#the choices will be there at the end of each part

[hamletthedane]

I know I’m joking about how Wicked Part 2 is going to be insane compared to Part 1, but it actually is so interesting when viewed as separate second part of the story -

Because hear me out - imo, the end of Act 1 sets up where the lines in the sand are for the three key characters:

Elphaba chooses to follow her morals and reject the system, even to her own isolation and destruction. Her line is her dedication to “making good.”

Glinda, her foil, openly admits that she cannot turn down the allure of the system’s power and stability, even at the sacrifice of her morals and her closest friendship. Her line is her power and popularity.

Fiyero, further foiling Glinda, is the person who would have blindly said yes to Elphaba’s offer. He is completely, unquestioningly devoted to Elphaba - even to a fault - believing that she will always be good and choose the right thing (as she “doesn’t care what others think”).* His line is his unwavering loyalty to Elphaba.

*admittedly, this is less evident at the end of Act 1, but it’s made VERY clear within the first 5min of Act 2 so I’m counting it as an Act 1 arc

But then Act 2 forces them to respect the line they’ve decided to draw in increasingly devastating ways, and eventually forces them to violate their lines or have the lines destroy them:

Elphaba’s sacrifices turn her into a complete pariah, forcing her to lose everything she had and worked for in an instant. She fights every day for what she believes in, even though she sees it’s fruitless and only leading to the destruction of everything she loves. But Elphaba stands strong even against the Wizard’s temptation of leaving behind her failing cause. However, she’s finally pushed over her edge when one of the two people who still believed in her “goodness” dies for that belief. And it drives her to throw away every good intention and dive head-first into a pursuit of power and control. She must ultimately be influenced by Glinda to once again choose self-sacrifice for the greater good, giving up her power and dreams of normality in Oz. “Now it’s up to you, for both of us”

Glinda builds great political capital and becomes one of the most important, beloved characters in the nation. But nothing is real: she’s engaged to a man who clearly doesn’t love her, she’s openly decrying a woman who she clearly still loves herself, and the system she operates in troubles her even as she benefits from it. Elphaba again tempts her to leave, and Fiyero’s clear willingness to jump ship should be an even greater temptation, but she can’t leave it behind. Not until the very end of the story does she finally recreate the Ozdust dance: acting against her own self-interest to save Elphaba and take up the fire of her cause

Fiyero, to his credit, is the only person who cannot be pushed from his line. The very first chance he gets, he follows Elphaba blindly, despite hearing all these terrible things about her. Then he willingly sacrifices himself for her and her cause, and they torture him to (a fate worse than) death for it. And even when Elphaba really does go evil, he still believes that she will ultimately choose good. His loyalty to her is not well rewarded (see: fate worse than death), but he makes his sacrifice willingly. His belief destroyed him.

What I really like about the play’s story is that from all these different starting goals and motivations, every character is forced to give up everything that is dear to them - including their fundamental selves - by the end of the story. Yet, they all three still continue to overlap and influence each other in ways that lead them all to a choice of “making good” in the end. SO excited to see that played out on screen.

[highvern]

Steam III

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: ATLA au, enemies(?) to lovers, forbidden romance, royalty au

General Warnings: violence (bending fights), injuries (mentions of broken bones, burns, blood, bruises), alcohol consumption, mentions of prostitutionSmut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, fingering, dry humping, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, marking, virgin!reader, wonwoo has a tiny bit of a corruption kink

Length: ~15.4k | Fic Length: ~60k

Credits: banner: @caelesjjk and @shadowkoo | betas: @tomodachiii @miniseokminnies @gyuswhore @haologram and @wqnwoos

Note: part 3 lets gooooo. crazy that this'll all be over soon. i hope yall enjoy the chaos and more shenanigans from two dumbies in love

summary: Wonwoo is the best fire bender in Capitol City. Or he is. But a water bender he's never seen before changes everything.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

If you hadn’t respected your grandmother so much you would’ve killed her for throwing you to the wolves. It was the inevitable end to the week's festivities, finding a husband. But so far, none the men brought forth sparked any reaction other than disdain and disgust. 

You hated it. You hated them. You hated the entire ordeal of selling yourself off like a prized calf at auction, batting your eyelashes and giggling at unfunny jokes.

But it was your duty. Whether you liked it or not, it had to be done.

That fact repeated in your mind like a mantra as another suitor fumbled through a story about his opinions on nothing.

However, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the men in front of you, all you could think about was the one standing off to the side behind you.

Wonwoo hadn’t mentioned the books you gifted him the previous night; one as an apology for Maoki’s childish behavior, the other as a thank you for taking you to the Lower Block. There wasn’t much time for conversation between the fiasco of the talent show and the early morning appointment with your seamstress he was forced to wait outside of. Maybe after lunch you would have the opportunity. Your copy of The Pearls of Drak was better off with someone who could appreciate it, but the Poems of Stars was a spontaneous choice to throw in. 

That particular copy stayed by your side since childhood, filled with smudged annotations, tear stains and bleeding ink from spilled drinks. You knew the verses by heart yet returned back to it again and again. For some reason, you wanted Wonwoo to read it. More than just the poems, you wanted him to read your copy; see if he found the same meanings you did. If he shed tears at “The Moon’s Widow”, or laughed at the old man in “The Constable”, or if he found “The Belle Dame” as beautiful as you did.

“And Capital City is fine, but the country is where children should be raised. Where they can run and play and learn in the great outdoors. I love the outdoors. Earth beneath your feet…”

Your grandmother meant for it to be an informal tea party. Chatting with multiple men at a time; a convenient way to ease into the courting process considering there were so many suitors to consider, to call upon them individually would take weeks. But the men talked over one another or attempted to subtly block each other from your view so you were forced to receive them one at a time at a table in the corner, a long queue spiraling through the chamber.

You assured it moved rather swiftly.

Duke Zul continued to droll on about his disdain for the city and how the countryside was far superior in all merits. He was old. Too old. As if he was around to witness the mountains form and the oceans rise.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” You smiled; the perfect picture of a demure princess. “But we seem to be out of time.”

The duke blinked, shocked by the interruption. He probably forgot you were there considering you hadn’t spoken since he sat down. It was a nice break from repeating the same set of sentences over and over again like a parrot but it didn’t help the throbbing vein in your temple.

Unfortunately, the moment Zul abandoned his seat, someone else stepped forward to take it.

“Your Highness.” Jao bowed so deeply the hem of his coat swept against the marble floor. A ridiculous shade of green that would only look fashionable on him.

“My Lord,” you greeted in return. “Please sit.”

Flopping into the chair, Jao nibbled on the almond cookies spread on the table before scanning your figure boldly. “Forgive me for being so bold but, you look ravishing this morning.”

“How presumptuous,” you snickered. Jao sang like a dying bird but he always managed to make you laugh.

He picked a piece of lint off his shoulder. “I must say, I’m unimpressed by my competition. They all seem so…plain.”

Jao’s attendance was more for appearances than anything else. He was the spare and could do as he pleased, who he pleased; those who pleased him were decidedly male. Everyone knew it. But his family was powerful and no one made a peep when he demanded time with an old friend.

“Yes, it takes a man of character to wear orange trousers and a green shirt.” You hid your smile in a teacup. 

“I’ll have you know this is the style in the Earth Kingdom.”

“I was unaware the Earth Kingdom was so fond of circus clowns.”

Jao’s brow furrowed. “My brother has been on the throne for ten years and you didn’t know?”

“My deepest apologies.” You dunked one of the cookies in your own tea and bit off the corner.

“I’ll forgive you,” Jao said. “Now, how about we go down to the sages and get this entire ordeal over with? This hard to get game is starting to lose its charm.”

“I—“ you started.

“Your Highness,” Wonwoo interrupted, eyes trained suspiciously on Jao. “You have a meeting.”

“I do?” you asked, eyes wide. There were plenty of meetings happening but none required your presence. Your grandmother made sure of it.

Wonwoo nodded slowly, dragging his eyes away from Jao and setting them on you. “Yes. Now. With Minister Vasa.”

There was no Minister Vasa at the palace this week. There was no Minister Vasa in the history of the kingdom. What was Wonwoo doing?

“Right…Minister Vasa. Sorry, Jao, I must go.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Jao nodded before leaning close, “When you're done with your guard, send him my way.”

“You are horrible,” you whispered.

“Horribly in love,” Jao sighed, snagging another cookie before skittering off.

The line of men groaned in objection as you passed but you ignored every single one of them, cooing empty pleasing words to soothe them. There were more important things to take care of. Like whatever game Wonwoo was playing at.

Out in the hallway, you rounded on him. “Is there a reason I have a meeting with Minister Vasa all of a sudden?”

He had the sense to look embarrassed and a little guilty; ears red, throating bobbing as he swallowed. You tried to object when he grabbed your elbow and steered you further down the hallway away from the room filled with eavesdropping lordlings.

Around the next corner, he finally released you and spoke. “You looked uncomfortable. I was trying to help.”

You blinked in shock. You hadn’t thought about Wonwoo paying attention during your meetings even with him a few feet away. The thoughts you had about his opinions were limited to his amusement at seeing you paraded around, the comments from royals with barely enough brain cells to function. You hadn’t considered he was watching you during the entire ordeal. 

You took a step closer, backing him towards the wall. “You think Jao made me uncomfortable?”

“He asked you to elope with him!” Wonwoo argued.

“Jao is a harmless flirt.” Another step forward, and Wonwoo’s back hit the wall. He didn’t seem to notice.

Wonwoo grumbled. “He didn’t seem harmless.”

You stepped closer, leaving barely an inch of space between you. “You don’t think I could handle Jao myself?”

Wonwoo seemed to finally realize the position he was in, eyes widening when your hands rested on his chest. “You’re right, he probably needed someone to protect him from you.”

“Oh, I’m just sooo terrifying, aren’t I?” Your eyes locked on his mouth. 

He dipped his head, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “I heard you have a nasty habit of freezing men to walls.”

“Baseless rumors,” you said breathlessly, barely an inch away from kissing him.

Down the corridor, shoes shuffled along the floor, knocking you from whatever trace possessed you to kiss Wonwoo in the hallway where anyone could see. 

They were distant but gaining swiftly. Afraid it was someone coming to speak with you about how rude it was to leave your own party early, you searched for somewhere – anywhere – to hide. Luckily, you recognized the woodland tapestry on the far wall and pulled it aside, shoving Wonwoo behind it before joining him. He tried to speak but you silenced him with a finger against his mouth.

“Why are we in the dark?” Wonwoo whispered, lips dragging against your finger. The words tickled across your skin where you pressed together.

You shushed him, ears perked as the footsteps drew closer.

There wasn’t much space in the cubby to begin with and paired with his broad frame, you were close enough his chest brushed against yours with each inhale. Wonwoo eyes widening when you leaned a little closer; pressed a little firmer, crowded him against the wall with nowhere to retreat once more. He was so warm and solid, completely unlike your element. Intoxicating. Even with someone right outside, you couldn’t resist the urge to touch him. Your hand slid down to his chest and rested on the waistband of his pants.

No one expected you anywhere; you could easily raise on your toes to kiss him and nobody would have a clue; just like you wanted to before being interrupted by reality. You could drown in him, completely swept away while people shuffled right past the tapestry none the wiser. Only swollen lips and ruffled clothing to give you away.

He must have thought the same, eyes darting towards your mouth before he leaned closer…

Only to tuck his face in the crook of your neck and trace the curve with the tip of his nose.

Your fingers curled in his shirt as his breath puffed against your skin, a flare of goosebumps raising with a shiver. The click of footsteps passed and disappeared, but you remained tangled together in the dark.

“Thank you for the books, by the way,” Wonwoo whispered. 

“Did you have a chance to read some of it?”

“A few pages,” he sighed, hands flexed on the dip of your waist.

“Sorry Maoki ruined your copy.” Your own arms snaked around his shoulders, fingers toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck until Wonwoo shuddered. This close, you could feel the blood rushing in his veins, the throb of his pulse beating heavily. Like that night in the forest. “What did you think?”

“The Belle Dame seemed familiar…”

“How so?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, a new pair of footsteps echoed down the corridor. 

“I swear, I thought she went this way,” a squeaky male voice said.

You jolted back, the space between you and Wonwoo growing as you listened intently to the conversation clearly not meant for your ears. His leg still pressed between your legs and your hands bunched in his shirt but whatever haze filled the space evaporated.

Another deeper voice responded, “And what are you planning to do when you find her? Demand a private audience? I doubt she even knows your name.”

“I’ll have you know we spent yesterday afternoon in the gardens together. We would have had a lovely time if it wasn’t for her guard dog getting in the way.”

Maoki.

“She’s absolutely vile,” a new voice chimed. They all stopped right in front of the curtain where you were tangled with your guard dog in an incredibly compromising position. “If she wasn’t in line for the crown then no one would put up with it!”

“Even with the crown, she’s not worth the trouble,” said the deeper voice.

“I don’t know…” said Maoki. “There’s some satisfaction in taming a woman as head strong as her.”

“If she doesn’t bite your head off first.”

“Women like her just need the right man.”

You didn’t need to be tamed by anyone, let alone someone like Maoki. You moved to reveal yourself and remind him of that fact but Wonwoo stopped you with his hand on your elbow, the heat of his palm warming through the delicate fabric of your dress, his thumb rubbing small circles.

“I’ve never met such a beautiful woman with such an ugly disposition.”

When they moved on, you stayed rooted in place, flushed with embarrassment. It would have been one thing to hear their opinions of you alone but in the company of someone else the insults made you flush. Did Wonwoo agree? Were you the vile woman people only put up with because of the glittering crown atop your head? Because it was his job? Was his only motivation the fact you held his life in your hand?

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked.

The security of the dark, a safe place where dangerous thoughts existed in excess, vanished. He was too close. To you, to the truth, to melting the careful mask of regal indifference crafted from years in the court. You weren’t able to keep it in place as firmly with Wonwoo around and it was terrifying being so close without the armor of a crown. You were practically naked in front of him, only able to hide because he couldn’t see the pinch of your mouth.

You swallowed the embarrassment like thick medicine, healing the parts of you softened and hardening them back as they were. “I’m fine. I’ve heard worse.” 

Not wanting to look at him, you left the alcove and strode down the corridor back towards your apartment. You’d make up some excuse about needing your seamstress before the ball tonight or taking a nap to fill the afternoon, find something to read. Or maybe hide away in the bath until your fingers pruned. Whatever it took to avoid the pity in his eyes.

You didn’t need any excuse. The dress you originally planned to wear needed finishing alterations. Your seamstress Maya pinned and unpinned the hem of your gown dozens of times, hiding her exhaustion with your indecision under her breath. It was beautiful. The red fabric poured down your figure, clinging to every curve and the open back revealed just enough skin. No jewels or embroidery, just simple silk. Something felt missing but after the fifteenth attempt, you and Maya called a truce.

“A little bird told me you left your party early this afternoon,” Han said as she pinned a comb in your hair. 

Sami dabbed perfume around your neck. “With Won—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You watched in the mirror as they exchanged a look over your head, thankful the other servants had dismissed themselves for the night already.

Han grabbed a delicate gold necklace from the stand on the counter and clasped it around your neck. “You like him.”

“Of course I do.”

It felt horrible and freeing to admit it. You spent the entire tea party imagining if it was him sitting across from you and not the others. Just you two. Alone. Talking about books, and his friends in the city. Exchanging stories from childhood. You wanted to know exactly how he got the silver scar at his brow. Share the time you and Mingyu tried to scale the garden walls and ended up with matching scars of your own on the center of your palm.

You liked Wonwoo so much, maybe even felt even more than that; but your feelings didn’t matter. He was who he was and you were what you were. 

Han plucked another pin from the velvet tray and pressed it into your hair. “Then what’s stopping you? You’re the princess. If you can’t be with whoever you love, then what hope is there for the rest of us.”

“I—“ you began to argue, eyes closing. The vein in your temple throbbed. 

“If you really wanted to be with him, you’d go to your grandmother and tell her,” Sami said.

“What if he doesn’t want me?”

Han looked to Sami with disbelief. “She’s joking.”

“The tournament is the day after tomorrow.”

“I know,” you said, focusing on your hands in your lap.

“Are you sure you don’t—”

“I want to get this over with. In silence. If you don’t mind.”

They wrapped up their work as you asked and left with a gentle squeeze on your shoulders. With no more reasonable delays, you exited your room and found Wonwoo sitting on one of the couches reading a book in a crisp black uniform.

He looked up as you approached, wide eyes skirting over your body. The book tumbled out of his hand and onto the cushion as he rose to his feet.

“You look—” he started softly.

Not wanting to hear whatever he had to say, you cut him off. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

The ballroom was packed. You smiled at the crowd even though your heart squeezed, mind replaying over what Wonwoo was going to say over and over again but the crowd inside the ballroom swallowed you whole; an easy distraction. Men and women introduced and reintroduced themselves; like packs of wolves in glittering gowns and fine suits, teeth gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. In the chaos, you forced yourself to concentrate on the years of court manners ingrained in your bones. You were an untouchable island and you would survive tonight and the day after. And when the week was done, you’d be married and whatever Wonwoo planned to say would be forgotten.

Music and laughter bounced off the walls, the dance floor a sea of jewels and colorful silks as couples twirled around. From the ceiling acrobats tangled themselves in silk ropes, flipping and twisting, unraveling just to climb back up and start again. Actors stood on pedestals, skin painted and wearing masks to resemble different spirits; they froze in place as partiers circled them. Through the massive windows of the far wall, you watched hundreds of lanterns float into the sky from the gardens.

One of your favorite festivals and the usual cheer felt impenetrable. If you couldn’t enjoy it, then you’d distract yourself from feeling anything at all.

You danced with every man who asked, successfully avoiding the edge of the dance floor where he waited next to your grandmother. The music swelled and faded over and over until their faces blurred together as you were led straight into the next song. You knew Wonwoo was watching. He was always watching, but you avoided his gaze even though it prickled across your skin. 

When the current dance ended, you curtsied to Kabaar who walked away with a disillusioned frown; most of the men you danced with did. What they anticipated, you didn’t know. You tried to smile and nod and flatter but insincerity rang clear.

The orchestra took a break, leaving you to hover awkwardly on the floor without a partner. Your feet were sore and your head hurt but there were few options to hide without the cover of music and dancing. A walk in the garden? Perfect place to be alone in the dark with Wonwoo. Sneak out the servant's entrance? Your grandmother would kill you. You could douse yourself in wine again but that left you back in your room with Wonwoo. The only option was to take your place on the dias next and rest your feet until another song started.

“How many more are left?” 

“Just two,” Lin said. “Gyan and Char.”

A servant walked passed with a tray of wine and your fingers itched to tip the entire thing over, give yourself a reason to leave early. You snagged a glass and downed it quickly before grabbing another. Your eyes rolled. “Wonderful.”

Lin opened her mouth, no doubt to chastise you for the vulgar display but Gyan materialized as if summoned, offering his hand. 

You turned, a smile plastered back in place. The wine already flushed through your veins. You finished your second cup before taking his hand and spinning back out to the floor.

The rosy glow from alcohol served little relief. Gyan jerked you around the floor, narrowly missing your feet with each step. “You are a lovely dancer, Your Highness. Like a deer.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, teeth clashing together as he pulled you roughly; completely ridiculous. In your tipsy haze, your self control slipped from its tight leash; on instinct, you looked at Wonwoo for the first time tonight. His eyes widened in shock before he schooled his features back to neutral. Then, when you didn’t rush to look away, he offered an awkward smile.

The first time you looked directly at him all night and it was just as dangerous as you knew it would be. 

Luckily, the music changed for the last dance and someone else appeared out of the crowd to distract you.

“Your Highness,” Char announced with a deep bow. “Please honor me with a dance.”

“Of course.” 

Char danced far better than Gyan. He whirled you around the dance floor with graceful expertise, none of the stomping of Gyan or loud chatter the other suitors maintained. The orchestra swelled to fill the silence lingering between you and Char as your mind wandered thousands of miles away.

You stumbled when Char broke the delicate silence. “Have you ever been in love, Your Highness?”

Over Char’s shoulder, you looked straight into a pair of brown eyes again. He seemed prepared this time. The room faded under Wonwoo’s gaze full of unspoken things, full of all the moments someone or something interrupted. A jolt rocketed down your spine. Did he like to dance? Did he know any of the court dances? His bending was graceful enough, he’d probably pick them up quick enough if you showed him. Would he hold you like Char now? Hands proper, high on your bare back just below your shoulder blades. Or would he keep you closer than necessary? Hold you close while spinning across the dance floor. And if he did, when you looked up and met his eyes, would he kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world?

Char spun you away, breaking your staring contest. With your back to Wonwoo, you looked up at the man guiding you across the floor as he spoke again. They weren’t the rich brown you’d grown fond of. They were green and full of pity.

“With your blessing, I intend to compete in the tournament tomorrow and if I win I hope we could grow fond of each other. I think we both understand what it's like to be torn between our duty and our desires.”

“I—” you stuttered. “I would be honored, my lord.”

“I believe we must do the best for our nation, even if our hearts lie elsewhere.” he said, his voice soft, as though the words were almost for himself as much as for you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, voice quivering. Was it that obvious? 

Char looked unconvinced. “Then I apologize for misreading the situation.”

The waltz continued.

Wonwoo stood at attention next to the raised dais where your grandmother sat, her ladies floating around with their maddening laughter as you spun across the dance floor gracefully. Maoki had squeezed himself into the first dance, stumbling about the dance floor, struggling to keep up with your strides. It would have been comical if Wonwoo wasn’t focused on finding a way to kill him.

If she wasn’t in line for the crown then no one would put up with it!

The crown on your head was the least alluring thing about you. If anything, it was the most frustrating part and the entire reason Wonwoo warred inside his mind at all times about his feelings. 

There was so much more, so much you didn’t show the others but Wonwoo witnessed behind closed doors. You were funny, charming, stubborn, infuriating…

He couldn’t figure it out. One moment you were dragging him into dark corners, pressing yourself against him, trying to kiss him. And he wanted to do it. He would have if Maoki didn’t interrupt, spewing nonsense. But then the next you scurried away and ignored his existence. 

It was exasperating. The worst part is he didn’t know if he wanted you to stop. He wanted you. He wanted you in the garden when your lips curled into a frown as you read. He wanted you in the training pavilion when you launched a torrent of water at his head and laughed. He wanted you when you threatened a noble with a smile on your face. He wanted all of it; you in all your forms. He wanted you all the time. But he couldn’t have any of it. 

By the end of the week you’d have a husband and Wonwoo would be back in the barracks with nothing but memories to haunt him.

As every man but him took a turn guiding you across the floor, Wonwoo grew more restless. There were no knowing looks or silent jokes. There was nothing. You were completely absorbed in whatever they said, smiling and nodding along. But he saw the strain at the corner of your eyes, the muscles in your neck taunt and not from perfect posture.

And then, during Gyan’s turn, when he marched you around like the man had frogs in his pants, you looked at him and Wonwoo barely managed to catch himself from racing across the room and whisking you away to demand an explanation. He stayed rooted in place, watching as the music dissolved and the Queen announced her departure. You didn’t wait before leaving as well, striding out the open doors with Wonwoo struggling to follow. 

Servants trailed with him but Wonwoo ignored them. He spent enough nights listening to the prolonged routine of their fussing, this was no different. He fell into line next to them, eyes glued to the dip of your spine visible from the open back of your dress. His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to reach out and feel the heat of your skin against his palms.

Through the door from the sitting room to your bedchamber, he watched from the corner of his eye as they removed your outer robes and jewels before ushering you into the bathroom out of sight. The few servants left prepared your bed before funneling out until Wonwoo was left in stifling solitude with the weight of his feelings. 

He had no business being jealous and yet it squeezed his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. Seeing you bite your tongue pained him. Wonwoo wanted to hear whatever scathing comment bubbled on your tongue, sharing it like a secret only between the two of you. To see that careful wrangled control slip, unravel a shred of your facade to confirm you were still beneath it all. 

Most all, he wanted to wash away that lingering sadness clouding your eyes.

He couldn’t bear the thought of you upset, willing to do anything to fix it. 

He knew one way; a completely selfish, ludacris way to make you feel better. He paced his room like a caged lion as he turned the idea over and over; weighing the benefits and drawbacks. No matter how foolish it would be, the same point reared its head: you’d like it. It was stupid but before he could think more about it he was standing outside your door, hand raised to knock. Just as his knuckles met the hard wood, it shot open. 

“Oh!” you gasped, jumping back in surprise. “I was gonna call a servant for tea. Did you need something?”

Water from your bath clung to your hair, dampening the fabric of your nightgown and making the white fabric sheer around your collarbone. 

“No, I—” His tongue felt too big for his mouth. Like a little boy again gathering the courage to speak to his schoolyard crush, Wonwoo shuffled on his feet as you stared at him confused.

“You what?”

“Do you still have those servant clothes?”

There was a long pause before you nodded.

“Have you ever been to the festival in the city?”

You shook your head no. More beads dropped from your hair with the motion, sparking in the low candlelight as they fell before blotting your top. Wonwoo did not look. 

You weren’t wearing bindings beneath your nightgown. It made perfect sense but Wonwoo never thought about it before. He tried hard not to now.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

Whatever consequences conjured in his mind about sneaking you out of the palace dissolved as a beaming smile took over your face. He couldn’t help but smile too.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but we have to hurry or we’ll miss it.”

You whipped around, beeling for the gigantic bed in the center of your room. Wonwoo instinctively followed. You pulled a pile from beneath the mattress before looking back at him.

“Turn around,” you commanded.

Wonwoo did as asked but even though he couldn’t see you undress, he heard everything. The woosh of your nightgown hitting the floor, the sound of you shimmying the pants up your legs. Two times you’d been completely naked only a few feet from him and it drove him mad. He forced his body to remember why he was doing this; even if he wanted to crowd you down into the mattress and show you all the ways he was better. More giving, more devoted. Wonwoo was going to give you something those lordlings and princes never could: a real taste of the city.

It was easier to navigate the tunnels now that Wonwoo knew where they led. Emerald Park laid deserted and with the celebration at the palace still raging on, the Noble District was still. Wonwoo thanked the spirits for his months of mundane patrols, easily avoiding the footpath of guards as you followed close behind. This late at night most windows were dark and the ones that weren’t, framed people still partying and drinking, completely unaware of anyone sneaking past their door. 

It didn’t take long to reach Merchant’s Row where the streets were packed with more people than usual, most wearing colorful spirit masks and costumes for the occasion; giant paper puppets of spirits floated through the air, lanterns of all colors burning brightly as fireworks exploded overhead, the moon a bright backdrop to dazzling displays.

You fell into step next to Wonwoo, fingers tangled together to keep close. He tried not to think too much about it. 

“Why are they wearing masks?” you asked.

“Tradition.”

Wonwoo snagged two half masks from a merchant stall, a dragon for himself and a parrot for you. Your eyes crinkled as he pulled it over your head. This close he could count every single eyelash. He had the sudden urge to kiss you. Not the wanting kisses he’d come to expect with you. He wanted to kiss you, hold your hand, and just… be. Was he imagining you leaning closer or was he? Your eyes dropped to his mouth and then—

Someone barreled into him before he figured it out.

“Spirits, I’m so sorry!” the man slurred. “Wait, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo turned to find Soonyoung staring at him with glazed eyes and ruddy cheeks stark against a green unagi mask pushed up on his head. Clearly, the man had started partying early like every year. Wonwoo smelled the reek of fire whisky and there was smudged lipstick hugging his collar. 

“I thought you were working at the palace?”

“Yeah, they, uhhh” Wonwoo panicked. “They gave me the night off.”

But Soonyoung didn’t care for his explanation, he was staring past Wonwoo and staring directly at you with wide eyes.

“Wait, you’re that girl from the warehouse,” he shook a hand in your direction, the bottle of firewhisky clutched in it spilling over. “I’m a huge fan.”

You looked unsure, passing a weary glance to Wonwoo and stepping closer. “Um, thank you?” 

“No, thank you. I haven’t seen Wonwoo get his ass handed to him like that since we were kids.”

“Well,” you smirked. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Do you work at the palace too?”

Wonwoo felt you go rigid. “Something like that.”

Soonyoung leaned conspiratorially towards Wonwoo, whispering loud enough even people across the street could hear through the clamor,“I like her. Here, have this.” 

He forced the half-drank bottle into your hand. Wonwoo watched as you took a confident swing and immediately regretted it.

“This is disgusting!” you sputtered. 

“The more you drink the better it tastes! Nice to meet you!” Soonyoung called before the crowd swept him away.

With his friend gone, you turned back to Wonwoo, face twisted in disgust. “People drink this?” 

Wonwoo snatched the bottle and took a long swing, eyes set on yours. Your face glowed, sweat from every pore thanks to the heat of packed bodies; your lips still wet from the whiskey as your eyes trained on his tongue licking away a rogue drop at the corner of his mouth. 

It was you who broke first this time.

Wading further down the street, you staunchly ignored Wonwoo and combed through the wares of vendors. Talismans and scrolls of all kinds promising a safe winter crowded most tables, others presented jewelry and pottery, spices and cakes. The buzz of whiskey numbs his brain but not his skin. Your hand is still tangled with his as you tug him along. Wonwoo realized he doesn’t really mind shopping, at least with you. You don’t buy anything but you ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over everything like you couldn’t have it all if you really wanted it.

The apothecary’s stall proved to be trouble.

Colorful vials and jars lined the table like neat rows of soldiers in different colors, all with various contents; some ingredients and some finished products. Most were unrecognizable to Wonwoo but he knew the one in your hand well enough.

“That’s not for you,” Wonwoo said as he plucked the vial from your hand and placed it back down, ears burning.

You immediately picked it back up and cradled it to your chest with a furious scowl. “How do you know?”

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” he said harshly. “Planning on seducing someone?”

You don’t need to, he thought. The bottle of fire whiskey in his hand became a dead weight instantly. He took about swig to distract himself as you scrambled to put the vial back.

“For a couple such as yourselves, I’d recommend this one.” The merchant, an old woman with deep wrinkles and silver eyes, lifted a similar vial filled with an inky blue liquid. “Just the thing to help the seed take.”

“The seed?”

Wonwoo pulled you away before she answered. He couldn’t do anything about the images in his head, they were there whether he liked it or not. You, him, back in your bed; so much naked skin; planted between your legs for hours until you both gasped for air. Where he could learn what every hitch of breath or tiny whimper meant, play with you until you're nothing but a soaked mess for him to clean up with his tongue. And only when you begged him for it would Wonwoo give you his cock. Again and again until the inferno inside him ceased.

You wouldn’t beg, though. He knows you wouldn’t because he wouldn’t be able to drag it out long enough that you’d have to. He’d give you everything, cave before you even thought to ask. 

“You don’t need to be such a brute,” you huffed and shrugged his hold off your arm. 

“She’s trying to sell you fertility potions!”

“So! It’s not like I was planning to buy it!” 

In Wonwoo’s head, he imagined the night much differently. Loose flashes of you laughing, gleefully enjoying the chaos of the holiday while he stood back and soaked the sound in. This was anything but that. He didn’t want to argue with you. He especially didn’t want to endure a hard on because of an argument with you; a fact he would never admit even under torture but there was something about the way the air crackled around you when you got fired up. But that hadn’t been the point of sneaking you out of the ivory palace walls.

He wanted a night where you weren’t a princess, and he wasn’t your guard; a night where you were just you, and the insurmountable mountain of reasons his fondness was dangerous didn’t threaten to drown him like a tsunami. Apparently the spirits didn’t agree.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you,” you sniffed. “If you show me where to get one of those things.”

Wonwoo followed your gaze to a group of kids stuffing their face with fried dough covered in powdered sugar. Luckily, he knew exactly where to get one but the velvet purple tent of a fortune teller lured you in.

You tugged at his sleeve, dragging him closer. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“She’s a hack,” Wonwoo snorted.

“What’d you say?” an older voice called through the opening. A woman came out of the darkness, hunched over with knobby fingers and thick dark hair with bolts of gray.

Wonwoo began to corral you away. “Nothing, ma’am. Have a good night.”

“Wait!” she croaked. Her face might have been aged but her silver eyes crackled with energy. “Madam Via sees the unseen, hears the unheard. Step inside and I can find the answers you seek. Or, perhaps, a glimpse of the future?”

Wonwoo shot a glance at your hopeful face before scrubbing a hand down his own and asking, “How much?”

“Three gold coins for her, five for you. I don’t like smart mouths.”

He kept his next remarks under his breath while handing over the coins.

“Come this way dear, I can tell you’re the more pleasant one.” Madam Via returned back inside the tent, leaving you and Wonwoo alone.

“Well, at least she has one thing right,” you snarked.

“I doubt she knows what happened in that greenhouse.”

You stuck your tongue out at him before disappearing behind the curtain.

Wonwoo didn’t like the idea of you going in alone. What if the fortune teller recognized you? As unlikely as it was, the idea made him uncomfortable. But he remembered that you were you and if anyone could handle themselves it was you. Your bite was far worse than your bark and Wonwoo trusted you to handle yourself should need arise. 

It hadn’t stopped him from trying to eavesdrop. 

But the thick purple walls of the tent trapped any noise from the inside. He rocked back and forth on his toes, the chatter of passersby filling the silence alongside the chimes of glass beads strung up around the tent. Having grown comfortable standing at your side at all times, to have you suddenly disappear felt like half of him was absent.

He counted the number of beads in the curtain covering the entrance, traced the golden embroidery of the tent walls until his eyes returned to their starting point. He finished off the bottle of fire whiskey and the weight on his shoulders lightened as his thoughts turned hazy. 

You barrelled out of the tent with an impatient tuff before masking your features. Whatever Madam Via told you, you hadn’t liked it. Your mask was gone and Wonwoo pulled his off too, suddenly feeling silly.

“What did she tell you?”

“Don’t make unnecessary journeys. Oh, and to avoid Komodo Shrimp for the next few days.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose. “Why?”

“Probably because they aren’t in season. I don’t know!” Your eyes rolled. “She said to send you in.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “I’m not going in there.”

“Awww, big scary Wonwoo afraid of a little old lady,” you teased.

He sighed, knowing there was no way to get out of it. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay right here.” He ducked inside.

“Welcome,” Madam Via greeted from her seat at a round table covered with a dark cloth, its surface cluttered with cards and brilliantly colored crystals he’d never seen before; a clear crystal ball sat in the center.

The smell of incense strangled the air, smoke curling towards the ceiling. Inside the tent, low candles illuminated the space in a warm glow, the walls covered in tapestries of different colors and images. It made him feel claustrophobic.

“Sit down, you’re letting all the cold air in.”

Wonwoo mumbled an apology and sat on a cushion across from her.

Madam Via produced a ceramic teapot and pushed it into his hands. “Warm this.”

He didn’t think to ask how she knew he was a firebender. The teapot was cool in his hands but Wonwoo slowly pushed heat into it until steam started curling from the spout. The old woman used the time to spoon dried leaves out of different containers into matching cups and set them in front of him.

“Now, pour the tea.”

“I thought I was here to get my fortune read, not for a tea ceremony,” he quipped.

“I like your girlfriend so I’ll let that one slide but next stupid question and I’ll put a curse on you.” She shook a knobby finger at him. “Now drink your tea.”

Wonwoo wanted to argue but thought better of it. The tea tasted earthy, notes of jasmine and rose bloomed on his taste buds. He finished it quickly, barely allowing it to linger on his tongue before swallowing the last mouthful.

Madam Via snatched the cup from his hands and examined the contents. “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

“What?” Wonwoo tried looking into the cup.

“Reading the leaves is an art. Look at the sides of the cup, what do you see?”

The leaves stuck in odd patterns around the rim and walls of the porcelain. The top formed a clear ring but the sides seemed like nothing more than tangled threads. At the bottom the sediment from the leaves resembled a deformed blob. None of it meant much to him.

“I see…a dirty tea cup.”

“What that girl sees in you,” the fortune teller mumbled under her breath. “Look, there. The leaves form a heart at the bottom.”

“That's a blob,” he said.

This time she swatted him with a fan.

“Fine! It’s a heart. What's the big deal?”

Madan Via swatted him again before explaining. “Hearts mean love and relationships. With the knots on the sides it could be conflict. A crossroads…maybe. A path split in two, but you are caught at the intersection, unable to move in either direction. Any recent trouble with your girlfriend?”

Wonwoo’s ears burned red and he mumbled, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You love her, she clearly loves you. I’m not sure it’s as complicated as you think.”

“I didn’t say anything about lov—“

“It radiates off you both like the stench of the western harbor. A blind man could see it.” Madam Via rolled her eyes like the idea exhausted her. “I won’t pretend to understand whatever reasons you have for not being with her but what I do understand is you don’t meet a woman like her every century.”

Wonwoo knew she was right but he didn't feel like giving her the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Now, see how some of the leaves form a circle at the rim? It indicates a happy union is on the horizon. So maybe if you had any sense you’d find a way to make things work.”

Yeah, right. Anger burned in his chest. This lady clearly prayed on the hopeless, selling promises of futures with no possibility of coming true. A happy union? In what world would he be allowed to marry you? He’d have better luck airbending than changing the way the world worked. Maybe if you both ran away and started over, became the couple that existed here in the Middle District away from expectations. But how long would that last? You’d never agree anyway; and he didn’t want you to. If he had you, it’d be nothing less than all of you. Crown included.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, the future’s a mess. You’ll figure it out, or you won’t. Kiss the pretty girl you love or don’t.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Wonwoo shook his head, shifting on the cushion. “Are we done here?”

Madam Via’s eyes rolled for the umpteenth time and took a sip of her own suddenly steaming tea. “She asked about you.”

That kept Wonwoo in place. “She did?”

“Of course she did.”

“Whatd she ask?”

“I’m not a charity,” she sniffed. “For two more gold I’ll tell you.”

Crazy old snit. Wonwoo rolled to his feet and ducked out of the tent without looking back. 

Of course, you were gone. It really shouldn’t surprise him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he seethed. He shouldn’t have been that angry; not after spotting you barely a few steps away watching the other festival goers dance but Madam Via’s words wove a cord of frustration deep inside him and it boiled into hot vexation. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he clenched it shut.

You took one look at his face and laughed. “Who ruffled your feathers?”

“You were supposed to wait outside the tent.”

“I’m maybe ten feet away. Is it that big of a deal?”

“What if you got lost? Do you know how to get home?”

“I’d figure it out.”

“Before or after getting in trouble with the guards? Again.” Wonwoo burst out, unable to contain himself.

To your credit, you didn’t stomp your foot like he knew you’d like to. Instead, you iced him out completely and focused back on the people skipping around the plaza to the rapid drumbeat.

Happy union my ass.

He hadn’t enjoyed watching from the sidelines as other men led you around the room earlier. He hated it. Especially when Gyan stomped you around the room like an idiot. He hated that he took so much notice of the fact you pointedly refused to look at him until that point, and then again when Char spun you around the dance floor. As much as he didn’t want to dance now, Wonwoo knew this might be the only chance he’d get.

“Do you… do you want to dance?”

“Are you going to yell at me again?”

Wonwoo shook his head and proceeded to forget everything but relief as you took his hand. The bad mood woven into his veins by the fortune teller fell away, flooded with content to replace it. He spun you around and around to the beat of the drums, time fading until it was just you two and the world outside blurred. This was what he wanted; to be the only two people in the world. Together. 

The next dance involved lots of spins and lifts. As with most peasant dances, partners passed around before coming back and each time you turned away from him, Wonwoo’s heart zapped with something as you came back, beaming from ear to ear. 

He decided he’d dance until his legs stopped working if that smile was a reward.

The music swelled, drums and claps increasing in tempo. On the next pass, Wonwoo snagged you around the waist and pulled you into his chest. Whether it was the fire whiskey or all the spinning that made him dizzy, Wonwoo didn’t know; but it didn’t matter when he bent down and kissed your cheek – a fleeting touch of lips against your skin. It wasn’t anything grand, but as soon as he pulled back, you both froze and his face flushed.

“I—” he faltered. There was no explanation strong enough for why he did it. 

Then you rolled up on your toes and kissed him with unmistakable certainty, right there on the outskirts of the makeshift dance floor, not a care who saw. Your mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, your hands wrapped around his neck keeping him close like he’d consider pushing you away. Wonwoo pulled you closer to banish the thought. He didn’t want the heat of pressing you into a wall where no one could see. He wanted the comfort of kissing you out in the open, like any other man in love was allowed to.

Love.

A deafen clap of thunder roared from the sky forced you two apart. Wonwoo jerked back and blinked wildly, pulling you closer in confusion. Something wet hit his face and then again and again as the clouds opened and released thick curtains of rain that soaked you both to the bone in seconds.

Wonwoo grabbed your hand and pulled you through the streets, back towards the palace. The roads cleared thanks to the storm sending everyone inside for cover. He dodged around corners but no one paid attention to a pair of young people running home from a typhoon.

The Noble’s Quarter was dark and Wonwoo knew the guards on patrol would be waiting out the storm at the watch station, waiting for the change in shifts given the late hour. He barreled through the streets with you in tow. Lightning illuminated the streets through the thick sheets of rain but it was muscle memory that guided him back to the statue in the park. He pried open the inconspicuous opening and descended inside, waiting at the bottom for you to join.

One second he was watching you descend the ladder, next he was on his back, cushioning your fall.

“Wonwoo! Are you okay?”

He coughed from your elbow plowed into his stomach.. “What the hell—“

You scrambled up right, sitting on his stomach as your hands caressed his skin, looking for damage. “I’m so sorry! I saw a guard and—“

The rain had matted your hair down to your skull, clung to your lips. He swallowed. Rain rushed outside, a dull hum to match the ring in his ears. You drew water from his hair and he felt the sore spot at the back of his head warmed as you healed the worst of the damage. Wonwoo tried very hard to keep his hands on your waist and not slide them up, pull you down, and kiss you breathless. Your hands traveled down his neck, ghosted over his jaw and made him shiver.

There was a shout from above and you sat up straight, eyes wide.

“We need to get back.”

You both took off down the tunnels, feet pounding against the ground and breath panting loudly. Finally, the familiar passage outside your office rushed up. But you took a last minute turn to a new door Wonwoo had never seen before.

It led to your bedroom.

You waltzed ahead, shrugging off your tunic and stripping to your bindings without a care. Wonwoo had seen you in far less but it didn’t make the roar in his ears any less demanding despite the pain in his back demanding attention. You tossed your clothes back under your bed and turned to him, guiding him to sit while he tried to stare at anything other than the press of your breasts against the silk.

“Does this hurt?” you asked, fingers prodding the tender flesh of his back.

He’d certainly bruise come morning, some lingering soreness if he was lucky. Wonwoo couldn’t find much reason to care about it. Fatigue already blurred the corners of his vision. It’d been such a long night already. If his options were staying awake to find a healer down in the infirmary or going to bed and dealing with the consequences later, he’d trudge down to his room and see to it first thing in the morning. He’d tally it along with all the other wounds he found himself collecting in your presence. “I’m fine.”

“Let me help.”

In the end it was the softness in your eyes that made him acquiesce. In the dark, with the candles and lamps extinguished, the worries that kept him grounded floated away. The rain pounding against the windows lulled his heart. He always slept best when it rained. You disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a pitcher of water.

“Take your shirt off.”

Wonwoo spurted, suddenly completely awake. That was out of the question.

“I can’t heal you through your clothes,” you huffed. 

He swallowed again, remembering the last time you healed him in the field. But this time would be different. He’d let you heal him, maybe kiss you again, and then he’d go to his room down the hall – alone – and pretend it was your hands touching him until he came and fell asleep.

He tugged the soaked shirt over head and closed his eyes.

If he was of sound mind, then the severity of the situation would have him rushing to flee. Alone with the princess, in her bed, with his shirt off and your own clothes crumbled on the floor painted a damning picture. But only the cool relief of the healing water dragged across his spine registered; knotted muscles relaxed, the sting of raw skin dulled and then disappeared under the gentle passes. His eyes closed before leaning forward to give you as much room as possible to continue the hypnotizing pattern.

“Better?” 

You snickered at Wonwoo’s grunt of approval before continuing.

“You’re so tense.” Your palms dug into his shoulders with more force. No longer were they hovering over the skin, now the water provided a wet glide as you massaged the knotted muscles into submission.  

A groan of relief clawed its way out before Wonwoo could swallow it back down. “I’m in charge of a princess that refuses to stay out of trouble.”

“She sounds awful.”

Wonwoo peered over his shoulder to find you focused on healing a cut on his upper arm, a pleased smile spread across your face as the skin knit together in a faint pink line. “She’s not so bad.”

His early arousal stirred just out of reach, stoked into an ember from the fan of your breath against the short hairs at the base of his skull. If he leaned back he would feel your breasts pressed against him, your lips in reach. He wanted to, he really really wanted to. He almost did when you pressed your mouth to his shoulder.

But you pulled away and the cold that rushed into the empty space brought the tiredness he’d ignored all night forward. He could feel the sun just below the horizon; dawn wouldn’t be far off, promising another full day as minder to your meetings and tea parties, listening to entitled nobles fawn over themselves.

Exhausted, Wonwoo slumped forward.

He’d move to the sitting room. All he needed was a minute to find the energy…

You woke shivering. Stripped down to nothing but your under bindings, you tugged the covers tighter, soaking in the pleasant warmth radiating across your back; pushing back into it for more. The sun barely peeked over the horizon, the corners of your room stained dark.

A warm breeze tickled across your shoulder. Odd. Perhaps you forgot to shut the window last night before bed.

It's then you registered a weight across your waist and a rhythmic press against your back in time with that comforting gust of hot, humid air. Consciousness flooded in with each grating moment; until you were awake enough to slap behind you, making contact with something fuzzy and hard. 

A masculine grunt responded, accompanied by a tight squeeze of the arm across your waist, dragging you closer.

Wonwoo.

He nuzzled further into your neck with a sleepy sigh, shifting his leg until his knee pressed between your own.

You considered slapping him again; however, the weariness of last night is too much to overcome for another swing. The consequences of him spending a night in your bed seemed so small next to the relief of his body heat against the cold. Wasn’t his job to protect you? Your greatest threat since he came to the palace was only the lingering cold you felt when he wasn’t around.

You remembered what the fortune teller said last night. 

“Oh dear, Temperance in reverse,” the woman tsk’ed. Her tent was thick with smoky incense, candles burning low to cast the room in shadow.

You eyed the upside down illustration. “What does it mean?”

“Imbalance, struggle, strife. Being pulled in a hundred different directions. There’s conflict between what you want and what you think you can have.”

You can say that again, you thought.

“Maybe something to do with the young man outside?” she continued with an inquisitive brow.

You refused to respond and pulled another card from the spread, laying it next to the first one. A couple wrapped in a warm embrace stared back at you.

“Well, there you have it.”

“Have what exactly?”

“The Lovers. You might be used to making decisions from the head, but you must embrace what your heart wants. A powerful relationship can make the conflict Temperance warns of clearer. Or maybe the relationship itself is causing you confusion.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” 

“And why not? He’s easy enough on the eyes despite the attitude.”

“It's not…there’s nothing going on between us. He wouldn’t—and I can’t—“ you stammered.

“What does your heart want? Think about that and pick the next card.”

Your fingers brushed over the deck, itching to pinch one of the gilded edges and pull it out. You picked the bottom card and laid it down on the table.

“Oh, this is just too easy. The Two of Cups. Embrace your heart. Even if it seems impossible, maybe you’re making things overly complicated.”

It is impossible! you wanted to scream.

As if Madam Via heard your thoughts, her face softened a fraction. “Listen, life is too short not to take advantage of good things. You say it’s complicated? Maybe it is.”

“So what do I do?”

“You do what every person who has ever been in love does: enjoy it while you have it and worry about the future later.”

Worry about the future later…

Maybe the crazy old woman was right. For once in your life, you wanted to enjoy things for what they were in the moment. Like in the warehouse, or against the wall at the market, in the field, in the bath, in the alcove yesterday. Like last night when you danced with Wonwoo and no one cared, not a single soul paid you two attention and he kissed you so infuriatingly close to your mouth before acting like he hadn’t. And when you kissed him after because if he was going to kiss you he needed to do it right. You wanted simple and what you had right now was as simple as it got. Wonwoo asleep in your bed. Wonwoo’s arm tight around your waist. Wonwoo’s cock heavy against the curve of your ass.

There wasn’t anything more simple than stretching against the length of his body, pleased that the tantalizing firmness greeted you with a stretch of his own. Your thighs squeezed on instinct.

You’d seen plenty of men shirtless, through training or tutoring sessions with healers. But seeing men half dressed and feeling the defined muscles so intimately against your back were very different. 

You rolled over to face him, buried your nose against the soft divot of his collarbone and breathed. Sleep tried to claim you again with the gentle rise and fall of his chest but Wonwoo didn’t let you. He was too tempting. Smooth warm skin, soft stomach your nails trace over mindlessly, his own slow breath ghosting against your forehead. You wanted to wrap yourself in him like a blanket and spend the day tucked away. Simple.

The hand around your waist tightened again as you brushed a kiss against his throat. You wanted to kiss him again like last night, when no one was around to offer reminders of how bad an idea it was. Somehow, you knew if you spoke the entire illusion would shatter. All those expectations would rush in; the reasons you shouldn’t want Wonwoo the infuriating way you did – can’t want him. So you didn’t speak. Instead, you feathered more teasing kisses across his shoulder, up his neck, and then a final one on his lips.

Take advantage of the good things. Like how Wonwoo’s hand skated up your back, the pleased groan in response to your nails digging into the crease of his hip bone.

He kissed back, slowly at first, dry chaste passes of his mouth across yours. The kind of kisses you could wake up to every morning without complaint; the inferno of previous encounters completely dormant. You didn’t think about anything else, only the easy way he rolled on top of you for the sake of kissing; tangled your fingers between his own and pressed you further into the mattress. The morning stubble on his chin scratched teasingly along your skin. Your hands acted on their own, cascading down his sides and across his back. The band of his pants brushed the tips of your fingers and you pushed beneath to find more intoxicating heat his body provides.

It was like that for a long time, returning the lazy kisses on your cheeks and chin, nose following the curve of your jaw. But then your legs spread to better accommodate his weight and he was there. The contact stoked you out of sleepy bliss, igniting desperate want. Your hips couldn’t help but curl up slowly, rocking against the length of him pressed right against your bindings.

A million reasons not to do it clouded the air but there was one good reason: you wanted to. And Wonwoo obviously wanted to. What you two did away from prying eyes was a secret you could live with if it meant you got to have at least some part of him.

Wonwoo rolled agonizingly slow between your legs. Each thrust of his sheathed cock pushed tiny mewls from your lips as his trailed further down your neck. He kissed everything he could; the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, the hollow of your throat, down to the seam of your bindings. All while his hands warmed your skin.

He tugged at the knot of your bindings until the silk strips slackened; tracing every newly bare strip of skin with his tongue as you arched and pushed more of your chest into his mouth. 

“Please,” you sighed. You free hand knotted in his hair to give a deliberate tug. “Please.”

Each kiss across your chest and stomach only pushed you closer to the edge of insanity. You coaxed a hand between your legs for the smallest bit of relief, but Wonwoo was already there. He tugged at the small knot keeping the fabric secure until they loosened and then there was nothing between your bodies; you sprawled beneath him completely naked and exposed in the cold sunlight. He mouthed across your thighs, stubble leaving you raw for his tongue to sooth away.

This must be exactly what the maids giggled about over your head. It didn’t seem so funny now that you had it for yourself; the need for him urging you to claw out of your own skin. 

You whined and squirmed under the first tender push of his fingers, parting you for his tongue that followed soon after. The sensation was wholly new and unlike anything you’d felt before. Nothing, not the things you’ve done to yourself or the memorable way Wonwoo fingered you the first time compared to the sweltering glide of his tongue.

“Wonu,” you gasped.

It must be the validation he needed because timid licks became heavy laps across your clit and sucked with enough force you jolted from the bed. Your hips rolled into the intoxicating friction. If you were frustrated before by the incomparable satisfaction of his fingers then this is a whole new level you’d never find again; completely addicting.

He flicked his tongue, fingers curved deep along your inner walls. You were so wet. So embarrassingly wet you’d blush about it if you had the brain power to even consider caring. Wonwoo made sure you didn’t, heady grunts of his own muffled in your core as his hips flexed down into the mattress.

You writhed for it, sweat beading along your skin as instinct took over and every twist of his tongue was met with a grind of your hips along it. Another drag of his mouth and your jaw clenched, legs kicking in an attempt to scramble away but Wonwoo pulled you to him — further down the sheets  — and smothered himself between your legs; rewarding your dry moan with the stretch of another finger. Your eyes went fuzzy but you keep them open because he’s not wearing a shirt and the muscles roping along his spine are too mouth watering to look away.

Fingers itching for something to ground onto, your nails raked through his hair, over his bare shoulders until faint pink lines criss-crossed over pale skin. He moaned again, humped the bed in search for his own pleasure and you sat up on your elbows to watch. 

It's all too much. The first wave drowned you. A squeeze along his fingers, and your hips rocketed off the bed; chasing the rough suck of his lips on your clit. You chanted his name, or something like it, until branded your tongue.

And then it was over. The comedown fizzled through your veins, muscles pliant as they twitched with aftershocks. You didn't — couldn’t — think of anything other than the dull throb and the terrible emptiness inside you as he removed his hand.

Wonwoo peppered more kisses along your stomach and thighs, slow and lingering as you caught your breath.

You pulled at his hair until his face was level enough to kiss, your tongue snaking along his lower lip until he opened his mouth, the taste of yourself evident but not undeterred. He kissed back eagerly as if suddenly you both were more awake. 

Your hand curled into his pants and swallowed a hiss of pleasure as you stroked his cock. You wondered how he would taste, if there was enough time before your maids arrived to kneel between his legs and make him shake and beg like you had; if he’d take the time to teach you exactly how to make him come and let you practice again and again until you were both satisfied.

A prod at his chest with your free hand had him rolling over, lap the perfect seat for you to command him however you saw fit. You kept him locked in a kiss, panting and whining into it as two sets of hands forced his pants down his thighs. He sucked a nipple between his teeth, rougher than before, like he couldn’t get enough of anything. You weren’t any better; jerking him off, grinding against the flexed muscles of his thigh. Wonwoo’s hand cupped yours around his cock, squeezing your grip until it tightened like a vice and fucked himself through it; his stomach collapsed from a sharp gasp.

He was so close, a vision of messy black hair and flushed cheeks beneath you, chest glowing with sweat. An arch of your hips was all it’d take for him to be inside you, filling you, driving away that aching need he’d left since that first night you kissed him. You dove down and lapped at the tender dip of his neck to distract from the foolish idea. 

Your name cracked from his lips, voice low and almost pleading. You were back beneath him in a flash; hands fisted in the sheets as he parted your legs and hooked them around his waist. His cock dug into the softness of your stomach before he moved lower, until the tip nudged your entrance, just breaching as you shifted up to search for more and then…

A sharp rapt at the door shattered the silence, followed by Han’s voice. “Your Highness!”

Wonwoo popped up over you, eyes wide in shock like he hadn’t realized exactly what you both were doing. You shoved him off and rolled from the bed.

“Put your clothes on!” you whispered, words like acid on your tongue. Truly, the last thing you wanted him to do was redress and face the day. You’d much prefer stripping the rest of him and spending the entire day in bed with Wonwoo between your thighs.

However, want as you might, having him in your room was threat enough to both of your reputations, nevermind that you spent the night with him; let him touch without a single protest in ways no one ever had. Almost let him have everything.

Lunging for your robe, you managed to cover enough to avoid suspicion of having Wonwoo in your room. Alone.

You answered the door with too much enthusiasm.

“Your Highness! Wonwoo is—in here?” Han peered over your shoulder to where Wonwoo stood by the window – thankfully – fully dressed. Only the mess of his hair gave inkling to what happened only moments prior, your core still tingled with after effects.

“Yes! Yes, he was helping me with a, um…”

“A bird,” Wonwoo nodded.

“Yes, I slept with the windows open last night to watch the fireworks and woke up to a bird…”

“A big bird!”

“Huge!” you exclaim. “And Wonwoo helped me…get the bird out.”

“Hopefully the poor thing is alright,” Han tutted, approaching the window to look for the imaginary bird she’d never find. 

“It flew right out, perfectly fine,” he rushed to explain.

Han’s shoulders sagged an inch in relief. Apparently, that was enough for her to drop the entire issue of Wonwoo being in your room. “Would Your Majesty like for me to draw a bath? Such stress so early will not serve you well for your meetings.”

“That would be wonderful, Han.”

Wonwoo stood cemented in place as Han disappeared into the bathroom. 

“Shouldn’t you…”

“Right, yeah,” he nodded before striding out the door.

The door to your suite clicked shut with Wonwoo’s departure. Immediately you collapsed into the bed once again, batting away the comforting warmth still lingering from entangled bodies. The pillow you landed face first in still smells like Wonwoo. Like the rain from last night, the powdery smoke that always lingered around him, and the cling of soap. Without thought, you inhaled until your lungs stretched uncomfortably.

So preoccupied, you didn’t hear the pitter patter of Han’s slippers until she stopped at the foot of the bed with a wicked gleam in her eye..

“It was huge, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Out in the seating room, Wonwoo forces his thoughts to the most unpleasant ones he can think of. Hoshi’s sweaty socks, the burn of a thousand fire push ups, freezing showers in the barracks…

He knew it was a bad idea. You had to know it was a bad idea too.

Mingyu lent against the fair wall outside Wonwoo’s room, shaking his head.

“A bird? Really?”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo growled.

“I don’t even need earthbending to tell you're a shit liar. You’re lucky I sent Han in there and not the more chatty servants.”

Wonwoo’s face burned. “I’m not lying.”

“Your shirt is on backwards.”

Wonwoo whipped his head down. His shirt was buttoned and proper but the fact he looked is incriminating enough.

“Whatever you two are not doing, I recommend really not doing it because she’s going to marry one of those princes and next time it might not be someone as gullible as Han who catches you.”

“We weren—”

“Those councilmen are looking for any reason to challenge the line of succession. If it looks like YN can’t control herself – like she let a man below her station compromise her – then her marriage prospects go down. Way down. As in not getting married.”

Mingyu was right. Sneaking you out last night was a risk. A risk he’d been willing to take at the time but a risk nonetheless. But what happened this morning was dangerous, to you, to him. If Han hadn’t interrupted, what would be happening right now? Would you be welcoming Wonwoo between your legs? He’d gotten carried away, forgotten the expectations you carried and why feeling you around him was a horrible idea. And if Han hadn’t knocked? If she stumbled in like a servant was meant to, then what? 

Would she simply have turned a blind eye to her sovereign welcoming her guard between her legs like an eager lover? 

“The Queen invited you for an audience this morning. Wash up and get dressed. You stink.”

“Did she say why?”

“Yeah, I ask her to explain every decision she makes.” Mingyu rolled his eyes. “Be ready in an hour. One of the maids will get you.”

“What about—”

“I’m on babysitting duty today.”

Mingyu left his room and Wonwoo contemplated drowning himself in the bath. 

If the Queen knew what he’d been up to then she had endless ways to ruin his life. His mind wandered wild through the possibilities as he washed up. It seemed no matter how hard he scrubbed his face, your scent and taste clung to his senses; the sweet sound of your voice gasping his name, the wet heat of you on his cock. 

Even the degenerate acts of the morning hadn’t outweighed the comfort of waking up with you in his arms, the gentle kisses across his chest that nearly convinced him he was still dreaming. Anything after that was beyond the realm of reality as far as he was concerned. 

Whatever the Queen knew, or suspected, Wonwoo decided what he had with you was worth the risk. He enjoyed the time he was privileged enough to be granted, the short opportunity to love you and be your friend. Now he’d have to pay up. And if the cost was his life, so be it.

Wonwoo liked rules. The palace was full of them, some more exasperating than others but they kept him from losing his mind trying to figure out how to act. 

Rule one: under no circumstances was it okay to touch the princess.

Rule two: do not speak unless spoken to.

Wonwoo at least had a chance to abide by the second one. Maybe it would earn him clemency for breaking the first one so recklessly.

“Captain Jeon, sit please.”

The Queen perched on a cushion in the center of the Azure Chamber. Candles and lanterns kept the space warm from the storm raging against the windows, fighting to break in. Even the deafening thunder is nothing compared to the crash of his pulse flooding his ears. There were no servants along the walls or bustling back from the table to serve the queen. She was utterly alone and Wonwoo remembered how you cornered Galin the same way.

Spirits help him.

Wonwoo sunk to the cushion across from her, stomach sinking deeper into the floor. He folded his hands in his lap, head bowed. It was easier to maintain bravado in the privacy of his room. In front of her, he felt like a scolded child waiting for judgment. 

“Tea?”

He nodded mutely. 

She gave a dry laugh. Through his eyelashes, Wonwoo saw her knobby hands spoon tea leaves into the porcelain cups as she talked. “You can speak, I won’t take your head for it.”

Not detecting a trap yet, Wonwoo answered. “Yes, Your Majesty. Tea would be great.”

Steam curled above the cups, a thin curtain between the two sides of the table. The queen seemed to appraise him and without realizing, Wonwoo unfurled his hunched shoulders and sat up straighter. 

“What do you think of my granddaughter?”

This is it. A clear trap so she could banish him. 

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the tea cup in his hands. “She will be a great queen, Your Majesty.”

“I have no doubt about that but what do you think about her? Not as queen but as a person.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’ve had dozens of men sit in front of me and wax poetically about my granddaughter and her virtues. She’s beautiful, she’s intelligent, she’s patient—” 

Wonwoo snorted and immediately flushed with panic.

“You disagree?”

“I think…” He risked looking up at her and found her lips quirked in amusement. It gave him the confidence to speak freely. “If that’s all they can compliment then they haven’t been paying good enough attention.”

“Now why do you say that?”

“She's beautiful but she’s as stubborn as a camel elephant. She is intelligent but she’s aggravating.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t listen. Her patience only lasts until the tip of her nose.”

The queen stared at him, surprised by his honesty.

“What else do you notice about my granddaughter?” 

“She’s smart, caring. People respect her. Maybe not the nobles but the staff do. Even in the,” he trailed off. The queen already knew about the nights out of the palace but he felt like those moments - when his friends sung your praises after the fight in the warehouse, when the fortune teller grew fond of you immediately - those were private. 

“Even where, Captain Jeon?” She leveled him with an expectant look. “When you snuck her out of the palace and into the city?”

He could have denied it; spun some story about how he had no idea the princess snuck out right under his nose, no knowledge of the maze of secret passageways beneath the palace. Wonwoo sat up straighter and decided if he was going to go down, he’d do it with dignity. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She returned the porcelain tea cup in her hand to the lacquered tray, peering at Wonwoo with a smirk. “At least you have honor. Tell me, how did the citizens react to their princess in disguise.” 

“The people in the Middle Districts didn’t know her but they liked her. She earned their respect without them knowing who she was.” He didn’t admit he liked you the moment he laid eyes on you, before he knew your name, or how fierce of a competitor you were; he liked you more after. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“I heard she did quite the number on you in the warehouse as well.”

“I—” Wonwoo silenced himself by taking a too large gulp of very hot tea.

“Captain Jeon, do you think anything happens in the palace that I don’t know about? I believe you witnessed her meeting with Galin.”

“You knew he was stealing and did nothing?”

“Who do you suppose whispered in his ear to approach my granddaughter about a new investment? You’ve met the man. He’s not bright enough to tie his own pants let alone run a scheme. It is better to keep the arrogant ones on a shorter leash than the rest.”

“So you set her up?”

“My granddaughter is stubborn and refuses to take the easiest path. Some lessons must be learned the hard way. She needed to learn not to take their word at face value.”

“But why?”

“The royal court is like a poisonous garden, some of the most unassuming plants are the deadliest. She needed to be tested and I believe she would have failed if not for you.” 

He sat speechless.

“Finicky thing, water. It isn’t unyielding like earth, but it’s stubborn in its own way. You can’t keep it where it doesn’t want to be. No matter how you try to contain it, it will find a way around any obstacle. Water can be patient, slowly cutting the path it wants over years and years. But it can also be unwilling and destructive.” She looked to the dark windows, lightning reflecting off the panes. “My granddaughter needed to learn when to act and when to lay in wait for the right moment. At this very moment the nobles are in a frenzy because Galin’s meeting with her. They don’t know what was discussed but they know his grandson no longer resides in the temples his family has learned firebending at for generations. They know his daughters have returned to his estate in the countryside. Her actions have rippled across the court.”

“You don’t approve?”

“Oh, quite the contrary. I think she did a wonderful job taking advantage of that old idiot. There are a few nobles that respect her already. The ones that don’t are close friends of Galin’s and are afraid of her.” 

“Good.”

“And you love her.”

“Yes, but—“ Wonwoo choked. There was honesty and there was stupidity and he feared he crossed the narrow line. “I didn’t mean…”

“When I was her age, I loved a man who was considered below my station. A guard who I became friends with as a young woman in the palace. There were hundreds of reasons not to pursue him and I was too afraid to pursue what I really wanted. I was afraid the nobles would not respect or fear me if I chose love over my duty. It’s one of the greatest regrets of my life.”

“But the king?” Wonwoo trailed off. The queens face grew fond, as if remembering the late king.

“I learned to love my husband and we grew very fond of each other,” she admitted. “But I don’t want my granddaughter to grow fond of a man when she has the opportunity to avoid the mistakes I made and marry a man she loves.”

She was talking about him. You loved him. Or, at least, the Queen thought so. And she was on his side. The queen, the one person with the power to make things work, wanted him to be with you. It didn’t feel real.

For a moment Wonwoo thought you wouldn’t appreciate being left out of such an important conversation. If he wanted to be with you, marry you, then the first person he should’ve spoken with about it was you. He imagined the anger, the hopefully empty threats to refuse given he didn’t ask you if you even wanted to marry him. But he also realized it was a good thing he didn’t because if he knew you wanted him completely – entirely – and there wasn’t a way to give you that, he’d never live with the disappointment.

“Tell me what to do.”

The queen pressed her hands to the table. There was a loose family resemblance but it was obvious in the raise of her chin and the stubborn tilt of her brow  “The tournament for her hand starts tomorrow. In all honesty, I find it barbaric but the nobles respect tradition even if it’s a formality.”

Wonwoo knew about the tournament vaguely. Eligible royalty would declare themselves interested by competing, the winner married you. But Wonwoo wasn’t royal.  “I can’t compete. I don’t have a title. I don’t have anything.”

“Nowhere in the rules does it require competitors to be titled. I believe, in my most recent reading this morning, it said competitors only need to be in good standing with the crown. Since I am the crown and I like you, I’d say that’ll do the trick. Besides, you don’t need to prove you are as good as those brats. You need to be better and based on Aiko’s appraisal of you, I’m confident you’ll succeed.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you love my granddaughter?”

Wonwoo answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Enough to marry her? To commit your life not just to her but to the kingdom?”

Then, Wonwoo hesitated. He knew he loved you, that he wanted to be with you. But did he want to rule a country? Live his life on display for the world to see? With a silver crown balanced precariously on his head?

“It’s a lot to ask. And it won’t be easy. Many of the nobles will object, even ones who I’d consider friends. But I’m quite fond of change. And you might be what this kingdom needs.”

Was he ready to help rule a country? He didn’t have the education or the money the others had; didn’t possess the connections from generations of high society. What could Wonwoo offer you that no other man could? What could he give you beyond himself?

But he remembered those times you sought him out in a crowd. When you drowned in the weight of responsibilities, he managed to pull you back above the surface. When you rushed ahead, he pulled you back. And when you didn't let anyone see the true you - you trusted Wonwoo to see and understand.

The only thing Wonwoo could give you was a sanctuary to ease your burdens.

Maybe that was enough.

“I’ll do it.”

You hid in the farthest edges of the garden, where the bristle grew in thick unkempt patches and the hedges nearly reached the sky. The worst of the rain had given way to a steady hammering, clouds thick enough the moon couldn’t shine through. Your shoes were ruined; caked with mud. The saturated ground refused to swallow more water, puddles the size of swimming pools spanning from one side of your escape to the other. Wind whipped cheeks burned from each stinging drop of rain and the warm tears you couldn’t stop. It was dull knowledge at the back of your consciousness. 

Your heart laid heaving at your feet, half of it left in your room with Wonwoo. The other half still sitting in your chest ached for him too. Neither part belonged to you and you don’t know when it happened; when Wonwoo stole your heart and left you missing him even when he was within arms reach.

Or maybe you gave it to him that first night you snuck down to the warehouses and watched match after match for hours, only paying attention when Wonwoo was at the center of it. Or in the market when he saved you and didn’t have to. In the forest when he treated you like an equal. Maybe you chipped a small part away for him each time and now there was nothing left; nothing except for the lonely void for him to fill in ways he never could. 

But it didn’t matter. What you felt wasn’t important, whatever it was couldn’t come true. There wasn’t a magic wand to wave and fix everything that was broken. What could you do? What could you do when there was no way to be with the only person you ever wanted?

You wanted to find Wonwoo and demand an answer; shake him until all the pieces fell into place. 

However, your grandmother swept him into a meeting and kept him all day. None of the servants would tell you where they were and even when you discovered their location the guards wouldn’t budge. You found yourself pacing like a caged tiger, back and forth in front of the doors; hours dragged on and no one emerged so the gardens offered a respite from the anxiety. 

Dread filled its place.

You felt the rain all around. Everything it touched dully tickled at your senses. That’s why you weren’t surprised when Wonwoo finally approached after spending fifteen minutes watching you from the archway. 

“You’ll catch your death out here.”

“How horrible,” you said. You kept your eyes glued to the pond at your feet, how the surface rippled wildly from the rain. “What do you want?”

Wonwoo appeared in front of you, kneeling in the mud at your feet, only an arms reach away and yet so much further. “I’m seeking an audience with Your Highness.”

“Didn’t you spend all day with my grandmother?” You didn’t even attempt to hide the hurt in your tone. The last day of your freedom and he spent it locked away from you. 

“Unfortunately, she couldn’t answer my question.” He’s soaked to the bone, the crisp lines of his uniforms limp from the weight of water. You’re at home in a storm like these. Wonwoo looked woefully out of place.

You swallowed thickly. “And what is your dilemma?”

“I'm in love with the queen-to-be. And I'm inquiring if she loves me too.”

The tears came hot and fast; you tried to blink them back but it was useless. Your head tilted back slightly, inviting more rain to sting on your face;  they mixed with the tears washing down your face.

“I…” Your voice cracked. Wonwoo leveled his gaze with your own, searching for something. The mist of the rain blurred the space between you. “Of course I do and try as I might, I can’t figure a way out of it.”

An eternity passed in silence. Wonwoo watched you, the pathetic sight of red rimmed eyes and soaked clothes. He didn’t shy away from the ugliness you felt. He leaned closer, his hand trembling slightly as he grabbed yours, as if testing the waters. You let him.

“What if I had a way?”

“Wonwoo…” you sighed and looked away. You couldn’t bear to look at the desperate longing in his eyes; or how it mirrored your own heart.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He moved closer,  hands resting on your thighs. You felt everything through your dress. His hands are almost unbearably hot even in the cold rain.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re saying goodbye.”

The rain fell harder. Deafening. You exploded with it, solemn tears turning into angry ones. “Isn’t that what we’re doing? After tomorrow this ends.” You motioned towards your hands. “I won’t have you standing next to me if I can’t have all of you. I won’t. I won’t do it.”

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security the past week. Dealing with reality in the daylight and having him in the shadows and the quiet dark of the night. You fooled yourself to believe it was enough, at least for the time. But you had to marry and your husband – no matter how forgiving – would never tolerate your closeness with Wonwoo; you wouldn’t be in their shoes. 

Wonwoo didn’t let you hide from him. He cupped your face, forced you to look at him but you shut your eyes and refused; pressed his forehead to yours so his breath ghosted over your lips with his next words. “If you could marry me, would you?” 

You wanted to scream It doesn’t matter! It didn’t matter that you loved him. It didn’t matter if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. You couldn’t have him. The world worked in absolutes and this was one of them.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s impossible. Why even—”

“I didn’t ask what was impossible. I asked if you’d marry me.”

You didn’t hesitate to finally open your eyes and meet his brown ones. “Yes.”

“Then trust me,” he asked softly. Begging.

“What exactly did my grandmother say to you?”

Wonwoo blanched, blinking as if he hadn’t expected you to ask. 

“I—We have a plan. You’re not going to like it…”

“But?”

“She told me not to tell you.”

You exploded from the bench, crowding down on Wonwoo.  “Are you serious? You expect me to blindly follow whatever plan you made with her and I don’t even get to know what it is”

“It has to be done a certain way.” Wonwoo stood and swept you into his arms. There was no one out here to see, no one stupid enough to catch an early death. Besides you two. “Just trust me. Please?”

You sank into him, savoring the comforting warmth he brought with him everywhere. You traced the hem of his collar with soft fingers. You did trust him. It wasn’t natural for you to put your faith in many people but time and time again Wonwoo showed you he was a good man. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work I’m going to drown you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he whispered into your hair. “Now will you come inside? It’s disgusting out here.”

Back in the seclusion of your apartment, you pinned Wonwoo to the couch, commanded his lap and sucked the rain from his lips. You lingered, sunk into the warmth of his hands tenderly tracing your back; the same comfort of a warm summer breeze softly brushing your skin even in the chill of damp clothes. You both lingered there. Tucked away from the rest of the palace, an unspoken promise lingering in the air. You kissed him until the aching in your chest dulled.

You didn’t know what the morning would bring but you trusted Wonwoo. 

And that was enough.

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[yandere-writer-momo]

I couldn’t bring myself to write a full smut so you’re getting a heavily implied one at the end.

Part 2 of The Wolf and The Lamb

Yandere Batman Shorts: In The Jaws of the Wolf

Yandere Jason Todd x Fem Roommate Reader

TW: smut mentioned after fact, obsession, unhealthy behaviors, unhealthy relationship, and a scenario that should not be romanticized

Soft. Delicate. Sweet. Those were three words Jason would use to describe his precious roommate, (your name).

Calloused fingertips danced across the smooth skin of her cheek as her lashes slightly fluttered at the touch. How could someone be so cute?

(Your name) barely stirred in her sleep even when he crawled into her bed to curl into her side. She was everything he wasn’t… she was perfect.

Jason was not positive what he felt was truly love… it felt darker and twisted. Just like the entirety of his mind from what he’s been through.

Jason hesitantly wrapped a muscled arm around (your name)’s waist and buried his head in the crook of her neck. His nose buried into her tresses as he inhaled her scent for comfort. Her scent never failed to calm him when his mind became a storm not even ships could sail safely across. She was the only one who grounded him in this corrupt city.

His light… His lamb.

Jason felt himself start to tremble with excitement when she subconsciously moved closer to his warmth. He knew deep down, this was because his body was like a human furnace. Yet another part of his mind, the more delusional and imaginative side, believed it was because she felt the same way he did. He knew that was impossible, yet he still had the most minuscule bit of that hope left in him. That he could be loved and desired more than physical means…

“Please don’t leave me… please never go where I can never reach you.” He confessed his sins into her neck. “I… I love you.”

Yet he failed to realize, her eyes were slightly open. (Your name) had heard everything…

.

.

.

“Jason?” (Your name) shook him awake the next morning. He leapt off her bed as if he had been burned, his body crashed to the floor with a loud bang.

His green eyes wild like a cornered animal as he scooted back on the floor. Ragged breaths escaped his scarred lips as he tried to calm himself. He had gotten careless… he hadn’t mean to get caught.

Would she think he was strange? That he was a weirdo? God… he ruined another good relationship again, didn’t he?

While he internally panicked, (your name) bent down and slowly took his hands in hers.

“Jason?” (Your name) softly uttered his name to try to pull him back to her. “It’s okay-“

Jason trembled, his hands wrapped around hers in a vice like grip. He seemed terrified…

“I… I didn’t mean to-“

“I don’t mind you if you lay with me.” (Your name) smiled warmly at him. How touch starved and deprived of warmth was he that he was so worked up over this? The young woman didn’t mind at all…

Jason let out a shaky breath, his eyes welled up with tears. She didn’t… she didn’t find him to be weird? She wasn’t repulsed by him? Wasn’t creeped out?

“Come here-“ Jason flung himself into her open arms as he absorbed her body into his in a tight embrace.

He needed (your name). He wanted her more than anyone else in this world. Jason wanted to be loved and cared for! To be someone’s first and only choice…

(Your name) hugged him back, her hands dragged up his back before they fell into a pattern of calmly traced circles on his broad back.

“Jason, you’re always welcome to be in my arms-” (Your name)’s breath hitched when his lips placed a shaky kiss. She could feel how hard he tried to hold back the dam of desperation from the gentle touch.

“Do you mean it?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you… genuinely want me?”

(Your name) pulled back and gave him a warm smile. Sweet words he desperately wanted to hear spilled from her pretty lips, “Of course, Jason. I care about you-“

Scarred lips swallowed hers in a passionate kiss while large hands dipped her back. Teeth awkwardly bumped into each other just from how swift the kiss was, but neither of them minded. This was an action long over due…

Hands began to grab and squeeze at whatever they could reach. The awkwardness quickly snowballed into full blown lust as tongues tangled together in a dance of sin.

“I want you…” he mumbled between kisses. “I want to make you mine.”

“Jason-“

“I need you.” Jason’s green eyes darkened with lust. “And now that I know you feel the same, I won’t hold back.”

“Jason- ah!” He scooped her up into his strong arms before he tossed her on the bed like a rag doll. A playful laugh escaped his lips at her reaction.

“So cute…” He then pounced on her like a wolf. “And you’re finally going to be all mine.”

Jason began to pepper kisses all along her neck and jaw. His tongue darted out between every few to get a taste of her soft skin. “Delicious…”

“Jason, that tickles.” (Your name) laughed when he nuzzled the crook of her neck.

Little did she know, this was his attempt to be gentle with her. To give her the love and intimacy she deserved… no matter how badly he wanted to sink his fangs into the neck of his beloved lamb.

“I love you.” He whispered against the column of her throat. “I love you so much, it’s driving me mad.”

“I love you too.”

Those four special words were all it took to break the camel’s back at long last… the wolf finally devoured the lamb.

[useless-catalanfacts]

People who only wanted to hear a cheerful children's song learning about Joan Petit:

Joan Petit quan balla ("When Joan Petit dances") is a traditional Catalan children's song that lists a series of parts of the body to move in the dance. Here's a video where you can hear it and see how it's danced: people hold hands and move in a circle and sing "when Joan Petit dances, he dances with his..." and add a body part, then repeat the chorus. Each time, the body parts add up on a list that gets longer and longer and the dancers have to remember and dance in order.

Like it happens with other elements of Catalan folk culture, it's shared with our sister nation, Occitania. Occitans also sing it, with the same melody, the same dance, and the same lyrics as the Catalan song but with the lyrics in Occitan language instead of Catalan. However, in Occitania it's more common to remember who the song is talking about, which is mostly unknown in Catalonia.

Joan Petit was an Occitan farmer. In the year 1643, he led the Croquant Rebellion against the king of France Louis XIV's strong taxation of poor people to gather money for war. Joan Petit was captured and tortured on the breaking wheel. The reason why the song lists body parts is in reference to this torture method of smashing all body parts slowly making its way to the head. The story was quickly told all through Occitania and even crossed the Pyrenees, and the memory of Joan Petit and his rebellion still lives on in Occitania. Maybe that's why the Occitan song, by changing only a few notes at the end of the sentences, sounds much sadder than the Catalan version.

One of the most iconic Occitan bands, Nadau, wrote a song explaining Joan Petit's life. Under the cut you can listen to the song and read the English translation of the lyrics.

Occitan lyrics and English translation:

En país de Vilafranca / Que s'i lhevèn per milièrs / Contra lo gran rèi de França / En mil shèis cents quaranta tres. Mes òc, praubòt, mes òc praubòt / En mil shèis cents quaranta tres. In the place of Vilafranca / they rose up by the thousands / against the great king of France / in 1643. But yes, poor things, but yes, poor things / in 1643.

Entà har guèrra a la talha / Qu'avèn causit tres capdaus, / L'un Laforca, l'aute Lapalha, / Joan Petit qu'èra lo tresau. Mes òc, praubòt, mes òc, praubòt, / Joan Petit qu'èra lo tresau. To wage war on the taxes / they chose three captains: / one of them was Laforca, the other Lapalha / the third one was Joan Petit. But yes, poor thing, but yes, poor thing / the third one was Joan Petit.

Per tota l'Occitania, / Que'us aperavan croquants, / N'avèn per tota causida, / Que la miseria o la sang. Mes òc praubòt, mes òc praubòt / Que la miseria o la sang. In all Occitania / they called them the Croquants / they didn't have any other choice / than either misery or blood. But yes, poor thing, but yes, poor thing / than misery or blood.

E qu'estón per tròp d'ahida / Venuts per los capulats, / Eths que vivèn de trahida, / Çò qui n'a pas jamei cambiat. Mes òc praubòt, mes òc praubòt, / Çò qui n'a pas jamei cambiat. And because they trusted too much / they were sold by the powerful / [the powerful] lived only of betrayal / a thing that has never changed. But yes, poor thing, but yes, poor thing / a thing that has never changed.

Que'us hiquèn dessús l'arròda, / E que'us croishín tots los òs, / D'aqueth temps qu'èra la mòda / De's morir atau, tròç a tròç. Mes òc praubòt, mes òc praubòt, / De's morir atau, tròç a tròç. They put them on the wheel / and they crushed all their bones. / At that time, it was trendy / to die like this, bit by bit. But yes, poor thing, but yes, poor thing / to die like this, bit by bit.

E qu'estó ua triste dança, / Dab la cama, e lo pè, e lo dit, / Atau per lo rei de França, / Atau que dançè Joan Petit. Mes òc praubòt, mes òc praubòt, / Atau que dançè Joan petit. And it was a sad dance / with the leg, the foot, the finger, / and thus, for the king of France, / danced Joan Petit. But yes, poor thing, but yes, poor thing / thus danced Joan Petit.

E l'istuèra qu'a hèit son viatge, / Qu'a pres camins de cançons, / Camin de ronda taus mainatges, / Mes uei que sabem, tu e jo. Mes òc praubòt, mes òc praubòt, / Mes uei que sabem, tu e jo And the history took its journey / it took paths of songs / and tales for children / but today we know, you and I. But yes, poor thing, but yes, poor thing / but today we know, you and I.

[meracyn]

SOUR || kwon jae-sung

summary. kwon's words still ring in your ears, causing you distractions during your matches. you end up forgetting, though, when he asks you a question you certainly didn't expect.

notes. part 2 is here! click this to read pt. 1

The next round of the tournament arrived, every new challenge bringing the semifinals closer. Looking over at the board with all the points tracked for each dojo, guilt formed in your chest at the sight of Miyagi-Do being placed as one of the lowest. Your team was struggling, barely making it through the competition. You had to focus– for everyone's sake, but with Kwon around, you knew he wouldn't make it easy for you.

As the announcer called out your dojo being against Spain's team, your Sensei went over to you, a stern look on his face– it was Johnny. "Look, you know we're close to losing this thing," You gave a nod, though hearing those words felt like a slap. Noticing your anxious expression, he continued, "I want you to show me that you can win. Think you can do that?"

Mustering all the courage you had, you nodded again. "Yes, Sensei."

"Good. You're up first, be ready."

You stepped onto the ring, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Across from you stood Maria Alvarez, the female captain of Spain's team. Getting into position, you took a deep breath, determined to earn a win. At the signal, you immediately went in, closing the distance between you both, doing a quick jab on her stomach, followed by an uppercut.

Maria staggered back, but quickly recovered, jaw clenched as she adjusted her stance before going towards you again. You swiftly moved around, blocking and attacking with precision at any chance. Just as you were going to strike a punch, your gaze looked over at the crowd– and amongst everyone, your eyes met with Kwon's, who was already looking at you with an unwavering gaze.

Before you had the chance to refocus, Maria took your momentary distraction as an advantage, throwing a right hook to your side. Being off balance, you struggled to block and dodge. As the captain landed a spinning back kick to your midsection, you stumbled, losing balance as your back hit onto the mat, making the bell ring—and signaling her victory.

── ⋆ ──

You slammed your fist against the wall, shaking in anger as you ignored the stinging feeling. Your team ended up losing again, resulting in now being on the verge of elimination. First, it was Robby who wasn't focused. Now it was you, too? You blamed yourself for getting distracted easily.

Hearing the door click, you turned around to see Kwon standing there, a slight smirk on his face. He walked towards you, hands in his jackets’ pockets. "Seems like your dojo didn't do well today." He remarked.

"What do you want, Kwon? You got what you wanted already." You scoffed, not letting yourself be intimidated by his antics. Seeing him was the last thing you wanted right now.

"Oh yeah? What did I get, hm?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about."

"Ah," Kwon chuckled, realizing that you were referring to the distraction he caused you during your match. He leaned in, his face mere inches away from yours. "But you know— that was your fault, love. Not mine."

"Is it really?" There was a brief moment of silence, just as you turned to leave, he spoke again, this time his voice was softer. "Do you think it's worth staying in Miyagi-Do?" His question caught you off guard, making you go quiet. Without waiting for a response, he left the room.

You definitely didn't expect to be asked that from him. Though it made you end up questioning your choices that night.

[roundandroundthemulberry]

The S7 Dean and Cas stuff is so intense and heartbreaking.

Dean keeps being denied his chance to be angry with Cas, it's so sad. Dean is trying to hold in his anger as much as possible, but his outburst scene hurts to watch, it just slightly triggering, as is too Cas’s look of contrition.

From Dean's point of view, it was so frustrating that he keeps being denied his chance to feel angry at Cas and to forgive him on his own terms. And he wants to forgive him, he's struggling with it, it's obvious he cares about him still and wants to get to that point but he keeps having to skip over the part where he gets to be furious with him for his betrayal for a bit.

He's got to deal with a Castiel that makes him play the game Sorry instead of actually talking through an issue which is, for once, something that Dean desperately needs and seems to almost want to do.

Although I think that's exactly what Cas was trying to do, albeit in a way that didn't really work. Cas was trying to communicate with Dean in his own kinda messed up way, but it didn't work for Dean at all.

That follow-up scene between Dean and Kevin - part Dean helping Kevin; part Dean talking about his own pain over what happened with Cas. He’s upset about Cas, truly upset that his hopes of Cas being okay were dashed. He may not be able to forgive Cas, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand or that he’s stopped caring. He just doesn’t know how to fix it.

Where Dean can’t begin to forgive - not yet, Sam understands. Because at this point of the show, Dean hasn't made such a colossal mistake yet, as compared to Sam.

Because Sam made such very similar mistakes, for such very similar reasons. It's interesting to watch how different Sam and Cas' reactions are in a relatively similar situation. Sam had also done terrible things and full-on hubris but at his lowest, Sam as a human, can dig deep into the wealth of emotions that we humans gather for as long as we are alive, and those can shine a light and guide us in moving forward.

Whereas Cas, he is an angel, who just simply can't handle the guilt, who is practically new to the ebb and flow of emotions and feelings. For Cas, this is a very different sort of sensation than for Sam. Sam's human and he knows that humans fail and make mistakes. And in Cas's mind, he honestly pictured himself as this "good" thing, he is the good guy, the good angel. And now all of that is gone, destroyed, and by his own hand. He can't view himself as unqualifiedly "good" anymore. He now knows that he can make mistakes and that each choice he makes has consequences because he decides what's right and wrong, free will, and all that.

And that must be terrifying when his choices can bring upon the most horrible of consequences. So it's easy to see why Cas' initial impulse is to try to stay away from fighting and any kind of conflict. It is about protecting himself and maybe others from himself. Initially, I believed that something was “wrong” with Cas, but actually, he was exactly as he wanted to be.

After taking Sam’s burden, he was changed as a result of what he’d done in S6. As infuriating as it was for Dean to experience this version of Cas, I think that it was clear that Cas was drowning in guilt. He's been drastically changed by his attempt to atone by taking on Sam's pain. This was his way of overcompensating. Cas made no effort to assert authority over these angels from his former garrison whatsoever. He doesn’t seem interested in power at all, even if that power will help Dean and Sam. He doesn’t like conflict. This is from the angel who went toe to toe with both Lucifer and Raphael. He’s riddled with guilt for the lives he ended and destroyed on his quest to stop Raphael, for siding with Crowley, for hurting Sam. It’s still too much for him to face, especially in his vulnerable state. How long he’ll stay neutral?

He still cares about Dean, stepping in between and attracting Hester’s attention unto himself as she was getting over-exasperated with Cas by blaming and advancing onto Dean. So what happens when Dean is threatened during his next pursuit of the Leviathans? He gets in between Dick fucking Roman and Dean.

Cas with PTSD having a fixation on bees and gardens and making the perfect sandwich in late S7 somehow got absorbed into fanon to the point where people started to believe that’s canonical Cas. Bees Cas is a confused little meow meow who never did anything wrong. The things late S7 Cas fixates on are an amplification of his genuine fascination with life on earth, and one aspect of Cas is gentleness and appreciation, but those traits are not the whole picture, it’s what his brain uses as a buffer as he goes into shock and has a lengthy PTSD episode. PTSD Cas isn’t empathetic, he’s detached. He’s non-confrontational, non-violent, in that sense he is kind, but he’s not mentally or emotionally present for the people who need him most, who love him and who care, which isn’t empathy.

The arc gets used to mix fanon with canon, and the fanon version seeks a Cas who is an innocent meow meow who never did anything wrong ever (canon doesn’t do this. fanon does). Far too often that’s used to perpetuate the negative fanon of mean Dean, where Cas is his victim. The more innocent and soft and idealized the fanon on Cas becomes—and people believing that’s canon—the more that got weaponized to label Dean “the abuser” who is mean to ultra soft Cas who just wants to watch the bees.

Cas’s mental breakdown put him into a numb bubble, and that is the opposite of who Cas is. Cas feels too much all the time, and lacks context and experience to help him process all the feelings. Over time, we see him grow more comfortable in his own skin and with those emotions and expressing them in ways humans can comprehend instead of Cas just feeling and FEELING and trying to keep it locked down or running away from it.

[sweetkpopmusings]

miserable (you & me) | s. changbin <3

a/n: i currently have a long weekend thanks to the thanksgiving holiday, so i'm in a bit of a writing frenzy. since i just posted some ateez fluff, i figured i should give into the stray kids angst demon again >:^) please enjoy a moment with changbin <3 pics not mine~

content: angst, happy ending | wc: 1.4k | warnings: none really! | pairing: changbin x gn!reader | requests:open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

어떻게든 같이 걸어가려, I feel so tired but I can't give you up, my babe / “somehow try to walk with you / i feel so tired but i can’t give you up my babe”

changbin stared at some indiscernible object in the distance–or, rather, the direction opposite you–biding time until he absolutely had to respond to the information you just shared. sure, he was happy for you, but he couldn’t ignore the burning in the back of his throat as he tried to say encouraging words. the inner conflict was eating him alive, yet he felt he had no other choice than to be here and listen, like any good friend would. 

it wasn’t the first time he had been in this position. he ended up here, again and again, because he didn’t know how to get out of it. behind every i’m rooting for you and they’d be crazy not to say “yes” was an i can’t get you out of my head, you know? every time i look at you, i feel my whole self coming undone, only being put back together when you look at me begging to be said. but he couldn’t. changbin wished he could. he practically pleaded with himself each time he saw you to finally say something. changbin pretended it wasn’t his fear of you rejecting him that held him back. he swore that once he had figured out the right words, he would find the right moment, and then, once everything fell into place, he would bare his soul to you. changbin convinced himself he wasn’t a coward by reminding himself that someone as perfect as you deserved the perfect confession. even if it meant he spent years hiding and hurting. 

“changbin? did i lose you there?” the corners of your mouth upturned as you gently and playfully waved your hand in front of his face.

instinctively he smiled back, laughing a little despite the growing pang in his chest, “no, no, i’m right here.”

“good! because i haven’t gotten to the best part of the story yet,” you grinned before continuing to tell changbin all about the cute interaction shared between you and the coworker you were crushing on.

he couldn’t believe the beaming look in your eyes could hurt him so much. jealousy would do that though: make something so beautiful of yours hurt because he wasn’t the one igniting that beauty. that wouldn’t stop him from relishing in it though. your energy, your presence, it was always a gift, even if it broke his heart.

“so that’s when i figured, what the hell? i asked them out right then and there. they got flustered–it was so cute–and then they said ‘yes!’ we’re going out this saturday. can you help me pick out my outfit?”

changbin, who always turned to putty when he saw your puppy-dog eyes, let out a breathy laugh, “yeah, sure, i can help pick out the outfit that will get them to fall in love with you, just so they can break your heart in a few months like everyone else.”

changbin’s face filled with shock and regret before you could finish processing his words. it hurt you, but, judging by the slump in changbin’s shoulders, what he said hurt him even more.

“i’m so sorry for snapping, y/n, i–”

“no, it’s fine. i talk about them too much. i’m sure you’re tired of hearing me ramble on about all my crushes, especially when my dating life is so unlucky,” you forced a smile, aware that changbin saw right through you, as he always did, “i should probably go, so you don’t have to suffer through my rambling any longer.”

the way changbin looked at you kept you frozen in place. you wanted to turn and walk away before tears slipped down your cheeks, or, worse, before either of you said something that would hurt the other. but the way changbin watched you, the way his breath staggered, the way his eyes revealed he had no intention of every looking away from you…it all kept your feet firmly planted on the ground. 

changbin, knees weak and trembling, felt adrenaline coursing through his body. he stood in front of you, hands in his pockets, unsure if this was the moment to finally reach out to you. when he saw you break your gaze away from him to glance toward your route home, he knew, deep down, that it was now or never. he may have already ruined things by snapping. he figured it was better to ruin your friendship by showing you how much you were loved, rather than leaving you hurt with harsh words.

“y/n,” changbin took a deep breath when your eyes once again locked with his, “that was rude, and i hope you know that i never get annoyed by your rambling. i could hear you talk forever, even if it’s about someone you like, as long as that someone makes you happy. i just…it can be hard for me sometimes because…well…i like you. i have liked you for so long, but the timing never feels right, and everyone else seems to have the courage i don’t because you keep ending up with other people. if you’re happy, i’m happy. i guess i just can’t hide it anymore. i like you. i always will.”

changbin paused, eyes brimming with tears, and he mustered up a smile so you didn’t feel forced to comfort him, “i know you like them, your coworker. if your feelings for me aren’t the same, that’s fine. or, i mean, i at least can live with it, as long as you’re still my friend. i can’t give you up. if you need time away from me because of this, i understand. i hope this hasn’t made things too weird. i hope, more than anything, that we can still be friends. a life without you just doesn’t feel like the right life for me.”

you bit your lip, keeping yourself quiet until changbin finished. it was only fair to let him ramble after you had been talking his ear off all night. then, once you were sure he had said everything he meant to, you smiled. changbin, despite himself, let hope bloom in his chest when he saw the smile grow on your face.

“changbin,” you shook your head, laughing quietly in disbelief, “why didn’t you say something sooner? i like you more than everyone else.”

changbin’s eyes got so big you couldn’t do anything other than giggle. a few words from you, and he looked like he was over the moon.

“you…like me?”

“of course, changbin. are you free saturday? i just have to cancel some plans, but then i’m all yours.”i’m all yours turned changbin’s chest into a fireworks show, so, rather than answering you, he broke into a fit of giggles and wrapped you into his arms. he was, always and forever, all yours. he did not need any courage to tell you that, over and over and over again.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[jikooklove9795]

Hi! Have you ever mentioned your thoughts on this whole “keep going” in Jimins MV and AYS trailers etc? (Sorry if you have, tried searching but it didn’t come up!!:))

Hi Anon 😊

There's no need to be sorry.

I just briefly touched on this subject here:

But I'll discuss more about it since I haven't talked about it in detail.

Let's get into, shall we?

This lyrics of WHO:

Who is my heart waiting for?

The yellow background with the purple question mark.

Yellow and Purple reminds me of two people, Jimin and Jungkook. Its their colors

We saw these colors stand out here too:

Jimin released two solo albums: FACE and MUSE.

In both these albums Jungkook was mentioned.

Jimin said that he did not want to include any other artists in FACE because the album was too personal. But Jungkook was a part of FACE. He was credited for doing background vocals for LETTER.

In my opinion Jimin was very much capable of doing the bg vocals for LETTER just like how he carried the rest of the song excellently on his own. The only reason he wanted Jungkook in the song was because:

1) It is a song Jimin wrote for and with Jungkook in mind

2) FACE is an autobiographical album. Its personal to Jimin. And Jungkook is an important and irreplaceable part in Jimin's personal life

3) Jimin is singing (reading a love letter) to Jungkook and Jungkook's voice in the bg is like he is answering/acknowledging Jimin's letter

Now we will get back to MUSE.

In MUSE too Jungkook gets mentioned. Directly and Indirectly.

Directly like this:

Jimin's favorite food: Tteokbokki by JK

And indirectly like this:

Indirect but very LOUD and CLEAR.

That face in the billboard resembles a man's facial structure.

In my opinion, it is Jungkook

Jimin's singing "Who is my heart waiting for" and the billboard falls down as an answer to his question. Cause it literally falls down after Jimin sings "Who is my heart waiting for".

Because its the person in the billboard whom his heart was waiting for all along. Also, there's no question mark after the WHO in that billboard. Again, because the person in the billboard is the WHO he was waiting for. It is no more a question but an answer. He is showing us the answer to his question.

And the MV ends with a little rainbow.

Taeyang had done this exact same thing with the billboard in his ENL MV in 2014.

In ENL Taeyang showed his girlfriend, who is now his wife, on a billboard and later he announced that they were dating.

When I heard about this I immediately got reminded of Jikook in 2016 during their PUMA fan sign event.

On April 2 2016 a fan spotted Jimin wearing a Pororo band aid and asked him where he got it from. Jimin said Jungkook gave it to him. Jungkook was also wearing the same band aid. It was Jungkook's idea that both of them wear the same band aids.

Both of them weren't hurt or injured but was just wearing those band aids.

Why were they wearing it if they weren't injured?

For this let's go back to Jan 2016.

On Jan 24 2016 Zico released I'm You're, You're Me MV. In the MV, Zico and his romantic interest are seen wearing similar band aids.

So, I think its not new for Jikook to do such romantic couple things.

Now, let's come back.

AYS dropped and we got this:

The "Keep Going" in both WHO and AYS. Not a coincidence but a very clear intentional choice.

Also, there's this interesting thing.

This is the song length for each of the songs in MUSE:

What do we see here???

SHOWTIME 1:18

11/8 the Jikook number

And Surprise!!!

11/8 again being the time for AYS Launch Trailer.

SHOWTIME INDEED!!!

While Jimin knows he can't directly share to the world about this amazing person who captured his heart, he knows he can use his art as a medium for this purpose. Art is a safe medium to express his feelings, to celebrate his love and identity while also protecting his and his loved one's privacy. To me it felt like he was subtly asserting his truth to the world.

So, yeah these are my thoughts on the topic.

Have a nice day Anon 👋🏻

Credits to the owner of the video

[kalkori]

starts punching the wall. starts punching the wall. starts punching the wall. starts punching the wall. starts punching the wall.

people seem to like it when i yell at the void analysing video games [see: me still getting notifications on my fleshcousin post going "YOU. YOU GET IT"] so um.

HEAVY SPOILER WARNING FOR GREAT GOD GROVE & INSCRYPTION

i have always hated how people tend to flatten p03 into the evilest guy on earth but unable to articulate for the normal person just WHY i hate it. But great god grove gives me the full ability to explain it to the normal person:

p03 is inspekta, at their core. except, they never had any support.

lets think about some p03 traits that are... overlooked.

for example, can we talk about the fact that p03's minions are the only ones actually DEVOTED to them?

like, grimora and leshy's minions are mostly neutral about them. magnificus's... um... tower companions don't really have a choice.

But P03's?

they could just... leave. any time. whenever. but they dont. in fact, they are willing to sacrifice themself for p03 when they really don't need to.

reminds me Of A Certain Person's Little Busy Boys. and you can TRY to make an argument that inspekta doesn't actually care for them but occam's razor. they like their boys

this next bit is more well known, but there are more hints that p03 is sort of putting up a facade.

in the uberbots, they all each reflect the parts of a scrybe p03 has distaste for.

G0lly represents themself, and instead of it being the grand "wow this uberbot is awesome," it is the one played up THE MOST and the one p03 hates THE MOST

and it is... cute. nice. trusting.

the part p03 hates about themself... is the part that isn't cynical, has not been broken down by the miserable existence in the floppy disk, that is always desperately reaching out.

i would actually argue that p03 is more innocent than inspekta.

because p03 does not know what the old_data is until they're in too deep, or, they never get to know at all.

see, theres a secret with the bone lord in act 3 where are the end luke AND P03 learn the true nature of the old_data

and p03...

only has that to say.

p03's plan was to NEVER spread this evil, and hell, they didn't even destroy anyone. they explicitly keep them around, and those turned into cards don't even get their whole memory erased (cough cough) LESHY (cough cough)

in the end inspekta and p03 had the same goal: to be remembered, to be the only one, and most importantly, to be loved.

so why did inspekta get a happy ending, while p03... well... "wins", but in the worse case scenario?

it's simple. the gods cared about eachother, the scrybes didn't.

"grimora-" grimora committed murder suicide and went "its for the best" without asking anyone.

Magnificus.

leshy could not care less about the scrybes, if erasing their memory and casually throwing away the bodies says anything.

inspekta, on the other hand, had all of their god buddies essentially screaming at them "WE LOVE YOU." because they could see past inspekta's facade, and see the real inspekta, see hector.

none of the scrybes could see past the acts the other put up.

in conclusion/tl;dr: the power of love and friendship could have changed the ending to inscryption and i am not joking

[theclownghoul]

I still really love Act l of Arcane Season 2 and I was so hopeful with how everything was set up and I still think everything is the first Act was good, approaching Season 1 level.

However now that we have the whole season I’ve seen a lot more people start to interrogate the writing, specifically of Cait and Vi.

I was first to defend the way things were done in act l but now that we have the rest of the story it puts many of the choices in a different light and it’s definitely worth criticism.

It remains me a lot of how I feel about Wasteland, the scene of Ekko talking Jinx down. The scene itself is great, stunning and really shows the care both of them have for each other despite all they’ve been through. Ekko not giving up on her because he sees her value where she sees a curse. It’s interesting to see that at her lowest she doesn’t bother to hide that she cares deeply about him. It’s good (though objectively should have been longer) and in isolation I appreciate it.

Retroactively it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. After the ending and Jinx “sacrifice” (that’s set to the same song by the way, I think, please let that be wrong) I feel like the writers really didn’t care about Jinx coming back from rock bottom with her supports (not seeing anything in between doesn’t help this). She dies and it’s framed the same way as all of her previous attempts and now it’s framed as good. It poisons the scene with Ekko the same as Vi’s later writing poisons her decisions in Act l. Because we now know they don’t care and were not going to be responsible with what they were depicting.

That scene also seems to be unnaturally beautiful, combined with the glorification of Jinx’s sacrifice it’s sickening. They wanted a spectacle and that was what they chose to debut the Z -Drive….

Even the good parts have to be called into question after the later decisions.

[quicksilversnails]

One detail about the Your New World ending that I can't get over is how it specifically avoids using the phrase [Slay the Princess].

The red-text dialogue options describe killing her, ending her, destroying her, ridding yourself of her, putting her down, not needing her, and so on, but never, ever, slaying her. Your final choice is to [Destroy her], and afterwards the text simply reads "she's gone".

The choice of wording seems very intentional, right? The game's literally called "Slay the Princess", and the act of killing her is described using those terms for the vast majority of the game. So what does its absence mean for this ending?

My first thought was that it was because you didn't use the Pristine Blade to end her. The lack of blade might play a part in it (as I'll expand on later), but there are already a few cases where you get the option to [Slay the Princess] without the blade, like trying to slay the Shifting Mound before the vessels appear, or slaying the Fury with nothing in Contrarian!Fury. There's something more here, I think.

The choice of words could also represent the emotional separation between you and the Narrator. In this ending, the Narrator is irrelevant to you. He’s “a lesser thing that could never hope to understand you”, an obstacle to your awakening. Your final monologue spares no thought for the well-being of the people inside the world, who the Narrator sacrificed everything in hopes of saving.

Contrast this with A New and Unending Dawn, where you do actually [Slay the Princess] using the Pristine Blade given to you by His construct. You quote the Narrator directly if He told you about you and her containing parts of each other, and you generally can be much more sympathetic towards Him even after His obliteration.

In Your New World, even though you technically destroyed her like He had wanted, you didn't Slay her. You didn't do this for Him, or for His world: you did it for you, and for Your world. You cut yourself off from understanding Him, just as you cut yourself off from understanding Her.

In a similar vein, I think the choice of words could also represent a separation from the terms of the game itself.

Slay the Princess is a game filled with repeating symbols and choices: woods, cabin, blade, basement, chains. Slaying her, or freeing her. Narrator or Princess. Dying and restarting and dying and restarting. Even at the end of everything, these same ideas return: you can choose to leave the cabin with her, slay her, return to the beginning, and so on. (it's a very cohesive narrative like that)

But by seeking out this ending, you're breaking the boundaries of what's typically possible in this game. You're not slaying her, and you're definitely not leaving with her. You don't go to the cabin, you don't find the blade, you don't get "outside help".

The whole game is centered around learning about the Princess and yourself through your shared experiences and developing relationship, but to get this ending is to reject any meaning the vessels may have had to you, and thus to reject her role in the game's narrative.

Meanwhile, by not Slaying the Princess, you reject the Narrator and the construct itself, the construct that was built from nothing in order for you to complete that single task, the construct that constantly limits your choices. In this ending, you reject all the choices that were given to you by the game's typical structure and make your own, new choice.

The game constantly reminds you that you'll need the Pristine Blade in order to stab her in the heart: you'll need it if you want to do this right. But what if you're not interested in "doing this right"? What if instead, you choose to do something cruel to those around you (and cruel to yourself) for the sake of exerting agency in a construct where agency is taken from you?

As the Shifting Mound herself says in response to tossing the Cage's head: "That act was your final assertion of will over chains".

For better or worse, there is nothing and no one left to chain you down (except for you).

[cheapshrimpysheep]

May I share my deluluness with you?

The only kind of "new project" I'll accept from Obey Me! would be a PC game with a coherent story with a beginning, middle and end.

And then I started thinking about what game I would make if I could give ideas. Let me share my dream with you 💭

I started imagining a 3D game (not with the 3D of Nightbringer, some better ones) where we can customize our avatar and walk through the streets of Devildom and the House of Lamentations and RAD and Porgatory Hall.

Devildom could even be just a few streets with shops where we can buy clothes or gifts for the boys. And there could be mini-games that were part-time jobs like waitressing to earn money for those purchases.

There will be the main story with cut-screen and optional side missions.

Whenever we made a pact we would gain new powers and abilities to fight other demons, or for missions where we need to use these abilities to complete them. Like using the sins to make the demon or person do what we need them to do to complete the mission.

After making the pact with Mammon we could have a power to have more luck in casino games or something and we could have a special attack in which a bunch of crows would appear and attack our opponent. I also imagined with Levi's pact we could create a water Lotan as a magical attack. And the same would happen with the pacts of the other brothers.

And there could be dialogue choices that affected the story and the ending. There could be a route for each brother, for each character and even a Polygamous route 😆 Craziness: There could be a good and a bad ending for each route!

And side missions and activities like dates or celebratory events.

I'm already rambling a lot at this point, ha ha. I just thought it would be fun to share with you.

People who have more experience with games like this, what ideas would you give?

💙💛🧡💚🩷❤️💜

Hey, a person can dream, I told you this was delulu 😂

[kalena-henden]

In the Thanksgiving afterglow, I’m thankful for so many good kdramas.

Family By Choice - I was satisfied with how it all turned out if a little rushed in areas. Hwang In Yeop finally got his due as ML in a romance and did not disappoint. I really loved them once they got together; so many cute couple moments and great support of each other. I loved all of the found family dynamics. And it was so fun to see Song Geon Hee!

The Scholar Who Walks The Night - This was wan’t a great drama but it was a good one. The vampire rivalry between Lee Sook Hyuk’s power hungry, Gwi, and Lee Joon Gi’s noble, martial arts fighting, Night Scholar was well played. I wish they had delved a bit deeper into Gwi’s history but we were given just enough highlights to fill in the blanks ourselves. There were quite a few twists and turns in this and I didn’t see some of them coming. Overall, I enjoyed the mystery and was pleasantly surprised that most of the characters were given proper development arcs. The romances were okay and did become more believable towards the end. One of my favorite things was various factions building relationships through trust to eventually overcome their differences to become friends and come together to defeat the enemy. The one thing that was repetitive and sometimes frustrating was that if someone or some group made a plan it was almost certain that said plan wouldn’t happen. It got to be a bit laughable. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a drama where this many plans got ruined. This drama has been on my watchlist for years and I’m glad I finally watched it.

Brewing Love - I really love how the leads are there for each other and bring out the best in the other person. Allowing them to feel loved and accepted. 

Love Your Enemy - Hello romcom with mature leads acting like their love-hate bickering teenage selves. Present day is a little over the top but I’m looking forward to them working out whatever went wrong all those years ago. The teenage years have been my favorite part so far. 

When The Phone Rings - I’m sat for this makjang of parentally-controlled adults in a marriage-of-convenience about to go absolutely feral when they realize they have been secretly in love with each other this whole time and will do anything to protect each other from their families and the world out to get them but first have to break through their longheld misunderstandings. Honestly, the hardest part is trying to stay away from spoilers from the novel that are floating all over the internet. I already accidentally stumbled across one great spoiler which makes me even more excited but I don’t want to ruin all the mystery for myself.

[transfemhawkeye]

As a disclaimer, I'd recommend waiting until we have the full chapter to make any definitive statements on it. Something, something, leak culture bad.

With that said, though, I have been thinking for the past half hour or so about Izuku rejecting a partnership offer from Bakugo in Chapter 431, and while I'm adhering to my words above regarding that, I do want to push back on the opinion-- which I've seen a lot of people holding-- that doing so is automatically mischaracterization.

BNHA's story centers around Izuku and Bakugo's dynamic, and we see that dynamic shift in such a profound way over the series. We begin the story with Izuku simultaneously idolizing and fearing a boy who, by all appearances, despises him. Katsuki's a bully and an egotist, but like so many bullies and egotists, the way he's acting is a mask. It's a response to fear, and it's a very conventionally masculine one (that's another post, though). Katsuki's scared of Izuku, because even though Izuku is weak, quirkless, below him, Katsuki always feels like Izuku is above him. He's scared of this feeling, and that becomes anger. So he lashes out, keeps Izuku at arm's length, and it doesn't work, because no matter what he does or says, Izuku worships him. That's a very intentional word choice; there is a sort of religious quality to the two's early dynamic, where Katsuki is this unreachable figure who Izuku simultaneously fears and loves, who represents the apex of strength and power in his eyes. This is, to say the least, an extremely unhealthy relationship dynamic, and one which harms both of them.

It's impossible to talk about Izuku and Bakugo's character arcs independently of each other. I would describe them as two sides of a coin; Izuku's arc fundamentally centers around creation, and Bakugo's around destruction. When Izuku arrives at UA, he defines himself by his worship for All Might and Katsuki. Izuku models his costume and his fighting style after All Might, even using the same names for his moves. Simultaneously, he continues to internalize Bakugo's bullying, doubting himself, continuing to idolize Katsuki even as Katsuki's increasing feeling of inferiority spurs him to ramp up the torment. So Izuku's arc is about gaining independence; it's about creating his own identity, about self reliance. He reclaims the derogatory nickname Katsuki uses for him, develops Shoot Style, changes his costume, and starts standing up to Katsuki. Yes, he still admires Katsuki, still cares for him, but crucially, that admiration no longer comes at the cost of his self-respect. It's because of this change that Bakugo is forced to reckon with the root of his aggression. He spends the majority of the series working towards consciously grasping his feelings of inferiority, and a big part of that is confronting his preconceived notions of strength and weakness, and accepting that he can rely on others without being weak. (Again, so much of Bakugo's arc is tied to overcoming toxic masculinity, and I'll definitely need to write about that sometime, too.) The apology he gives to Izuku at the end of the Dark Hero Arc is one of the series' strongest narrative moments, and its a showcase of so much development-- it's a genuine expression of vulnerability, Bakugo dropping his veneer of superiority, something which would be unconscionable to the Katsuki we meet in chapter 1. That Izuku doesn't immediately accept and try to assuage Katsuki's guilt speaks to the development he's undergone, too. Izuku learns to rely on himself, while Bakugo learns to rely on others.

So, after these arcs, with Izuku finally repowered, Bakugo asks him: "Will you join my agency as my partner?" This is the natural conclusion of Bakugo's arc: it shows that he sees Izuku as an equal and he's prepared to rely on him as a partner. And yet, Izuku turns him down. I understand why people would be upset about that, and if he did accept the offer, I wouldn't have a problem with it. But at the same time, we've just talked about how Izuku's story has centered around gaining independence from his idols. At some level, Bakugo is asking Izuku to go back to defining himself by their relationship, and even though it's in a far more equitable way than the hero worship which used to describe their dynamic, it's completely reasonable and in-character for Izuku not to want that. Yes, it's sad, but I think acting as though this is out of character for Izuku basically requires ignoring his character development, and it implies a very simplified understanding of his and Katsuki's dynamic and how it evolves throughout MHA. Bakugo and Izuku have one of my favorite relationships in any media I've watched/read/played/etc. and it's frustrating to see Izuku's part in it essentially be disregarded.

[btskitty17]

Object of Curiosity (Park Jimin X Fem! Reader One-Shot)

Please Read: Park Jimin BTS one shot, flirty dance teacher Jimin, shy and slightly awkward fem! character (insert any name of your choice in the blanks), smutty conclusion (oral, fem! receiving), mutual crush, sensual tension and yearning, strangers-to-friends-to-fling-to-relationship word count: 4.4k

"No amount of her coquette tantrums could deprive him of his lavish meal now."

Park Jimin is so charming that it is almost obscene.

The silver-hued tassels of a pair of long earrings twinkled on his shoulder as he swerved from side to side in front of the mirror with his eyes narrowed in concentration. Both the men and women in the studio watched, enraptured by his lithe movements.

Park Jimin’s Contemporary Dance Class started off in a somewhat shabby basement as a no-name establishment, however, it had grown into a formidable performing arts institution over the course of five years, certainly in a league of its own and it seemed to embrace and attract people from all walks of life.

Jimin’s rhythmic dance videos had become an internet sensation, broadcasting his delicate yet masterful moves to the world. In the practice videos, he seemed hypnotic, kneeling on an oakwood dance platform, performing the floor-work part of the routine or showcasing his command over body-rolls as a slew of layered necklaces clattered atop his collarbones.

On the subway back home, as ___ mindlessly scrolled through her explore feed, a reel, posted by a local dance academy, caught her attention, bringing her doom-scrolling to an abrupt halt. She did not want to lose the video in a sea of algorithm-pushed content so she saved it before watching it. And she watched it again. And yet again. The raven-haired man in the video, had her wrapped around his bejewelled finger, all in sixty seconds as she stopped herself from hitting replay yet again and explored the page that had posted the video, brimming with the novel temptation of more unwatched videos of that man’s graceful swaying: from stage performances to practice routines, these videos were watched late into the night as ___ pored over her laptop for a better, more focused view, especially that of his elusive abs. Park Jimin was his name.

___ decided to channel her obsession with Jimin into a hobby. Her nightly routine of binging Jimin’s dance videos could be more than just her eyeing him while munching on spicy potato crisps, spilling crumbs on the couch’s armrest. She ended up signing up for the weekend classes, the ones for lesser technical dancers, a euphemism for those amateurs who could not possibly fathom the mid-air flips that Jimin and his disciples perform with ease.

___ had been feeling a sense of mundanity, stemming from her quotidian routine of working at her job and then coming home to a soupy bowl of ramyeon, slurped alongside a loud sitcom blaring on the television, which is the sound that she fell asleep to on most nights; she goes on to perform the very same activities the next day, with a mind-numbingly boring accuracy. Perhaps a dance class could help her feel a spark.  And the prospect of a handsome teacher certainly does strengthen her case: someone that she now had a full-blown crush on, albeit she had only met him virtually.

On an Autumn Saturday, the evening batch of dance students, comprising of about fifty individuals, a relatively smaller group from the other ones learning ballet and hip-hop, gathered before the majestic Park Jimin. So did Y/N.

“Fledglings!”  Jimin clasped his hands together. “I understand that you are all just starting out! We shall begin by doing some stretches and jumping jacks to loosen up,” his feather-light voice splashed across the dance studio, like an oncoming oceanic wave as he looked at each and every participant of the class, attempting to register their unfamiliar faces. ___ felt that Jimin’s eyes sauntered their way over and across her body for a suspiciously long amount of time. Or she could have been mistaken. The curve of Jimin’s plush lips seemed to carry a bit of interest and inquisitiveness.

Clad in her black tank-top, ___ attempted to stretch as decently as she could while the hem of her barely-there clothing started to inch upwards her waistline, unveiling a smidgen of skin. Jimin surveyed the room, comically scolding anyone whose stretching was not fulfilling his standards. Y/N felt his warm presence situating itself behind herself as she continued her exercise.

“The bouncing, the shaking,” Jimin clicked his tongue, “this is not the apt time and place for that.”

___ was suddenly conscious of her body in the impossibly smallest of ways, the slightest sheen of sweat on her forearms, the way the strands of her unruly hair were scattered across her forehead and the unintentional quivering of her limbs, caused by her erratic, almost non-existent workout schedule. If only she had been more regular! She halted her stretching and sheepishly peered over shoulder at Jimin.

___ could feel her mouth dampen from the slightest eye contact with him. Jimin wore a playful half-smile, and he moved forward to place a hand on the small of her back to guide her movements, with his eyes showcasing amusement. ___ nearly shuddered at his touch: the cold metal of his ring was seeping through the waify fabric of her top. Jimin’s nimble fingers deftly clasped her wrists, now taking charge of her workout and, her sanity, too.

“You are too stiff. You need to gradually ease into it,” Jimin whispered into her ear, aligning his chest with her back, assisting her in stretching. Was a dance teacher supposed to be this touchy? Jimin’s breathing seemed surprisingly irregular, especially for someone who is a dancer and very much in control of these tendencies during performances; she could hear the hitches in his breath and the gasps that he was swallowing as her head was synced with his chest, while stretching upwards.  ___ felt as if the warmup section of the class would exhaust all of her energy. It wasn’t the workout that was draining her: it was the red-hot proximity of Park Jimin that made her feel like she was under a constant gaze of burning scrutiny. Jimin’s subtle woody cologne swirled throughout her senses, creating an odd sensation of intoxication. All because the man was helping her stretch.

“Do you think you could reach the climax part on your own, or do you need me to hold your hand through this,” Jimin asked in a sing-song teasing voice, setting ___’s cheeks on fire.

Jimin’s memory pulsed with the close-ups of ____’s curves; since the moment she had stepped foot into his dance class, he had been …distracted to say the least.  He did not want to be inappropriate by any means, he had of course maintained decorum, however, what he had developed was a symptom of an instant crush. ___’s deer-alert eyes as she attempted to follow along his dance-steps nearly pierced his heart because of how adorable they made her seem: she was a strange mixture of charm and clumsiness. Her nonchalant walk somehow captured his attention; she possessed an unmistakable air of purity and had the sort of unassuming beauty that Jimin deems to be as the archetype of the kind of woman he finds attractive.

As several weekends went by, Jimin found himself peculiarly obsessed with ___ and he started looking forward to the Saturday and Sunday classes, nearly waiting by the door like an expectant pet and being both relieved and exhilarated to see that she had not dropped out of his institute, despite the monstrosity that her dancing was. But that was his job, he was supposed to teach her to relax and to stop her body from being so hardened. If only he could stop being hard in places he shouldn’t be when he sees her. Sometimes it was her floral scent, sometimes it was her wide-eyed stare, her evident nervousness or her giggles at her own silliness: Jimin could not afford to peel his eyes off her.

Electric, it felt. Jimin sensed tiny eruptions throughout his veins if their hands grazed each other while dancing or when the ice broke between them and they conversed about the weather and politics, gradually familiarising themselves with the other, or when she stopped to sip from her bubble-pink metallic water bottle and the tiniest of drops raced from her strawberry-hued lips, down her swanlike neck, towards her ample cleavage: oh, how he envied that wicked drop of water!

While Jimin sassily snaps at students for showcasing lacklustre pirouettes in his ballet classes, he pardons the ungraceful stumbling of ____’s feet during steps that involve turning; what a gorgeous little klutz, Jimin laughed quietly to himself.  The songs ___ had suggested made their way to his playlist: a string of songs that he played at midnight and believed that although ___’s dancing was questionable, her music taste certainly wasn’t something to be gawked at. After sharing music, they followed each other on social media, (initiated by Jimin, given his curiosity about her life) leading up to an innocuous exchange of humorous memes. Despite being an introvert, ___ had opened up to Jimin.

Jimin realised that he had been hawk-eyed in monitoring all her moves on the ‘gram, although she barely posted any pictures of herself: it was all pictures of annotated stacks of books, the horizon at sunrise and stray cats. Mysterious vibe, I like it, he thought.  

 ___ had discovered that there was so much more to Jimin than his looks, albeit his looks alone brought a lot of the footfall to the dance classes. He was not a shallow person; there was a latent passion in his heart to change things for better, evidenced by his charitable educational projects for children in the vicinity, which he had spearheaded since the very year that his institute came into being. Jimin was also quite the conversationalist: he could be talking about the global political economy at one minute and expressing his thoughts on Sabrina Carpenter’s new album in the very next breath. ___ admired how his social butterfly self was the total opposite of her wallflower demeanour; he could slither his way into any discussion in the world, just about as smoothly as he moved.

mature content ahead: NSFW, description of physical intimacy

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Jimin drawled into her ears, his palms firmly planted on either side of her head, as he angled his face downwards to capture her expression with his ravenous eyes.

The studio was empty. The last batch of students had hurriedly scuttered away, given that it was a Saturday night. ___ stuck around just to watch him. Over the past six months, which seemed to fly by, their connection had deepened.

“I really don’t. I feel like I come off as clumsy,” ___ said, her cheeks flustered by the undivided attention that Jimin was bestowing upon her.

“You are,” he sniggered. “But there’s also something that calls out to me. The vocabulary of your body language is quite flirtatious, maybe you are unaware of it; it is the kind of subtle, repressed sexiness that pulls me in. It is innate. One cannot just put on that front and you have that… if I may say so,” After giving it a light nibble, Jimin left the ghost of his lips on the tip of her now reddened right ear and flashed an elusive smile her way.

“Well, I have a confession to make,” ___ choked out, somehow, befuddled by the intensity of Jimin’s nearness and her own wildly thrumming heart. Jimin expressed his interest with his eyebrows raised, his eyes still fixed on her form.

“I joined these classes because of my initial fascination with you, after seeing you on social media.”

“And? You are not fascinated by me anymore? Apologies for shattering your beautiful illusions,” Jimin broke into a teasing laugh, taking back a few steps.

“No! But that was, purely because of your outer beauty. I am trying to say that after getting to know you, there are many more reasons that I like keeping you company. Reasons that are not at all superficial.”

“So you like me,” Jimin said in a hushed voice, as if their clandestine meeting could be interrupted any moment by an intruder who may have been eavesdropping on them. Even though they were all by themselves in the studio; the ferocity of their solitude was just too much.

___ gazed at him, lulled by his presence, unable to do anything but take in the magnificence of Park Jimin who was now stretching his arms, looking like a nymph under a waterfall and heading dangerously close towards her very own self.

Jimin’s beautiful fingers reached out to caress ___’s cheek while reading the emotion encased behind her eyes. Anticipation? Love? Lust? Or all three of them? He was awfully eager to find out, so he dipped his head to the level of her height and delicately enveloped his lips with hers, as soft and sweet as he could be. ___ fervently kissed him back with Jimin snaking his hands around her waist, not even leaving an infinitesimal speck of distance between them. As Jimin stirred for a second in order to give her space and time to breathe, ___ released a groan of disapproval, resenting even a moment of separation from Jimin: a gesture that made him smile.

As he continued kissing downwards her neck, Jimin nudged her towards the couch, guiding her face-first, with an abundant amount of kissing of course. ___ nearly tripped over her feet as she landed on the couch with a squeak escaping her lips, making Jimin simper into the still unbroken kiss as he continued to hold her. Jimin’s fingertips lightly fluttered over the straps of her summer dress, as if seeking permission. ___ longingly stared at him from beneath her eyelashes, and coyly nodded.

The fabric of her dress was peeled off her skin by Jimin with the utmost care as he took it off her frame and flung it sideways. He took a few steps back, and with his eyes gleaming, Jimin looked at ___ from head to toe, as if she were an artwork showcased at a museum, much like the very first day that he had seen her.

“What?” ___ stuttered shyly shielding her almost-bare self with her arms from his wild eyes.

“Exquisite. The pink lace. Of course. Pretty like you.”

Jimin knelt on his knees on the oakwood floor, and deftly placed an open-mouthed kiss on her now exposed stomach, leaving behind a hot patch of wetness as his intrepid fingers began to fiddle with the hook of her rose-coloured bralette, undoing it in no time. Jimin’s eyes had now lost their earlier mischievous glint, they acquired a darker, more sensuous hue as he took in the mouthwatering sight before him.

 The unrestrained galore of ___’s breasts made his breathing inconsistent and his mouth salivate… which was something that he put to good use; he plopped his watery mouth on her right nipple, making ___ gasp in surprise while his other hand fondled the left one (which would soon receive the same amount of affection as the other one), the pads of his fingers heatedly felt each and every inch of her skin. With wetness pooling between her thighs unchecked, ___ trembled from Jimin’s brazen devotion to her chest; she felt as if several jolts of electricity were running through her veins at once.

“The bedframe. I need to pull that out… from beneath the couch. Wait. We are going to need it,” Jimin huffed, momentarily stepping away from their rendezvous to make it more comfortable for them: he had one of those sofa-beds in his personal room at the studio… couches that transform into beds for the evenings that he may be too tired after dancing.

Jimin dragged ___ by her arms to the front of the bed and picked up exactly where he left of. He kissed her chest once again before placing his palms flat against her thighs, which felt warm and buttery soft. Jimin watched her face intently for a reaction when he began to circle ___’s inner thigh with his index finger, lingering dangerously close to her pretty pink panties with the light colour doing nothing to conceal the speckle of dampness smackdab in the centre, begging for Jimin to pay heed to it. ___ bit back her pathetic mewling which was about to spill from her lips.

___’s hands found their way to Jimin’s stylish suspenders, but they lacked the sophisticated restraint of Park Jimin; she was famished for some form of contact with his skin. She tugged at the back yoke of the suspenders’ braces in anguish, looking at Jimin’s clouded eyes; Jimin assisted her in snapping them off as they fell slackened around his waist, his eyes not leaving ___’s alluring bosom.

After painfully forsaking her unimaginably doughy thighs, Jimin’s elegant fingers flitted over the middle of her panties, feeling up their way over her sopping slit, making Jimin scrunch up his eyes and groan at the its drenched state. ___was a blushing mess, mumbling his name out of surprise. His hands tenderly shed the last piece of clothing on her body: Jimin hooked both of his hands at the sides of her thighs and stripped her underwear off her which had grown quite stubborn, owing to the oozing pond of desire surrounding it. After undressing her, Jimin examined her panty, placed daintily on his palm. ___ was flabbergasted to witness what occurred right after. He brought the fabric close to his nose and inhaled her sweet scent, almost as if it was his life-source, with his tongue sticking out.

“What are you doing,” ___ said, with an arm outstretched to grab her panty back and shielding her bare breasts with another.

“This belongs to me now,” Jimin snickered, clutching the lacey number tightly in hand and twirling it with his fingers like a newfound jewel; the core of the underwear was exposed to his nose yet again, as his eyelashes fluttered shut, and a hungry whiff passed through his lungs; ___ was certainly delectable to taste, he mused.

___ succumbed to the discomfiture creeping up on her cheeks in the form of a raging blush and staggered backwards onto the sofa-bed with Jimin’s unforgiving gaze taking in every single movement of hers. Jimin neatly tucked her shell-pink panty into the drawer beside him, securely locking it behind himself as if that piece of underclothing was the kind of treasure that numerous people would covet.  

“I have, in this very room, often fantasised about having you unclothed, I must admit. I have pictured it one too many times. And so much more,” Jimin backed ___ into the mattress, crawling up on the sofa-bed with his knees bent and cornering his very dear and very naked ___. Jimin hastily unbuttoned his crisp white shirt, watching ___’s shy eyes every second and how they flickered rapidly as his toned chest was unravelled before her, wherein the unclicking of each button heightened the delicious ache between her legs.

___ extended her hand to discern a sensation of Jimin’s bare chest; her palms were itching to do so. She explored the expanse of his shirtless torso, gingerly abandoning her bashfulness. Jimin kissed her once again, loosely lacing his forearms around her shoulders; the kiss was unhurried and it was Park Jimin at his best, he could hear her suppressed whimpers from their hot-mouthed smooch alone.

“Jimin-n-n,” ___ sputtered, her voice livid with need when Jimin pulled away from the kiss.

“I know, I know.”

The innermost crevice of her thighs glistened with the dewdrops of her craving and those drove Jimin into a stuporous daze wherein the only thing he knew that he was being devoured by his all-consuming thirst and ___ was spurting like a delicious fountain. Jimin bowed down on the bed to be eye-level with her pitifully wet pussy, providing ___ a glorious panorama of the series of Moon phase tattoos scrolled from the base of his neck to the middle of his spine.

As ___ drooled over Jimin’s body art, she felt a tug at both her feet with Jimin striving to spread her legs; ___ unconsciously rubbed her thighs together, strained by her shyness once again. Jimin clicked his tongue, and this time, with more determination, forked her legs; he anchored both her lower limbs on each side of his shoulders as he greedily observed the congealed strings of juices that swirled in her cunt, freefalling onto the bedsheet. The glimpses of partially-clad Jimin's taut abs and the patchwork of his veins protruding from his forearms could almost propel ___ into a blinding orgasm, untouched.

Kisses were peppered on the undersides of her thighs as Jimin started to salivate, rapturous to follow the enticing trail of aroma being emitted from ___’s weeping centre.

"You are going to make the floorboard leak, running like a faucet," Jimin growled lowly, smacking his lips.

When Jimin leant closer to her pussy, ___ whined, crossing her legs on his bare back out of sheer habit, however, Jimin smirked at the undeniable closeness of her cunt: no amount of her coquette tantrums could deprive him of his lavish meal now.

“Look at you. I had no idea you could be this filthy. Your fucking pussy is overflowing right in front of my eyes and I haven’t even touched you,” upon hearing the so very refined Park Jimin’s extremely lewd choice of words reverberating through her skin, for the first time in her life, ___ almost sensed another tidal wave of wetness gush through her cunt, her breasts heaving up and down with her saliva-slicked nipples glimmering pertly.

Jimin’s leather pants seemed to have deflated, closing in on tightly on his dick, painfully smothering it; but it was his member that was soaked in precum and had burgeoned in size, owing to the starkly naked visual of his crush splayed out before him, moaning with her pussy pleasurably bubbling: the scene sparked a fire at the pit of his stomach, making him needier by the minute. He wanted nothing more than to shimmy off the waistband of his briefs and pants and fuck her mercilessly right into her creaming cunt but, he was aware that that had to wait and he had to practise some restraint; they had a longer way to go for that to happen, at least for now.

Jimin traced the glossy flower-bud of her cunt with his finger, inciting a shocked, incisive intake of breath from ___ and then plopped his mouth on her clit, sucking it with his lips as ___ breathlessly thrashed about, her legs squeezing Jimin’s torso between themselves. One of his hands solidly grasped her left thigh in its place, and another situated itself at her glossily wet entrance as his index finger toyed with the tight trench of her pussy, eliciting a panting chorus of his name from her lips. He inserted a dexterous finger into her most intimate cavity and the midriff of ___’s body rose up from the sofa-bed, as if levitating. Jimin, unfrazzled by her explosive reaction and with a one track-mind to finally relish his personal delicacy, leapt forward with his mouth puckered and settled an open-lipped kiss on her cunt, the sap of her pussy glazing his lush lips.

Jimin’s girthy finger soon acquired a maddening pace as it vanished inside her pussy and then exited and he repeated these motions as ____’s pleading grew louder with each moment. She cleaved around his mouth which was afflicting an unrelenting force on her cunt, licking, lightly biting and mouthing all over it. His skilfull tongue worked in tandem with and seemed to be just as agile as his finger as he rolled her bud around in his mouth with a spinning whirl. The onslaught of Jimin’s tongue had ___ convulsing and scampering to clench his hair in her hands as his head bobbled between her legs.

"I want this taste on my tongue forever. You are so enjoyable; you have no clue," Jimin muttered hoarsely while coming up for air before diving face-first into her pussy once again.

"Jimin, fuck.... I-really, I really need you Jim..." ___ was interrupted by a strangled moan hurtling from her own throat as she felt Jimin's finger traverse through a particularly sensitive spot, and upon reading her bodily reaction, Jimin thrust his tongue in the same area, making ___ quiver and shriek his full name.

"Damn, do you want people to think that I am running a torturous dungeon rather than a dance studio in here, screaming like that," Jimin smirked, pleased with himself as he persistently fingered her right where she needed it the most, with his tongue lapping up all of her seductive juices.

___ started to shiver as a deluge of sensations begin to take over her consciousness; Jimin was ceaseless with his mouth attacking every inch of her cunt, exploring pleasurable places that she did not even know existed as his fingers fucked her into a delirium. His now sweat-streaked hair was plastered across her thighs, tickling her with each rise and fall of his head between her legs as he kept making his craving for her well-known through his dirty monologues.

___ grabbed Jimin's bare biceps to steady herself as he noisily slurped on her clit, drool pouring from his mouth to the shiny folds of her pussy, foreseeing a strong climax coming. She felt a colossal flare forming in her belly, desperate to be released as her moans created even more clamour; in her head, a montage of the vulgar yet beautiful things that shirtless Jimin had said to her played on loop, sending her over the edge. In a hot flash, she orgasmed as Jimin's tongue gave her one final flick and then, after having depleted all her strength, her limbs drooped around him, her eyes closing.

Jimin, with his measured movements, brought ___ an orgasm that would forever be indelible in her mind; it would be the yardstick for the other ones in the future. After she came, Jimin sincerely cleaned her up between her inner thighs with his tongue as she hissed because of her recent climax and oversensitivity in the zone.

"Let me bring you some warm water and a fresh washcloth, I have some supplies in a cabinet right here," Jimin said, walking up to the studio's corridor, while licking his lips, seeking the sweet and briny aftertaste of ___.

"Wait. Jimin. What about you," ___ said groggily, with her eyes half-shut, referring to his evident full-on boner.

"Uh, I will take care of that... later."

"No. I want you."

"It is not the time for that yet. Let me take you to dinner first. Also, have you seen yourself? You will pass out from round two, my pillow princess," Jimin laughed, handing her the rumpled dress that he had discarded off her body a while ago.

A month later

"I could never move like you in a thousand years. I had thought about getting another dancing tutorial class before coming to yours in order to impress you and not be so inelegant in front of you," ___ reminisced about the early days of getting to know her now-boyfriend Jimin.

"Even though your bodily coordination while dancing is reproachable, I must say that I was already quite impressed after holding a few conversations with you, my smarty-pants. Not to mention I was bowled over by your beauty," Jimin affectionately pecked her forehead, cuddling her under a soft duvet as they both drifted off to sleep.

a/n: my first time ever writing smut and all my knowledge about it comes from books and movies...not me trying to avoid writing it in this one-shot for the longest time possible, because you know, context is important. lol.

DISCLAIMER  This is a work of fanfiction with the BTS members as characters; I do not claim ownership to the aforementioned characters. This fanfiction has been written solely for entertainment.

© @btskitty17 on tumblr 2024

[doliacuddles]

ৎ⸝⸝⠀THE PRISON OF DESIRES ! —

ᴄᴡ: 𝖯𝗌𝗒𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 (𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖽 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗒). ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: 𝖨𝗍 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖽𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋, 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗉𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖨𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖼𝗒𝖼𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋. ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 834

The darkness surrounds you. Not a darkness you can touch or measure, but a presence—a suffocating void that seeps into every corner of your mind, clouding every thought, every memory. It’s impossible to tell if you’re awake or lost in some fever dream, if you’re truly here or caught in a warped reflection of the life you once knew. The sensation of being trapped presses against you, relentless, inescapable.

Your body feels heavy, as though every movement requires a strength you no longer possess. You try to move, but the air itself pulls at you, draining what little energy remains in your limbs, your chest, your very soul. Each breath is a cruel reminder of what you’ve lost, of what you’ll never reach. And when you finally muster the strength to look up, there he is: a figure cloaked in crimson, his macabre grin unmistakable. Alastor.

It’s hard to remember how you ended up here, harder still to recall what came before the haze. But one thing you do know—at some point, you made a choice. A selfish one. Dark, hollow, driven by a void you could never fill. And now that emptiness stretches out before you, endless and damning.

Alastor doesn’t speak—not at first. He doesn’t need to. You know that every sensation, every shifting shadow, is his doing. You’re trapped in his domain, a place where rules mean nothing, where expectations twist and crumble. There’s no safety here, only chaos and the gnawing certainty that wherever you think you’re going, you’ll never arrive.

You try to make sense of it, to impose some logic on the madness, but it’s futile. The walls stretch and warp, pulling away from you and closing in all at once. The ground beneath your feet feels fragile, cracking like shattered glass that mends itself with every step. Thoughts dissolve before they can form, swallowed by the same void that engulfs you, devouring you inch by inch.

And always, always, that laugh. Soft, distant, calculated. It worms its way into your mind, clawing at your sanity, leaving nothing but raw, open despair.

Every now and then, Alastor appears beside you—a playful shadow with a venomous warmth. His voice, smooth and melodic, slithers into your ears like a song that burns.

“Lost, my dear?” he asks, though the answer is clear. Nothing you say will matter. Nothing you do will change a thing. “Don’t worry—you’re not alone. I’m here to… help.”

False hope. He offers you a way out, a path that seems real, tangible. You take a step forward, desperate, only for the ground to crumble beneath you. The walls press closer, the air thickens, and you’re forced to retreat. Yet for a fleeting moment, that glimmer of hope ignites in your chest—until you realize it’s part of the game. He’s toying with you, twisting your mind, feeding on your pain and frustration.

The scene shifts without warning. Suddenly, you’re somewhere familiar. A place you once loved, now fractured and wrong. The faces of those you cherished blur and distort, their voices warped into hollow echoes. You reach for them, cry out to be heard, but the distance between you only grows, the abyss deepening with every attempt.

“What you wanted,” his voice murmurs from behind, soft and icy, “was so simple, wasn’t it? A little love, a little recognition, a little peace. But it was never enough. You always craved more. Always reached for what you could never have.”

The words cut deep, sharp as a dagger. And for a moment, you wonder if this torment is your punishment for the desires that consumed you. But whenever you try to move forward, to fix what’s broken, the distortion pulls you back, dragging you deeper into the dark. Shadows coil around you, tightening, until you can’t tell if the suffering is real or just another layer of his endless torment.

The ground beneath you falters again, breaking like an illusion underfoot, forcing you to tread on jagged fragments of reality. His laugh echoes, closer now, laced with delight.

Sometimes, he’s beside you—a phantom, a whisper. His presence is almost comforting, if not for the malice beneath it. His voice hums through the silence like a lullaby that scars.

“Don’t give up now, darling,” he says, his grin a blade in the darkness. “Denying me the pleasure of watching you struggle would be… unforgivable.”

You know the rules will change again. Every attempt to fight, every scream of defiance, only pulls you further down.

This place, this torment, has no end. And the worst part is that somewhere, deep inside, you know he’s right. The abyss was waiting for you all along. And Alastor, with his haunting smile, watches from the shadows, savoring your descent as if it were the grandest symphony he’s ever composed.

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.