I fucking knew it.”

The words struggle to leave his lips as if they had to pass through a filter of his growing disdain for you. Quiet, yet still piercing enough to get you stammering. “Y-you can’t be serious. You’re not seriously talking about what I think you are right now are you?!”

And just like that the two of you are back to square one. Everything that happened in the last two months, hell, the last 48 hours feel like they mean nothing. Why would they? It’s Beomgyu’s fault for letting things get the way they are. Beomgyu feels this nauseating sensation curdle in his stomach and it’s strong. So strong it forces a lie out of him. 

“I’m just trying to protect my members. God– is that a crime or something? Why am I the bad guy? You’re not gonna get away with using us like toys. Maybe you’ll have better luck whoring around Enhypen.” He spits out the words, hating the way they taste. This is your guys’ dynamic, right? Now you’ll start throwing things and screaming at him. 

But nothing comes and Beomgyu realizes he hasn’t been looking at you. At what point he looked away again, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t get himself to make eye contact again. The lack of response clouds his lungs, a stabbing pain screaming in his temples.

After the silence suffocates him to near death he finally manages to look at you. He has to muster all his strength, but he does. And you’re crying. His body feels hollow. No arousal or sadistic pleasure is derived from this. He can’t even feign it.

Still, the silence won’t let up and as if to punish him, his body won’t let him look away. As if two hands are holding his head in place and as a sinister voice hisses in his ears.

LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE.

How much time passes, he’s not sure. Enough time for him to realize how much chaos and stress he’s caused to his leader, his members, his company, and to an innocent person with an innocent crush.

More tears well and skit from your cheekbones straight to the carpet beneath both your feet. Darkening the fabric. The words you’ve been choking on finally release, though they sound frail and strangled. “Beomgyu. I don’t know how else to get through to you. I care about Soobin. Fuck…” You don’t attempt to wipe the tears away or cease them in any way. Your head falls as if your neck can no longer support it. “I was starting to care about you.” 

Hostile would be putting it lightly. The activity in your brain and heart is like a dozen hornet’s nests being shaken and preparing to erupt, one for each emotion reaching its peak. You grit your teeth so hard you think they’ll crumble under the pressure.

“You wanna know something? The only person hurting someone by turning on them is you.” You hate the implications this leaves but your thoughts and emotions are on overdrive and you need to leave before it gets any uglier. “I’ll respect your wishes. Friends aren’t worth dealing with this, I’d rather be alone. Just promise me you won’t involve my career in your bullshit this time.”

As you storm away, barely able to look that man in the eye you realize this. This is what you were wary of the entire time. It wasn’t him ruining your career or biting you until he draws blood or turning your friends against you. It was this feeling you were experiencing. Pain so deep you’d almost call it heartbreak. However, it wasn’t earned from time spent with someone who cherished you and made you feel like you were worth something. All this heartache…

You let him do unspeakable things to you. You let him hurt you in ways you would’ve never let anyone else. You welcomed it.

In an alternate reality, you’d be kicked out of your company, stuck with a damning reputation, and banned from the only true friends you had. The man who would’ve caused all that turmoil in your life, with the intent to cause that harm, is the same one who your heart is aching for. 

–🖊️⇝

The curtains across the room have become blurry blobs of color after being stuck staring in that direction for what felt like too long. You had to start, if you’re late sending this video in then there will be another crack. You manage to squeeze your eyes shut and jump start your brain once again from its brief hiatus.

The inhale you suck in shudders beyond your control. The more time that passes with that song out in the open for anyone to hear, the less you can hide your anxiety. You hold your breath until it hurts before blowing out a rushed gust of wind. You’re stagnant again, and before your brain can shut down for one more sweet break you force a smile and hit record.

“Hello precious moonbeams!~ I hope you’re all doing well. Thank you for all the support on Strawberry Jam. I was so worried!” You pout. “It’s a bit of a weird song, right? It’s very different from Laude so I was scared you guys wouldn’t like it. But… wow. The support is…” Sincerity bleeds through as you reflect on traversing your favorite store and then hearing your voice through the speakers.

“Pierce me, Bruise me, keep going until you see strawberry jam”

Your blood runs cold, and your eyes snap up as if you’re being caught saying something you didn’t mean to be publicized. A couple of passersby whisper or stare or gasp. You run out of the store.

Before you can get too sincere you force the smile back in place. “It’s overwhelming. Seriously.” Your eyes get glassy and you chew on your lip. “Thank you.”

All the cracks that have reared their ugly head so far have been mostly forgotten because of the overnight success of your first comeback. Your debut was deemed a flop in comparison to your colleagues, so this was absolutely necessary. It was mandatory. You finally feel like you’re making progress digging out of this deep hole. 

There are signs your company still doesn’t fully trust you.

The first big sign was the debut delays. You were sure they were going to cancel it and that they saw you as a risk. The cracks were treacherous. Then you debuted and the reception was lukewarm. You sat in limbo for days, reading negative comments until your head span. A piece chips off revealing an inky black abyss. 

Then you heard your comeback song. Instead of classy and subdued like your debut, this song was hard to swallow. It was asymmetrical and loud. It was raunchy.

“What do you think?”

You sat in silence, jaw dropped open, a truck sized lump in your throat. You could hear the sound of cracking. But why? This song was a clear hit. You could hear another idol performing it well. 

But it’s yours.

“Ready to record?”

You nod, hoping that will become true with time.

The track plays and your fears ease a bit. You bob your head to the beat. Everything goes fine until the same lyrics that struggle to come out of your mouth approach. You power through. You need this.

“I should hate it but I don’t”

This will be a hit, you can get through this. 

You continue powering through but the dread builds and builds. You hate this line, you hate it so much. Your breath gets caught in your throat right before it’s time and you know you’re about to choke.

“Can’t promise I won’t cry but I…” You sigh and drop your head. You already knew it was coming when they ask you to do it again.

“Can’t promise I won’t cry but I-I know that you like that…”

CRACK

The producer slides his headphones off with a chuckle. “I know. It’s weird, right?” He winces as if he’s mirroring your assumed feelings on the matter. He’s half right. It’s obscene and you hate it. You hate it so much.

“I’m sorry, let’s go again.”

The track replaying is like a death march. Your throat bobs, doing little to refresh your throat that feels like it’s filled with cactus needles and glass.

“Can’t promise I won’t cry but I know that you like that-”

The line processes in your mind and you connect it to the past despite avoiding doing so as if your life depends on it. You reflect on all the times he’s brought you to tears. How hot they felt rushing from your eyes after you frustratingly kissed him for the first time. How helpless and pathetic you felt crying as he restrained your wrists, only to spray you in his seed mockingly. And most frustratingly of all, you crying while revealing that you actually cared about him after he did exactly what you knew he would.

CRACK

The calls of your name are muffled as flashes of his face refuse to leave. You grit your teeth, feeling a frightening level of rage familiarly build up inside you. “I hate him.”

You rush out of the recording booth, mortified as tears stream down your face. He’s done it again. He isn’t even here and he’s done it again. If he could see you right now he’d probably smile. It would probably brighten his day. And you welcomed that monster into your bed.

You’re all the way back home once you realize what you’ve done. The producer is probably calling your manager who is calling the CEO about how much of a pain in the ass you are. You need to get yourself together quickly and get back there. You run to your bathroom and look in the mirror. You plant your shaky hands on the sink

“I’m…”

Your voice wavers. Your resolve dissipates as you stare at the cracks that have transferred to your very visage. A shard dangles where your eye resides before falling away. Again, the black nothingness is left behind and you’ve already forgotten what your face normally looks like.

Your phone starts to buzz and you slowly fade back to reality.

–🖊️⇝

“I have no clue who that is. Why can’t we collab with a Korean artist?” Beomgyu mutters. Soobin grits his teeth and elbows him. He rolls his eyes despite the instant regret. It takes only a minute of fading into the background as the other guys engage in productive conversation for the guilt to fully bloom. On one couch there were four employees and one temperamental child.

No matter where he goes he feels this way. The guys don’t bring girls to the dorm anymore. If they go out to see one, they nervously lie about it and rush out of the door. 

Anytime they bring up a memory tainted with you, Beomgyu is greeted with shocked silence and finds four panicked eyes on him like they’re afraid they’ve poked a tiger.

All those posters, cardboard cutouts, and billboards that are fucking everywhere are like land mines. To anyone else it would be comical to watch four grown, big ass men tiptoeing around a mall like one wrong step will blow their leg clean off.

And the song.

Beomgyu… he is really trying to get better. If he didn’t attempt to, Soobin would probably choke him out. He’s been very patient, but anyone in his shoes would be exasperated. When they’re in public or in a meeting and Beomgyu is being a menace is one thing, Soobin lets him know then and there that he’s serious.

However, when they’re alone, it’s strangely peaceful. He asks Beomgyu about his day and his mental and emotional state. He hasn’t brought you up for a while now. Tomorrow will make 6 months.

Tomorrow comes, Beomgyu’s indifference is slipping. While everyone else walked on eggshells, Beomgyu coasted through the situation like nothing happened. But somehow, the fact that the boys are becoming more accustomed to not bringing you up is bothering him. He only sees you through screens or your likeness plastered on paper or cardboard. 

The last time you physically entered his vision was during your goodbye stage of your debut promotions. It was a brief glimpse but it was enough to show you weren’t doing well. It was an image burned into his memory. None of the photo shoots could replace it. Even longer before that was the last time the two of you made physical contact. The feeling of holding you in your bed is long gone. Everything about you feels like a ghost now.

“Here he is!” Beomgyu looks up from his phone he wasn’t really looking at anyway to see Soobin walking over with some girl. Beomgyu slides down his mask to present the girl with a tight smile and bow.

“This is Jiwon from Cherry Bullet.” 

“Hello.” Jiwon bows with a bright smile and somehow the common gesture illustrates just how efficient of a person she is. He has no clue what a cherry bullet is but something tells him she’s a stellar idol. But why was she talking to him? Beomgyu looks up at Soobin’s phony wide smile before getting distracted by the rest of his members frantically trying to stop what’s happening. Yeonjun tugs Soobin to the side, jaw jutting forward as he grits something out Beomgyu can’t quite decipher.

“I’ve heard people refer to you as a video game protagonist.” Beomgyu’s attention is ripped away from his members as Jiwon speaks again with a little more hesitance this time. What, does she think he’s a ticking time bomb too?

“What?”

“Your visuals.” She clarifies, seeming a little more relaxed now. “Now that I see you in real life I can say I see it too. I didn’t know before but I think that’s my style.” She looks down, still appearing resolute despite the shy action. 

“I don’t usually do things like this, I value my job and image, but I was just so curious about you. I felt a bit weird asking Soobin to introduce me to you but…” As if she realizes she’s been having a one-sided conversation, she stops herself and looks at Beomgyu expectantly.

Every so often, Beomgyu catches wind of a rumor going around about himself. Whether it’s someone he’s cool with reporting back to him or rookies being way too loud and excitable. He supposes every idol experiences this, and most likely they’re as indifferent as he is. He’s a former thug, he’s gay, he’s fucking an executive, and the biggest one:

He’s a womanizer. 

That one sometimes goes hand in hand with the thug one, but it’s mostly referring to his current idol lifestyle. He doesn’t know how it happened. He hasn’t been in a relationship since Hyesoo. He couldn’t be one if he tried. He lets his emotions get in the way. A part of him wishes it were true. Maybe he would stop craving nails raking into the flesh of his back or bite marks on his bottom lip and shoulders. Maybe he would stop waking up with soiled sheets because he has dreams about being ridden long after he’s already cum. 

Of course now he’s thinking of you, despite chatting it up with Jiwoo– or no, Ji…

You’re probably getting relief every other day with how famous you are now. If you even have the time. In that case, you’re probably locking you and some guy in dressing rooms, closets, anywhere you can get privacy for a quickie. 

But no… you’re not like that. You only let Beomgyu see the deepest, darkest parts of you because you were pushed to do so. Beomgyu’s face goes slack, staring deep into space. You hated him so much that you didn’t care about bearing the ugliest side of you to him. Gnashing your teeth with your shirt a tangled mess over your torso after you gave up on taking it off. Saying the most venomous things Beomgyu’s ever heard while milking him for all he’s got. Even after things cooled a bit, you would let him touch and taste you before you even showered. Opening the door to let him in with stains all over your shirt and leftover makeup from the day before.

“I thought about jumping off the roof at practice while I was on my break.” You had said to him after couch sex. You guys were watching Community and eating ice cream. You were just joking about one of the characters being dumb. Beomgyu had looked at you, completely bewildered.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? What you’ve been waiting for?” He asks incredulously.

You sigh dramatically.

“Yeah, but I’m so fucking hungry. My body aches and my hands shake so much I can barely hold a pen to write my own name. I made a mistake and my instructor cussed at me and called me useless.” You laughed sharply before letting your head droop over to face him. “D’you know they delayed my fucking debut again? Before I thought about offing myself I imagined slitting my manager’s throat and bludgeoning the dance instructor to death and stripping down so I could smear both their blood all over me until it covered every inch of my skin. It was so brief but so so vivid.” You rushed out the words in a crazed fashion and you looked at him with wide eyes. You smile. “Then I imagined you coming in, we had sex and then I strangled you until your eyes bulged out–” You catch your breath and look back at the tv. You looked down at your hand and groaned. Your ice cream had melted over your trembling hand.

“Fuck it–” You rush over to the trash can and chuck it before aggressively wiping off your hand with a tattered kitchen towel. You stomp over to the fridge and take out one of the multiple spoiled bags of salad mix and dump it in the trash to cover up the tossed ice cream. You throw a glance at him.

“Make sure you eat that all or cover your tracks if you throw it away.” You mutter, finding your voice wavering suddenly. You sniffle, slamming down on the couch. You refuse to look over at him as tears break free from your eyes. You feel him move closer to you on the couch and you grit your teeth. His hand curls around the column of your throat but he doesn’t apply pressure.

“I imagined killing my manager once too.”

You peer over at him, he’s looking down, his thick lashes on display. “Except I stabbed  him over and over and over until he was an unrecognizable mound of mush. You’re right, it flashed by so fast. I was so sickened by it I pretended it never crossed my mind. Yet here we are…” He finally looks up with a smirk. He finally applies the pressure and you inhale a shuddering breath.

He moves his lips next to your ear, his breath fanning on it making you shiver. “Does it hurt?”

Immediately understanding what he meant you nod feverishly. 

“I’ll distract you.” He answers quickly before swinging his leg over and resting his knee on your thigh. He sits all his weight on your thigh and he squeezes your throat. He repeats it again breathily as he stares down at you wistfully. Your strangled whimpers get him straining against his jeans. 

“I-I…” You find yourself speaking against your will. No… this isn’t how this went. He squeezes again and you moan. You want to clench your thighs but his knee is pinning your leg down. You can’t think, it’s perfect. Still, you find your mouth moving. No! There were no more words exchanged after this. You fucked again and he slept over.

“I-I’m so lonely,” Your voice quivers before you begin sobbing uncontrollably. When you open your eyes and blink away your tears you see a twisted wide grin on his face. His eyes are wild. You tremble in fear, unable to speak anymore. No no no no no no no…

“I fucking knew it.”

You gasp for air, it feels like he’s crushing your windpipe.

“Just a sad, lonely, nobody coming to mooch off of us. Pitiful. You want friends? Huh?” You feel blood rushing up to your face. “Too bad. You don’t deserve love. No one fucking likes you and no one ever will. I’ll do you a favor.”

Almost as if he’s beating you to what you briefly daydreamt about, he applies his other hand and you want to scream. Your ears start ringing and you feel something warm trickle from your ears and all of a sudden there’s a bright light and a piercing noise–

You jolt up from your bed, continuing to sob like you did in your nightmare. You stumble out, nearly tripping as you reach to turn the light on. After doing so you slide down against the wall. Sobbing until your chest hurt and you had no air left in your lungs.

–🖊️⇝

There’s no doubt this song has gotten you some perverse comments and unwanted attention, but it must also get you positive attention too. He’s never seen you hang out with anyone else  besides the guys but surely you have an entourage by now. Guys lining up to treat you right. Ones you wouldn’t feel are deplorable enough to casually bring up your murder fantasies to.

“Gyu?”

Jiwon has that confused tone in her voice. God, he tuned her out by accident again. 

“Are you okay? It seems like you’ve been zoning out a lot.” She sounds cautious again. Beomgyu can tell that she’s trying to avoid what might set him off. Did Soobin tell her about you? How he’s just a screaming match waiting to happen?

“To be fair, I’ve had a lot to think about recently.” Beomgyu gives her a look, he knows she’s aware of what he’s referring to. Her awareness is becoming increasingly obvious.

She sits down beside him in the other folding chair backstage. Not dissimilar to when they first met. Even more similar, he notices his members frantically whispering to each other while looking at him.

“Are you still feeling bothered by that?” Jiwon places a hand on his but it doesn’t pull his attention away. Suddenly Kai is casting a fearful look to his right. Beomgyu, already feeling something stirring in his stomach follows his eyeline. 

A pair of black docs accented with black opaque hosiery that almost stop where your red skirt starts. The skirt looks tattered, purposefully so. It’s asymmetrical and overlapped by a black, intricately designed corset top. Your hands that are running through your hair are donned in a red, loosely fitted pair of sheer gloves. Once your arms stop shielding your face and you lift your head, Beomgyu sees your mascara running. His stomach drops.

The stylist scolds you and quickly tries to fix the mess. You don’t react at all, face stone cold. Maybe you just had a bad day, Beomgyu thinks.

It’s cliche, but it never stops shocking you how blinding the stage lights are. They glint sharply, feeling like they’ve sliced your eyes. You shut them, only to quickly open them once you remember people can see you. You force a smile on your face, not caring if it looks like you have a gun to your head. This is all you have left.

The bright light nearly pricks tears back to your eyes but you hold them back just like you hold back the thoughts of the texts your parents sent you this morning. You don’t want to perform today, the last thing you want to do is sing this song that is now ruining relationships. However, now this is truly all you have left. So you flip the switch as soon as the music starts and don’t turn it off until it’s safe to cry again.

You almost melt away on your couch when a knock startles you. You race to the door, thinking it may be your manager. A part of you still expects her to scold you about something she found out. It’s been months but you still fear Beomgyu saying something. A shaking hand pulls open the door.

Myungsoo smirks lazily. Kim Myungsoo. You have to pinch yourself still, despite it being a month now since he first spoke to you. You’re used to people speaking to you first by now. You’d rather they stick around, hang out with you, but that never happens. When he came up and asked you about your song, you were positive you’d probably never see him again. A man you used to have posters of slipping right through your fingers. But then he suddenly stayed put.

“What’re you up to?” He asks before widening his smile. Your heart flutters.

“I was going to take a nap.” You say quietly, very much distracted. Him brushing some of your hair behind your ear doesn’t help.

He waits a beat as he presses his lips into a thin line. “Need help?”

Your heart drums against your rib cage, it almost hurts how much you need it. He’s been teasing you during this exciting yet excruciating month. Hinting that he wants to fuck you but never doing it. You nearly came when he put his hand on your thigh last week.

Now his hand is there again, and it takes every ounce of strength you have to not lift your hips and coax him to where it hurts. He insisted on leaving the television off so you can’t even pretend not to have your full attention on him. 

“C’mere.” He whispers, his voice so warm it melts you. You scoot over and lean your head on his shoulder. You guys stay like that and you’re content– you really are… but it’s becoming increasingly more difficult not to shove his hand down your pants. You don’t know how long it’s been but your body is screaming at you. He should’ve been inside you already, you guys should have been done with your first round actually. Your impatience gets the best of you and you look up at him. He raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“Take a nap. Isn’t that what you said you were doing?”

You laugh dryly, too annoyed to take it back or be mortified at your outward display of your sexual frustration. 

“Is something wrong?” He pouts his lips mockingly. You sit up from him but he pulls you back. 

You let out a strained sigh. “I think I need to be alone to take a nap actually.”

“What, now you’re kicking me out? Did I do something wrong?” His cutesy act is nauseating right now. It pushes you to reveal how you actually feel.

“Aren’t you building us up to be just fuck buddies? Why are you beating around the bush?” You’re desperate, but it’s more than just being horny. At the moment you have no outlet for the overwhelming amounts of anxiety and growing depression. Despite what you had with Beomgyu being… what it was, you remember a wave of serenity after it was all said and done. You bickered as you got your clothes back on but then he left and your body was noticeably less tense. 

“I never said anything about that. You know, you claim you had nothing to do with the song but I’m a little skeptical…” He traces shapes over your bare shoulder and you shrug it off with a scoff before sitting up. The annoyance was building towards being affronted, but you could feel something tingling like a spark crackling inside your stomach. It was back, a feeling you haven’t felt in quite a while. 

“Excuse me?”

“I mean,” Myungsoo shifts toward you, “you’ve been practically begging to be fucked the minute we met. You’re not as subtle as you think.” His faux sympathy melts away once he sees fire glinting in your eyes. He can’t help but smile.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” You spit before mounting his lap and devouring his lips. This is it, there’s no mistaking it. But something’s missing… 

Myungsoo sits there, barely moving his lips against yours. Your hands roam his entire body while his are still by his sides. You pull away, afraid that you were mistaken, but he’s smiling up at you. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before coaxing you to finish.

“You want it, don’t you?”

And so you strip your shirt off, the fabric pulled away to reveal your eyes blown wide with lust. You capture his lips again and it tastes so sweet. You nearly tremble after finally breaking through that barrier that never seems to leave. You feel powerful for the first time in months as you slide your hands under his shirt. You puff out a frustrated gust of air before sliding off his lap and kneeling before him. You look up at him as you unzip his jeans. He smirks the entire time, lifting his hips to let you slide his jeans and underwear down. He exaggerates the movement of stretching his arms back and resting his hands behind his head. You falter, suddenly self conscious. 

“What’s your deal?”

He answers quickly, somehow knowing exactly what you were referring to. “I dunno… maybe I’m just not feeling it yet.” He sighs, reaching for his flaccid member and stroking it disappointedly. “Look at it, so pitiful.”

You swat his hand away, feeling challenged by his words. You start with his balls, licking in between them before circling your tongue around each one. You glance up at him and his cock twitches. His smirk flickers away briefly to revel pleasure while looking at the determination in your eyes.

You’re just so happy to finally taste someone. The way a cock feels in your hands and on your tongue, so silky and soft. So sinfully beautiful when covered in thick globs of saliva. There is truly nothing like it. But again, there was something missing.

Anywhere you and Myungsoo were together turned into a new spot for you to fuck. You’d give him the eyes which he’d ignore. Then you’d touch him. Kiss him. Whisper in his ear. None of it worked until you were pulling him somewhere secluded. Even when you were at his place or him at yours. It was like pulling teeth. But whatever, foreplay for you and Beomgyu was degrading and threatening each other. This was nothing.

It didn’t stop at foreplay, though. Throughout the entire act he’d be so smug, never reacting to anything. Only small glimpses of pleasure could be caught, but if you blinked you could miss it. You find yourself fighting for his passion. However, it remained one-sided.

–🖊️⇝

Jiwon’s ministrations were soft, almost like they weren’t there. She had a pretty pair of lips but they were like feathers against his.

“Noona…” He whispered, brushing his nose against hers.

“Hm?” She barely pecks his lips. Beomgyu inhales deeply before grabbing the back of Jiwon’s head and deepening the kiss. She makes a muffled noise of surprise but her eyes slowly flutter shut. She melts into the kiss for a few lovely seconds before forcing herself to pull away. She clears her throat before grabbing both of Beomgyu’s hands.

“Let’s take it slow, okay?” Jiwon gives him a pleading look and he only groans inwardly. It’s been a minute, and Jiwon is not a woman you come across too often. And they actually have a relationship he can brag about, someone he could see himself marrying. She’s pristine.

“Why, you didn’t like it?” He smirks and she scoffs.

“I did, but I just think it’s better for us if we don’t rush things.”

Beomgyu tries really hard to hide the cynicism threatening to rear its ugly head. Jiwon was finally not walking on eggshells around him. He thinks long and hard about what he’s going to say and panics when he thinks he’s said the wrong thing.

“Fine. But a deeper kiss won’t kill us.” Beomgyu brushes away his train of thought before smiling. 

It wasn’t long before Beomgyu and Jiwon made it official, only telling people they trusted and not risking visiting each other anywhere but their dorms. Even that takes several days of planning. 

“How does it work? We’ve never been.” Taehyun says, leaning forward in anticipation.

Jiwon takes a moment to swallow her sip of tea and to think. 

“This will be my second survival style show. I think that they’re not dissimilar to being a trainee, honestly. The ferocity of everyone around you is still there. This new one is a little less intense, though. I guess the stakes aren’t as high.” Once she finishes talking she takes another delicate sip of her tea. Beomgyu watches intently, admiring how elegant she is. It’s so effortless for her. She continues her mature conversation with his members but Beomgyu is completely checked out. There’s a lingering sour feeling prodding at him as he watches her. It makes his smile flicker away.

“Right Beomgyu?” Soobin elbows him and Beomgyu is finally broken out of his daze.

All Beomgyu’s plugs slowly enter each outlet. “Huh?”

“You were so social during our trainee days, it was hard for people to hate you.” Soobin says, making everyone chuckle.

“Even when they saw you as competition, no dice.” Yeonjun chimes in. It was fun to reminisce until it wasn’t. He was smiling again and it seemed to immediately go away the longer he thought about it. He’s been told this. That he’s unhateable. He’s too silly, a loveable brat. But you managed.

“He could never do wrong. We make a mistake and it would start a fight. Beomgyu would do the same thing and they would just brush it off.” Kai adds, and everyone laughs again except for Beomgyu who’s stuck staring in space, his water bottle static in his hands.

“That’s so true!” Someone gushes through the laughter. 

“Funny how things change, huh?”

The room goes silent as Beomgyu takes a swig from his bottle.

Jiwon looks panicked before laughing nervously. “What do you mean? I’ve never laughed this much before meeting you, and the girls love when you come over. Not to mention having four members who love you. That’s rare, you know.”  

Soobin claps before pointing at Jiwon. “That’s exactly right!”

“What else could you need?” Jiwon rubs Beomgyu’s back, making him realize that she’s not miles away from him like it feels she is. She’s right. So everything will eventually get better.

–🖊️⇝

 “Let’s go to a karaoke bar next!” Eunchae ugly laughs in excitement, already running ahead with Kazuha chasing behind her. Yunjin loops her arm with Sakura before following the younger members, engaged in a personal conversation. On instinct, Chaewon follows close by, yelling for the younger members to slow down.

The five of them have a warm dynamic that’s so enticing. Their figures growing further, soaked in the various vibrant hues of neon signs. It was like a scene out of films you watch alone on your couch. It’s right there.

Freezing as if something dawned on her, Chaewon swiftly turns around to face you.

“You coming?” She shouts.

“Ugh, she never comes. Let’s just go.” Yunjin whines dismissively. Chaewon looks conflicted as her gaze switches between you both. You stretch your mouth into a thin line. 

“I have to get home. I’ll text you.” 

Chaewon wants to protest but when she looks back at her members, they’re much farther away than she thought. Then when she looks back at you, you’re already gone.

From the corner of the bar, you send texts back and forth. Your head slips off your fist and nearly slams into the table before you stop it. Just an hour before, you were here with a group of people. The memory feels like particles of dust floating through the air that you try to clutch in your fist.

“Are you okay? I think you’ve had enough for the night. Call a cab and go home.” The stern, motherly tone of the owner doesn’t offend you at all. You don’t get to answer before she’s off sweeping the other end of the restaurant. You let your body completely slump over, resting your upper body on the table.

A tsk barely pricks at your foggy brain. “What a mess.” Myungsoo sighs.

“Take me home oppa.” You giggle with your cheek squished against the table. He raises his brow at you and you raise your arms. He groans before picking you up from the table and holding you bridal style. You rest your head against his chest, feeling tired against his warmth. You’re just about to drift off to sleep when he’s placing you into the passenger’s seat. You whine in protest but he’s already shutting the door. The gentle car ride makes your lids heavier until they shut completely.

Myungsoo picking you up again has your eyes slowly lifting open. You watch his face as he carries you. His body heat is intoxicating. You can’t stop your eyes from flickering down at his lips. You don’t want to mount him like you usually do, you feel something deeper. Maybe there was a reason he took so long to let you have him at first. 

He lets you down to unlock his door before taking you by the hand and leading you in. You’re cuddling on his bed, still unable to take your eyes off him. He’s caught you a couple times and all he does is smile. This time his eyes linger on yours before whispering for you to come closer. You’re moving as soon as he says to, connecting your lips to his hungrily. 

He smells and tastes so good. You trace your tongue over his bottom lip before pecking his mouth. He grins, letting out a warm, chesty chuckle.

“I love when you guys get like this.”

You laugh, a little confused. You peck him again. “You guys?”

He caresses the back of your neck before pulling you in for a deeper kiss. Your breath picks up as you climb on top of him, smashing your mouths together. He pulls away and whispers breathily in your ear.

“You have that twinkle in your eye. You need me. All you think of is me.” 

You shudder, grinding down on him. You trail kisses all over his neck as he continues.

“If I were to leave, you’d be devastated.”

The thought makes you whimper, nipping at his neck. He hisses. “Stop it.” You say in a tiny voice. You feel his bulge grow more prominent.

“You’d do anything to please me, make me stay.” He moans through the sentence, bucking up into you. Your heart starts thumping, and the longer this goes on the more you realize it’s not because you’re turned on. You lift from him.

“I said stop.” Your face is hot. It’s right, he’s completely correct. You want to have your hands and lips on him at all times and your heart is constantly clenched by the fear that he doesn’t really care about you.

“What? Should I make you bleed instead?” He laughs.

Your chest constricts, your breath getting caught in your throat. Your lips tremble as you quirk your jaw trying to curb the anger bubbling up. 

“What did you just say?”

“Babe.” He sits up on his forearms. “I’m just trying to rile you up a little bit. I’m just having a little fun.” He looks you up and down, he’s getting harder underneath you.

Right… this is something you’re familiar with. Something that could lead to even a moment of serenity. But it’s never that way with him. His eyes judge you and urge you to satisfy him. He doesn’t even have to say a word and you’re scrambling to make sure he’s pleased. You’re giving your all as he lazily lies beneath you, enjoying the show. Exuding passion with nothing in return is exhausting, that exhaustion finally dawning on you.

“Well I’m not.” You say before swinging your leg back over him. You slide out of his bed and start putting your clothes back on.

“Where are you going? Come on, you don’t actually want to leave.” He barely moves, just shifting a little to the side.

“I just need a little space for the night.” You hurriedly slip into your pants, wanting to leave instead of having this conversation.

“No you don’t. You need company like you need water.” His velvety smooth voice that once coaxed you into giving your all to him is gone. What’s left is harsh yet dismissive.

“You don’t know what I need, Myungsoo.” You shoot back, throwing your shirt on the bed.

“I know, everyone knows. You’re so lonely you walk around everywhere like a lost puppy but run away whenever anyone tries to get to know you. There’s a reason you were texting me and not your friends you were just drinking with. I’m all you have. So don’t be stupid.” 

Just like that, the harsh lines in his face melt away and he’s back to smirking, patting the space beside him in the bed.

Is this what you deserve? They say you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. And he’s right. He’s so right, again. Maybe you should just sink into the warmth and turn your brain off. Turn on the switch to perform.

However, as you think, emotions build inside you. It feels like pressure behind your skull threatening to pop. Tears abruptly start gushing down your face as you grab your shirt and rush out of the door. You can’t stop the ugly noises from leaving you as you rush home in the cold night air. 

By the time you’re in your own bed, your face and head hurt from the intensity of your sobs. There are no tears left as you continue to sob. It didn’t work. You were supposed to use him as an opportunity to take away some stress but somehow it’s worse. There’s nothing you can do. You’ll just have to live with this alone. Forever.

CRACK

–🖊️⇝

“I was so close but I didn’t make it.” Jiwon sighs dejectedly. 

“I don’t know what they don’t see in you! I think you’re a great performer.” Kai laments.

“You did a great job.” Beomgyu rubs her hand and she instantly smiles. 

“Thanks. And at the end of the day I still have my group and you guys.” Everyone gushes at her response. 

Beomgyu’s mind wanders to the place it has been going frequently these days. He wonders what you’re doing. What it would be like if you were still friends with the members. If he didn’t make you cry. Would you be smiling as widely as Jiwon is even after failing?

“Look who’s lost in thought again.” Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back but he’s stuck. He’s nestled deep within thoughts of you.

“You know you could talk to us about anything, right?” Jiwon moves her hand to caress his. No. He doesn’t know this. In fact, he knows it’s not true.

“Why do you think she was crying that day?” Beomgyu doesn’t look up but the table goes quiet. The tension is lathered thick over the air. Jiwon laughs nervously.

“Wait, Beomgyu weren’t you just talking about–” Jiwon attempts to change the topic.

“You would think she’d be really happy right now.” He continues. 

“Let’s not talk about this–” Jiwon tries but Beomgyu turns toward her.

“Didn’t you say I could talk to you guys about anything?”

“But Beomgyu… talking about her is only going to make you more upset.” Jiwon lowers her voice, going back to how cautious she was when they first met.

“Do I look upset? You guys are the ones acting like there’s a gun to your heads when she’s brought up.” Beomgyu resumes eating while everyone else is still frozen.

“Gyu. It’s because you should let go of her. It’ll be better for you.” Her hand that was once soothing on his now felt like an owner trying to calm their dog after someone knocked on the door. 

“You don’t know what’s better for me.” Beomgyu grumbles.

Soobin stands abruptly. “Beomgyu, can we talk in the kitchen?”

“Gladly.” Beomgyu immediately follows the taller male out the dining room and down the hall. Before Soobin could start scolding him he had things to get off his chest first.

“Why did you introduce me to her in the first place?”

“She asked to meet you. She was interested.” Soobin expresses annoyedly.

“I’m sure plenty of girls have done that, why did you decide to do so for her.” Beomgyu probes.

“Because I knew her and trusted her.”

“Trusted her to be able to handle a project.” Beomgyu rushes out. And before Soobin can deny anything he’s rushing toward him with a finger pointed at his face. “I don’t need to be fixed.”

Soobin sighs, uneasy about how this conversation may go. 

“You’re not broken, you’re hurt. Everyone gets hurt, Beomgyu. There’s nothing wrong with accepting help. We’re just trying to help you move on-”

“I don’t want to move on! You guys were so fucking anal about how I treated her and now you just pretend she doesn’t exist?” Beomgyu shouts furiously.

Soobin decides it’s better to just rip off the bandaid. There's no changing the truth. 

“She’s gone. It’s been half a year and she’s made no attempt to reach out to any of us. It’s clear that part of our lives is over. Beomgyu, you need to focus on yourself right now. We can get through this together.” Soobin tries to coax a reasonable reaction out of Beomgyu but it doesn’t seem to be working. He’s only getting more worked up.

“Stop. Stop.” Beomgyu shoves his hands into his hair before gritting his teeth. “I’m so sick of everyone shoving me under a telescope. At least she never pried.”

“Are you insinuating that what you guys had was anything remotely healthy? Continuously hanging around someone who you despise that much isn’t good for either of you. I saw the marks all over her body.”

Beomgyu sees red, he’s grabbing Soobin’s collar before he could think it through.

“You shut your fucking mouth. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know her like I do.” Beomgyu shoves him away, his glare hot like lava as he walks out of the room. Heading toward his bedroom he doesn’t see Jiwon on the other side of the doorway. She bites her fist as a tear trickles down her cheek. 

“When’s Beomgyu coming over next?” Mao asks, switching to kneel on the couch toward a stone faced Jiwon. Jiwon takes in a quick breath, checking one last time if this is the right move.

“I don’t think he is.”

Mao and the other girls in the room all make a noise in surprise and crowd around Jiwon on the couch. “What the hell happened?” Haeyoon asked incredulously.

Jiwon lets out a small derisive laugh to pair with a tiny smirk as she drops her head. “He’s hung up over his ex.”

The girls all switch between comforting her and cursing him. 

“Who’s the ex?” Chaerin asks angrily.

Jiwon thinks on it again. Fuck it.

“Do you know that song Strawberry Jam?”

–🖊️⇝

Something is unresolved. That much is clear as you both lay in your own rooms, tear stains on each of your pillows. And as long as it stays unresolved, you both will be unable to be loved. 

You’ve denied four invitations to hang out with Chaewon, and you’re surprised she still asks. This month is a free schedule for you to rest after your song promotions are over.

Beomgyu either plays video games until his eyes are dry or lies in bed scrolling through social media. His members pop in to give him food.

Your stomach twists painfully as you watch tv in bed. The colors dance around blurrily as your eyes start to water again.

A month didn’t feel like a month, but you lost track of your days so it makes sense when your manager comes into your room. 

“What’s that smell? Get up and take a shower. We’re going to go over this month’s schedule.” She shuts the door, trusting that you’ll follow orders. Even she used to be kinder to you. What’s the use of attempting to start relationships when they don’t work out. Even your own parents don’t talk to you anymore. You laugh hoarsely. The laughing grows louder and louder until you’re cackling.

You cackle in the shower as well. Is this what happens after you’ve cried so much tears don’t come out anymore?

Beomgyu regretted chasing away Jiwon the minute he did it. She had a similar hurt expression to you when he yelled at her to get out of his room. Look at how each of his relationships ended. Why the hell would Hyesoo stay with a guy like him. Beomgyu’s lip quivers before he’s crying into his pillow again.

You both carry out what’s scheduled for you numbly, so checked out neither of you can add anything valuable to any conversation. 

“Remember how you signed up to be an MC? Well you got accepted! You can continue submitting songs for your next comeback but this should be your priority for now.” One of the women at the table inform you. Fuck, you did do that, didn’t you.

It turns out it’s pretty easy. Just smile and read your lines. It’s much easier to turn your MC switch on, it seems. You had even gotten comfortable with it. Your co-MC is friendly. Formal, but friendly. Everything was working out.

You lift up your cue card in the silence of your empty room.

“And here’s TXT with their new comeback...” Your enthusiasm wanes when you think about standing in a room with him again.

CRACK

It’ll be fine, just flip the switch.

You can feel that he’s there, everyone can feel the tension. The you that was involved with him is switched off right now. Right now you’re conducting an interview. 

Beomgyu slowly fades to the background as you watch the other members, remembering the good memories you had together. Soobin does most of the talking which makes your chest unwittingly constrict. After this you’ll be all alone again.

The makeup artist finally gets done touching up your makeup and you get a moment to stew. Only a short moment as the other MC approaches. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

The simple question forces your switch off. The two of you made eye contact at the end of the interview, and for some reason a whirlwind of emotions threatened to escape you. You’re not okay.

“It’s just, I know you have a past with Beomgyu.”

“Yeah–” You look up at him as your brain fog slowly dissipates. “What did you say?”

“I heard that you wrote Strawberry Jam about him and I…”

Everything silently shatters, the pieces remaining all clattering to the floor.

“Look at the back of her neck.” You whip your head around to see two idols whispering before looking shocked and scurrying away. You send a shaky hand to the back of your neck to cover it. Doing so makes your sleeve drop and reveal scratches on your arm. You begin hyperventilating as you scan your surroundings. Multiple people, staff, idols, everybody is whispering and looking at you. You block out the other MC yelling after you as you run out of the room.

Was it Myungsoo? Was he retaliating because you left him? You never mentioned Beomgyu though. No… it could only be one person. Tears stream down your face as you hunt for their dressing room. You pass a mirror on the way and get stuck staring at your void of a face. Only a pair of reddened, crazed eyes stare back. You refocus on your hunt and finally find their door. You swing it open and rush toward Beomgyu in a frenzy.

As you enter, everything around Beomgyu is a blur. The staff looking shocked, Yeonjun and Soobin jumping up to restrain you. And you. Your makeup is completely ruined with a look of utter fury on your face as you cock your hand back before striking him across the face. Time goes back to normal as the staff gasp. Beomgyu places a hand over his stinging flesh. It prickles, burning through his numbness. The initial impact of the slap was like a crack of lightning striking him. He feels a blur of emotions threatening to pour out.

“Why the fuck would you do that?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Yeonjun and Soobin had successfully restrained you but you thrash to get free. You curse and swipe at Beomgyu, yelling incoherently. Beomgyu slowly stands up and approaches you. Taehyun has to join and hold each arm when Beomgyu is in reaching distance.

“Let me go!” You shriek like a raging animal, trying to rip yourself free. You kick at him, your heels striking his shins and sending a piercing bout of pain up his legs.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Get away from her!” Soobin yells.

“Let her go.” Beomgyu yells over the commotion.

“What?! Why would–” Yeonjun starts but Soobin lets go.

“Just do it. Let him have her.” Soobin spits, scowling at the younger male whose eyes are still trained on you. Taehyun and Yeonjun let you go and you immediately slap him again.

“You just couldn’t help trying to ruin my career again? Do you really hate me that much after I gave you what you wanted?” You whisper shakily, your eyes wild as they take him in.

“Beomgyu… what did you do?” Kai’s voice is weak behind him.

Beomgyu takes your arm and pulls you out of the room. You yell for him to let you go and strike his arm. Each hit is like a jolt of clarity for Beomgyu, the pain an afterthought. He pulls you into an empty room where you begin banging your fists against his chest. He stumbles backward, slamming against the door and shutting it. 

He restrains your arms, squeezing them to keep them steady as you thrash again. “Why?! What else do you want?!”

“What did I do, he asked.” Beomgyu laughed. He throws his head against the door and laughs harder. You look on in utter disbelief.

“Is this funny to you?”

“What’s funny is that I didn’t do anything and somehow shit has still hit the fan. My members are questioning me again, you’re fucking hitting me again.” The amusement Beomgyu was expressing earlier is completely gone as he starts his rant.

“You told everyone that my song was about us!” 

“I didn’t!” He shouts back.

“Then who did Beomgyu?!”

“I’m not the only person who knew about us.” Beomgyu yanks you closer by your arms. You finally manage to free your arms and you drive a finger into his chest.

“But you are the only person who has proven to be malicious enough to do something like this.”

“How do you know it’s not one of your friends? You’re all big and famous now, maybe you shouldn’t go around telling anyone your secrets.”

“I don’t have any friends anymore, Beomgyu!” You shout, your voice cracking as a lone tear rolls down your cheek. “Remember? You drove me away from my only friends. I didn’t go “whoring around Enhypen”. I have no one.” The last of the sentence shreds your throat. You run your hands over your face before pointing at him again. “I’m going through enough and you choose to fuck with me. This is all I have Beomgyu!” You pound both your fists against his chest and again you’re moving in slow motion. He can see it in your eyes. In how hard you clench your teeth. He can feel it each time you strike him.

“Why would you do it?” You sob.

“Slap me.”

You gape at him, chest rising and falling violently as you make up for the amount of air you lost. 

Beomgyu is the one getting riled up now. “Do it. Slap me. Fucking do it–”

You strike him hard enough that the corner of his mouth splits. 

“Do it again.”

Your hand is impacting his cheek as soon as his sentence ends. 

“Again.”

You’re both breathing frantically as you slap him again and another time before he can even ask. He grabs your forearm and yanks you closer. “Do it. I know what you want. Fucking ruin me.”

You grab his face and pull his mouth to smash against yours. He lifts you up and you immediately wrap your legs around him. The taste of his tongue, his blood, it lights you up. All your emotions come flooding out as you grip his shirt and tear it apart. Your noses bump harshly against each other as he repositions you against the wall.

You can barely act on your urges with how intense Beomgyu’s actions are. Every ounce of passion you exude is given back to you tenfold. Within moments of letting you down you are both bare for each other.

Beomgyu’s skin being exposed is perfect for your nails dying to sink into it. You reach your arms under his that cage against the wall and slowly rake your fingernails down his back. He winces, letting out small noises of pain. The anger and sadness inside you has hit its peak. You’re so fucking angry, but the pained look on his face hurts.

You want to do something about your anger, but you still retract your hands and sink against the wall. Beomgyu looks at you confused before drawing closer. You shy away from him, whimpering as the bitter truth sets in.

Beomgyu didn’t force you to stop talking to Soobin. Beomgyu didn’t force you to ghost your friends. Beomgyu isn’t the cause of your loneliness. 

It’s you.

He reaches out to touch you but you push him away. His saddened eyes make you ache which in turn makes you more angry. But you can no longer bring yourself to hit him. A surge of rage sends your own hand across your face. The sting is distracting, it’s something. You strike your other cheek harder and Beomgyu stops you before you can do it again. 

“No.” He takes your hand and pulls it near his face. Your eyes follow your hand as it closes in on him. 

“Hit me.”

Your eyes move slowly towards his lips as they form the words, then up to his dark, big eyes. They’re swarming with depth and emotion. You take in his entire face, reddened by your hand. Lips swollen from your mouth. Hair tousled in the chaos. You see him.

You thought tears would be a rare occurrence by now, but there goes another, skitting from your cheekbone to the floor. You smile bitterly.

“I can’t.”

The gleam of your tears brings life to your otherwise tired eyes. He wants to question why, to wallow in self pity with his own delusional reasoning. But no, in your face is all the answers he needs. The same reason he hasn’t hurt you once this entire time. You sigh, letting your head fall, your eyes darkening as they close.

“I don’t know what else to do.” You express weakly.

Seeing you tremble silently makes his previous attempts to pin his resentment on you seem absurd. Beomgyu lets go of your hand.

“I don’t either.”

It’s like clarity washes over the both of you at the same time as you both take in your surroundings. Assess the situation. You shake your head.

“Then what are we doing here?” You brush past him in pursuit of your clothing, pick up each article scattered around the room. 

“It’s just like we said. We don’t know what else to do.” He says behind you.

You slow your collection as you let his words sink in. You’ve exhausted every other option. Therapy, rough sex, songwriting, diaries, crying. Then you feel his warmth behind you. Your eyes ease closed as you melt into him. Your mind goes blank and for the first time in a long time, it’s not out of force or sheer exhaustion. Both of you relax into one another. You’d have to go out eventually, explain yourself and face scrutiny. Risk people’s opinions of you degrading. There’s nothing to worry about here. You’ve already seen the worst of each other. There’s nothing to guard in fear.

You turn around to face him. He looks different. Softer. Unintimidating. He could say the same for you. You climb on top of him, shivering as his member brushes against your mound. Your lips meld together like softening butter. They glide, becoming slick with the other’s saliva. 

He glides his nose up the side of your face as he slips inside you. Both of your mouths hang agape as he slots all the way in. He’s buried deep inside you, no space left unfilled. The two of you substitute kissing for pressing your heads together, feeling every part of the other's skin. You trail your tongue across his jaw before kissing up to his ear. Every sense is filled with Beomgyu to the point where you can’t think of anything else. His makeup, his cologne, his body wash, his deodorant, his lotion, his taste, his touch, him, him, him. Your heart swells as he showers you with as much attention as you give him and then some.

Your hips move in unison, grinding together. Once you kiss again there’s no longer any space in between. Disconnecting sends slighter louder pants and moans into the air as you both start moving faster. You’ve never heard him moan like this. It’s so unrestrained and vulnerable, exposing his eagerness just as much as his hands squeezing your ass does. 

You find you feel full in more ways than one right now. He saw you at your ugliest and he’s still here right now holding you like he never plans to let go. As if reading your thoughts, he clutches you even closer. You feel a light, bubbly laugh float from your chest as your legs start to tingle. You gasp as you climax with a stutter of your hips. Your movements slow ‘til they’ve almost ceased as you drowsily rest your forehead on his. The two of you rock back and forth in the only clean circle of the room amongst the chaos.

A moment of serenity is all the two of you are granted when you hear a knock at the door. Soobin comes in, looking disappointed as he regards you both.

“Are you done? Everyone’s looking for you.”

–🖊️⇝

Beomgyu got an earful for disappearing that day. You could’ve gotten into an ungodly amount of trouble if the other MC didn’t stick up for you. He felt responsible and was beyond apologetic. You forgave him, of course. He did nothing wrong. Also, you've come to terms with the fact that you know you have nothing to do with that song. It's someone else's demo you got paid to perform. It doesn't define you.

“Hey, are you coming?” Chaewon asks. You go to answer but notice a couple of conflicted looks from her members. A quick thought that you “better not annoy them” crosses your mind. You imagine tagging along and making things awkward and it makes you wince.

“No, I-”

“Come on.” Yunjin says dismissively and pulls you by the arm to follow them to their next location. 

You sit stiffly on the couch, clapping along to Eunchae’s loud singing as everyone around you cheers.

She concludes with two bows and a loud ‘thank you’ into the microphone. 

“Go ahead and pick who’s next.” Yunjin yells gleefully. You’re too distracted to realize Yunjin’s hand is hovering over you with her finger extended down.

“Hmm…” Eunchae pretends to think about it for a comically short amount of time before yelling out your name. Your confusion is cut short by a cheering Yunjin and Chaewon pushing you toward the screen. She hands you the mic which you take hesitantly. Once they're seated again they initiate a chant.

“Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

Your brain does the honors of going over all of the embarrassing ways this could play out. Regardless of that, you’re already singing. It’s either that or running out the door, and the latter would take much more effort and explaining. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

You finish to cheers and applause and you bow in response.

–🖊️⇝

Things in the dorm have gone back to being tense. Soobin isn’t giving Beomgyu the silent treatment this time, but it’s clear he’s disappointed. Everyone is under the impression that they hooked up again only to go back to hating each other. Mostly because you haven’t come over yet. Beomgyu was giving it some time, but now he’s ready.

“Stop acting weird.” He sighs, rubbing his nose bridge. “I did have sex with her. No, the song isn’t about me. We don’t hate each other. You guys can stop tiptoeing around me now.”

The members visibly untense, but only to express confusion.

“Where is she then?” Soobin speaks up, casting a stern look his way.

“Why does her being here matter?” Beomgyu finally gets to ask.

“Remember when you called me naive for having faith in her?” Soobin grits his teeth. “After all that she’s still-”

You cautiously click open the door, slowly revealing your apologetic expression. “I was going to wait but I didn’t…” You stop when you see the hardened look on Soobin’s face upon seeing you. “H-hello everyone.”

Kai stands up and marches over to give you a crushing hug. The gesture makes your heart flutter.

“You didn’t even call.” He pouts.

“I’m sorry.” You squeeze out. Taehyun and Yeonjun come next. Taehyun gives you a side hug while Yeonjun pats your back.

“Welcome back.” Yeonjun says with a wide smile.

The moment is interrupted by Soobin walking out of the living room into his own and slamming the door. You immediately follow after him, an action that Beomgyu watches carefully. Of course he notices a sharp pain in his chest, but he sits with it. Studies it. You could be chasing after him to reveal your true feelings and this time he may accept. He doesn’t want that. It even makes him a little bitter, but he can’t stop you. He can say whatever ugly words come to his mind to try and scare you away, but this time they may not work. And you’re not doing anything wrong. Him cuddling with you and drifting off to sleep in your bed doesn’t mean you’re dating. Moreover, you’re not Hyesoo. He’s seen every part of you by now. Regardless of everything, he’ll still be happy to have you in his life.

“You have sex with me and then never show your face again? Do you know how that feels?” Soobin explains desperately with tears springing to his eyes. “I knew the sex was meaningless, that was the whole point, but for you to up and leave afterward like I was just some random guy really sucks.”

“I-I didn’t want to leave, Soobin. I was too mortified to show my face again.”

“Because that’s what you guys being together does! You break down each other and then turn to breaking down those around you just trying to help. It’s selfish for you to waltz back in here like everything is back to normal.”

“It’s not.” You state confidently. “Everything is very, very different now. I can’t go into public spaces without being recognized, I have more people around me than ever before, and Beomgyu and I don’t hate each other anymore. You said it yourself, we’re similar and we wreck everything around us. We do it to ourselves. Beomgyu realizes it now and I certainly do. I don’t want things to go back to normal, because that version of me is gone.” The more you speak, the easier the words come. You smile hopefully at Soobin.

“I’m moving on with or without you, but I’d really love it if you entered this new chapter with me.”

You grab both of Soobin’s hands as his head droops. He’s silent for what feels like decades passing you by. Then he squeezes your hands.

Epilogue 🖊️⇝

Chaewon: you should apologize.

You pass the phone to Beomgyu in the midst of his “advice”. He crosses one arm over his chest as he reads the very short text for an inappropriate amount of time.

“But you didn’t know, right?”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not in the wrong.” You groan, snatching your phone back. He snatches it right back and starts texting. 

“Hey!” You go to take your phone back but he leans away further and further until his body is caging the phone against the couch. You climb over him and bite his shoulder but he just laughs as the text is sent. You frantically snatch your phone back and look in horror.

You: tomorrow at my house 6pm;’2[21

“What the fuck! Beomgyu!” You shriek.

“You didn’t know, therefore you didn’t intentionally do anything wrong. But you did hurt Kazuha’s feelings and the members are very mad at you.” He explains calmly, smacking on his food. 

“Thanks for reminding me of my unfortunate situation.” You deadpan.

“You were worried they think you're a horrible person. Boom–” He motions at your phone with his sandwich. “You can fix that. You’re worried you’re actually a horrible person, but you had no intentions of hurting anyone.”

“Yeah but you weren’t there. The way I said it was so insensitive in context and the look on Zuha’s face,” You whimper and hide your face in your hands.

“You didn’t hurt her on purpose.” The finality in Beomgyu’s voice makes you look up at him. His face is serious. “I’m certain of it. Now come here.” He pats his lap and you’re eagerly scooting over to lay your head on his lap. He sighs.

“You idiot.” He brushes away the tear falling down your face. “Why don’t you listen to me?”

“Hurting someone as sweet as her is pure evil.” You whisper.

“I don’t have to know you to say that an evil person wouldn’t be this remorseful. But knowing you, you’re not the type of person to go into an exchange ready to hurt an innocent person. You’re the type of person who sits quietly thinking about what you could say that will make people laugh the loudest and smile the brightest. I’m very sure that’s what you were thinking that day as well.” He voices his thoughts as he strokes your hair, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He looks down to meet your gaze and you feel the singe of a fire starting in your heart. He smiles lazily and it's the cherry on top of the artwork that is his face. 

You slowly lean up before capturing his lips. It’s slow, tender, loaded. Kissing him after all the chaos feels like lying in a field of dandelions, the seed breaking away and dancing in the wind. His skin feels like the warm hug of sunlight. His voice is like birds singing. You pull away and look at him in awe. He seems to be mirroring your feelings if his drunken expression is anything to go by. He shuts his mouth and brushes the back of his hand against your cheek.

“You’re kissing me outside of us having sex?” Beomgyu sports exaggerated shock and presses his palm to your forehead. His antics force a giggle out of you. “Are you sick?!”

You swipe his hand away, unable to ignore the burning light in your chest as you look at him and he silently looks back. You lean in and kiss him one last time before risking it all once you realize what this feeling is.

“I think I love you.” You whisper, looking desperately at his face to catch anything unsavory. His smile drops, looking genuinely shocked this time. He grabs your face and pecks your lips over and over before moving to the other parts of your face until you're stuck in a fit of laughter. He pulls away with adoration in his eyes.

“I loved you first.”

[rafry]

Euclydia, Cults and Need for Control

Disclaimer: this analysis raises sensitive topics. if you are/were a victim of a cult and the topic triggers you, please refrain from reading further(/seek help). Additionally, I am not a specialist on said topic, nor am I a clinician. But I am a survivor, so part of the narrative may or may not be just me projecting the trauma on a silly yellow triangle. That said, reader discretion is advised! :)

The take: Euclydia is likely to be a cult-like society and the reason Bill, after years of abuse, grows up to be as he is: a power-hungry monster. Let's analyze!

For the starters, The Start. Each state has its own anthem. How lucky that we were kindly provided with the Euclidian hymn (hidden under the code "FORGETTHEPAST")! Lets take a look:

"Two dimensions to and from, You always know which way to go If you're lost, don't be afraid, In Euclydia you've got it made! Run too far too right of frame, You'll appear on left again! Jump too high, don't fry or fret, You'll pop up from the ground, I bet! In this place there is no fear, Roles and rules, always clear, Euclydia, we hold you dear…"

That tells us way more than we could've asked for, really. The most important: Euclydia is a state of Clear Rules™. Everything works perfectly thanks to The Rules and The Roles, and the state is loved by it's citizens. It's might be a caricature 2D utopia, but how it reacts when the rules are questioned?

"Eye doctor of a different kind, who wants to make his patient blind The doctor says: 'three sips a day will make the visions go away' Fussy eater, baby Billy Wouldn't drink unless it's silly..."

If there's anything about cults and the way they make people behave, is that the "wrong" ones in the community are usually ostracized and/or heavily medicated to not cause any troubles. Those people are sometimes called 'heretics', but may as well just be called crazy or insane by their peers. Oh look completely unrelated picture:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane Starting fires with his brain"

Honestly, the other time it would be it. Euclydia, if not Is, then sure does Act like a cult in some way. I could've finished here, easily, but there's something missing, isn't?

"The hell do you mean by 'The Need to Control', OP?"

I mean that the BILLVILLE is important.

There's the thing about trauma survivors: some of us, after living a life with no control over ones societal position (ostracization/isolation), body (forcibly medicated) or even mind (feeling of inadequacy), crave for some form of control to be regained.

It can turn toxic very quickly when the only form of control one has ever seen in their life is being The Leader (cult leader/shitty parent/armageddon overlord/you get the idea, it's about becoming an authority figure).

And so, Bill becomes a cult leader! Very possibly covering up the need for control and admiration with what I call "The most inefficient way to build an Interdimentional Portal ever", since, well, he's got to lie to himself every now and then, that's his thing (trauma response).

As for the details:

He uses the dead mans body — the body that wouldn't cause any resistance, thus being perfect for taking under control.

He sees the position of the interviewer as more authoritative than the position of the interviewee — and he swaps the roles. That wasn't enough though, so he demands (politely) to be called "My Lord And Master" for a good measure.

He very possibly recreates some of Euclydia-like order in his own "Town" in terms of expressing individuality. They might've been pretty decent in following scripts, I think.

So, I don't think Euclydia has ever been religious in any way, since that would left some other scars on Bills psyche for sure. But highly authoritative, ignorant, strict in its rules to the point of self-damnation? That checks. That's the place that has formed Bill, after all.

That's the place that he wishes to rebuild.

Maybe not consciously, maybe distorted by his illness and broken memory of a loving-paradise-home that has never actually been that way, but he seeks the comfort of familiarity — most of us do. Familiar stings are better than an uncontrollable too-bright future, isn't?

I hope he does well on therapy.

[visenyaism]

jaehaerys administration dashboard simulator

🫧maidenpooled Follow

listen i know all kingsguard are bastards but jonquil darke put a cigarette out on me. i think i huave shivers

♟️redwhine

ok bootlicker. you know what she did

🫧maidenpooled Follow

boots not the only thing id lick

🌸queencrowned Follow

this could literally be me and my brother if it weren't for my bitch mom trying to send me to the other side of the fucking continent

🍒saerious

GIRL STAND UP

🤎bowlofbrown

doctrine of exceptionalism meatriders when someone asks them why 75% of dragonstone is blonde and me and half of flea bottom have gleaming amethyst eyes and/or beautiful delicate cheekbones

🥀maegorwife Follow

that's different...targaryens are literally divinely ordained by the seven to rule because they're stronger and better than us...that's why they have the dragons it is in their sanctified valyrian blood

🩸knifeinthedark

SO TRUE...THEY WANT TO ABOLISH THE RIGHT TO FIRST NIGHT BECAUSE OF WOKE. AND YET THEY STILL DO IT. BUT NO ONE CAN SAY ANYTHING ANYMORE OR THOSE GENDER-NEUTRAL DRAGONS WILL BURN YOUR KEEP DOWN

🤎bowlofbrown

cannot stand this fucking website. spending my last silver stag on tyroshi blue hair dye im not going to be associated with you people.

🍒saerious

oh so when maegor has seven wives he’s “aegon’s true son” and “cool” but when i have three boyfriends suddenly im a “whore”

🫀lustywench Follow

op i support you but they did call him “the cruel” for that it was a very important part of the story that he was in fact maegor “the cruel”

🌟sevenpointedstar

🌗maidensgrace

doing all of this with a FAITH OF THE SEVEN URL...girl you better pick a hell and start hoping

#bring back the faith militant

❄️theythemderly

hey isn’t it weird that so many of the king’s children have suddenly and mysteriously died lately. under the care of the maesters. what if they’re planning something…,

🕯️glasscandled

ugh i wish🙄 speed that shit up fr

🥵ullerscorpion

likes charge reblog cast

😈themarcherrrrrr-deactivated5699

me when im in a being dead combination and my opponents are jaehaerys' whole army of childraeyn of the corn

🙌fleabottomtop

yoooooooo theyre quarrelling again.

🙌fleabottomtop

alysanne targaryen if you're reading this i could change your life just give me one chance let me hit

🙌fleabottomtop

there are gold cloaks outside of my house

⚔️errantmaid Follow

kingsguard dick is good as fuck when you don't have a motherfucker in your ear saying it violates a sacred vow made in the eyes of the king and the seven😜

⚔️errantmaid Follow

the king chopped it off and sent him to the wall i fucking hate this place can't have SHIT in king's landing

🏵️floriansjonquil

hey has anyone seen princess gael. it's been literal months and she seems to have up and disappeared with no official announcement from the palace? would be the third female relative to go missing in the king's custody after aerea and saera....

🐝beeeeeeeeeeeeesbury Follow

damn that's crazy. im sure shes fine though anyways i'm a big fan of this new road the king built theres a lot of nice new roads does anyone else like the roads

🐦‍⬛cloakedinfeathers Follow

day 18262 of not fighting the brackens. this is boring as fuckkkkk what am i supposed to do. pretend to care about the triarchy?

🐎brackennation

kill yourself

🐦‍⬛cloakedinfeathers Follow

192.158.1.38. doxxed. get your dumbfuck horse breeder knights ready because our strongest and noblest raven warriors are on the way to your nasty ass keep right now bitch

[revelboo]

Could we have more for "Gravity"? 🙏 reader making it her life's goal to see robot dick as soon as she realizes it flusters OP is so me-coded and I'm living for it. I love your super serious emotional fics, but I also love the human being so unserious 🤭

Honestly, same. 18+ content

Gravity Pt 9

Optimus Prime x Reader

• Pacing outside the door of his habsuite, he runs a frustrated hand over his face. Trying to get himself back in control, because you don’t realize what you do to him. Asking about that. Had it only been curiosity or was it actual interest? Why is that difference so very important to him? And something he really shouldn’t be thinking about at all. You’re his to protect, considering anything else, wanting more, is wholly inappropriate.

• Sitting cross legged on the berth where he’d left you, there’s nothing to do but wait for him to come back. Who’d have thought that one not so innocent question would send him running? Know you should let it go, but that almost panicked look on his face is just so sweet. Like the big guy himself. And you’d been straight with him, if he’d been a human guy and treated you like he does, you’d have rode him until you’re both too exhausted to crawl out of bed.

• One more thing he can’t have. Accepting that, he lets himself back inside his quarters and finds you sitting on his berth eating that crunchy, dry food out of a box. “So you got some freaky alien stuff going on like double dicks or crotch tentacles?” Gritting his denta behind his mask as you just grin up at him, he vents tiredly.

• He almost looks like he’s in pain as he just straight up ignores the question. Apparently you’ve reached the limit of how much bullshit he’s willing to put up with. Silent, he begins moving the uneaten food and his half empty energon cube off the berth and sits beside you, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. Making you feel guilty about screwing with him. Especially since, realistically him abducting you probably saved your life given the path you were on. And you owe him more than you can ever hope to repay.

• “You know,” you say and he hears your little feet padding on the berth. Peeking at you, he watches you slowly spin. Dancing again and he wonders why you do that, your expression no longer teasing, but oddly empty. “The club I danced for, didn’t pay a lot. Sometimes if the customer looked like he had money, we’d have a private party.” Arms over your head, you turn so your back is to him. “And I always told myself it didn’t matter. That I didn’t care, because every dollar got me a little closer to getting the hell out of there.” There’s something under the resignation in your voice, something broken that makes his spark ache. Wishing he’d found you just a bit sooner, before life had scarred you.

• Wrapping your arms around yourself, you wish you could just shut up. Because telling him this, how dirty you really are? He’s not going to look at you the same way if you don’t stop. Won’t treat you the same way. And part of you knows that everything that’s wrong with your life is wholly your fault. Stubbornly doubling down again and again until there was no digging yourself out. You hear him shift behind you, a metallic rasp. Leaving again? Done with you?

• There’s an unsettling pull as he mass shifts, of willing himself smaller and burning so much energy all at once. And when he’d done, you’re still so much smaller than he is. Just this fragile little thing that still seems so unreal to him as he reaches out and pulls you back into him. Hearing your startled inhale as he catches your wrists in a big hand, unsettled that he can loop the servos of one hand so easily around both your little wrists. “You think I’m proud of every single thing I’ve done? That I haven’t made mistakes?” He asks and feels you shiver.

• Head craning to look over your shoulder and up at him, for once you can’t say anything at all. No smart ass comment or teasing. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he could do something like this. And he’s warm against your back, suddenly aware of him in a way you’d never been before. Those big hands achingly gentle on you. Has anyone ever touched you like that? Gently? It’s too much. Too real, sending you into a panic. “Please tell me it’s not crotch tentacles,” you blurt, hearing him make a noise suspiciously between a groan and a laugh as his other arm curls around you. Holding you closer.

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