#so many AUs in here oof

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 6

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, you get your very own samantha from her (2013) lol, time skips as a plot device!, this has an arc i promise, if anybody here plays disco elysium you’ll find that i took concepts of “the pale” as inspo at some points in this chapter lmao A/N: Oof this one’s a little longer than any of the previous chapters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 (and just a heads up, this might be the last chapter I post before I kick it off for the holidays. advance happy holidays! if you guys celebrate that sort of thing.) 

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

There’s a quiet stillness brought by the morning after that makes the problems of a heavier night seem like a fairly distant memory. 

For at least a few minutes past the moment you blink away the stubborn grit in your eyes—you don’t remember the last time you’ve been this well-rested in ages—you lie, listless, on the soft powder-blue bedding of your twin-size mattress, watching specks of dander and dust drift from the amber sunlight that filters through the cracked panes of the casement window. 

It floats aimlessly; unhurried. Much like you.

The echo of last night’s events return to you in sporadic flashes—fragmented and unsteady. The whispered exchanges, the playful banter between you and your unlikely conversation partner play back in your mind, like some half-finished supercut. 

And the more you recall, the more awake you feel, chipping away the last traces of daytime lethargy weighing you down. 

“So, what happens now?”

The sound of a car backfiring breaks through from the outside, like a starting pistol signalling the beginning of another day. A familiar, heavy weight presses against your side, and you thread your fingers through the scraggly fur of the purring feline who’s taken the empty space on your left, just above the covers. 

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes. 

“I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

You realize how many questions still linger, a lot more left unanswered. Far more than what you were able to glean, at least. From what little you’ve learned, an entirely new moral dilemma emerges—one you never imagined you'd have to contend with. 

There’s a lot of things you’ve never expected to happen. Yet here you are. 

“Seems we’re at an impasse.” 

It’s an odd thing in itself. You keep waiting for the disbelief to catch up, for a shred of sanity to surface and make you reject the situation you’ve found yourself entangled in. You should be feeling the same, pesky feelings that pulled you sharply out of your flight of fancy last night; a sense of trepidation for what lies ahead in this precarious game of two. 

But instead, you’re here. Now fully awake, and already looking forward to the day with wary acceptance. Looking forward to resuming where you’ve left off with that charming anomaly who’s upended your world, and left you suspended in an exhilarating limbo of uncertainty and excitement.

“...Indeed.”

You crave it—like the first stirrings of a neophyte druggie teetering on the edge of an irreversible habit. 

You need another hit. 

“Why the long face, little dove?”

Because if desire could manifest into being, it would’ve been Sylus. 

“We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

You pick up your phone. 

––––

“You’re here? Make yourself at home.” 

You look at him, deadpan. He looks back at you serenely. 

Your voice takes on a dry monotone when you respond, “Keep talking like that, I’m about to cum.” 

There’s a shocked silence; then—

Sylus barks out a surprised laugh, immediately breaking character. 

You snort. “Good morning to you too, I guess.” 

He meets your gaze with a look of scandalized amusement, his smile wide enough to flash teeth. 

"Good morning, indeed."

––––

You two fall into a natural rhythm even before the day comes to a close. Perceptive as he is, Sylus hasn’t let you linger in the unease left over from last night any longer than necessary—which to say, should be left buried and forgotten, past its provenance. 

“So you could, like–hypothetically, top up my ascension materials… indefinitely?” There’s a manic shine to your eyes when you confront him back at the home screen, gleeful and triumphant after you boost almost all the 5-star cards you have of him up to max level. “Like an infinite glitch?” 

He’s content to just simply listen to your excited chatter from his languid perch on the seat, one palm resting against the side of his face as he watches you—half-lidded and relaxed. Utterly entertained by your antics.

The slight twitching of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his head… each minute shift in his expression makes a whole world of difference from the version you’ve known him longest—almost a lifetime ago. 

Now he acts so human, so alive, that it’s almost unreal. 

(It’s almost imperceptible, but you swear the air also feels different; like the pixelated space around him is bending, stretching, to accommodate this newer him.) 

“Sure,” he shrugs, lips quirking up into a half-smile as he notices the deep crease forming between your brows. 

He knows the question you’re about to ask—curious thing that you are.

“How, though? Like, what are ‘materials’ to you?” You make air quotes with your fingers, making you appear all the more endearing to him look at, in your process to make sense of a world that’s unfamiliar to you.

“Think of it as upgrades,” Sylus explains patiently. “You place the order to modify the equipment I use, in whichever situation calls for it.”

“And Memory Cards?”

“... A video reel, maybe. Or a restricted case file—locked until you’ve got enough to trade for the information you want.”

“And I suppose the dealer in question here is you?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who else?”

“Huh,” you say, considering. “So, Deepspace Trials. That’s something you do on the daily? Because I… make you?”

“More or less.”

“And you never thought to question that?” 

“Mm, maybe I’ll start charging for my services this time around.”

You roll your eyes, already accepting his analogy for what it is. “Oh, please. With the amount of money I’ve spent on this game, consider yourself paid in full.” 

––––

You were right about your earlier prediction—this new Sylus in combat mode is something else. 

For starters, he’s a lot chattier.

“Ouch, kitten– don’t charge in like that.”

“Why are you using a sword? Don’t you like the guns I’ve given you specifically for this?” 

“What are you waiting for? Make her resonate with me now.” 

And, instead of sticking to his lines and responding to whatever the MC’s programmed to say during battle, he focuses on whatever you’re fussing over—no matter how… moronic it is.

“Ah, fuck! I hate that spinning thing!” 

“Move, then. Let me handle it.” 

“Block it, block it!”

“I would, if you weren’t halfway across the field. Stick closer to your partner next time, yeah?” 

He doesn’t say any of his usual lines. Nothing from his scripted prompts. When all Wanderers are defeated, there’s no post-battle banter between him and the MC. 

“Goddamn, you’re strong!” You whoop giddily, completely energized by straight winning almost twelve Orbit trials in a row. I guess that’s what a fully awakened Solar pair gets you, huh? 

Sylus lets out a chuckle, infected by your enthusiasm. He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite all the damned fighting you’ve put him through.

“We make a good team,” he allows. And because he likes the little nose scrunch you do when you’re annoyed— “Although your dodging really needs more practice, sweetie.” 

Before you could think of a comeback, the pop-up window for the next stage comes up. Ass.

––––

Come Monday morning and you’re once again swamped with work. 

You barely have enough time to scrounge something up for lunch—if it weren’t for the persistent reminders from Sylus, chiming in every five minutes once the digital clock on your phone had hit eleven-thirty, you’d probably skip eating altogether.

And make something else than just boiling a pot of instant ramen, sweetheart. You’re on track for an early grave at this rate. 

“I could… add an egg?” You suggest, unsure. “Maybe cut up some tofu, make it gourmet?”  

He doesn’t even dignify the egg suggestion with a response. Tofu’s a good start. Now, what else do you have in your pantry that has nutritional value? 

“I despise that,” you mutter, but start rifling through the cupboards anyway. 

After amassing enough ingredients—or what looks more like a sad pile—that might, with some effort, turn into something healthier than your usual go-to fix, you start Googling recipes online.

‘tofu easy lunch recipe’

‘10 mins tofu recipes’   

‘begginer recipe using tofu frozen dory mixed veg—’ Ping!

… Really, kitten? 

You don’t even have to see him to know he’s giving you that look, the one that’s practically dripping with judgment over your dubious life choices. 

(You know it all too well. Personally, in fact. You see it on some relatives' faces at the family get-togethers you’re always required to attend.) 

Great. Heat creeps up your face as you mumble defensively, “Stop. Not everyone’s a culinary genius, okay?”

After that, he lets you be – something you’re thankful for, really. He’s being too distracting anyway. 

Swallowing down the–stubborn and suffocating–embarrassment that's now stuck in your throat, you keep scrolling through Tasty dot co, praying you can whip up something edible with what (little) you have. You’re fully aware that you’re a grown-ass woman who can’t manage a basic life skill and that you’re probably about to burn down your kitchen—

Another notification pops up.

Pull up your tabs, sweetie. I think you’ll find something there that we could put together easily.

Confused, you do as he says. Sure enough, four tofu-related recipes are neatly grouped together in your Chrome browser, ready to be tried and tested.  

Your eyes widen. “Wait—you did this? How?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He does, however, offer: Want me to coach you through it? Cooking’s more fun done with a partner, I’d say. 

-

-

In the end, you manage to make something that tasted way better than you thought you could do by yourself. You have him to thank for that.

“You happy with it?” Sylus asks, grinning at the satisfied look on your face.

“Mhm!” you hum around a mouthful of food. “Fanks, Sy.”

“Anytime, darling.”

––––

“Do you really have to call me ‘kitten’? You sound like a Discord mod.” 

Sylus has no idea what a Discord mod is, but judging by the contempt in your voice, it’s clear that you’re not giving him a compliment.

"What do you prefer, then? Princess? Poppet? Sweet thing?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Baby?"

You blush and look away. "... Ugh, whatever. Kitten's fine."

––––

Your routine with Sylus settles into a seamless, effortless flow as the days go by; it’s almost second nature, talking to him. So much so that you’d think nothing could faze you anymore.

Well. Almost nothing. 

A message bubble from an unknown number appears on your lock screen: Hi, sweetheart. X

You almost ignore it—brushing it off as some dumb prank from a bored rando—when, not even five seconds later, another text pops up. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Its Sylus.

… Huh? 

“Is someone fucking with me right now, or…” 

+0063-XXXXXX: Nobodys ‘fucking with you,’ kitten. 

Then–

+0063-XXXXXX: Send a reply so I can see how it shows up on my end.

Your jaw drops. “Holy shit—you can text?? How are you doing that?” and, “Did you just cuss...?” 

+0063-XXXXXX: 👍

+0063-XXXXXX: And Ill let you know if you text me the question 🙄

So you do. You tack on a now spill?? at the end for good measure. 

You watch the “typing…” bubble appear, holding your breath.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its a complex mix of technical code and harnessing the energy from a dormant protofield Ive discovered, just south of Vagrants Land.  

+0063-XXXXXX: The energy I got from it felt different somehow from your normal protofield. I figured I could put it to good use. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Oddly enough, theres an… indescribable effect to oneself when youre nearing the centre of disturbance, shall we say. 

+0063-XXXXXX: I can only decrypt the waveforms by the rarefield border surrounding the AoR. Any further and Im afraid the adverse effects may do more harm than good.

+0063-XXXXXX: But if amplified, it seems responsive to the filament of what connects your signal from deep space to this planet.

+0063-XXXXXX: Who knew it could act as a transmitter to send you something as rudimentary as a telegraph? 

… Sometimes you forget how smart Sylus really is. 

You: that’s pretty amazing ?? wtf sylus  

+0063-XXXXXX: I get by OK. 

You could practically feel his smugness radiating from those four words. You scoff, shaking your head in a mix of awe and begrudging admiration.

He sends two more messages. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Im just glad we can communicate through other means, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now save my number. Sy Sy will suffice 😉

––––

Since your latest discovery that Sylus can now text (!!), you’ve been talking to him outside the game non-stop. It’s like talking to a very active friend who never leaves you on read, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. 

You: so no one else in ur universe knows anything abt ur situation?

You: no one else acting funny or sumn ? >.>

Sy-Sy (??): None that I know of, no. I prefer to keep it under wraps. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now that you mention it, Mephisto has been acting quite suspicious lately. 

You: ?? suspicious-suspicious or just reg suspicious??

Sy-Sy (??): Hes with his other crow friends now. They might be attempting a murder. 

You: ………. is that…. supposed 2 be a joke……….

Sy-Sy (??): Im running on 3 hours of sleep, give me a break.   

Sy-Sy (??): Also your textspeak is horrendous, sweetie. 

"Um, hello—?" 

Your gaze snaps back to the–very real, very present–person sitting across from you at the table, sporting box-dyed blue hair and a frown. You're at the Annex House; a sleek, new-age Japandi-style bar downtown, just an easy five stations away from your place. You both decided to try it for their infamous Rotten Apple cocktail and, of course, your weekly catch-up.

Khol, your friend of eight years since college, is currently giving you a mildly annoyed look.

Oops. 

They point at you accusingly while complaining, "Ugh, we don’t use our phones when we’re hanging out! That’s the rule!"

You smile at them, sheepish, pocketing your phone as discreetly as you could. “I know, I know. Sorry.” 

Then, puffing out your cheeks, you meekly ask, “You were talking about Anna...?”

They roll their eyes but go over the gossip a second time, much to your benefit. Phew.

Your phone vibrates. Twice. 

…

You sneak a quick, final peek.

Sy-Sy (??): Enjoy your night out, darling ❤️ 

Sy-Sy (??): You let me know when youre back home, OK? 

Biting back a grin, you send out one last text in reply. 

You: will do !:9 

Sy-Sy (??): Good girl. 

––––

"Um–so this is my cat, Maru," you say by way of introduction, holding the plump, orange tabby in front of your phone that’s propped up against a carton of Koko Krunch. There’s a slight struggle in lifting his left paw between your fingers to wave at the man on the other side of the screen. "Say hi, Maru."

“Hello, Maru,” Sylus greets amicably in return, watching the both of you with clear amusement in his eyes. “Care to tell me the origin of this proud beast?” 

You recount the story where you’ve first seen Maru five years ago, nothing more than a scraggly little runt at the time, hiding in the gap between a dumpster and the interstice of a cragged wall. You were walking home from a night out drinking with your uni buddies, when you heard the incessant meowing. 

It drew you in like a siren’s call. If the siren in question had the vocal prowess of a warbling whale on the brink of death.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy fluffball revealed a stubby, crooked tail and wide, beady eyes. In your alcohol-fueled haze, you briefly wondered if you were staring at a tiny ginger rat.

“Well, it’s definitely all cat,” your friend Bee declared by noon the following day, calmly retracting a scratched and bloodied hand from the disgruntled feline, which promptly hissed and darted right back under the bed.

You hummed in agreement, passing her a wad of tissue. 

"I couldn’t decide between Nospurratu and Catpin Meow," you say matter-of-factly, giving your capricious son a scritch under his chin. "Bee suggested I stick to something simpler, like Maru. Hence the name."

Your explanation is punctuated by an offended nip on your pointer finger. 

Sylus is covering his mouth, but nods solemnly. “I think Maru is a nice name.” 

There’s a moment where the two seem locked in a silent standoff, neither breaking eye contact nor making any sort of outward reaction. Just as you’re about to step in and interrupt the bizarre staring contest, Maru gives a slow, deliberate blink.

Sylus takes it as a sign of victory—or perhaps a ceremonial seal of approval.

 With a faint smirk on his lips, he offers the cat a small bow in respect.

––––

You’ve practically emptied the entire arcade of plushies—enough to put it out of business if it were actually, you know, real—and you’re bored to tears. 

“Another round of Kitty Cards, perhaps?” Sylus suggests, but a single glance at your face is enough to let him know that you’d rather gnaw off your own hand. Or his. He might just let you.

Sighing dramatically, you complain about the limited playability of the “mini-games” in-game.

“There’s literally nothing else to do. Same old shit, over and over again.” There’s a pout on your face that Sylus wants to nibble on, not that you’re aware of the forming thoughts in his head. “No new banners. I’m stuck between Kitty Cards and the claw machines... I’m bored, Syyyyy,” you whine, stretching the last syllable for effect.  

To be fair, he has tried to make it a bit more challenging for you. He stopped fucking around during Kitty Cards—no more extra two cards in exchange for one of yours, no longer placing different colored kitties deliberately in the wrong cups. 

After six straight losses, your frustration is palpable. The fun is gone.

He makes audible commentaries during each of your six tries at the claw machine. Every time you manage to snag a plushie, he praises you for a job well done (It flusters you—not that he needs to know that). When your luck runs out and you grab onto nothing but air, he wryly points it out through some slight ribbing, but nothing that’s actually hurtful (This flusters you too—again, not that he needs to know any of this).   

There’s nothing else to do. It’s like you’ve exhausted all you could in this small, curated window of his that you’re privy to. If only there’s a way to leave the mini-games behind, to do something new, perhaps outside of what the game has to offer…

Oh, wait. 

“Hey, Sy,” you call the man to attention. “Wanna try something out?” 

-

-

You beat him at Words with Friends by a small margin.

“Ha! That’s thirty-nine points, buddy.” You crow proudly, after putting down Devotees in a straight column.

He eviscerates you at Zynga Poker. 

“... How are you so good at this??” 

“Comes with the package, sweetie,” he says with faux-modesty after revealing (yet another!!) full house, winking like he hasn’t just wiped the floor with you.

By the end of it, both of you are in high spirits—except, maybe, for your bruised ego.

––––

“Say my name, say my name… If no one is around you, say baby I love you…”

“It’s nice to know that we have another thing in common, little dove.”

 

It takes you a moment to process what he’s implying. 

You stop singing, affronted. “Wh—how dare you.” 

––––

“Are you having fun?” Sylus asks, his tone droll as he stands there, hands on his hips and a small scowl on his face. You’re too busy spinning him around, thoroughly entertained by the number of outfits and accessories you’ve forced upon your slightly reluctant model in the photoshoot that's currently taking place.

It’s more amusing, knowing that he’s fully-aware of what’s happening. And that you know he’s aware of what’s happening. 

He’s like your personal, sentient Ken doll—if Ken had ashy grey hair, red eyes, and a mercurial attitude.

“I am, actually,” you shoot back, grinning as you plop a tomato stuffie on top of his head. “Look, you two match!” 

He exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Not that it stops you. Fluffy bunny ears, a fish headband, an uncharacteristic halo—you’re relentless. “Hey, can you try a different pose?”

“That depends on the pose… and how nicely you ask.”

“Dear Sylus,” you sing, jutting your bottom lip forward and fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly, “could you please, pretty please, flip the camera off?”

He snorts but obliges, raising his hand to deliver the most effortlessly cool middle finger you’ve ever seen. “Happy?”

Woah. That’s… hot. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your reaction. You giggle nervously. “You look… hot.”

“Mm?” His smirk grows, teasing and predatory. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you blurt out, but the pinking of your cheeks betrays you. He’s definitely enjoying this now.

“I could be convinced to do another one,” he murmurs, voice pitching a little lower.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that comes to mind. Stop, you whore. 

Your nerves get the best of you. Without thinking, you switch to putting the MC back on screen. 

Sylus blinks, red eyes narrowing as he looks at you, perplexed. 

“Uh,” you shift your gaze between her frozen stance and his idle figure. The sudden silence hangs a little heavy in the air. “Would–would you like to do poses? With her?”

He opens his mouth, an automatic response—but he stops, expression flickering into something unreadable. Confusion? Hesitation? 

His brows knit together, and for a short while, he just studies you, the space between you thick with unspoken questions. 

“Do you want me to?” he asks finally, his voice quieter, almost careful.

No–I don’t want you to— To pose with someone who looks so-–

perfectperfectperfect by your side—I only want to see you—

I want to see you––

Why do I care–?

I don’t care––I care, I care so much–– 

“Why not?” you choke out, the forced cheer in your voice grating even to your own ears. You shrug, nonchalant in all the ways you’re not. “I’ll dress her up real nice, and then—” You slap a pink bow onto his head. “You can try to keep up.” 

He doesn’t move, not paying the offending accessory any attention. His gaze is solely locked onto yours. 

I don’t care. I don’t. 

You take the first shot. 

____

“What’s the song you’re playing?”

You pause mid-mop, cocking your head to the side in slight surprise. 

“Uhh—Pedestal,” you answer unsurely. “By Portishead. You like it?” 

He hums, eyes glinting with interest. “I do. Play the rest.” 

And just like that, you’re introducing Sylus to modern twenty-first century music—and to Spotify.

____

From that point on, Sylus begins using your Spotify account to discover a whole new world of music—quite literally, in his case. Sometimes he steals the control from you, overriding what you’re currently listening to, just to hear the most random track play from your speakers.

In the middle of a mundane afternoon while you're completely locked in at work—hyperpop synths blaring in your ears—you’re suddenly jolted by the sound of heavy mandolins as an honest-to-god Russian military march blasts through your headphones, shattering your focus like a damn rhino in a china shop. 

And so with the level of patience that could put the Virgin Mary to shame, you painstakingly explain to your friend the courtesy of not stealing the proverbial AUX cord from the “driver,” especially when it’s their turn on the radio. 

The two of you reach a compromise, and thus the birth of your “shared” playlist. Sylus reluctantly agrees to explore on his own time—when you’re not using the app. Like when you’re busy with other things. Or when you're asleep. 

-

-

-

You wake up to the first strings of a Muse song. One of your favorites, in fact. 

Sy-Sy (??): Good morning, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Last night was enlightening. I have you to thank for that.

Sy-Sy (??): Oh, and I hope you could indulge me. I added some songs to our playlist. I think youll like them. We both seem to have a thing for alt-rock.

Sy-Sy (??): Give me time and Im sure Ill acquire a taste for electronic music too. Be patient. 

You huff out a laugh, lazily rolling over as you check your shared playlist. Sure enough, there’s twelve new songs on it.   

You: awe that’s great sy :)) and these songz r rly good !! u got sum of my faves here

You: based on what u like maybe u can try looking up sum david bowie, probz massive attack idk 

You: i’ll add stuff later for u to listen 2!!! <2

You: <3* 

Sy-Sy (??): Alright, sweetheart. Im looking forward to it. 

Sy-Sy (??): ♥️

____

From the outside, the studio is just another unit among endless rows of dull grey—small and unassuming. Tucked away on the sixth floor of a nondescript building, it’s built as unremarkable as the rest.

Through a window stained with a mix of corrosive ochre and burnt sienna, there’s a quiet hum—the presence of something that wasn’t there a week ago. Life has shifted, ever so subtly, from an oppressive achroma to a much warmer vibrancy.  

There’s a faint hint of movement. Inside, the young woman wears an almost-permanent smile, her phone an extension of her hand as she taps away with no semblance of rhyme nor rhythm—only in a continuous staccato. Her eyes are locked on the screen, as if drawn by an invisible force.

It’s elusive; this connection—something beyond. Supranatural. It weaves through the room like whispered secrets shared in the dead of the night, beneath a city blanketed in deep ultramarine. Soft, like a wind brushing through a still everglade. 

The apartment, once steeped in a self-inflicted solitude—one that went by unnoticed for a long period of time—comes alive as an intangible presence fills its nooks and crannies with the steady warmth of companionship. There’s a gentle heat to the space now, like the glow of an invisible hearth. 

The flickering of the string lights, the muted laughter shared with a voice through the tinny speakers of a handheld device, a slight signal interference… all feel like the genesis of an impossible story.

Outside, the evening sky is fading into twilight.

And as one looks out onto the street below from the sixth floor window, it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t quite matter anymore. 

Inside, the air is full of life, in ways it has never been. 

____

“Come to me, just in a dream

Come on and rescue me

Yes, I know I can be wrong

And maybe you’re too headstrong

Our love is––”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @tinyweebsstuff @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean

(if..... for some damn reason..... the tags still don't work i rly don't know what i'm doing wrong T_T i'm posting this from a macbook is that it, is the ghost of steve jobs fucking with me rn)

[la-principessa-nuova]

This or That Game.

coffee shop or flower shop | au or fix-it | enemies to lovers or childhood friends | angst or fluff | love at first sight or pining | modern au or historical au | soulmates or unrequited | fake dating or secret dating | break up & make up or proposal & weddings | get together or established relationship | oblivious pining or domestic fluff | hurt/comfort or crack | meet the parents or meet cute

Tagging

@tattle-tayler @learningtogirl @valuepack-catgirl @a-high-femme @bookmothic-dyke @drmothmaam @elis-pride

This or That Game. coffee shop or flower shop | au or fix-it | enemies to lovers or childhood friends | angst or fluff | love at first sight or pining | modern au or historical au | soulmates or unrequited | fake dating or secret dating | break up & make up or proposal & weddings | get together or established relationship | oblivious pining or domestic fluff | hurt/comfort or crack | meet the parents or meet cute Tagging

@alloftimeandspaceisours @estrogenic-ella @la-principessa-nuova @nathaira-stern

[vaaaaaiolet]

Here, we happen upon a specimen of Homo sapiens in a most vulnerable state. He appears to be utterly besotted with his wife at the risk of his livelihood. Distracted, exhausted, and borderline hallucinating, he's left open to attack from every angle. Including that of the object of his affections, it seems.

In which Leon nearly naps through a debrief and you give him a run for his money.

mdni [insert tiktok GET OUT audio]. married f / m smut feat. the same agent au from mbotcd. a dash of plot w your porn if you please. whipped leon pov where his bamf wife pounces on him LMAO. bjs, jerking him off, and no refractory period yay!!! slight cumplay + dacryphilia?? cavity-inducing p in v à la missionary. banter and praise bordering on body worship. 1 sec of overstim. corny plot twist. honestly just marriage kink. i hate myself too. also you wear a necklace + bracelet cause u cute like that :3

a/n: “vivi wtf you keep writing the sam-” let’s get this straight. i #needthat. i’ve been #needingthat. this is a month’s worth of thirst condensed into a GROSS FUCKING FIC that i’m actually so embarrassed about please don’t look at me. i want this man's dick so bad it makes me ill. and dicks are scary ok. nevertheless, i persevere in my journey to suck leon off with mixed results. enjoy the ride <3 + many many kisses to the most kickass writer i know @comatosebunny09 for inspiring bamf reader :,) leon nation has MISSED YOU LMFAOOO

word count: 3.2k (WE BEAT THE 2.9K TRENCHES Y'ALL!!) // read on ao3

It’s only after you finally shoo your guests out the front door that Leon can plunge into the living room loveseat and let out a sigh akin to that of a sinking ship’s. Or at least shooing is the way he’d have done it – his darling’s too perfect a hostess to dream of doing that.

Goddamn. Leon pulls a hand down his face hard enough to resemble Munch’s Scream painting. He thought they’d never leave: the eye-twitchingly pedantic DSO busybodies who had no business interrupting the sanctity of his home on a Friday afternoon, and an unbearably sleepy one at that. 

Sunshine had dripped down the living room windows slower than molasses while two analysts blabbered on and on about some stupid recon intel from his last mission. One cookie after the other had disappeared from a tray laid out with Leon’s secret stash. And to make things worse, an hour in, you’d started glaring daggers his way when his head started bobbing. It made for a scene dangerously reminiscent of Sunday service as a kid.

So what if this Sensitive Compartmented Blah Blah Blah needed to be discussed at the DSO’s earliest convenience? What about Leon’s convenience? He’d handled confidential business before. He checks his email on time. Most of the time. 

But the hard part’s over now, thank the Lord. Leon can peel off the imaginary Scotch tape from his eyelids and instead appreciate the magnificent view his wife makes walking back from the foyer in her company best. 

Now that’s something he wouldn’t mind discussing at length over tea. 

Crimson silk whispers down the length of your legs when you throw yourself over the arm of the couch opposite him. Leon snickers; kicks up his feet on his own loveseat in solidarity. Falling onto the cushions, you let out a gutted yawn that couldn’t possibly befit the gracious lady of the house who was just insisting your guests stay for dinner. 

He can’t not tease you about it. 

You remind him that he’s lucky his ass didn’t snooze himself out of a job. The threat cuts less considering how funny you sound, muffled from the sherpa throw you’ve planted your face into. You were at it for hours, holding down the fort while your husband zoned out. One more word out of him and you’ll conveniently lose the files he needs for his upcoming assignment.  

Oof. Leon knows not to negotiate unarmed.

Anyway, he’s not too keen on arguing with Sleeping Beauty. Can’t help but chuckle when you tuck your hands flat under your cheek like a Precious Moments figurine. He crosses his arms, watches you curl up your legs and declare to nobody in particular that you’re only resting your eyes before figuring out dinner, and knowing all too well what’s to follow, Leon waits. 

Three…two…one. 

Out like a light. He could’ve snapped on it. 

They tuckered his baby right out. Picture of an angel, fast asleep as sunlight streams onto the carpet and the houseplants don’t notice a thing. Lashes flashing gold in the rays, fluttering with each soft breath you take. You look as if you could sleep for a thousand years.   

With his own head heavy with the five o’clock sun, Leon’s inclined to share the sentiment. He’s close to dozing off too. It’s just…he’s having a little trouble shutting his eyes now that those pests from work are gone and he’s free to stare unabashedly at what actually held his attention all afternoon.

You shift in your sleep – innocent as a lamb, were it not for the bare leg you kick out right then. 

Leon stifles a punched-out groan by the skin of his teeth. 

Your dress rides up just high enough for him to peek at the pretty thighs hiding underneath. Leon might have to call over company more often if it meant you’d wear that again, damn his cookie stash. A lean forward and shit, he’s seeing lace. Lace he wants between his teeth.

The rational part of his brain chides, she’s exhausted. Don’t even think about it.

Leon rebels. He can’t help his hungry eyes from devouring upwards from there. Right over the enticing plush of your hips, the curve of your stomach. Up to your darling face with a few pit stops along the way. 

Do you have any idea how cute you pout when you’re trying to squeeze the sunlight out of your eyes? Or that you finger your favorite necklace, lulling yourself to sleep? It rests over the slope of your breasts, a privilege he’s always nursed a smattering of jealousy about, and Leon isn’t saying he meant to stare for as long as he does at the pendant playing peek-a-boo between the valley of your- 

Fuck it. Yeah, he’s looking. Perving over the prettiest angel he ever did see. He won’t be calling God and returning you to heaven anytime soon. No hard feelings, big guy. 

Said necklace glitters in the fading radiance of the afternoon sun as Leon huffs this particular thought to himself, readjusting his jeans. And then he frowns. Maybe it’s his sleep-addled brain, but he could swear the necklace winks at him.

It’s then that a pair of beautiful eyes – who should very much be closed – flutter open. 

Fantastic. You woke her up. 

It takes you a second. Slumber still weighs heavy on your poor neck. You stretch out your arms, yawning into the back of your hand. Leon’s already workshopping an apology by the time you wipe your mouth to taste the fleeting remnants of your five-minute nap. 

It must’ve been all that moaning and groaning of his, goddamn it. Subtlety’s never been his strong suit. Leon should say sorry. Apologize to the fawn in the woodland clearing for tearing into her dreams like the great, lumbering bear he is. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” He drops his voice to a rueful whisper, ducking slightly to meet your line of sight. “Did I wake you up?”

Your gaze doesn’t lift. “...wasn’t sleeping.”

He has the tact to hold back his snort this time. Right, you were resting your eyes. How about he gets you to bed? He hears they’re practically made for eye resting. Or something along those lines.

“Don’t wanna.”

He literally watched you pass out on the couch. You want a crick in your neck that bad?

“I’ll tell you what I want,” comes your defiant grumble, and with a toss of your gorgeous head, Leon’s heart skips. 

You kick out your other leg. Your feet touch the ground with a determined click of your heels. That hip-hugging dress doesn’t do a damn thing to slow you down. A few strides later, you’ve suddenly got the upper hand, towering over his slumped form on the loveseat. Sporting a wicked, wide-awake gleam in your eyes if he wasn’t seeing things. Was he?

You drop to a crouch next to his befuddled head, pivot one-eighty; gather your hair over one bare shoulder. Press the sash of your dress into his palm, deceptively coy. 

“Want you to help with this,” you purr. 

Honeypot voice.

He blinks. 

If Leon knows what’s good for him, he ought to run for the hills. He hasn’t heard you talk like that since Santorini 2016. Something’s off here. Either he’s done something very, very wrong, or something very right. That mission ended with the barrel of your Sentinel Nine jabbed into a handsy thug’s ribs. Years of failed attempts at breakfast in bed flash through Leon’s memories to remind him that you don’t take being woken up lightly. The sash cinching your waist is stoplight red. Likely for a reason. 

So Leon pulls it. 

You try holding still when a smokeshow orders you to strip her, for God’s sake.

The dress falls apart like a dream. Leon’s mouth goes dry watching you slip off a matching set of skimpy underthings. Wearing nothing but that delicate chain that dangles over your décolletage and a tennis bracelet on your wrist – an anniversary present bought to mirror your strength – that sparkles in the sun, you cock a hand on your bare hip. 

Leon sits bolt upright. He’s loaded with a million and one questions, but you’re moving like you’re trying to outrun those Greek thugs again. You don’t give him a chance. When you clamber onto the couch and settle yourself right between the stunned spread of his legs, all he can do is sputter like a rusty engine. His belt falls apart in merry, metallic clinks at your clever fingers. Your dress drops into a forgotten puddle on the floor next to his melted brain. 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Leon grips onto your forearms when you dig your nails into the waistband of his jeans. Wide blue eyes peer into yours, a dumbfounded grin tugging at your husband’s mouth. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’re you- what’re you doing?”

You huff, tugging harder at his waistband. “Want these off, duh.”

“But what’s with the sudden-”

“I don’t entertain for free. This,” your hand darts to cup the bulge he’s been wrangling with for a while now, “is what I want in return for sitting through that boring-ass debrief with you nodding off the whole time instead of listening to anything they were saying. And I know you're going to forget and ask me about the intel later.”

Point taken. He did need to work on his subtlety. 

“Actually, if I’d done this earlier, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten bored.” You hum as if this were a mildly interesting work conversation. “Nothing crazy like sucking you off under the coffee table. I could’ve needed your help getting a file out of the garage, and then...or is that too cliché?”

What kind of porno plot is this? 

“Bold claim to make, doll.” Leon fumbles to take off his jeans in poorly concealed excitement at what that could mean. His denim gets thrown off the couch, courtesy of your ever-so-helpful hands. 

“What, you think I’d put you to sleep instead?” you giggle. 

By sucking out his soul? Maybe. 

You perch yourself on his bare thigh. 

Straddling is great. Comfortable even. Your thighs press all plushy on either side of his leg and that’s fine and dandy, but right now, Leon’s scared shitless that you might slide clean off him – you’re that fucking wet. When did you let it get this bad? You’d squelch moving an inch, for fuck’s sake. Look at you, talking big when your head was just as elsewhere as his.

Leon wraps a steadying arm around your hips with his heart beating out of his chest. It’s only when you lean over his chest to steady yourself that he can let out a shudder of relief. A brief one, of course. Apparently you’ve made it your mission so that he never knows peace a day in his life.

Your bracelet-adorned hand slips into his boxers, curling around the base of his cock with a playful squeeze of his balls. Testing, testing, is this thing on? 

Leon’s throaty groan is your go-ahead to fish out his length. 

The soft O of your cupped hand starts to pump him, slow at first. A gentle up-and-down that has him tipping his neck backwards over the armrest. Leon doesn’t need to look to feel himself standing prouder with each slickening pass of your palm, but he does anyway to see the flash of your wedding ring while you work. Pretends the sight doesn’t make his dick jump. And hell, if you don’t flash him that pretty smile of yours when you notice, squeezing harder. Didn’t know he married himself a succubus.

“God…” he breathes. Cards a hand through your hair with a tenderness that makes your clamped knees buckle. 

Leon hasn’t got much time left. You’ve figured that out too, dropping a kiss to his rosy tip when the blurts of precome start running down the back of your hand. You quickly swipe a thumb over the mess; leave a trail down his leg, scooching down and gasping at the friction on your clit. You pop your lips over the head of his cock like it’s a fruit punch sucker. 

Fuck. Has he ever told you how much he loves your mouth? All spit-slick when you’re blinking more please? 

You inch his length down your throat, soft little gags bubbling past your lips. Doe eyes glossy from the stretch. You’ve got to stop giving him that angel stare before he starts straight-up fucking your face to watch your tears roll. Leon settles for sweeping your hair into a ponytail instead, barely resisting the urge to roll his hips into the wet heat engulfing him. Maybe it’s for the best. He’d get off too quick otherwise and he needs the time to pick between painting your pretty face or your pretty tits white. Decisions, decisions. 

“So good for me, baby.” Leon pants over the soft suckling sounds of you speeding up at the gesture. “Oh, fuck. Wait, sweetheart, I-” 

His breathing turns shallow in seconds. His lower stomach twitches, shitshitshit – he’s coming. Face flushed and mouth moaning wide open when he spills down your throat. 

You pull off his twitching cock, smiling like the cat that got the cream with some dribbling down the corner of your mouth to boot. Then you go ahead and fucking blow on him like you want bubbles from a Blow Pop. His lingering sensitivity makes him shake like a leaf. You’d planned this, hadn’t you?

“Fuckin’ hell, woman.” Leon chuckles softly, using the pad of his thumb to wipe your lips clean. “Happy?”

You answer with a satisfied flutter of your cum-pearled lashes. Cute.

“Good. Cause now it’s my turn.”

Didn’t think you could get away with him making a mess of himself alone, did you? You’d been squirming on his leg the whole time. Poor baby let her mission get in the way of her needs again. So to return the favor, Leon flips you over. Climbs on top.

You turn starry-eyed with your back to the cushions, beaming when he pushes your thighs apart. You’re fussy just the way he likes you when you plead pleasepleaseplease. All riled up just from sucking him off, huh? This won’t take long.

The scent of your arousal is heady. Earthy like sugary petrichor. Makes his head spin. He’s picking up on it more than ever after that orgasm cleared his head like a gunshot. He runs two fingers down your dewy folds to rediscover just how much you taste like linen sheet trysts with a Do Not Disturb sign permanently stuck to your hotel room door.

“I gotcha, honey,” Leon soothes your breathy whimpers. Kisses you slow, easing into your weeping entrance. “I’m right here. Oh, I know.”

First is the initial head-under-water feeling of sinking into you. So good it hurts. Then comes the caramel stretch of you wrapping around him. He’s gotta make sure of the fit, you know? Leon lines a teasing finger around the stretched lips of your cunt struggling to take him whole. 

You anchor your hands into his hair in response. Good enough.

Your gasps ghost over the hollow of his throat, your breath slowing to match the languid pace of his starting thrusts. The ache Leon rocks into your hips takes out the one in his back, he swears. He wants to die just like this. Buried inside you if he can help it.

“Close, close-” You’re keening before you know it. That telltale squeeze of silken muscle Leon knows so well follows your squeak of, “Oh!” 

“Go on, sweet girl,” he coos, “come for me.”

You milk him, petal soft. And aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. You’re a mewling mess underneath him, trying and failing to not dig your nails into his scar-strewn shoulders. Don’t you know it never hurts when it’s you? 

Leon rolls his hips into yours to lengthen the euphoria of your velvet walls clenching him so tight. By some miracle, he’s still keyed up from earlier. He’s got this nasty vision in his head of thumbing his spend back into you, of liquid pearls sliding down your gaping slit and slowly puddling onto the couch. You won’t waste a drop. You never do. Fuck, he’s throwing off his rhythm just thinking about it. 

A quiet sob of his name interrupts his train of thought. Shit, Leon had forgotten you just came. He must be toeing overstim territory by now. 

“Just a little more, you take it so well, just-”

Leon’s vision fizzes and pops at the edges. He drops his head down to see your eyes all scrunched up, clutching his forearm with one hand and your necklace with the other, anything to tide you over the assault on your oversensitive cunt. Breaking his heart, but Leon’s almost there, he’s so sorry, angel, it’ll be over soon, and- there it is, that eye-rolling whip of pleasure in his gut-

“Leon?” 

His eyes fly open.

“Are you okay?!” 

When had he closed them?

Leon blinks back stars. The living room’s plunged in dying daylight. He’s laid out on the couch with his back feeling stiffer than a sarcophagus. You’re kneeling next to him with a palm pressed to his forehead and worry souring your expression. But the scariest part of the entire scene might be the fact that you’re still fully dressed, the pendant nestled between your breasts glinting as if mocking him. What. 

“You started scrunching up your face and kicking around,” you frown, smoothing back his sweaty bangs. “I thought you were kidding about falling asleep after they left. ”

Leon claps a palm over his face.

“Were you having a nightmare?” 

More like he woke up to one. 

“Gosh, it sounded like you were having a real nice dream before that. You were all smiley in your sleep, babe.”

He coughs weakly. “Something like that.” 

“Hm. Well,” you clap your hands cheerily, “I think something to eat might make you feel better.”

“Yeah?”

“Turns out that nap really helped me figure out dinner. I ordered pizza a little bit ago, actually. I was just taking the boxes into the kitchen when I heard you in here.”

Heard. Damn. He wasn’t even going to ask about that. Leon nods, stuck in a dismal, nebulous haze of disappointment. He’ll be right there.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “And maybe changing out of these,” you glance at his legs, “might help too.” 

Your hand lifts from Leon’s forehead to drag down his chest. Innocent and light at first, just smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt, and then down, down, down over his stomach to rest over the rather conspicuous patch of soaked denim at the crotch of his jeans. And if that wasn’t enough for Leon’s eyes to bulge out of his head, you give the spot a very déjà vu squeeze before walking off.

You can barely hide your giggle on the way out. “Meet me in the kitchen?”

Leon swings his legs over the edge of the couch. Claps his hands to his knees before he catches your contagious smile. 

Sure, he can. He’s been meaning to buy a centerpiece for the kitchen island for the longest time. Y’know, pretty the place up for when guests come over. 

He might just have to start with you.

psst, find more of my work here!

likes kill fics :( comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and ily!

[sfznyxio]

-ˋˏ WITHIN THESE CASTLE WALLS ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. saving twins from getting killed who turn out to be rulers of the celestia kingdom isn’t part of the plan. neither is being instated as a member of the royal guard as their gratitude. with the alarming increase of assassinations, you’re wary of everyone in the castle. who is your ally or enemy, or who will be the one to capture your heart?

CHARACTERS. albedo, arataki itto, dainsleif, diluc, eula, jean, kaedehara kazuha, kaeya, kamisato ayato, sangonomiya kokomi, tartaglia, thoma, xiao, zhongli

CONTENT. gn!reader. royal au. fluff. 1.3k words. rewrite of within these castle walls [i] at my old main blog @/verxsyon. inspired by fire emblem: three houses. mentions of assassination attempts which many of them failed. assassination attempt (tartaglia). seduction (sangonomiya kokomi).

VERA. can't believe it's been two years since i wrote wtcw. time flies by really fast. i miss this series so much. will i rewrite for the other parts? no, because respectfully, they suck oof. initially, wtcw was supposed to be one part so here it is lol. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ALBEDO

a noble descended from a lineage of alchemists. albedo prefers to stay at home to tend to his research and to avoid social interactions. in spite of believing that relationships are bothersome, he’s only interested in you. as an attempt to create a friendship, he brings you flowers which one of his books suggested. he becomes self-conscious that his efforts may not be sufficient, you appear happy when thanking him and complimenting his thoughtfulness. for a split second, an awkward smile graces upon his lips.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ARATAKI ITTO

a mercenary of oni blood. infamous in his hometown for causing trouble with the authorities with his gang. itto is a popular figure because of his “dashing” looks and abrasiveness. his overconfidence is one reason why you can’t stand him. you never met someone this unbearable. he always disturbs your training by challenging you to a duel, lots of them. comes determined to win the match, but loses every single time. perhaps you’ll indulge him once more, just to see what happens when he finally will be victorious.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. DAINSLEIF

captain of the royal guard and royal advisor to the throne. assassination threats have been circulating throughout the kingdom, so he constantly puts his guard up even though you saved the twins. it’s the fact that they trust a complete stranger with battle experience who can kill them any time. nevertheless, he takes you under his wing in accordance with their wishes. his paranoia is understandable, but you believe he’s too harsh on you. he assigns you extra work to prove your worth as an asset. you hope you’ll survive the initiation process.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. DILUC

head of house ragnvindr, tycoons of the wine industry. everyone swoons over the flame-haired man. one of the girls at the flower shop can’t stop talking about diluc like a knight in shining armor. your opinion of him is that you don’t get the hype. politics are supposedly not that important to him, but it’s a whole different story when the royal guard is involved, opposing their operations. it’s suspicious that his comments align with a vigilante who wears a ridiculous costume at night. for sure, you think he deserves respect to protect the place called home. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. EULA

exiled daughter of house lawrence, the clan with a tarnished reputation. the twins are gracious enough to grant eula a position of a royal soldier, upsetting the majority of citizens. you admire her dissociation with her clan’s history, wishing everyone sees her past that. she doesn’t deserve hate for something that is beyond her control. you want to befriend her, but her sense of humor is unique in a way that it kind of gives you chills down your spine. if it makes you feel any better, she likes you for seeing her as herself.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. JEAN

head of house gunnhildr. jean dedicates her life to serve the kingdom, to the point where she tends to overwork. more worried about the state of the state more than her own health, she doesn’t know how to reconnect with her younger sister and what romance feels like out of the romance novels she reads. as someone who spends most of their life in one place, you sympathize with her, therefore offering to solve her dilemma. after all, both of you need breaks from interfering with assassinations. she is confused as to why she feels warm when you’re around.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

a former refugee from an insular empire. upon entering the kingdom a few years ago, kazuha was thought to be an assassin which he of course got arrested for, but was pardoned and given the option to live here and serve the crown. in the present, he patrols the seas to fend off intruders. at the end of the shift, he disappears from his crew just to find you. his captain knows that he is smitten with the soldier who was trained as a mercenary. the poems he recites at sea are essentially confession letters in hopes to make you his one day.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAEYA

a fellow royal soldier adopted into house ragnvindr. the elderly consider kaeya like their own grandson, but he is so far from angelic. he misleads patrollers to another direction of the crimes and dodges your questions regarding his whereabouts. the citizens might be involved in his antics, avoiding eye contact with you whenever you mention him. apparently, you’re dense, failing to notice the signs of him trying to make a move on you. he’s been doing those things to make you pay attention to him and have you all to himself in private.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAMISATO AYATO

head of house kamisato. responsible for managing external affairs, ayato is required to travel, always away for business. although it’s said he goes on trips most of the time, his appearance is a mystery. rumored to be tall with blue hair and a mole near his mouth, everyone joins in the hunt to find him at the royal party, sending his sister and retainer in a frenzy to protect his identity. your dance partner fits the description to a t. when the guests discover that you were dancing with the commissioner, your partner kisses your hand and whisks away into the night. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. SANGONOMIYA KOKOMI

head of house sangonomiya. kokomi is also its military strategist. having the ability to foresee the tactics and its outcomes of another army, she is a force to be reckoned with and a valuable ally to the crown. you had the pleasure of being invited to her guest room, where she was waiting for you in an extremely thin nightgown. not the type to show emotions, it’s rare to see her amused, and she beckons you to come inside. not only is she well-versed in the art of war, she’s surprisingly an expert in the art of seduction as well.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. TARTAGLIA

a diplomat from a neighboring kingdom, or so he claims to be. there is something about childe that sets him apart from the other diplomats who visited the kingdom. your first encounter with him is not pleasant. a mutual distrust forms between the two of you, yet the space you both share is tense. one night with crazed eyes and a knife at your neck, he reveals that he was assigned to assassinate the twins. you’re in the way, but oddly enough, he doesn’t want to hurt you. it seems like he’s doing this against his will, or it’s the tension talking. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. THOMA

retainer of house kamisato. thoma is a fan favorite among the royal staff by being the type of servant they needed. honestly, you don’t like him. but you don’t dislike him either. the epitome of perfection, but too perfect for your taste. he’s also too nice for his own good, hearing him apologize things he isn’t at fault for and saying yes to all requests from the staff. as he serves a clan full of swordsmen, he knows how to fight. so when you unleash a surprise attack on him, he doesn’t retaliate. it reminds him of a similar incident in the past that changed his life for the worse.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. XIAO

a deity sworn to protect the kingdom centuries ago as a promise to one draconic god. xiao finds humans strange, but you’re even stranger, as a child who fought against a beast by yourself in the forest, accidentally fulfilling a commission for a mercenary group who struggled to kill it for months. he despises crowds, but decides to pose as a royal soldier to meet you. when you encounter a dangerous creature during your patrol, he comes to your rescue. then he whispers into your ear to call his name in times of desperation before disappearing into thin air.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ZHONGLI

a knowledgeable historian. zhongli is friendly and enjoys having casual conversations over tea. there isn’t anyone within the castle who has not been invited to his corner of the library. you have been there as a regular you already lost count. from those meetings, you track his mesmerizing amber eyes. you swear that you’ve seen them in some history books of a draconic deity who once presided over this kingdom. it’s impossible, as higher beings perished during the cataclysm, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise.

[ennn]

Agatha x Rio Fic Rec Master List

Everyone has their own fic preferences. My personal recommended picks here, AUs included, that generally check off these boxes:

Balanced power dynamic i.e. no sugar baby fantasies here, no dependencies, they give as good as they get

Some plot i.e. no pure smut fics here, though some have them bangin' quite a bit

Characterisation i.e. ideally cunt4cunt freak4freak, although some AUs have them a lot softer than canon but I can roll with it if the power dynamic holds

Last updated: 13 Mar '25.

Now, in no order of merit:

Go enjoy all their works, they've written a bunch of stuff. Here are just highlights:

@thiswildernessismyhome

allow my love to find her brutal way to me

[ 9k words | one-shot ] An angsty time loop fic that gets these characters so right and will punch you right in the feels. Maybe more than once.

memory that presses like a blade against her throat

[ 4.3k words | one-shot ] Pain and sweet pathos with spot-on banter. Explores Agatha’s trauma from her mom. Rio gets protective, cute, and vengeful.

yeahitshowed

real hot ghoul shit

[ 15.4k words | multi-chapter | series ] Set post-AAA. It's wacky, it's angsty, it's great. Agatha and Rio attempt to work out their shit. Billy is trying his best. Now with a whole ghoulniverse of sequels.

sometimes i still feel the bruise

[ 3.2k words | one-shot ] Agatha is not taking her first Pride very well. It’s all the trauma. A fantastic exploration of the character with all her edges and soft underbelly.

@paddingtonfan69

now I understand, and it’s time to leave the woods

[ 15.9k words | multi-chapter | series ] One of the best backstory fic for these two that absolutely nails their dynamic. Angsty and silly and horny as you'd expect with these two.

someday we will all be lying on our backs (free at last from income tax) 

[ 13.1k words | multi-chapter | series ] The gold standard for fandom AUs. The bad boy of the IRS meets infamous tax evader Agatha Harkness.

@alilbitgaywrites

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

[ 4.4k words | first of a series ] Death has a cabin in Delaware. The first of a relatively chill (for them) canon-divergent series where these two clash, banter, and begin to heal.

you'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you

[ 32k words | multi-chapter ] Expands upon canon (so expect glorious angst) and maybe fixes it a little. Agatha and Rio through the years and into the show.

Naturally if you like a fic, check out the author's other works

because i could not stop for death (she kindly stopped for me) – by @she-s-a-shy-one

[ 70k words | multi-chapter | series ] The historical epic fic. Takes on Agathario's messed up backstory through many different eras and disasters. Hope you like history! Oof, that's a lot of collateral damage, Agatha.

A Graveyard Hated by the Moon – by @viceroy-bubblesmutini

[ 5.5k words | first of a series ] Can't get enough murderous historical escapades with these two? Here's more of this terrible pair causing problems.

blood, sweat & tears – by clarkestrife

[ 20.1k words | multi-chapter | wip ] They meet for the first time after Nicky's death. Let's just say Agatha doesn't deal with it well and has a mean left hook. Heavy on the hurt and angst.

wicked thing, carved into my heart – by @coffeeshib

[ 23.9k words | 2 chapters ] Post canon, the exes fight and fuck. It's sexy, violent, mean and angsty. It's very on-point characterisation, what can I say.

A Wretched Soul – by @motherconfessors

[ 31k words | multi-chapter | wip ] Ep 8 divergent. Agatha makes a new deal with Rio so she can get her purple back. A story of grief, healing, a lot of sex and... amazing food?

All and then Most of you, Some and now None of you – by @momentary-ecstasy

[ 34.5k words | multi-chapter ] Post-canon. Agatha succeeds at taking Death's powers. Rio wakes up with no memories. Captivating plot, lots of death, sex with strings attached, and a coven reunited. It's never simple with these two.

For You To Be Still – by @momentary-ecstasy

[ 27.4k words | multi-chapter ] To save Rio from the Snap's fallout, Agatha binds them together. A plotty, fascinating adventure also featuring the coven and the two dealing with their past.

coven of chaos – by @trickofthelights

[ 38.4k words | multi-chapter | wip ] Rio/Agatha/Wanda and their very weird found family. Crack taken seriously and written exquisitely well with thoughtful character explorations. It's fun and epic with great banter. Everyone lives!

you’ll sanctify me when i’m dead  – by @majorlysapphic

[ 26.3k words | multi-chapter | wip ] Rio has Hanahaki Disease and has to work with Agatha while hiding her plan to retire permanently. These two idiots, etc.

a hundred miles through the desert repenting – by @sapphoshands

[ 3.9k words | one-shot ] Perhaps my favourite ep 5 fix-it. Pain and pathos lovingly written.

Rabbit Heart – by @sapphoshands

[ 4.8k words | multi-chapter ] Post-finale scenes featuring our favourite Señor Scratchy, including a satisfying follow-up for our ship.

how the dead walk – by obsetress

[ 7.2k words | one-shot ] Post canon, these two talk and work out the logistics (and emotions) behind ghost sex.

meet you where the spirit meets the bones – by daniandjamie

[ 13.5k words | multi-chapter ] I know turbo virgin!Rio isn't for everyone. But if you enjoy it, this one's real cute and funny and an interesting take on how Death gets a body.

better in the dark – by @seabiscuits-us

[ 12.8k words | one-shot ] More turbo virgin!Rio trying to figure this shit out while Agatha enjoys the process. It's cute times before the inevitable heartbreak.

For the Love of Spring – by FleetingFriend

[ 10k words | one shot ] Post-AAA story. Rio turns into an onion, Agatha takes the opportunity to remember and grieve and heal. Maybe grab those tissues for the end.

As with many AUs, expect softer takes for these two unless the fic has y'know, killing and violence. Again, in no order:

Put Your Fangs In Me – by villhag

[ 73.9k words | multi-chapter | series | wip ] The other gold standard in AUs. Two vampire best friends with a lot of history are more than what they seem. What starts off like a rom com with casual murder reveals itself to be a heartbreaking love story spanning centuries.

honey come put your lips on mine (and shut me up) – by tinyteamug

[ 40.4k words | multi-chapter | wip ] Retired hockey pro-turned-publicist Agatha is tasked with managing feral hotshot hockey player Rio. A hilarious time with these two driving each other nuts in the best way.

primal night – by Palmarion

[ 13.2k words | multi-chapter ] Rio is another version of Death, Agatha is human and they meet one Halloween night at Rio’s bar. Nicky happens unexpectedly. A comforting romantic story.

all my might – by goofball46

[ 15.6k words | multi-chapter | wip ] After breaking up 10 years ago, the two have to pretend to be a couple (again) to help Agatha's political campaign. We do love our angst and unresolved drama. They're so bad at communicating.

To Hate Her is to Love Her – by @justasimplelesbiansfanfic

[ 166k words | multi-chapter | series ] Agatha gets her estranged wife Rio to pretend they’re still together for the holidays. A long, angsty slow burn with plot involving crime and the FBI, and these two figuring their issues out.

spite, grudges, and other underrated methods of processing your feelings – by @littledata

[ 10k words | one-shot ] If working for her ex (who sent her to jail) wasn’t enough, Rio’s been hired to kill her. All's fair in politics? It’s a fun ride.

How to not keep a secret – by disaster_top

[ 102k words | multi-chapter ] See I can recommend domestic Agathario playing house with Nicky. Rio loves her knives. A series of interconnected one-shots where they deal with different stuff. FBI Agent Rio and Detective Agatha (not Agnes).

queens of killing (we're out for blood) – by @succulentlesbians

[ 64.9k words | multi-chapter | wip ] Winter Soldier/Red Room AU. Plotty, dramatic, secret agent action. Plenty of angst when one was programmed to kill their own kid. Plus, coven team-bonding.

all half things – by @seabiscuits-us

[ 20.2k words | multi-chapter ] High school soccer coach Rio tries her best to make sure her super-pregnant teacher colleague Agatha doesn't go into labour while they try to save the school theatre department. It's charming and quirky with a side of drama.

this machine's a backward thinker – by @slowedshow

[ 35.7k words | multi-chapter | wip ] Lawyer Agatha, Doctor Rio AU. When Agatha decides to help her deceased client's son find his lost brother she didn't expect to find her way back to love and forgiveness. Brilliant parallels within this story and the show canon punched me hard in the feels.

my safeword is safeword – by @anonfandombandit

[ 63.3k words | multi-chapter | wip ] The uh BDSM AU. It's wild, it's hilarious, it's uh very educational if you're unfamiliar with the scene? Agatha's insane and working off some bad trauma, Rio's desperately trying her best to remain professional. Naturally lots of kinky sex.

· · ────────── 𖥸 ────────── · ·

♥ to the fabulous authors giving us these stories

[festivating]

what's your favorite gelphie fic?

OOF just one is so hard. here's a few of my favs. though more than being my favorite fics these are my favorite gelphie authors so assume i love everything they've posted!

The Love Club by OrkButch. just delightful. extremely queer and extremely heartfelt. and it has my favorite things ever like grief, healing, learning to be in a relationship, and nuanced portrayals of elphaba & nessa's dynamic. very formative to my perception of book!elphie, i learned a lot about her with this fic even if it's a modern AU!

Wiretapped Life by tinyace. another fic that has aaaaaaall of my favorite things like grief, healing, learning to be in a rel--- you get the gist. also it has nor! more fics should have nor! no but seriously this fic is incredible and has some of the best explorations i've seen on asexuality, aromanticism, gender, queer platonic relationships, and how to navigate a shitload of trauma in a cruel world when you have so much love to give. the gelphie dynamic is so nuanced and the worldbuilding is so intriguing and well done and glinda is a poor little meow meow and agh. could talk about this one forever. also if you've read attrition you will like this one, it has so many similar themes sam and i are always joking our brains are the same lol

The Last True Eminent Thropp by Ridiculous Mavis. ask any gelphie fan who was here before november 2024 for their favorite gelphie fics and they will probably mention ridiculous mavis. read everything on her page, seriously. yes even if it's ff dot net. do it. do it right now. this one is my favorite of hers!

Per Aspera Ad Astra (Through Hardships Towards the Stars) by show_me_the_universe. this one is still unfinished but i have enjoyed it so much! gelphie are so cute and so teenagers and they go through so much and their dynamic with each other is the sweetest thing. also has great dynamics between the charmed circle which it's also one of my favorite things :)

Aftermath by narta_shall_survive. another one where glinda is a poor little meow meow. i read this fic like a year ago and brother it has stuck with me. i love the way glinda is written and it has my FAVORITEEE glinda & crope dynamic. also it blends musical and book in such a smooth way and the prose is so crunchy.

and my saint, she is dancing by Mayverix. this one is extremely clever and soo well written. i adore this author's prose so much. made me ache in the best way possible. the way book!gelphie is captured here is just superb.

oh and of course i love the classics aka gretchenmaurice's works. all of them from the long ones to the most recent ones :)

now!!! i haven't read too many movie fics (yet) but here are two that stuck with me and that i love and have very much informed the way i see and write the movieverse gelphie dynamic.

the faint of heart by Verannode. vampire!galinda. and if that wasn't enough she totally thinks she's in some sort of romcom while elphaba is in a supernatural mystery or something. it's just the best thing ever. the dialogue is so whimsical and hilarious and galinda is incredibly delusional and dramatic and i love her. i've reread this a bunch of times it always makes me laugh.

PERENNIAL by anaphoruh. no joke this fic is one of my favorite ones ever. it's just so. i can't even explain it the way its written scratches my brain in the BEST way imaginable. the prose is so elegant and smooth i want to study it. it's the perfect blend of book and MOVIE which i didn't think was possible. the descriptions are so fun and engaging. the gelphie dynamic is delicious. galinda is insanely rich and elphie is her sugar baby in the most lowkey way possible. i adore it.

now not related to the movie at all. last but not least. there is Emerald City Lies by Beta Nova. listen to me. i would never recommend a fic on ff dot net that was last updated in 2016 if it wasn't worth it. i started reading this fic on a plane and it was so good i literally had to stop reading it so i could savor it. made myself read only one chapter a day and yes it's unfinished and yet i reread it once a year. it's so good.

anyway! thanks for asking <3

[f1cflcfic]

The Prophecy (SMAU ft. Lando Norris): Epilogue

pairing: lando norris x singer!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: what happens after the break-up that noone saw coming? as Y/N L/N gears up to release her next album, each song reveals a little bit of the past, present and future of her relationship with Lando Norris. Inspired by a curated playlist built around "The Prophecy".

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons. also, this chapter contains some (implicit) references to sex.

genre: social media au (with written parts), angst, exes to lovers, happy ending

[A/N: hehe it's never really over, this is for my bff who just got engaged over the weekend <3]

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

June, 2027

[Excerpt from Y/N L/N's Buzzfeed Playing with Puppies Interview]

Y/N is sitting down on the floor, enthusiastically chatting to someone off camera. “Listen Roz I’m so serious, you’re going to have to physically incapacitate me when I want to take them all home. It will happen, and you will need to stop me.”

Someone from the crew giggles, as they instruct Y/N to readjust her lavalier microphone.

“Alright, so it’s super easy – you just sit there, and we bring the pups to you!”

“Oh my god. This is my dream. I always say to my friends that I’d just really love to be in a puppy pile, and it’s finally happening. The pinnacle of my career. This is why I became a singer,” she chatters, then gasps as the first puppies are brought out.

“Oh hiiii,” she almost whimpers at the sight of them, some a little more active, others a little sleepy. One immediately snuggles into her lap, and Y/N looks off-camera to someone meaningfully. “I am taking him home.” Someone can be heard laughing and saying “no, you can’t” in response, to which Y/N sighs in defeat.

“So, can you tell us who you are, and what you do”

“My name’s Y/N L/N, and I’m a singer-songwriter. But today I’m a professional puppy cuddle buddy.”

“Here’s your first question – you mentioned recording a song in Taylor Swift’s studio for the Prophecy. What does it look like?”

“Oh my – oh they smell so good I swear, I’m so sorry I didn’t hear a word you said.” The interviewer repeats the question, as Y/N tries really hard to maintain eye contact with them instead of the puppies roaming around her.

“It’s a really beautiful space, a sanctuary, really. And it’s just amazing to think that so many iconic songs and albums have been partially written and recorded there as well. Taylor is a wonderful friend to have in this industry, and – oh just look at this little guy. He’s so cute!!!”

“Second question: You’re in the middle of a world tour right now. What was your own first tour that you remember going to?”

“Oh look at this one, he’s just playing around, such a little goofball. Sorry, sorry – the question. My first concert? You know it was probably some type of children’s act? My parents aren’t super into music, so the first time I went to see someone and paid for the ticket myself, it was probably Taylor actually.”

“Third question: You said you’re into reading. What’s your latest recommendation?”

“I try to read, yeah! It’s so easy to get sucked into my phone, but I always bring books and an e-reader. Oof, careful little guy, those tiny teeth are sharp,” she disentangles her finger from a puppy’s mouth, then hugs him close to her chest and kisses his head. “I love you, don’t worry. So, yeah, what was I saying? I think with reading I’m always in two minds about it. I enjoy literary fiction, but I also love fantasy. So I recently started There Are Rivers in the Sky from Elif Shafak, and then I’ve been re-reading the Fourth Wing series by Rebecca Yarros. Love that dragon. Maybe we should name you Tairn, or Xaden,” Y/N points at a puppy with dark fur and brown eyes.

“Do they all have names already? All of them are up for adoption, right? But surely these personalities – ah okay. His name’s Lewis?” She smiles cheekily, but doesn't comment further.

One of the dogs lets out a pitiful little whine, and Y/N immediately looks down. “What’s up little pup? Are you unhappy? Can we get them some water, some snacks?”

Someone steps in with a bowl of water, then asks the next question. “What’s something you do to relax on your days off?”

“Hmm aside from reading? Honestly, I love to just hang out with my family. Go do minigolf, something fun together.”

“Not actual golf?”

Y/N snorts, her fingers absentmindedly petting the puppies that have since fallen asleep in her lap. “My partner has tried to get me into it, and I love how much he enjoys it, but it’s not for me. So I’ll happily drive the golf cart and cheer him on instead.”

“Are you not competitive?”

You scrunch your nose at the word. “I think I am, but I’m more scared of others thinking I’m not good enough – so then I abandon serious pursuit of victory. If it’s just a laugh, then it’s fine if you’re not great at something. It’s something I’m working on!”

She kisses one of the pups that’s woken up from its nap on his tiny nose. “I love you, you, you’re such a tiny little angel aren’t you?”

“Alright, next question: If you were in an emergency situation, who would you call to bail you out?”

“Probably Lando. He’d be fast, you know?” Y/N smiles at the camera. “By the way, he’s going to be SO jealous of me for getting to hang out with pups all day.”

“If you weren’t a singer-songwriter, what do you think you’d be doing?”

“Hmm, I’d probably have gone to university – maybe literature, or maybe political science. Then I’d go work for an NGO? I’d love to know I was making a difference in people’s lives I think.”

“Last question – what are you most looking forward to?”

“Aside from the new, upgraded tour? I can’t believe I’ll be playing stadiums. That feels very surreal. Apart from that, we’re getting some renovations done on the house right now and I’m super excited to see my library fantasy come to life. I want to have a ladder on wheels.”

You quietly stroke the fur of a red and white puppy that’s been curled up in your lap since the beginning. “I’m going to cry having to give these back. But I’m going to, I will. It’d be irresponsible to adopt a dog right now, maybe next year we’ll get on that. Please, if you are able and willing, adopt these sweet little puppies – and I will personally come by and hangout with your pup and you.”

The screen fades to black, and then there’s a shaky camera that follows Y/N as she laughs while talking on the phone. “I know! I said you would,” she’s overheard saying. “There’s one in particular, I just – ” she trails off, listening to whatever’s being said on the other end of the line. “Do you really think so?” Her smile widens. “I love you so much, you have no idea,” she nods excitedly at her assistant and starts walking towards the animal shelter representative. “Yeah I’ll keep you posted, say hi from me to your brother and Sav please. Ok, see you. Bye.”  

August 14th, 2027

December 8th, 2027

June 18th, 2028

♥･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♡･*:.｡ ｡.:*･ﾟ♥

You can read the previous parts & access various bonus content by going here

♥ likes, comments, reblogs are always very much appreciated ♥

taglist (open) : @charlesgirl16, @linnygirl09, @hoeforsirius, @motorsportloverf1, @sarx164, @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff, @formulaal, @tvdtw4ever @sadiemack9 @seonghwaexile @screamingwines

[oddinary4bts]

Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai​ for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

                December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

                Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

                “You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

                You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

 Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

                Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

                You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

                You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

                Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

                “Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”  

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

                You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 30/12✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@pandorainabox ha chiesto: Hope this isn't a dumb question,but do you plan to/already are posting the bio parents ah anywhere where it can be viewed all in one piece? With the between posts in tumblr,it gets confusing and I still don't quite know how to navigate it so I was curious if I could binge read it anywhere all in one clean read? (I constantly want to re-read it lmao,it brings me so much joy,its so damn cute!!) Anyway apologies for the random question!! I love your work,you're doing so good and I hope you have an absolutely wonderful rest of your day/night! Thank you so much for taking your time to read and respond if you do so!! 💚💚🌙

i mean… I THINK the masterpost is the easiest way to read it for now (and once you read one chapter you press “NEXT” at the end of it.)

if I would put it, let’s say, on Webtoon (which I can’t) it kind of would be the same thing. A list if chapters, when you click on one it opens the chapter with the 10-20 panels and then you click the “next” to go to the next one.

i don’t think putting all chapters from one part would be nice since it would be a super duper long list of panels (and the page would take a lot to load with so many medias) and one Part of the comic contains multiple arcs.

i’m open to suggestions though!

@robinpika ha chiesto: I was just wondering why is wukong kaiju form unstable? What inspired you to go that route

it was an headcanon of my of why we never see it in the show, even though it is present in JTTW AND war forms are… well normal in LMK, so I figured he must have a reason why he didn’t use it, considering it could have spare them a lot of trouble giving its power.

@imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: I can't find the option to ask anonymously oof— Enyway this is Tumblr and that's what I'm here for. Ever made a design for a Red son and MK kid? From your AU I mean (ignoring every nature law for a second). Also, where did you got that name for MK from? Is something from Jurney to the west? Mainly thanks to your AU I am going to try and read that book (has more them a 1000 pages :') )

we all subconsciously agreed that the spicynoodle lovechild is Kai from lego ninjago and MK real name is his name in the chinese dub.

@avencaeheng ha chiesto: Can you reccomend any websites to watch lmk? 🙏

You can find MOST of the episodes on youtube. BUT you need also the specials to understand the story. If I link you a site in 2 weeks it will be down. The best is that you join the Lego Monkie Kid Fanspace discord. They have links to see the show and they update them every once in a while.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Another silly headcanon <3 Since MK unlocked he’s monkey form he started teething like a baby monkey but… adult. I don’t know how baby monkey teethe but when dogs teethe they get a lot more bite-y and the bites hurt a lot more than before teething. I can imagineMK getting a lot more bitey with things, like chewing food longer then needed be and maybe when he’s play fighting with the baby monkeys he bites one and it chirps and Wukong is like: ! One of my children is in need! And he discovers MK is teething and does something idk yet. After having given my evidence… Do you think this would happen? Does MK have fangs in his human form like how some people draw him?

hi! I guess he did have a period in which he had a little teething.

no, his human form doesn’t have fangs, because his human form is just a kind of glamour/shapeshift. In the AU the monkey form became his normal form (since it always has been his original form to begin with)

toomanylegos ha chiesto: Hey, I just want to say I absolutely adore your ShadowPeach comic and the beautiful art with it. I went through nasal surgery on the 19th, and seeing an update from you really helped soothe my nerves about it, so thank you! I can't wait to see more updates throughout my recovery :D burry-penguin ha chiesto: As a spicynoodle shipper I love your work sm and what ur doing for this community KEEPING US FEED FOR DAYSSS!! 🔥🍜 🔥🍜 You’re so amazing and keep doing what you’re doing because you’re a damn good story teller and artist. You’ll go so far someday! You’ve helped put a smile on my face on my best and worst days just from seeing each new update and going absolutely fuckin feral over it and I thank you for that 🫶 imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: Not really a ask. I would just like to say I inhaled your AU comic like a vacum cleaner in less them a day, also big fan of the art style. Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm recovering from a toxic relationship and the shadowpeach bio parents au is helping me think through everything ,, The love these monkies show me how relationships are supposed to make you feel good... thank u

turtlewearingclothes ha chiesto: Howdy! I just wanted to say thank you for making your amazing comic, and being the reason I got into Lego Monkie Kid. I've heard of the show, but I never watched it. Then I came across your comic like, 2-3 weeks ago? And after binging it, I decided to watch the show, and now I'm obsessed lol. Thank you!

AWWWW THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE!!!♥️♥️♥️

@selfdestructivecat ha chiesto: Hey so I recently binged your LMK comic because I absolutely fell in love with your ISAT x COTL comic and knew anything you made would be amazing. I’ve never seen LMK though so I’m sure I lost some of the context (it was still so good though, I’m really rooting for everything to work out for the characters!) But I decided to give the actual series a try because of the comic! And here was where I planned on writing you a message after a few episodes to thank you for getting me into a new series, but… I’m on episode one. I only watched the intro. Dude. IM ABSOLUTELY HOOKED. THE ANIMATION! THE STYLE! THE CHARACTERS! I’m so so excited to watch more (which I’m gonna do now!) but thank you so much for bringing this series to my attention!!!

ahaha welcome to the club!, now you can enjoy both comics!

@therivergirl ha chiesto: I remember back in the beggining of eclipse arc you mentioned that Mac feels insecure about his body being part of the reason he's hesitant to take of his clothes even in front of Wukong and it being part of the reason (aside from basic decency) that Wukong looked away. And now in this part Mac appears butt-naked to help Wukong out, adding yet another layer of vulnerability...gah! (Maybe I should finally watch LMK because I feel I would be doubly obsessed with this comic then...)

For Mac being exposed was the last of his issues considering that what he was seeing was Wukong at his lowest and most naked. Now excuse me while I cry.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: You probably know Chang’E’s story from LMK, but did you know there is a second version of her story that I like better? In the second version Chang’E and her husband(I forgot his name), are getting used to living as mortals after being kicked out of heaven. But someone hears of the immortal elixir they have and try to steel it while Chang’E’s husband is out hunting. After getting beat up a bit she decides to drink the elixir so the robber couldn’t get it. But she instead went to the moon so she could be closer to her lover. Her husband dies because he’s still mortal, and Chang’E is left be herself. I have silly little headcanon the day MK and the others went to the moon was her and her husband’s anniversary 🙃 Bye <3

AH. OK.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think that wukong and macaque act like cats?

as in they would purr? I moslty think Wukong wants to cuddle and stroke his head on Mac neck like a cat, while Mac is that one cat that sometime is annoyed when people touch him but eventually let them do it.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ✨Hear me out :3✨ MK can hear the past. He heard the fight of of prentice and held his eye like he was getting hurt by Wukong and not Macaque. So now picture this: MK has a vision again, his this time it is about how the monk used the circlet on him :3

AHAH. NOW HE CAN’T SEE TANG THE SAME WAY AGAIN. FUCK.

Anonimo ha chiesto: When I first found your comic in your TikTok account, I thought it was something very silly... How very VERY wrong I was.(As I get shot 57 times.) I hope you are taking very good care of yourself because when I downloaded Tumblr to keep myself updated to your comics(which was somewhere around 13-16 December probably) there are a LOT of panels. I enjoyed the newest and most recent parts of the shadowpeach bio parent au and can't wait for the next!!! Don't work yourself to the bone too much! Remember to take mental and physical breaks.

AGHDMHSMFYS THANK YOU!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Are there others who flirt with MK ? He looks good, is very powerful and has a sunshine personality. I bet there are others who are interested in him

I guess there haven’t been any for NOW.

Anonimo ha chiesto: After reading the post about swk's circlet, I srsly want him to look at mk and say "oh, hey we're matching!" ... "OH SHIT WHY ARE WE'RE MATCHING?!"

NOOOOOO!!

@delightfulcupquakequeen ha chiesto: Hey there!!! Been awhile sincenI've written an ask, just wanted to send love and being greatful that you are doig this amazing AU!!!! Appreciating ever pannel you make and gosh dammit hitting me right in the korokoro!!!! Keep being your fabulous self!!! Until next time!

THANK YOUUUUU

@l1br4rycrypt1d ha chiesto: Feel free to ignore this if it's spoilers for the comic, but are we gonna get to see the Gold Star of Venus? Just curious, since you reblogged the meme post that mentioned him during the takeover

There will be a small space for them as well, yes.

@kaothedemon ha chiesto: Fun fact, while I doubt Pigsy has all of Zhu Bajie's powers, his ancestor did have a kaiju form, which he could use if he ate a fuckton I'm sure it's not gonna appear in the story, but the idea of Heaven having to deal with 3 Kaiju dads (+ theoretically a sworn uncle) is extremely funny to me (picture courtesy of OSP's latest JTTW episode cause even when I read the book there weren't any illustrations of this)

I SAW THAT!! Man now they must add it to the show. Yeah I don't think he has ALL of Zhu Bajie's powers (I don't think he would ever want to have them) but it would be interesting if it was a high stake situation

@roseltelle ha chiesto: I think Macaque would actually enjoy working/ volunteering at the playhouse specifically doing shadow plays. But he does regular plays as well. His favorite days are when classes of children come in for field trips. Wukong often paints the backdrops, scenery, and other items for plays. They both enjoy their hobbies.

Awwwww yeah I think Macaque would totally love that.

@lmk4ever ha chiesto: Can you imagine Wukong just being out of it after he distracted the celestials for too long in his war form?

I think that as soon as he sees Macaque again he immediately switch back and become behaved again.

@peach-fury ha chiesto: I think I know the answer but theoretically... Who's war form/kajiu is stronger Wukongs or Macaque's and how would it go? I don't know it started as a thought. Now I can't stop laughing.

Wukong's is stronger.

blbllblblblll ha chiesto: do you know the pronunciation of xiaotian? ive been stuck on how to say his name for so long 😭

I know that the "Qi" is pronunced "Chi" and I think "xiao" is pronunced the same as you would read it, while I THINK the "t" in "tian" is more of a mix between a t and a c/k? I aint chinese and the way I pronounce things or read them is probably different from u cause I'm italian.

eerieqloss ha chiesto: Okay question, is Wukong's war form bigger/taller than MK's?

it's taller.

@elliboom ha chiesto: I was wondering, will Erlang Shen ever appear in the Shadowpeach parent series? (And questa domanda la scrivo in italiano giusto per levarmi un’altra curiosità in futuro, preferisci che le domande vengono scritte solo in inglese o vanno bene anche in italiano? So che non ci sono molti italiani ad essere fan di LMK e JTTW, posso capire la scelta di scriverli solo in inglese per rispetto e far capire ai altri fan, e generalmente per scrivere le domande uso google translate, perché faccio pena con la grammatica inglese, mi scuso se in futuro farò domande con qualche errore 🥲🥲)

Si apparirà. Manda pure in italiano shalla ahah.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 21.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: OOF SO THINGS GOT SO FUCKED UP AND EVERYTHING LAID OUT. How do you guys think Bucky is gonna deal with this new information now? Also, i'm not really satisfied with this chapter, so I'm so sorry if that reflects in the quality of this chapter. Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 18 / chapter 19 / chapter 20

On the other side of the world in Wakanda and deep within the garden, the woman was starting to become unnerved. The loud man, Thor, had quickly tired of the boy, Peter, she reminded herself, trying to explain 'Midgardian laws of Physics' and had quickly taken to sparring with each other.

Peter had been kind enough to ask if she would be comfortable with them sparring, but (Y/n) was unable to give him a response. She was still struggling with attempting to trust them; trying to figure out what their motives were.

She could not forget the words that came out of the Fist of HYDRA before he left. Was it true that he had found her Handler? If so, what was he going to do? Her mind was racing, heart pounding and muscles taut with the need to run. She knew the men were intentionally staying near the exit as if they knew she wanted to run, and it made her anxiety worse.

What was the Fist of HYDRA going to do? Was he going to hand her over? No matter how much he spoke about being free from HYDRA, the soldier knew that there was no such thing. Every attempt, every careless display, and every thought of escape was met with swift disciplinary action.

She could still feel her Handler's knife slicing her Achilles tendon and severing it so she couldn't run after she foolishly attempted. She could remember the way he laughed and taunted her, forcing her to stand and attempt to run, and when she could not stand upright, the feeling of his cruel fists beating down against her became the only feeling she knew.

Я буду бить, резать и кромсать тебя столько, сколько мне нужно. Ты узнаешь, что семью не оставишь.

The memory of his voice had tears coming to her eyes, but she dared not to cry. She had cried enough, spoken too much, felt too much, remembered too much. To the soldier, it was only a matter of time. Why else would the Fist of HYDRA be seeking her Handler? Why else would the Fist of HYDRA have suddenly left?

He was taking her back. Giving her away for being disobedient. This has all been a test, and she has failed. Despite the begging to repair her, to recalibrate and reprogram, she had given into the thought of maintaining her freewill, and he was reporting it.

How was she to answer for her disobedience? How could she explain that the Fist of HYDRA was tempting her; feeding her lies of safety and freedom when even he knew better? Was it all a cruel joke? If so, then why couldn't she believe that?

"You are not a weapon anymore."

His voice, though low, was firm and insistent as he continued on.

"That's what HYDRA made you believe-what they made me believe...that if we began to remember, to refuse and act out, that we were broken and needed to be repaired. Feeling things that weren't acceptable, remembering who we were before HYDRA, believing in other ideals...it meant that we were malfunctioning because we weren't allowed to be anything but a puppet for their use."

Despite the inability to trust him completely, the woman could tell that he believed what he was saying; that he was sure of himself and was being honest.

She just couldn't understand why. If everything the Fist of HYDRA had said to her, including what Peter had told her, was true...why were they bothering? Why were they trying to help her if not for a test of HYDRA to see if she was still loyal?

For a moment, the woman sat in her corner quietly, listening to the sounds of the men bantering and laughing together, and it was so strange that she couldn't help but to watch them.

When it was time to train, there was never any laughter. There was never banter or friendly jabs. It was either silence or orders; and anything more or less was unacceptable.

Shakily, her fingers uncurled from clutching the picture within her hands as tightly as she could; holding onto the picture as if it was her only lifeline and her only hope. Staring down at the woman, (Y/n) gently caressed the smooth ink that rendered the woman's cheek while her other hand ran along her own scarred cheek.

'You can be the pretty woman again...just different.'

How could she be someone that she never was in the first place? Yes, this woman in the picture wore her face...but the asset had no other connection to her except for snippets of images, of voices...the mannequin family...the woods.

If the asset thought hard enough about the image of the woods, the flowers, and the sunlight...she could envision herself there. She could smell the wood, could smell the earth, the flowers, and she could feel the sunlight on her skin.

At least, what she remembered sunlight to feel like. The soldier hadn't felt the sunlight in a very long time.

When Thor and Peter took a break, the looming question of what the Fist of HYDRA wanted with her Handler was beginning to bubble within the back of her throat. However, she was finding it difficult to speak; the fear and anxiety causing her throat to close up, and she was finding it hard to swallow.

"Do you want some water?"

(Y/n) turned her worried gaze to Peter, who was holding out a water bottle to her, but she made no move to accept it. Instead, she finally asked her looming question, her voice small and afraid.

"Why does the Fist of HYDRA seek out my Handler?"

Peter looked surprised and unsure of how to answer, pursing his lips for a moment before he replied.

"Well, I think Bucky is bringing him in so he can pay for what he did to you."

His answer confused her, her capacity to understand limited due to her anxious state of mind, and she whispered.

"How do you know?"

"I don't really know for sure, honestly."

That wasn't the right answer, Peter quickly realized as the woman began to panic, her breathing quickening and heart racing loudly. Her nails dug into her skin hard enough to cut and draw blood, and her eyes became unfocused. She began to whisper in Russian, trembling as she began to breakdown.

"Это был вызов… он просто хотел посмотреть, буду ли я лоялен… а теперь он знает, что у меня есть недостатки. Мой проводник накажет меня…"

Thor became concerned, and he stood up, his looming figure standing over the woman as he attempted to comfort her.

"My lady, nobody is giving you back to that horrible man."

The second Thor laid his hand upon her shoulder, (Y/n) finally lost it. With a terrified yell, she attacked Thor, punching him in the gut and making him let out a surprised 'oof!' as he was forcefully moved back. Her eyes were wild, like a cornered animal attempting it's last chance for survival as she stood and began to engage Thor. Despite the trepidation of the situation, Thor was excited, exclaiming.

"Finally! Please, allow me to see the full extent of your battle prowess!"

Any attempt from Peter to calm the two down and get them to stop fighting was ignored. The Dora Milaje that was standing guard immediately raised her spear to protect the exit, and Peter ran to her, pleading with her softly as she glared down at him.

"Please don't hurt her. She's just scared! I...I'm gonna go get Mr. Stark!"

The woman did not relent, but moved aside so that Peter could retrieve his mentor.

-TONY AND STEVE-

Tony and Steve were standing next to each other quietly as Clint gave them the rundown of the mission. While capturing Rollins' was a success, the revelation of what Project Achilles truly was had both men reeling. Tony was speechless, not sure of what to say, and Steve didn't know what to do that would help; if anything at all.

When Clint informed the two of them that Bucky was 'royally fucked up,' over the situation, as Clint had put it, Steve pursed his lips and crossed his arms. Tony didn't even have the heart to make a remark. Instead, it was Bruce Banner who spoke up, making the two Avengers give him a surprised look as he stated.

"Given the delicate nature of this situation, I think that...it might be best to remove Bucky from the rehabilitation program and off the mission entirely. This has become too personal, and with Bucky's fragile state of mind, there's no telling what could happen. It's too dangerous to keep him around Rollins, and I doubt that he will want to be around (Y/n) due to how guilty and responsible he must feel about all of this."

Steve was reluctant, clenching his jaw slightly before he sighed, his shoulders falling just the slightest. While Steve didn't want to do it, he knew that this was the best thing for both him and (Y/n).

"He's not gonna like it, but I have to agree that this is going to be for the best."

Bruce looked uncomfortable before offering with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Look, I'm not the right kind of doctor to give sound advice on what to do...but it might be good to put Bucky through some extensive therapy until this boils over...and (Y/n)...she's better off here in Wakanda with Shuri and the people."

Clint agreed, stating quietly through the communications line.

"Wanda's still got him and Rollins in some type of catatonic state. So, until we get Rollins to a secure part of the kingdom where Bucky can't get to him, we're thinking it might be best to keep him like this."

While Steve didn't like the idea, he knew that it was the best way to keep the mission from going completely wrong due to Bucky's explosive nature. Saying nothing, Clint took the silence as the 'go-ahead' before he asked.

"Any news about the mole?"

"Shuri and T'Challa are interrogating the scientists that they found. Unfortunately, they're not really talking, so until Wanda gets back, we're not going to know for sure."

Clint's voice took on an air of disapproval, stating firmly.

"Steve, I don't think I like that we're using Wanda in this way. Mind control isn't exactly something she enjoys doing."

Wanda's voice suddenly came through, her tone firm but gentle with her wording.

"No, Clint...it's alright. For (Y/n), this is important. I will do it...but then I cannot do it anymore unless it is an emergency."

Steve nodded before stating softly, his eyes downcast as he thanked Wanda.

"Thank you. I know that I'm asking a lot of you, but I can't thank you enough for the help you've been with all of this."

Wanda just hummed, replying.

"We'll talk about how you'll owe me when we get back."

The line went dead, and Bruce swallowed thickly. Glancing between Tony and Steve, Bruce was unsure of what to say, and chose the silent moment to make a quiet exit. Leaving Steve and Tony alone together, Steve was surprised by Tony's solemn voice.

"You know, if Doris had been able to tell my father about what was going on, I don't think any of this would have happened. And you know, that's what I mean about shit following and your son having to deal with the aftermath."

Steve shook his head, leaning against the railing. After a moment, Steve stated gently.

"Tony, what happened isn't your fault. It wasn't Howard's fault either...I don't think anybody outside of the Project could have possibly known. If it means anything to you...I don't blame you."

Tony huffed, holding his hand to his jaw and clutching tightly, his eyes closing as he tried his hardest not to break down; get angry; cry. There was a flood of emotions that was trying to pour out of his body that Tony wasn't sure what to feel first. He was angry, still, at Bucky, especially at the knowledge that he played a part in the Project as well, but Tony knew he couldn't truly blame the man.

"The problem I'm running into is it's hard to place blame when everyone seems to have played some sort of role. And yes, I get it, Barnes wasn't himself when this happened...when he killed my parents...when he killed Doris and took (Y/n) back to HYDRA...but how do you live with that, Cap? How are you not upset about any of this?"

Although Steve was offended, the man just took a moment to pause before asking Tony carefully.

"Do you think that I'm not? I am upset. I'm furious, even, but not at Bucky. I'm furious at HYDRA; at the people that knew but chose to do nothing about (Y/n). I'm furious at HYDRA for kidnapping people and forcing them to be these...these shells of the people they once were...forcing them to do their dirty work and furthering their agenda."

Tony was quiet, glancing at Steve before he turned away and asked him quietly; his voice almost...small.

"Do you think my dad would have done something if he had known?"

Steve answered quickly, nodding his head.

"He would have. Howard cared a lot more than you think...he just had a really funny way of showing it."

A wistful smile came over his face as Steve leaned his arms against the railing, looking out at Wakanda as the sun slowly began to set; casting a bright orange over the kingdom as night befell.

"Besides, I don't think he would have helped Peggy found SHIELD if he didn't care."

Tony glanced at Steve, observing him for a moment before he looked back out at the sunset.

"It was ultimately his downfall too."

Steve's smile became smaller, nodding his head carefully before he stated softly.

"I think that even if Howard knew how this was all going to end...he would have tried his hardest to fight until the very end...and to set you up for success as well in case he couldn't finish his part of the fight."

Tony stayed quiet, and a knock on the door to the lab sounded. Both men turned to find Peter standing there, panting with his hands on his knees as he panicked. Tony and Steve shared a look as Peter exclaimed.

"I think you guys need to come down to the garden. (Y/n)...(Y/n)'s gone crazy! I don't know what happened. She asked about Bucky and then when we told her he left for Rollins, she just started going insane!"

Steve asked with a frown, his adrenaline beginning to spike.

"I thought (Y/n) was told about the mission?"

Peter gave a sheepish look, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean...well, not exactly?"

Tony gave Steve an annoyed expression, making Steve give him an exasperated shrug before the three of them ran down to the garden. Even just outside of the door, (Y/n)'s panicked yells and Thor's boisterous exclamations could be heard through the door.

Once inside, it was a wreck. Although none of the herbs were disturbed, one of the torches had been ripped off of the wall and there were cracks on the floor. Thor was dancing around the woman, a determined grin on his face as he exclaimed.

"Even in such a desperate state, you are quite the warrior! I must commend-"

He was cut off by (Y/n) tearing up a piece of the cracked flooring and launching it at him, the God ducking and staring at the wall that was shattered; bits and pieces of flooring scattered around. The woman was panting, her face contorted into a strange mix of panicked anger, and the second she charged for the door, she paused at the sight of everyone standing guard.

Steve raised his hands as Tony immediately activated his gauntlets, a stern frown on his face, and Steve coaxed gently.

"(Y/n), it's okay. You don't have to fight."

She hissed out, her words causing Steve to pause as a memory of Bucky went through his mind.

"It will always end in a fight."

Steve shook his head, exclaiming in earnest.

"It doesn't have to. Please, please just hear me out. I can tell you why Bucky left."

Thor was giving Steve a pout, stating with an exasperated tone.

"Aw, but we were just starting to have fun!"

"Thor."

Steve's voice was firm, commanding and sharp, and Thor huffed, crossing his arms. (Y/n) was baring her teeth, sneering at Steve as she hissed.

"Lies. Everything you speak is lies!"

Tony shared a look with Steve before asking the woman, making Steve frown with question as Tony took a few steps forward.

"Does the name Stark mean anything to you?"

(Y/n) was put into a stupor, the defensiveness slowly falling as she blinked in confusion.

"W-What?"

Steve asked, his tone revealing his doubt.

"Tony, what are you doing?"

Tony hissed quickly, not looking at Steve as he replied.

"Shut up, Cap. Redirecting her focus and making her regain control of her thinking is the quickest way to get her to calm down. Just roll with it, would you?"

Tony took another step forward before pausing as (Y/n) immediately took a step back in turn, her eyes revealing her suspicion as she stared the man down.

"The name Stark. Does it mean anything to you or ring any bells?"

The woman was quiet, glancing down at the floor for a moment before looking back to Tony.

"I...I don't know..."

Tony then sighed and brought up a hologram from his watch that showed Howard Stark's face, as well as a picture of Doris, making (Y/n)'s eyes widened and her head to tilt slightly as she stared both pictures down.

"This man...Howard Stark...my father. This woman here is Doris...your mother. She helped my mother, Maria, deliver me. Do you remember this? By the time that I was born, you would have been...hm, 18 years old according to your birthday."

(Y/n) began to look small again, whispering with a confused and broken voice.

"The voices...The woman...she told the pretty woman she delivered...Howard Stark's child."

Tony wasn't sure what she meant by saying 'the pretty woman,' and when Peter noticed his confusion, he spoke up quietly.

"She doesn't seem to really understand nor realize that she's the 'pretty woman' in the picture that was in her file."

Steve's shoulders fell slightly before he became melancholic as he watched (Y/n) take the picture out of her pocket and stare down at it with confusion.

"I...I don't understand...the woman...Doris."

The name felt so strange for her to say, her brows furrowing up more as tears began to fill her eyes though she didn't know why. Instead of finishing her thought, (Y/n) instead asked in a broken voice.

"The...pretty woman really is...me?"

Tony didn't know why, but he became sad as well. Her demeanor resonated within him, that familiar uncertainty that Tony knew all too well. Despite this, he slipped on a mask of confidence, nodding to her.

"Yes. The woman in that picture is you from before HYDRA...before all the mumbo jumbo bullshit they put into your head."

Tony paused, sighing slightly as he allowed the words to fumigate through the tension and to prepare himself for what he was about to say.

"As much as it pains me to say this: Barnes wasn't lying to you. The reason Barnes left to retrieve...your handler-"

Saying the words left a sour taste in Tony's mouth, but he continued on as (Y/n) snapped her gaze back up to him; clutching the picture close and becoming guarded even as the tears silently fell down her cheeks.

"-is to make him answer for his crimes. What Rollins' did to you was wrong...what HYDRA did...it was wrong on so many levels. As surprising as it may be, Barnes doesn't want what happened to you and him to ever happen again, and for us all to do that, we have to know where the rest of HYDRA is so that you both can be safe...and never have to worry about them again."

(Y/n) looked lost; her mind wandering as she became unsteady, and she shook her head, clutching it as the picture slowly fell out of her grasp.

"It doesn't make sense...none of this makes sense! Who are you? Who...who am I? I don't understand!"

She collapsed, digging her nails into her head as she sobbed, and Steve sighed heavily before suggesting.

"We should probably give her some space. The Dora Milaje are capable enough to watch her by themselves for a little while."

Peter and Thor agreed, slowly moving out of the garden, and Steve looked back at Tony to see him standing still and watching (Y/n) cry. There was a strange look in his eyes, this strange gleam of dismay and inclination, and Steve urged quietly.

"Tony."

"I got it, Rogers. Just..."

Tony's voice trailed off before he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, I need to confirm my reservations for Pepper and I's vacation."

Tony abruptly left, and Steve was the last one left in the room. Looking back at the weeping woman, Steve was conflicted. Did he stay? Did he leave? Pursing his lips, Steve just sighed and quietly left the room to greet Rollins directly, a new angry and determined gait to his step as Steve's anger finally made an appearance.

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STORY NOTES: Back in Wakanda, (Y/n) is having a difficult time as she thinks about Bucky's words about finding Rollins over and over again. Despite Bucky's attempts to show that he is not with HYDRA and wants to help her, (Y/n) believes that he is going to deliver her back to Rollins. She remembers an incident where she had attempted to escape, and an unnamed Handler had severed her Achilles tendon.

At remembering the incident, (Y/n) becomes convinced that Bucky has been lying and is going to give her back to HYDRA. She begins to worry about how she will answer for her disobedience and how Bucky was testing her. She remembers what Bucky said about now being a weapon anymore, and ruminates over the way Bucky was incredibly sure of himself when he said those words to her, and (Y/n) cannot understand why 'these people,' meaning the Avengers and Bucky, were trying to 'help' her. The sounds of Thor and Peter sparring together distracts her, and she becomes unnerved by the unprofessional way they are sparring.

(Y/n) then looks at the picture of herself from before she was HYDRA, and wonders how it's possible to be someone that she never was in the first place. She mentally points out that she has no other connection to the woman in the picture except for small bits of memories, auditorial flashbacks, the mannequin family she saw in a dream-like sequence, and Meltzer Woods. (Y/n) begins to struggle with the question of what Bucky was doing, and when Thor and Peter take a break from sparring, (Y/n) finally asks after some extreme hesitation. Peter does know know the full extent of the mission due to Tony and Steve not giving him deep details, so Peter is unable to tell her anything more than Bucky is capturing Rollins and bringing him back so 'he can pay for what he did to you'.

After asking how Peter knows and Peter being unable to give a straight answer, (Y/n) begins to panic, fully believing that her earlier conclusions were correct and Bucky was, in fact, giving her back to HYDRA. This sends her into a panic attack, and when Thor tries to comfort her, (Y/n) finally lashes out. Although Peter is immediately concerned, Thor is excited to be able to see the way (Y/n) fights. As Thor engages with (Y/n), Peter immediately runs to get Tony and Steve.

Meanwhile, Tony, Steve, and Clint are all speaking about the result of their mission to The Farm. Clint has informed the two men of what Project Achilles truly was and how (Y/n)'s life was completely fabricated by HYDRA and Bucky's brief involvement in the Project. He informs that Bucky is distraught over this revelation, and Bruce suggests taking Bucky off of the rehabilitation program for (Y/n) and sitting out of the mission entirely. He points out that it's too dangerous to keep Bucky around Rollins as well, and though Steve is reluctant to kick Bucky off of the mission and program, he knows it is for the best. Clint then asks about the possible mole in Wakanda, and Steve informs him that Shuri and T'Challa have retrieved the scientists that were involved with (Y/n) in the beginning of her arrival in Wakanda, though none of them are revealing any information. He muses that it will be easier to get answers once Wanda is back, but Clint is upset that Wanda is being used in the way that she is.

Wanda refutes this, telling both Clint and Steve that what she is doing is important, but firmly places a boundary that after this mission, she will not use her mind-controlling ability unless it is for extreme emergencies. After thanking Wanda, Clint exits the call, and Tony begins to question if his father would have done something to stop Project Achilles had he known, and Steve reassures Tony that what happened isn't his nor his fathers fault. Tony isn't completely convinced, and he becomes emotional before he points out that he is unsure of who to fully blame due to so many people being involved. He points out how he can't even blame Bucky for what he did to his parents and (Y/n) due to him being under the influence of HYDRA, but Tony asks Steve how he 'wasn't upset' about the situation.

Steve reveals that he is upset and furious about the situation, but he is not angry at Bucky. Steve points out that he is furious at HYDRA for taking people against their will and turning them into weapons, and Tony deflects, asking about his father again. Steve reassures Tony that if Howard had known, he would have done something to stop the Project. He tells Tony that Howard had a 'funny way' of showing that he cared, and points out that if Howard didn't, he wouldn't have helped Peggy Carter to create SHIELD. Tony points out that SHIELD became his downfall as well, but Steve states that even if Howard knew this fact, he would still try to fight until the very end. This is where Peter comes in to inform Tony and Steve of (Y/n)'s breakdown.

Steve, Tony, and Peter all get to the garden to discover Thor and (Y/n) in the midst of a fight. Thor, however, is not taking it seriously despite (Y/n)'s obvious distress, and when she tries to get to the exit, (Y/n) is stopped by the sight of the three Avengers. Steve tries to mitigate the situation by telling (Y/n) that he can tell her why Bucky left, and when Steve doesn't have any progress this way, Tony speaks up. Using himself as a distraction to force (Y/n) to use her logic and reasoning, Tony begins to describe his father and how her mother, Doris, helped to deliver him when his mother was in labor. This method proves effective as (Y/n) slowly calms down, talking about how she had heard Doris' voice tell 'the pretty woman' about delivering Howard Stark's child. When Tony becomes confused, Peter clarifies that (Y/n) doesn't realize the 'pretty woman' is actually herself.

(Y/n) slowly becomes distraught again, and when she asks if the pretty woman truly is her, Tony confirms it. He informs (Y/n) that Bucky wasn't lying to her about anything and the reason he left to retrieve her Handler was to make him answer for his wrongdoings. Tony states that Bucky doesn't want what happened to her or him to ever happen again, and they needed Rollins to tell them where the rest of HYDRA was to do that. (Y/n) becomes further unsure, questioning who Tony is and who she is, and as she begins to cry, Steve suggests letting her have her space. For a moment, Tony stays behind, just watching as she cried, and once he leaves, Steve stays for a moment longer; unsure of what to do. Instead of attempting to comfort her, Steve decides to leave as well, finally angry. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Я буду бить, резать и кромсать тебя столько, сколько мне нужно. Ты узнаешь, что семью не оставишь. - I will beat, cut and shred you as much as I need. You will learn that you will not leave your family.

Это был вызов… он просто хотел посмотреть, буду ли я лоялен… а теперь он знает, что у меня есть недостатки. Мой проводник накажет меня - It was a challenge… he just wanted to see if I would be loyal… and now he knows I have flaws. My guide {Handler] will punish me

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99

[uhhlifeig]

🤑

Wolfstar coffee shop au

i LOVE wolfstar so here you go arc!

~~~~~

The bell above the door tinkled as someone walked in.

Remus didn’t know who it was, since he was trying to get the stupid cap on the stupid coffee cup.

He whooped under his breath as the lid finally snapped on, and he handed it off to Lily. 

He looked up, ready to help the next customer, when he caught sight of the absolutely gorgeous man standing in front of the register.

He had deep black curls, and stormy eyes, and the rings. Oh, his rings. Remus was going to pass out.

“Um, hello,” Remus stuttered, blushing. He cursed himself internally for acting like a besotted teenage girl before smiling. “What would you like to drink?”

“What do you recommend?” the stranger asked. 

“We have a good Vietnamese cold brew?” Remus said, racking his brain for other things that the man might like.

“Ooh, that sounds good.” Mystery Man grinned at Remus, looking for all the world like an excited puppy,

“Okay, so. One Vietnamese cold brew?” Remus asked. “Will that be all?”

“Yep.”

“Great. That’ll be $4.68,” Remus said, tapping at the machine in front of him. “Can I get a name for your order?”

“My name’s Sirius,” the man said.

“How the hell do you spell that?” Remus asked, frowning.

“Like the star,” Sirius sighed. “I’d give you one of the many business cards I keep in my pocket for these types of occasions, but James stole them all.”

“So I take it that this happens often?” Remus asked. 

“Oh, you don’t know how much I get that question,” Sirius sighed.

“Well, maybe I do,” Remus grinned. “You see, my name is Remus. Like the mythical one who was killed by Romulus?”

“Oof. Do you think that says anything about your fate?” Sirius asked, leaning in closer to the counter. 

“Well, I don’t have a twin brother, if that’s what you’re asking,” Remus chuckled. 

“Rats, I was hoping you did,” Sirius groaned sarcastically.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Why? Would you want to hook up with him?”

“Maybe,” Sirius grinned, batting his lashes. “Honestly, if you had a twin…”

“Well, I don’t. So why not go for the next best thing?”

“Who?” Sirius asked obliviously.

“Me, of course.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped. “Really? Verily much so?”

“Well, if you’re up for it…” Remus shrugged. He scribbled his number on a slip of paper and handed it over. “Here’s my number in case you want to consider.”

“I think I’ve been tricked, backstabbed, and quite possibly bamboozled,” Sirius muttered to himself, slipping the paper into his pocket.

“Ah, a man of culture, I see,” Remus winked. “Here’s your coffee, my good sir.”

[scribesynnox]

Bored

Kef's post here, specifically the art at the end, is haunting me. It is fucking with me bad. I wouldn't wish boredom and lack of mental stimulus on my worst enemies, and here Jazz is. Stuck and trapped.

Aimless.

So I decided to write a little something because OOF. Do you know what it's like to be bored? Constantly? Because I do and it SUCKS.

For @keferon's apocalyptic ponyo au.

There’s nothing to do.

This isn’t anything unusual. Jazz regularly finds himself bored out of his mind every day. He’s exhausted every avenue of entertainment he can and then some. He already knows this human dialect, English, so he can’t entertain himself trying to puzzle out words and letters. The people at this aquarium haven’t given him any toys to mess around with either. It’s always a toss up whether the aquariums he ends up at give him toys or not. He prefers it when they do. It’s demeaning sure, but what isn’t in his situation? At least with a beach ball, he could do SOMETHING. It’s night and usually, Jazz would escape his tank by now to explore the building, but the aquarium was setting up some new policy, something about frequent tank escapes and trying to prevent them. It’s not from Jazz’s end, he’s too good at this by now to get caught, but the octopi weren’t exactly being subtle when they went to throw rotten clams at their caretakers. What this means for Jazz though, is that the aquarium is busy tonight, and there’s too many humans around for Jazz to risk it.

What it means is that there is nothing to do, and Jazz is bored.

Bored bored bored, he is so BORED, there is nothing to DO!!

He bursts into an agitated swim, circling circling and circling, trying to burn off the restless energy, or maybe to get dizzy just to feel something, anything, but he’s done this too many times, it’ll take more than that to get him dizzy. The apathy and numbed anger quickly comes back, stealing his energy and hollowing him out. He hangs in the water, bored.

There is nothing to do.

More notes on being Bored!:

when you spend all day every day almost always always always BORED, you start creating your own entertainment

Jazz zoning out a LOT because there just simply isn't anything for him to do. Sure there's the training and there's the performances and the checkups and the people watching, but they can only take away the boredom for so long.

Oh! By the way, off tangent, but I finally thought up of a reason for why Jazz hasn't tried talking to the humans in an attempt to get them to realize that he's sentient and that he has a home and he wants to be free. Or to get them to make his tank more, you know, hospitable. Or at the very least not claw at the walls inducing.

Uh, simple reason: he physically can't. Like, merfolk just Do Not have the vocal cords to pronounce human speech. Humans don't have the vocal cords to copy a lot of noises! We can do a lot, sure, but we can't do everything! I say it's the same for merfolk! They may look like humans, but humans look a lot like mers too, and so I say: while both of them can learn the other's language, they're gonna have a difficult time actually speaking it.

so like, Jazz DOES try to talk to the humans, tries to get them to realize that he's a person and he just wants to go home, please please PLEASE-!

but he is clumsy with human speech and they just think he's like a clever parrot. He has intelligence, sure, but that's it. They think his cries are because he misses his home and his pod, sure, but they also think he's better off in captivity since he is so small and alone. They know better. Poor little orca, so scared and hurt. But they know better. It's for his own good. It's okay because it's for his own good.

ANYWAYS I'm digressing, back to boredom notes.

Jazz loses time a lot. There's just.. so little for him to do. And so little reason to do it. He tries to keep himself busy but sometimes he's just.. tired.

He swims because he's bored of staying still, and then he stays still because he's bored of swimming.

haha, wait, oof, ya boi probably has depression honestly.

He probably gets moments of mania too. You know, ACTUALLY clawing at the walls, throwing himself against the tank because he hates hates HATES how small and cramped it is! How it's only big enough for him to swim in small circles! HE HATES IT

The buzzing in his skin, the restlessness, the need for something, ANYTHING, to make him think, to make him FEEL. He’s going to claw at the walls, this is torture.

The reason why Jazz knows so many human languages isn't just because he was passed around a lot and was exposed to them, it's because he was actively trying to learn them. At first, it was to try and tell someone that he just wants to go home, but when it became clear it wouldn't work, he still kept learning anyways because that way he could overhear conversations, read information from maps and leftover textbooks/papers, and try to escape on his own. Can't escape from the aquarium if he just gets immediately lost once he's outside. (don't think about how he wouldn't be able to escape even if he can read and listen. That path leads to numbness and Jazz has had enough numbness, he needs to focus.)

There's also just.. nothing else for him to do. And if he wants to stave off the boredom and Empty Hollow Fog, then he has to do something.

Honestly, when Jazz and Prowl escape, Jazz is going to have one HELL of an adjustment period outside of just learning mer culture and the ocean world. Going from being bored every day to NEW EXCITING DIFFERENT CHANGES is going to be exhausting. Like, yes, it's all very new and very exciting, and Jazz is going to be a little too preoccupied with staying alive and being terrified to really feel the crash, but man oh man, when there is a lull in all of this? This mer going to crash a LOT.

He's going to have to take a lot of breaks, not just because his tail is weak and undeveloped, but also because he's never had So Much happening All The Time before. It's a lot to adjust to!

(Not that Jazz will let himself have those breaks because uh oh, he's kinda lowkey ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED that Prowl will leave him behind if he can't keep up and Jazz is tired, but he can not go back to being alone.)

Jazz has so many made up games and tricks and stories and music and and and in his head. Because, and I can't stress this enough, there is nothing else for him to do! And when there is nothing for you to do, you start making shit up because the only other alternative is to zone out and lose time, or hit something. And Jazz gets bored of zoning out too, and the last time he hit something, they restrained him and sedated him, so uh. No. No more of that.

Jazz spent a lot of time tinkering with the locks on his tank and practicing moving himself on dry land. He's gotten good at escaping, and very good at doing neat tricks, like doing pull ups to haul himself up the stairs by using their railings, or waddling over the itchy carpet by lifting his tail in the air and keeping it there, or doing a semi cartwheel where he flips himself head over tails by using his tail to help himself roll over (okay that last one is just for fun but come on, he's allowed to have fun.)

Sometimes, when he gets too good at sneaking around, sneaks around while giving himself a handicap just to give himself a challenge. Is it a good idea? Probably not. But he's so bored.

He's gotten some close calls, but he is now very good at sneaking around.

Jazz watches people, just like they watch him, and makes up stories for them. The lady with the screaming toddler is actually secretly a spy, and the child is their cover story! But the spy lady is regretting everything in her life now. She can hack into any computer ever, but she can not hack a child and tell them to behave. The man lingering by the penguins is staring at them because he's thinking about a lover who was lost at sea! The kid popping bubblegum in the corner has parents who are going through a very messy and very dramatic divorce, and they came to the aquarium to escape the fighting. The lady in the giant hat is having a secret affair!

He is so bored.

Jazz also observes, and notices people. Notices their behavior, their motives, their patterns. The caretaker with the Tuesday shift get nervous with loud sudden movements, so Jazz is careful to be small and gentle when it's his turn to feed him. Because if he is small and gentle, then the Tuesday Caretaker will give him a small smile back and sometimes, he'll spend a little extra time talking to him while feeding him, telling him about his classes or about whatever game he's playing for the week. The teenager regular, who must be one of the staff's kids to be able to come so often, loves it when he puts on a little show, playing up his cuteness, and acting playful. She stays longer when he does so, and that means that she stays long enough to meet with one of the cleaning staff members that she's friends with. THIS leads to them greeting each other, and the janitor leaving his cleaning cart unattended, and if Jazz is verrrrry careful, he can snatch one of the chemicals from the cart before the janitor notices. The night guard on Fridays is lazy and always leaves his shift a little early than he should, which means Jazz has less time to get back to his tank on those days.

Jazz notices it all.

There's little else he can do BUT observe.

Jazz probably fidgets and stims a lot too. Idle tapping of his fingers, splashing his tail into the water absentmindedly, humming notes to made up music, or snatches of songs he's memorized, making nonsense noises to himself, tearing up bits of his environment, like peeling paint or crumbling plastic rock.

He tries to stave off the Empty and the Fog, he DOES, but it doesn't always work. Some days, the Fog wins and he just.. floats. Listlessly. Bored. He's so sick of it all, and he's so tired.

He's heard about depression from the college interns and he's pretty sure that's what he has. Lack of stimulation, isolated, and bored bored BORED. Plus, there's that small deal with him being FUCKING TRAPPED AND HELPLESS TO THE WHIMS OF A PEOPLE WHO DON'T SEE HIM AS A PERSON. So you know. He's probably depressed. The Empty is probably the depression. Yippee.

He just wants to go home.

please.

[alvfr]

you asked for it! im forcing you!

how about a scenario on that particular AU you have cooking around? between nightwing and a spiderperson that is marooned in the black and white gotham city

we love to see it

posting this like you haven't already read all of it >.< a/n: the funniest jokes are princess-marida's and she is a blessed saint that endures my long ramblings about wips, including this one. i know it says a scenario, but this turned into a longer project (shocker) so here's the first part of chapter 1 (eventual) paring: dick grayson/reader rating: m (swearing)/sfw cw: spider-woman!reader who never stops talking, no use of y/n, superhero violence summary: for years, you have been the one and only Spider-Woman of your world. However, after being recruited to the multiversal Spider-Society, you learn that there's a version of you in every other universe too.At least that's what you thought until something goes wrong and you end up in a world with plenty of superheroes, but no Spider-Man. You're stranded, alone and glitching. You need to find this world's Spider-Man and restore your link to the Spider-Verse before you disintegrate completely - easier said than done with both a local detective and a hot vigilante on your tail.

Out of the Spider-Verse (and into Gotham)

All right, guys. Let’s start at the beginning one last time. 

Your name is definitely not Peter Parker, but you were bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last few years, you’ve been the one and only Spider-Woman. At least, you thought you were until another Spider-Woman showed up to recruit you to the multiversal Spider-Society and you realized you were one of many, many, many Spider-things from all kinds of universes. It was a sweet gig, getting you out and about some, meeting new people, doing team-ups and group work, and your leader was a decent enough guy. A little intense. Borderline scary. Easy on the eyes though. Really easy on the eyes.

And one day, you’re hanging out at the headquarters minding your own business, totally not gossipping about boss-man, when the order comes to capture one of your fellow Spider-Men. Next thing you know, you’re caught up in the whirlwind of Spider-Beings chasing after someone called Miles Morales, and somehow, in the chaos, you slip.

A fluke, really. You never slip. You’re Spider-Woman! You literally stick to walls and ceilings, and somehow, you lost your footing and took a tumble into darkness. 

Real darkness. Where bright flashing lights and psychedelic colors had accompanied you all the other times you hopped through dimensions, this time, you fell into a black pit of nothing. Reflexes had you shooting out webs, desperate to get an anchor point. They disappeared into the void with an embarrassing swish, and you did not even have time to scream before you smacked into something undeniably solid.

Concrete, probably, based on the cloud of debris and dust that rained over you as your body dug several feet into it, knocking every cubic inch of air from your lungs with an oof. Yup, you determined as you lifted your now gray arms to study them. Definitely concrete. You dropped your head back into the rubble and made a face under your mask. Concrete dust was a real bitch to get out of the suit, and you would be forced to cosplay as whitewashed Noir Spider-Man until you could get it dry-cleaned. 

Read more on AO3

[nauticaltrain]

your themed slang for stex you did in that one post is really interesting could you elaborate on them?

oof yes i love themed slang so much (og post here)

Train slang is not super complex, merely a blending of regular old human culture, real railroad slang, and their own esoteric references. Most rolling stock have a remarkable skillfulness in the art of arguing, and will talk shit to hell and back. As a result, their vernacular is increasingly creative in an effort to really get their points across.

Some examples (including the ones in that post and some more!)

Dries my crown - a steamer saying, referencing the crown sheet that covers the top of the firebox. The crown must have a layer of water on top of it at all times to prevent damage to boiler, and potential implosion. So, saying that something "dries my crown", means it's really irritating to the point of outrage

Keep your tender on - calm down, relax. Another steamer saying

Blow it out your stack - fuck off and leave me alone. Started as a steamer thing and has gradually shifted over to the diesels as a derogative

Chassis - A chassis is the load bearing framework of rolling stock (and many other pieces of machinery). In the context of train slang, it's vaguely sexual? They're about as anatomically correct as barbie dolls and have a limited understanding of sexuality. But that doesn't mean the counterfeit replication of the human mind that makes up the rolling stock psyche can't catcall and talk dirty!

Pumps my pistons - see above

Get out of my cab and it's variations - stop micromanaging me!

Tarblood/coaleater/crummy/hog/scrap/tea kettle/etc. - slurs and name calling. Trains love to insult each other

Rumble - a human term that was co-opted by the rolling stock. Someone is gonna throw down and it's gonna be a big event, let's go watch two idiots beat each other up. Usually references altercations between engines

Less than a hundred miles under you - you're a newbie, you don't have a lot of experience

Wheelslip - In real railroading, wheelslip is a phenomenon where if too much force is applied to the wheels and there is not enough friction, the wheels will turn without there being movement of the train. In train slang, it's the equivalent of saying "butterfingers" when someone drops something or "you good?" when someone trips

Ticking over - not really slang, but more of cultural thing. On a real engine, ticking over is idling. In the musical, tickovers are the set of movements each character does when they're not doing anything specific (Rusty's little arm rotations, CB's salute, Greaseball combing back his hair). In the context of my weird psychological automaton au, it's a visual representation of them processing information. Train stimming, basically.

Oh also, they have a non-verbal sub-language in train form (if one subscribes to the transformers-esque headcanon), which includes brake clenching, whistle/horn variations, metal creaks, and light signals!

[604to647]

Fics that Live in My Mind, Rent Free (Pedro's Version) - Part 1

Happy NYE! 🥳🥳

I read so many wonderful, hot, gut-wrenching, unforgettable, inspiring Pedro Pascal character fanfics... and I haven't been reblogging them 🫣 (it's me, hi, I'm the problem it's me). Don't hate me please - reblogging gives me so much anxiety, and I'm not even sure I could articulate why if I tried - and I see a lot of the discussion/discourse/posts re: reblogging and I truly understand all perspectives although it just seems to elevate my nerves about even more.

However, I understand the impact and moreover, I want to do it for the writers that bring me so much joy and inspiration, so I endeavour to try. I want to make it clear that this is a personal hang up of mine, and I have 100% absolutely no comments on how anyone else engages here; reblog/comment/like or don’t per your own preferences and you have nothing but love from me 😘

So it will be a 2024 personal goal of mine to be less shy about reblogging, but while I work up my courage/practice, I wanted to go back and compile a list of some of my fave Pedro boy fics; I think of each and every one of these fics often and have revisited them all (i.e. Exactly the fics I should have reblogged when I read them). I went deep in my likes so some of these fics are quite old; you may have already read them all! If you have or haven’t, I hope you love them as much as I do!

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian, GOAT)

Boxer!Din AU by @djarinsbeskar (Boxer and his masseuse, who relaxes him in more ways than one. I've mentioned before that this is the first Modern Din AU I ever read and it's cemented itself as one of the best. Making Safest with You Din an ex-boxer is my humble homage.)

Freu(Din)an Slip by @saradika (Is there space porn in the SW universe? Yes.)

Bare by @charnelhouse (part of an AU between Din and bounty hunter!reader; other favourite instalments include Come and Conquer and Din's Ex)

A Bond to My Soul by @whiskeynwriting (King!Din and reader, with a battle just outside the doors)

Mine also by @whiskeynwriting (Jealous Din, no need to say more)

Beloved series by @groguspicklejar (Din falls in love with Cyare; mind the tags - the writing is rich and the emotions deep)

Courting by @writerlyhabits (another Mandalorian tries to court you and Din's having none of that)

Hold me down by @starlightmornings (Din as your weighted blanket)

Be Mine by @spacecowboyhotch (Glove kink)

Save a Speeder, Ride a Mando by @sprout-fics (I love fics where Din is jealous of Cobb)

Helping Hand and Did you miss me? by @mellowswriting (Din smut and fluff; they're in love, okay?)

Fix you by @roguetonorth (Comforting Din)

Rough Day by @no-droids (I think everyone knows about this fic; Sweet Girl!Reader holds a special place in my heart)

Take me to Church by @frannyzooey (Western AU; seriously one of the hottest and most romantic series I've ever read. I cried several times 🥹)

Flowers & Sex by @221bshrlocked (Din and innocent!Reader)

Show me by @moralesispunk (A bounty gets mouthy)

Patience by @oscarseyebrow (Starts with cockwarming)

Close Quarters by @absurdthirst (One bed/bunk)

Reunion by @heybluechild (Breaking in the N1)

Significant by @softlyspector (Din calls Reader "Riduur"; I love, love, love Mando fics with lots of Mando'a; so much care is always taken by the writers to translate and weave the words into the story)

Din takes out his frustrations by @ourautumn86

Javier Pena (Narcos)

Burn for Me by @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis (Reader teases Javi; it backfires)

Use me by @toomanystoriessolittletime (Javi is frustrated)

Needy by @wheresarizona (Reader is going to be late for work 🤭)

Reader brings Javi dinner at work by @forthetears

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Bad Girl by @seventeenpins (The first in a hot stepdad!Joel Miller series)

The Boss' Bunny by @talaok (The first in a series about QZ criminal boss Joel and his insatiable bunny)

Help! I'm Stuck! by @nosesitter (Oof! Father-in-law!Joel Miller and his OF daughter-in-law; 2 in the series so far)

Stripped by @thot-of-khonshu (Mr. Miller goes to a strip club)

Stay in Bed series by @psychedelic-ink (Neighbour Joel, pre-outbreak)

A Man Like Him by @valerinaswriting (No one should question Joel's abilities)

Mine by @toomanystoriessolittletime (Reader wears Joel's shirt on accident)

You Are My Cinema by @itgetsdark-x (Camgirl!Reader)

An Afternoon with Your Dad's Best Friend by @elvinaa (I mean, it's in title 🤭; I actually always secretly wish for a sequel to this one)

Come and get your love by @sunflowersteves (Sunshine!Reader)

Francisco "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier)

Kinktober 2022 - Erotic Photos by @moralesispunk (Reader gifts Frankie a Polaroid camera)

Thirds by @haylzcyon (Reader visits new boyfriend Frankie at work)

Grass is Greener by @haylzcyon (Frankie mows the lawn)

Kinktober 2022 - Overstimulation by @flightlessangelwings-updates (This was my introduction to pussy eating king Frankie)

Cabin in the woods by @guess-my-next-obsession (The cabin is spooky but Frankie is there to take care of Reader)

Double Feature (and all of the Box Set Universe) by @frannyzooey (Frankie and Reader love movies)

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

Little Red's Shadow by @littlemisspascal (Werewolf!Pero 🥹)

In my dreams by @toomanystoriessolittletime (Princess falls for a mercenary)

Tim Rockford (Merge Mansion, all 48 seconds)

A Sight for Sore Eyes and Sir by @ozarkthedog (Semi-public sex)

Anything you say can and will be held against you by @jksprincess10 (Workplace rivals)

An Important Appointment by @boliv-jenta (Sex worker!Reader)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

A present by @radiowallet (Lingerie prompt; Cat writes some of the best Marcus Moreno fics on here imho. This one is my personal fave)

First Date by @absurdthirst (Workplace FWB)

The Date by @wardenparker (Professor!Marcus but also Marcus on a motorcycle)

Part 2 of list

[gyuspearl]

his palette – n.rk

꒰ 🎨 ꒱ A NISHIMURA RIKI [니키] ONESHOT!

genre. soulmate au, fluffy fluffy fluff! .˚⊹ pairing. non-idol,,artsy ni-ki x artsy fem reader. ໒꒱ warning(s). bumping into each other cliche meets classmates 2 lovers. word ct. 869

synopsis .ᐟ in which people see the world in shades of black & white until making contact with their soulmate.

꒰ 💬 ꒱ mi note. remember, this is a work of fiction. i did not proofread, so please excuse any mistakes.

if you enjoyed this fic, please like and reblog! it's always appreciated :)

enjoy, my lovely readers. xoxo, mi. ‹𝟹

NISHIMURA RIKI was the quiet, loner type at decelis high, considering the fact that his best friends were all upperclassmen that had since graduated. he often sat by himself during lunch period, headphones on blast as he drew in his small sketchbook. his art was beautiful to anyone who had the privilege to see, yet it lacked one element; color.

the boy greatly envied those who had gained their palette, straight from the source of interacting with their soulmate; to which he had yet to meet. at least that’s what he believed, since he’d never came in physical contact with them.

currently, he was sat beneath a tree in the courtyard, hoping to sketch the scenery of campus, humming along to a track playing in his ears. his legs were entirely outstretched, laid before him as he used his thighs as a surface to draw upon.

a figure, obviously in a rush, had approached with hurried steps through the grass, tripping over his limbs with a soft ‘oof’. glancing up in surprise, riki’s gaze met the back of your kneeling figure. he recognized you immediately, as you shared multiple art classes throughout the years, and many labeled you as the campus sweetheart.

but…

wait, your outfit was a different sprawl of hues from the generic blacks and whites that he could see. in fact, his view was anything but grayscale. he assumed that you’d realized the same, your head tilting a few degrees in curiosity as you stared at the green grass beneath your palms.

pulling himself from the initial shock, the boy removed his headphones, placing them and his sketchbook aside to help you gather what had fallen from your grasp, knelt beside you.

“are you okay, y/n?” the boy questioned, his fingertips grazing yours as you’d reached for the item. when your eyes met his, he felt the air leave his lungs, your features far more angelic than people had described. his sight was one that people would’ve fought for, and yet he had the privilege to witness you in such beautiful color. your expression mirrored his, the honey of his skin, the blush of his lips– it was an exquisite change, leaving you in awe.

“y/n?” his voice drew you from the daze of his beauty, causing your eyes to flutter in rapid blinks that showcased your nerves.

“s–sorry, riki.” you murmur, reaching to take your sketchbook from his hands, only for him to pull it back. leaning your upper half forward, you found yourself a mere few inches from him– your breath mingling with his.

“y/n.” riki called with a low tone, causing you to gulp, averting your gaze. his fingers reached up, gently caressing your chin as he turned your head to meet his eyes.

“why were you in such a rush, bunny?” he questions, his brows furrowing in worry of any possible injury you may have gotten. flustered by the pet name, your cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink, catching his interest as he waited patiently for a response.

“well.. well i wanted to..” you begin, stumbling over your words in embarrassment. you were actually on the search for him, hoping to find a vantage point in which you could draw him for the day. your fingers reached to grasp at the sketchbook, your name sprawled across the front; only for riki to cheekily grin at you.

“what’s in here, hm?” he questions with a playful wiggle of his brows, glancing down at the sketchbook to flip the front page.

“w–wait!” you attempted to protest, only for his lips to part in surprise, having found a drawing of… himself?

“y/n…” he whispers in disbelief, his eyes casting between the drawing and you, his gaze landing on the paper once more. his fingers gently flipped through the pages, finding a multitude of sketches you’d made of him; most of them during lunch period, where he peacefully sat alone.

“oh, pretty...” he murmurs, folding the sketchbook shut before placing it aside, practically tugging you onto his lap. “stop admiring from afar.” he mutters, pressing gentle kisses against your cheeks, to which your skin flushes even further. he was honored to have been the apple of your eye, as you were his.

after all, his staring sessions during class were rather obvious to everyone but you.

“riki!” you squeal in shyness, hands pressed against his chest as he lovingly smothers you.

“see, it's a sign that you should’ve joined me all along, baby.” he coos, glancing up at the sky and pointing with his index finger; the colors sprawled across your vision as you turned your head.

“not only can you see colors, but you have me to grace your presence.” he grins at you, ticking your sides as a giggle falls past your lips, your gaze returning to his.

“oh, yippie!” you sarcastically respond with a playful smile, earning a gasp of feign hurt from the boy; to which you place a gentle kiss to his lips.

now it was his turn to be flustered, your action catching him off guard before he pulled you in once again, your smiles meshing as you expressed your affection, no longer hidden.

꒰ 📎 ꒱ taglist. @greentulip @nshmuras @wonsdoll

how to be added to my taglist : click here!