#thinking ab writing more for this au bc... thinks ab it.... but many things i want to write head in hands

[victorygrasped]

ramyatta roleswap au extracts

Pairing: Ramattra/Zenyatta word count: 1533 Notes: some extracts from a hypothetical fic of my ramyatta roleswap au, ramblings/explanation ab it here on twitter! Takes place in a time similar to current canon. Ramattra meeting Zenyatta for the first time since the latter left Shambali

There.

Hidden within the shadows of chaos and discord he noted the lone omnic. Such a beautifully simple model. Face plates serene, original purpose lost to the tides of time forever to remain a mystery.

It may have been decades since he had lived his first life as a Ravager beneath Anubis’ command, built and taught for war, but he had never truly gotten rid of the lessons he’d been bestowed from that time. Unable, and more privately, unwilling, to part with such valuable knowledge, regardless of the pain and grief they brought. to him.

Every part of him that had once been a general hummed in approval at the sheer brilliance displayed by Null Sector. After all, who could possibly suspect the ruthless and feared leader of Null Sector to be such a passive appearing garden variant omnic? A perfect disguise. Ingenious. One of the millions, doubtlessly unremarkable and unimposing to any fool who didn’t know better.

But Ramattra knew. Knowledge irreversibly and deeply etched into his code and his chassis. For a moment, he'd forgotten he lacked the lungs required to breathe, his air stolen by the mere sight of the other omnic. Wires and circuits long frayed sparking to life in answer to his awestruck state.

He stole, needed, a second longer to collect himself. Forcing himself to tear his optics away from the omnic and towards the sounds of gunfire and explosions, the rubble and ruin, just around the corner. A pointed reminder of his task at hand. Ulterior motives had to wait, he could not afford to dally when his allies and his people were in danger.

(Even as logic dictated his moves, he could not stop the sheer ache within his chest cavity. How long had it been since he'd last seen the omnic? He knew, of course, down to the last millisecond. How long he had waited for this moment, since their promise. Because it had been a promise, hadn't it?)

"I see that you've been quite busy since last we've met, Zennyatta," his voice kept carefully light as he walked into the omnic's line of sight, closing the distance between them with easy steps, his grip on his shepherd staff hiding the faint tremor that ran through his hands and discord raging within his core. He had no doubt that the other hadn't noticed him yet, that he had chosen to wait for Ramattra to make the first move and it ached.

It felt as though an eternity passed before Zenyatta turned his head towards him, looking up at him. Their kind had no faces for expressions, and though some had chosen modifications to mimic them, that applied to neither of them. Still, they had body language. They had their energy.

The relief and sheer delight in Zenyatta's form could have had him weeping, had he chosen to give himself that ability.

"Ramattra," Zenyatta murmured, and oh. How long it had been since Ramattra had last heard that voice utter his name. How dearly he had missed it.

"I don't suppose I could simply put a cease to this destruction so that we may talk in peace, could I?" wry amusement colored his tone, otherwise kept steady. For all the discord within him, he could never forget his place and his duty. He couldn't bring himself to bear the guilt of trying, as much temptation rang at his door. Years of biting his tongue, metaphorically, engrained deep. Still, he did not look away from Zenyatta, the one indulgence he could excuse. His optics carefully drinking in every inch of the other omnic, quietly, desperately.

Zenyatta laughed at his quip, painfully familiar and causing warmth to bloom in his system. He hadn't even realized how cold he'd felt moments before.

"It is good to see you, Ramattra."

"Likewise," he replied immediately, because it was. Undeniably, truly, was. But his voice quieted, a heavy sigh falling out, "I only wish we could have met again under better circumstances."

"I had noticed you were not there when Brother Mondatta condemned me."

Ramattra huffed, shifting where he stood as he glanced away, "You will find that I have held… uncertainties over some of Master Mondatta's opinions for far longer than you have."

"And yet," Zenyatta's gaze passive yet sharp, "It is only I who has decided to act upon our doubts."

"Do not be so emboldened as to assume me a fool, brother," oh, if only he could smile. Image of humans doing the same dancing at the corners of his mind, thin lipped and weary. The thought brought him to a slight pause. He'd been surrounded by far too many humans of late in search of Zenyatta, "Of course I have considered… alternative methods. Not all of my pilgrimages and ventures out of the monastery were particularly peaceful. You, of all people know that."

"So you must forgive me for failing to see why you would wish to stop me."

"There is nothing of you to forgive, for there is nothing I haven't already forgiven," his voice was quiet. A terribly foolish thing to admit, but he could not bring himself to lie to Zenyatta on his. He could lie to others and to himself, but not Zenyatta.

A foolish thing. But then again, he'd always been a bit of a fool around the other omnic. Perhaps it ought to be of relief to find that that much had not changed between them.

"You fight for our people, you fight for our lives," Ramattra continued, emboldened, "I know you take no joy in the violence, in the destruction. I know that you subjugate yourself and those innocent to it not out of sadism, not out of some corrupted coding, but out of desperation. Out of fear and care. You act out of love. Love and deep grief," he was certain, because he felt the same. It was so horribly easy to see them side by side in another life, sowing discord in vain hopes to bring order and peace, "How could I possibly resent you for loving our people?"

“I only fear that you will only find pain and failure upon this path,” Ramattra murmured, his head tilting to the side. His hand curling around his crook and small whir of a sigh, betraying his unease, “I should know, brother."

“Failure is acceptable, giving up is not,” Zenyatta countered, words spoken far too artificially for him to take any comfort from them, “If I am to give up now, then what message could possibly be imparted? That the will of omnics is flimsy? Breakable?”

“That we are not adverse to peace,” he replied evenly. The implication of frustration shown in the terseness of his chosen tone, the stiffness of his body, if only his exhaustion wasn't made much clearer, "We have fought for it for far too long to give it up. It is not right of us to undo the progress that Master Mondatta and the Shambali had worked for-"

"Master Mondatta left us before he could succeed," Zenyatta said quietly, so surely and it was the first time Ramattra could remember feeling anger towards the other omnic.

"Do not try to imply that change can die with one being," he snapped, harsher than he'd intended, but the images that'd been haunting him ever since he'd realized just exactly who was in charge of Null Sector burned bright and vivid in his processors. His anger held naught in comparison to the paralyzing fear he felt at the mere idea of Zenyatta's demise.

“I can't lose you!” Ramattra snapped, hands spasming in place, body frozen from overwhelming emotions before suddenly moving, lunging forward and grabbing onto Zenyatta's shoulders. His height had him towering over the other omnic, yet still, he felt as though he were on his knees, “There is only so much I can do, there is only so much I can handle. I am sorry, I am sorry and I can only beg for forgiveness for such weakness but please,” his voice module distorting as his composure, usually so proudly maintained and kept, turned to ash before them.

Foolish. Idiotic. Truly weak. Was there anyone he could save? He could not save Mondatta. He could not save their people. And now, he was failing to save Zenyatta. How pathetic could he be? How low could he fall?

“I cannot bear the weight of your loss,” desperation poured from each of his words, yet even then, his touch remained gentle. Far too gentle. Restrained and controlled, as he was taught and as he had learned, “Do not ask that of me, I will not be able to."

He could force Zenyatta to stop. He could physically restrain the more fragile omnic and take him far away. For his own good, for all of their good.

But Ramattra would not. No matter how part of him ached to demand. To take. To be. He could not. It had been so long since he was allowed to want for himself, he had forgotten how.

“Please, Zenyatta,” he pleaded, words barely recognizable past the static, because begging was all he had left, “I cannot lose you too.”

[hwallazia]

ANT!FRAGILE – 최산

synopsis . in which you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

pairing . choi san & fem!reader

genre . smut (mdni!) fluff at the end, comfort, established relationship, idol!au, and a poor attempt of comedy.

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 3,1k

DISCLAIMER! unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).

NIC’S NOTES this took way too long for no reason at all (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional! (again, too lazy to write it properly;;)

you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.

you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.

but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?

you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.

it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.

you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?

but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.

you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.

but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.

you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.

“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.

“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.

“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.

“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.

“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.

“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.

“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”

“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.

“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”

and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you. 

during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”

“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly. 

“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.

“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.

“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.

“go kill yourself.” you huffed.

“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”

“touché” you agreed. 

the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.

“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”

“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.

“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”

“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”

“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.

you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.

once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.

“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.

remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.

you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.

suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.

once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.

“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.

you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.

your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.

“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.

“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”

“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.

“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.

you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.

“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.

“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.

“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”

“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”

san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.

“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.

“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”

you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.

“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.

“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.

“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.

“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.

“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.

“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.

“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.

“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.

“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.

“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.

“no? let’s see if it is now,”

your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.

“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.

you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.

“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.

san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.

“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.

“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.

“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.

you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.

that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.

you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.

“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”

“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”

you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”

he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”

“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.

“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.

“babe,”

“hm?”

“shut up.”

| masterlist

[mimasroom2]

“But you’re like…. real pretty.” A Mean Girls Ellie au

Mean girls Ellie au but it’s only up until the burn book scene bc I do not wanna be writing the whole ass thing😭 Janice & Damian don’t exist in this au shhh we don’t need them.. we’re focused on Ellie. Also! Don’t worry ab the ages of characters plz LMAO just pretend they’re all in high school unless said otherwise. This took me a long time to write 2 be accurate 2 the movie so pleaseeeee show it some love ! Literally just mean girls but then I take my own route & they fuck😇

C/w: Regina!Ellie & Cady!reader have secret sexy time but that’s later 😋. Ppl are judgmental but it’s mean girls what did you expect. Uhh Ellie curses a lot ig. Strictly lesbian reader. Allusion 2 reader masturbating to Ellie but no details. David is their classmate (still a pedophile) & Ellie breaks his finger😘! Ellie is VERY morally grey. SLOWWWW BURNNNN.

You as Cady

Ellie as Regina

Dina as Gretchen

Jesse as Karen

W/c: 5k

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

“Here’s your lunch. I put a dollar in there so that you can get yourself some milk. Ask someone where to do that, okay?”

“Dad, I’m fine. I can find milk by myself.” You roll your eyes playfully at him.

Today was your first day of high school. Well, actually public school in general. You had been living with your parents in Africa until you moved to the US, and that meant no more homeschooling for you.

You wave goodbye to your parents as they drop you off. “Yeah, I’m not worried. High school is gonna be a fucking breeze.” You think to yourself, turning around to walk into the school and you almost run face first into a bus. You look back at your parents and you swear to god your mom almost had a heart attack.

Great start.

~

“Thank fucking god.” You sighed to yourself. Finally the first few classes were done, and you could eat. You thought it was weird you had to eat on a schedule now, you could practically have lunch whenever you felt like it back in Africa, just like the grazing animals.

You can finally relax, kick up your feet, enjoy some nice quiet you time and-

“Holyyyy shitttttt.” You slowly take your headphones off as you walk into the roaring cafeteria. This is seriously where they expect you to eat? Sounded more like 100 dying elephants to you. You scoff and slowly start walking around, watching all the people at each different table converse with one another. There’s so many different cliques, and it seems like they just get worse as you go deeper into the cafeteria.

You stop in the very center of the cafeteria. You’re in front of a table with three people sitting side by side, not across from each other. There’s an Asian guy counting on his fingers, a girl with her hair in a bun and a really pretty smile, and a girl in the middle. She has her hair in a sort of half up half down style, freckles all over her face, and the cutest fucking nose you’ve ever seen. She looks up at you from her seat in between them, and you two make eye contact. Your heart practically jumps out of your chest. You’re completely mesmerized by her, but unfortunately the beautiful stranger keeps you from looking where you’re walking, and you run right into a guy carrying a lunch tray.

“What the shit-“ he starts, but then looks up at you. “Oh damn. Never seen you before. The names David.” He reaches his hand out to shake yours, and you catch him looking down your low cut shirt. He makes eye contact with you again and smirks, “How bout you pay me back for my lunch that’s now on the ground. Come with me to the tech booth after school.”

Suddenly you hear a voice coming from behind you, “Ew. Fuck off, David. No one wants to hit that.”

You turn around and it’s the girl you had locked eyes with before. You manage to say “Uh, hit what?” worried you’d somehow manage to get into a fight on your first day of school.

“You fuck off, Ellie. I’m just bein’ friendly. Plus, I bet she’d wanna hit. You see the way she’s lookin’ at me?”

You look between the two of them, still trying to figure out what they want you to smack. “Sorry, hit what exactly?”

The girl named Ellie looks you up and down, slowly. You gulp. “Do yah wanna have sex with him? Yes or no.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head ‘no’ vigorously, earning yourself a laugh from the cute brunette defending you.

“Kay, it’s settled. No one wants to sleep with you. Move along, David. Can’t believe you’re in the same grade as us and yet you still somehow manage to be a pedophile.”

He scoffs and walks away. You smile politely at her, and try to wander off to find somewhere to sit. However, you can feel her eyes burning holes into your back, or maybe your ass, and she suddenly calls out to you, “Wait. Sit down. How come I don’t know you?”

You look around, point to yourself and say “Me?” Then mentally slap yourself. Who else could she be talking to?

“Yeah, you. Sit down, babe.” She nods her head at the seat in front of her, the way you’ve seen guys do. You sit down. You’re not going to say no to anyone defending you on your first day of school. And you’re definitely not saying no to the beautiful stranger beckoning you to sit with her.

The other two people at the table don’t smile as you sit down, they just look at Ellie and back at you. Ellie repeats herself, “How come I don’t know a pretty girl like you?”

You’re caught off guard, blinking at her while trying to think of something to say. “Oh, I’m new.” You shift in the uncomfortable plastic seat. “I just moved here from Africa.”

She raises one eyebrow. You notice there’s a scar through it. “Huh?”

“I was homeschooled.”

She grabs the chain she’s wearing around her neck and starts fiddling with it. “Huh?”

Do people not know what that is? You try explaining to her, “My mom taught me at home-“

She interrupts you, putting one hand in the air in a ‘stop’ motion. “No, fuck, I know what homeschooling is, I’m not stupid.” She leans in closer like she’s studying you. “So you’ve.. never been to a real school before?”

You shake your head ‘no’

“Shut the fuck up.” She scoffs and looks between the two people by her side, “Shut the fuck. Up.”

“I didn’t say anything..” You laugh awkwardly.

“Huh. That’s so interesting. But you’re like…. real pretty.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Oh! Uh thank you.” You look down, trying to hide your blush.

“Ahh, so you agree. You think you’re real pretty?” Ellie has this shit eating grin on her face, and for a second you think she’s no better than the guy who was hitting on you.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know-“

“Wow!” Ellie’s eyes suddenly light up. “Love the bracelet you have. Where’d you get it?” She grabs your arm without permission and looks at your wrist. She rests her chin in her palm and looks at you with beautiful twinkling green eyes, waiting for you to reply. Somehow you didn’t notice her tattoo until just now. It’s really nice - ferns and what looks like a moth. Fuck, that’s hot.

“My uh-“ You swear you can’t speak. You’ve never had a stuttering problem and yet here you are tripping over yourself in front of the most enchanting girl you’ve ever seen. “My mom made it for me.”

“Ohmygod it’s just like mine!” The girl to the side of her finally speaks up, then giggles cutely, “That is soooo fetch.”

Ellie suddenly frowns. She turns to her side to face the girl and scoffs. “What the fuck is fetch.”

“It’s like slang! Uhm from Jackson.” She looks down, away from Ellie like she’s ashamed of what she just said.

“So if you’re from Africa….. why are you white??” The one guy of the group suddenly says, staring at you, almost like he’s disgusted.

“Holy fuck, Jesse. You can’t just ask people why they’re white.” The other girl scolds him.

“Let me talk to Dina n Jesse privately for like one second, would yah, dollface?” You swear she actually winks at you.

You gulp, and nod, looking around trying to avoid making any more eye contact with Ellie. She whispers briefly to the girl, who’s Dina, and then to the boy, who’s Jesse.

She turns back to you, “Alright, jus’ to let yah know, we don’t do this very often. So consider this a big deal, alright?” Ellie grins at you. You just nod.

“We’re inviting you to have lunch with us every day for the rest of the week.” Dina chimes in, smiling widely.

You put your hands up, “Oh you don’t have to-“

“Fuck yeah. So I’ll see yah tomorrow.” Ellie interrupts you again. You really should get used to that if you’re going to spend more time with them.

“On Wednesdays we wear pink.” Jesse winks at you and gives you a big thumbs up.

~

The next day you enter the cafeteria and Ellie immediately flags you over, making a ‘cmere’ motion with two fingers. “There she is.” She grins. She’s wearing a low cut tank top, a little pink cardigan and leather pants. The tank top has writing that says ‘a little bit dramatic.’ You smile to yourself, somehow it makes no sense and fits her perfectly at the same time. You look down at your own clothes, a simple button up pink shirt you borrowed from your mom and jeans. Suddenly you feel way less cool, even though you’re somehow sitting with the most popular kids in school.

This time, you’re sitting next to Jesse, with Ellie and Dina across from you.

“Yknow how many calories are in this? Doesn’t say.” Ellie hands you some sort of bar and you look at the numbers on the wrapper. 48/120.

“Yeah, that should be 40%.” You hand it back to her, but your fingers touch hers accidentally. There’s butterflies in your stomach again, you realize they’re the same ones from yesterday. You thought it was just first day jitters.

She stares at you and keeps her hand there a moment too long, before clearing her throat and saying, “Fuck it. I’m getting cheese fries.” She pulls her hand away and stands up swiftly.

Dina watches her walk away then turns back toward you. “So. Are there any boys you think are cute?”

You try to think of the first girl your mind remembers that’s not Ellie. “Well, there’s this girl in my calculus class-“

“Who is it?” Jesse interrupts you, and Dina’s eyes widen.

You clear your throat, “Her names Cat.”

“No!” They both shout in unison, and it actually makes you jump a little.

Dina actually fans herself as if she’s going to faint. You swear you’ve only seen that in movies. “Ohmygod you can’t like Cat! That’s Ellie’s ex girlfriend.”

“They went out for a year. She gave her the tattoo on her arm.” Jesse chimes in.

You try to hide the confused yet pleased look on your face when you find out Ellie likes girls too.

Dina continues, “Listen, any exes are off limits to friends. That’s just like, the rules… everywhere.” She crosses her arms and Jesse nods. “Oh, but don’t worry. I won’t tell Ellie what you said. It’ll be our little secret.” She smiles at you.

~

At the end of the day, you’re walking back to the parking lot, just thinking to yourself. Jesse seems probably the nicest, but he’s basically got no head on his shoulders. At least from what you could tell. Dina’s nice too, but there’s something off about her. Maybe because she’s closer to Ellie than Jesse? You felt like you couldn’t trust her entirely. And Ellie. Fuck man, she’s absolutely gorgeous. You can’t get her out of your mind no matter what you do, you stayed up later than usual last night thinking about her… but that doesn’t matter right now.

Suddenly, you hear a car beep from behind you. You turn around to see all three of them in a classy convertible, with Ellie driving. “Get in, fuckface, we’re going shopping.” you hear her say, and well, you can’t really say no.

Ellie’s like.. a hot masc bratz doll. You never had any dolls. Especially not bratz. Your mom hated them. She’d probably hate Ellie too, thinking about it.

~

You four end up walking through a mall, and there’s actually a lot of people from your school there. The three of them are just.. passing by all these cool looking stores. You haven’t had the chance to actually shop yet since you’ve moved, and you don’t want to feel any more alien than you already do, so you don’t ask Ellie to stop by any of them. You’re all walking side by side, but Ellie’s the farthest away from you. She points at a shop labeled ‘Spencer’s’ and whispers something to Dina. Dina laughs and has to hold onto Ellie’s arm so she doesn’t fall over. You feel your face grow red, and you’re surprised to see that you actually feel jealous. Whatever she said must’ve been really hilarious.

Suddenly, Ellie stops walking and holds out her hand. “What. The. Fuck.”

You look across the way and see the guy who was hitting on you yesterday talking to a girl who looks about 14.

“Holy shit! Is that David?” Jesse steps forward.

“Yeah. It fucking is.” Ellie crosses her arms and scoffs. “And look who he’s talking to.”

This time, Dina steps up, her jaw dropped. “You’ve gotta be fucking shitting my dick.” Even from knowing her only two days, you can tell she never cursed like that, so it must be serious.

“Dina, who is that?” You ask her.

She answers you, but doesn’t look at you. She just keeps staring at the scene playing out in front of her. “That’s one of the damn kids I babysit. Practically my own sister. And fucking pedo David is talking to her.”

“Wait, what makes him a pedophile?” You ask, looking between the three of them.

“He’s been caught talking to girls who are reallyyyy young. Like, even though he’s 17, that’s still fucked up.” Dina answers. “Not just normal talking too. Like, full on crazy shit. Keeps telling them they’re special.”

You shudder and turn to look at him again.

“Yknow. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a cannibal too.” Jesse states and looks at you.

Ellie huffs, unfolding her arms, “Follow me.”

You three speed walk behind Ellie as she makes a beeline straight towards David and the little girl. Dina and Jesse are muttering about how they don’t think this is a good idea, which makes you curious as to what the hell Ellie’s going to do to him.

“Who’re you talkin’ to, David?” Ellie asks in a sing song voice, which actually makes her sound way scarier.

He turns around and throws his arms up, immediately annoyed at Ellie for ruining his creepy actions yet again. “What the fuck do you want, Ellie.”

She puts her hands on her hips, “Don’t make me repeat myself. Who the fuck are you talking to?”

Shit.. you really shouldn’t be thinking about this right now, but that was really hot. You glance at the girl and she looks visibly relieved she’s not talking to him anymore, which says a lot. Ellie and David continue arguing while Dina comforts the girl and tries to pull her away from the situation.

“Ohhhoho shit.” Jesse says and points to Ellie slowly taking a few steps back from David while she’s still talking to him, which makes him follow her.

“What’s going on?” You ask him.

He shakes his head, “Just watch.”

“Cmere, David. Pretty boy like you got nothin’ to lose.” Your blood would boil at what she said, but it’s pretty obvious she’s faking it. Well, obvious to everyone but him.

She beckons him to follow her into a small hallway which nobody’s paying attention to. If there was one thing about Ellie, it’s that she could get anyone to do whatever she wanted.

You and Jesse subtly walk closer to them so you can listen. David’s so entranced by Ellie he’s not paying attention to anything else.

Ellie twirls a lock of her hair around her fingers, looking up at him, trying to appear cute and innocent. “Yknow I thought they were all just rumors.. but, I guess it’s true.” She looks him up and down, and makes it obvious she’s looking at his crotch.

He smiles at her, “What?”

She pretends to think, and gently holds his hand with both of hers, “Hmmm..” She looks away bashfully. You almost laugh at how oblivious he is. “Oh, I shouldn’t say..” she eggs him on.

“Nah, quit playin’. Just tell me.” He’s actually grinning so wide, he looks like he’s in a candy store. Does he really think people are raving about his dick that much?

Ellie’s face falls flat in a second, “I guess it’s true that you’re a fucking pedophile.” And she swiftly twists his hand in one motion, and you hear a crack.

Your eyes grow wide and he yells and curses at her, falling to his knees on the floor. She just taps her foot impatiently, waiting for him to shut up so she can talk.

“You’re gonna go and tell that little girl’s parents what you were doing. Everyone saw you, and now everyone can hear you screaming in pain.” She actually laughs. “There’s no hiding now, David.”

He looks up at her and yells, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL THEM!??”

“Tell them that Ellie is the girl who broke your fucking finger.”

And then she walks away.

~

Ellie drives the four of you to her house to hangout, you try texting your parents you’ll be home for dinner, but you’re honestly not sure. And it’s only Wednesday. As soon as you get there your jaw drops, this place looks like it’s out of a damn movie.

“Wow, Ellie. Your house is really nice.” You say, not looking away from it.

“I know right.” She smirks at you.

Dina leans in and whispers to you, “Make sure you check out her dad. Damn, he’s hot.”

You guys walk in and her dad immediately greats you. He’s holding a small chihuahua and it’s almost comical considering how big and muscular he is.

“Hey, Mr. Miller. This is Cady.” Dina motions towards you. He shoots you a little finger gun and puts the dog down.

“Jus’ wanna tell yah.. if yah need anythin’ don’t be shy, okay? No rules in this house. I’m not like a regular dad. I’m a cool dad.” He winks and turns toward Ellie, “Right, baby girl?”

She’s leaning against the counter. Her face is completely blank as she shuts him down immediately, “Please stop talking.”

Ellie leads you all upstairs to her massive ass room. You thought the outside was impressive, but this is crazy.

“This is your room?” You spin around.

Ellie sits down to take off her shoes. “Mhmm. It was Joel’s room… but I made him trade me.”

You take off your shoes too and look around. There’s pillows, posters, and pictures everywhere that are just adorable. You can see a selfie printed out of the three of them that Dina took.

“Hey, someone put on Take On Me.” Ellie says.

Ellie takes off her little pink cardigan. You don’t mean to stare, but how could you not? Her bare arms are so toned and defined..

She snaps you out of your trance, “Cady, do you even know who sings this?”

“Umm.. Weezer?”

She looks you up and down slowly. She sure loves doing that. “Ugh I love her. She’s like a martian.” She says to Dina.

Jesse walks over to a bookshelf and picks up a hot pink book. It’s the size of a photo album. “Holy shit, I forgot about this.” He laughs.

Ellie glances over to look at what he’s holding. “Damn. Haven’t touched that thing in forever.”

“Look at this, Cady. It’s our burn book.” Dina motions you over to look at it. “See, we would cut out pictures from the yearbook and write little comments.”

Jesse starts reading, “Abby Anderson has sex in boats.”

“Still true.” Ellie chimes in.

“Owen Moore is a fat virgin.” Dina reads.

Ellie snorts. “Still half true.”

She sighs and looks at you. You’re immersed in the burn book and yet, you can immediately feel her eyes on your skin. You look up at her. She has a completely different look in her eyes. Her stance isn’t as strong, she’s fidgeting with her fingers, and her eyes are glossy. She looks almost.. vulnerable.

You keep looking at her, puzzled, when she walks over to you and takes your arm. She’s gentle this time, opposed to when she did the same thing to look at your bracelet when you first met her. She leads you over to her ginormous closet. Dina and Jesse are still giggling at the burn book, they don’t even notice you two left. She steps closer to you.

“We need to get you some new clothes.” Ellie says. But her voice is lower and not as loud as when she usually talks. You try your best to control your breathing, you swear you could get off on just her voice alone.

It’s that weird stage or moment in time. Where you’re not entirely sure if the other person is feeling and thinking the same things as you. It makes you nervous, especially because you haven’t done this kind of thing a lot before. And especially because it’s Ellie fucking Williams.

She steps even closer to you. “Fuck. Needa help you out with clothes.” She mutters. You can barely hear her, she may as well be talking to herself.

She calls Jesse and Dina over with a few snaps of her fingers. “Can you two go make the four of us some drinks. Virgin margaritas.” She turns towards you. You’re just inches away from her face. You’re way too close. “Cady, what do you like?” She asks, making direct eye contact with you. “Lemon lime?” She asks, furrowing her eyebrows almost like she’s pouting, before you can answer her.

Jesse nods and heads out of the room. Dina gives Ellie a weird look, but pulls out her phone to look up recipes and follows Jesse downstairs.

You wait a few moments before you stop hearing footsteps on the stairs, then attempt to ask Ellie what’s going on, “Ellie, why-“

She cuts you off before you can finish, like how she always does. Usually it annoys you, but right now it’s different. Right now it means that she’s really the one in charge. She reaches up and fiddles with the collar of your shirt.

“Cmere, baby. I like you.. okay? You’re cute.” You weren’t sure if she was talking about you platonically or romantically. Her tone was so casual, like she was talking about what to have for dinner, and yet the way she was caressing you made your knees weak. Well, you weren’t sure until she pulls you in by the shirt and smashes her lips against yours.

You immediately gasp and whimper at the action, and become embarrassed at how inexperienced you are. But she fucking loves it, kissing you deeper and unbuttoning a few buttons at the top of your shirt. When she uses her tongue, it’s over. You moan into her mouth and your hands desperately grab at her. She laughs and you can feel the same shit eating grin she gave you when you first met her.

You break away, suddenly remembering that Dina and Jesse are downstairs and could be back any minute. “You sure they’re gonna be gone long enough?” You didn’t know how far she wanted to go… but you could guess.

She nods. “I’m sure. Between the two of them, yeah. Jesse doesn’t know how to make anything and Dina’s gonna spend at least 15 minutes making it perfect after she finds a recipe. Plus they’ll probably both spend another 7 or so minutes arguing wether they should really make it virgin or not. And my dads playing one of his shooter games. Trust me, having a big house comes in handy.” She leans in closer to you, “In any case, with how good I’m gonna make you feel, you won’t be lasting very long.”

And with that she immediately starts making out with you again. It’s sloppy and desperate and not something you would expect from Ellie. But this vulnerable side just seems so much more like her. You pull at her hair, and she fucking moans, the slutty sound sending heat straight down to your pussy.

You pull away again, and she looks up at you like she’s about to cry if she doesn’t touch you. You shakily nod and she bites your neck hard. Thank god you’re wearing a high collar button up.

“Fuck, Ellie.” You yelp, a little too loud, so she shuts you up by soothing the bite marks with her wet tongue. You whine for more, trying any way you can to pull her closer.

She hits a particularly sensitive spot, you gasp and open your eyes. You remember where you are, and look around in her closet. It’s a decent sized walk-in one. Everything’s sorted by color and style. Gorgeous shoes are on racks on the side. A nice fancy chaise is in the middle. You see a few name brand purses throughout. Between Ellie’s teeth and your envy for her life, you feel on fire.

“You always get what you want.” You seethe through your teeth.

“Shut your fucking mouth. Right now is about you.” She pulls away from your neck and reaches straight down to your jeans. She pauses, looking at you to ask for permission. You gulp, nodding to tell her you want her to. She unbuttons your pants and lets them fall down your legs just a little bit, to give herself better access to your panties.

She pulls those down too, and places two fingers to where you’re wet. She gasps, and you cover your face with your hands. “Shit, no.” She pulls down your arms with her non dominant hand, and quickly places a kiss on your cheek. “You’re not gonna hide from me, baby.”

You nod, swallowing. You can feel her making circles around you, wanting to push in. “Please, Ellie.” You beg. You’ve never sounded more desperate in your life.

With one swift motion she pushes two fingers inside you, and pushes you back so that you land against the wall. You gasp and are about to retort, but you accidentally cut yourself off with a moan as Ellie starts pumping her fingers in and out of you. Her other hand is up against the wall above you. You whimper as she picks up pace, this kind of stuff only happens in fiction. You don’t want to cover your face again, so you try turning away from her. She immediately grabs your chin with her spare hand and forces you to face her. “You better look at me when I’m fucking you.” She stares directly into your eyes.

You moan at how rough and fucking gentle she is at the same time. You don’t know why you’re surprised, but you can tell she wants you to enjoy this. Thinking about it, this actually doesn’t benefit her in any way. She’s not the one getting off. In fact, she’d be in major shit if anyone walked into the room.

With each passing second, she’s getting faster. Picking up her pace and making no attempt to be quiet, grunting in your ear. You look down and see her tattoo flexing as she uses her whole arm to fuck you.

“Yeah, you’re gonna fucking cum onto my fingers like you know what’s good for yah. Making a fucking mess on me, shit. So wet, dollface.” She mutters through her teeth. You knew she loved to talk, but she especially loves to talk when she’s making you feel so good.

Just a few more sentences and you’re coming undone, your legs shake and she has to hold your hip to keep you in place.

“Uuugh.. mm. ‘M gonna cum, Ellie.”

“Fucking give it to me.” She huffs out and curls her fingers up into you. Immediately white hot pleasure takes over you. You’re cumming on her fingers just how she wanted. She’s still holding onto you, making sure you don’t fall as she fucks you through your orgasm. She’s fucking magical, making your orgasm last as long as she can, until your eyes are rolling back and you’re whining that it’s too much.

You’re finally able to slow down your breathing and take in what just happened. God, that was good. So much better than when you fucked yourself to the thought of her.

Ellie brings the two fingers she used on you up to her mouth and sucks on them. She even makes eye contact with you until she’s done cleaning them. Your jaw was already on the floor. Now it’s 6 feet below.

You hear Jesse say “Fuck” from downstairs, so you quickly pull your pants back up and button up your shirt in a mirror. Ellie fixes her hair and walks out of the closet, meeting Jesse and Dina as they come into the room.

“She spilled one.” Jesse says, nodding towards Dina who’s holding a tray of now three margaritas.

“Are they actually virgin?” Ellie crosses her arms.

“For once, yeah.” Dina says. “So. Who’s not getting one?”

You practically march out of the closet, “I want it. I’m fucking thirsty.” You greedily grab the drink from off the tray and take a large sip. All three of your friends are staring at you, and you bring it down from your lips. “What! Trying on clothes gets tiring okay?” You whine.

“Fuck it. ‘S my house. I’m getting one.” Ellie says.

“And I’m not the one who spilled it.” Jesse sticks his tongue out at Dina, who rolls her eyes.

The four of you sit down on the couch in Ellie’s room. You’re sitting next to Ellie, she crosses her legs and puts her arm around you.

Dina and Jesse give her a look, but she handles it so smoothly, you swear she’s prepared for anything. “Fuck it, you’re officially part of our group now. Gon’ stay by my side longer than just the rest of the week.” She announces, lightly punching you in the arm.

Jesse holds up his drink, “To Cady?” He prompts, looking between you and Ellie.

She nods, holding hers out to meet Jesse’s. You bring yours up too. “To Cady!” All four of you say, and Dina squeals and claps her hands.

You look over to Ellie. She’s still holding you in her arm, she smiles softly, grabs your side and brings you in a little closer.

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[johnslittlespoon]

Hello, gorgeous!

First of all, thank you for the joy of reading the first chapter of Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me).

I just have one question: Will future chapters show us Gale’s POV as well? Personally, I’d love to see young, shy Bucky through the eyes of an older Gale.

HIII sweetest human!! <3 no thank YOU for reading omg and for the kind words plsss :')) and for giving me an excuse to talk ab this LOL. tldr: future chapters no, future parts/drabbles yes!!

i was actually so indecisive about this when i started plotting the fic because while i enjoy reading fics with alternating povs just as much as fics without them, i've never written one with them and i wasn't sure if i'd enjoy/be good at switching mindsets like that!

i ultimately decided to stick to john's pov for that reason, but also because i thought as the reader, having to see things through his eyes and only being able to guess about gale the way john does would be more intriguing, especially with john's view of the world/interactions warped and/or rose–tinted by youth, inexperience, emotional dysregulation, etc.

BUT sooo much of what i have written in my drafting doc is from gale's pov because i love picturing this bucky through his eyes too, it's just such a fresh and new dynamic for me to explore as someone who primarily writes mota–verse buckbucky, and what we see from john's pov is so different from how gale sees things of course lol.

like it drives me insane thinking about how this poor man was literally just living his peaceful life, fine with being solo, going through the routine every day of work and then bike club and then home, and suddenly he's got this golden retriever of a boy attached to him like a magnet, and he's being kept on his toes dealing with the bundle of energy, and each day is now unpredictable and as exciting as it is stressful and he has no one to blame but himself lol. and the way we don't get to see the self–restraint he has to have and the struggle to be responsible and do what's 'right' while also dealing with his own feelings, because john isn't aware that's going on inside gale's head!

i could go on and on about his side of things aughghgh so i think eventually i'll end up doing a pretty lengthy oneshot sorta thing of certain events in the actual fic through gale's eyes (kinda what i plan on doing with yadiym for john's pov) bc goddd i have so many thoughts about how all of this would be playing out from his perspective!!! if not a oneshot, then drabbles like this one i hope.

if i had the time and if it wouldn't be boring to read i would honestly just rewrite the whole fic from gale's pov once it's done because with every scene i write, i'm like ooo i wanna dive into his pov and talk about what he's thinking and seeing so BAD but i can't bc we're in john's head </3 i just love analyzing john through his eyes and ik i've yapped ab this so much in past posts but gale does see so much of his younger self in him, that's why he has a lot of patience and takes a liking to him so fast, even if he doesn't realize that right away. :')

at the very least i definitely want to write pwp oneshots/drabbles set in the TAS universe from gale's pov so i can gush over describing how pretty and sweet and mouthy john is LOL i'm sure i'll add the fic itself to a series like with my dog–coded fic so that i can build on the au with oneshots once it's done >:-)

this is such a longwinded response (what else is new!) but you poked the bubble in my brain that's been agonizing over wanting to delve into gale's pov so <3 this is much more rambling than your question warranted but thx JSDKG

[celestie0]

Ooof, sorry if come across rude or anything negative. Just saw your post ihm ex wife asks and how people were being rude or weirdly jealous. I hoped that my ask about knowing more about ihm ex wife, didn’t come off as being weird or rude person. ( I’m the that mention Lana del Rey)

It Seems at one point she’s going be added into the story? Correct me if I’m wrong but that’s really exciting!

Your whole au is my obsessed anyways apologize if came off ass weird/rude :(

hi love! mm yea, i think your ask did contribute to those feelings, mainly the part where you said you entirely block the ex wife part of the story out of your mind because you can’t imagine him w someone else other than reader

i don’t know, i have actually gotten similar asks for kickoff when i had a couple people tell me they skipped all of the scenes with kai in it bc they didn’t want to read about any other guy other than gojo

thing is, those are just things you don’t have to tell an author. if you do block things out or skip things, that’s fine. but just because you have access to communicate with a fanfic author doesn’t mean you should share those things with them. readers forget that we, fanfic authors, have a much more deeply invested personal interest in these stories as the creators of them, than a reader might have. it’s different from texting your friend “oh i dislike xyz ab this story”…because you’re literally sending those words to the person who put all their hard work n time into writing it lol

i try to put this into perspective, but for the whole kai thing for example: i spent a great deal of time planning those scenes out, spent a great deal of time writing & editing those scenes, n ultimately believe those scenes contribute greatly to the dynamics of the story. for people to straight up tell me they skipped those scenes, it’s odd and upsetting for sure.

i’m also like, what are you accomplishing by telling me that you skipped like half the chapter, or that you entirely dismiss parts of my story?…i have thought about this sooo much in trying to understand why tf i get asks like that, or why people think it’s appropriate to share those things with me, and the conclusion i can think of is that people are trying to subconsciously push me towards writing a story that THEY want by telling me the exact parts of my story that they entirely disregard/will disregard. and that makes me feel so icky, like i’m lowkey being manipulated into people pleasing people just cuz i post stuff for free. same goes for pressuring asks i get about writing more smut. those feel even more gross to me tbh, and it entirely kills my drive to write

i’m already struggling to find motivation to create stories among all the other insanity of things going on in my life. so yea words like that definitely do affect me, esp when it’s not just from one person, which i could probs write off as some internet troll, but from like 15+ different readers saying the same thing over n over n over again. and i KNOW i have so many wonderful readers n i’m endlessly grateful…but i’m starting to feel like chappell roan rn where i’m starting to realize maybe i’m just not cut out for this lmfaooo. it’s strange i’ve like literally seen people d** in real time but stan tumblr is what breaks me 💀💀 this shit is nottttt for the weak bahahah i see why so many authors leave

since i started posting here in january, i’ve dealt w people who would shame me for not posting updates at the time i said i would, i’ve dealt w people who would pressure me for updates, i’ve dealt w people who would pressure me for smut, i’ve dealt with people who have reduced my stories to nothing but smut, i’ve dealt with people who have made death threats against kickoff gojo for having commitment issues, i had a person straight up tell me they were “disappointed in the direction” of all of ch7 of kickoff, i had someone comment “he should’ve done ___ instead. will not be reading this fic anymore”, i’ve dealt w so many people belittle n disregard the whole ihm ex wife plotline. i’ve literally cried over some of these asks/comments, n i’ve felt embarrassed over some of them too. i’m just a person.

and i know i know i know i shouldnt focus on the negative interactions, i should just focus on the positive ones. but yknow how much mental real estate that takes to do? i’d consider myself to be a pretty mentally healthy person to be very honest, but even i have a hard time w doing that lmfao.

and then, to make things worse, i get scared that calling readers out for this kind of stuff will just make people fearful to interact with me in the future. and then im like damn i suck lol

in any case, i accept your apology. it’s not that deep at the end of the day i suppose, and i don’t want you to feel bad about it. there are bigger issues in this world rn than fanfiction on tumblr. also sorry i kinda used your ask to say all of this but i just wanted to share my perspective plus i’m pmsing so i’m emo lol i’m just waiting for my estrogen to rise at this point so i can feel human again n i might end up regretting posting this but anyways thanks xxx

[yakultii]

unpopular opinion (on this website at least) that I’m yet to change (feel free to gently change my mind tho - I swear I’m openminded I just have rejection sensitivity dysphoria if u hit too hard but also I grew up queer and neurodiverse in rural aus so I can kinda take it) but I really do (as of rn) feel like ChatGP/ai haters come from a place of immense privilege in 2024 (and personally I feel I do have that privilege where I could easily formulate an argument to hate it), obvs it’s not ethical in so many ways but neither are many things (don’t get me started) and sometimes you reach a need for survival in which you’ll utilise any tool presented to you at your convenience (not that “if you can’t beat em join em mentality” lmaohelp) and no I’m not talking about writing a uni essay or creating art (bc personally I’d never use it for either of those things) but why are people so mad about using it as a search engine or planner etc (u can enlighten me fr cos maybe I’m missing something) like if you don’t need it for that, don’t use it for that who cares (maybe u are better than everyone go on slayer) but we all mad about everything all the time. obviously it’s biased yada yada yada but you can manipulate it to be whatever kind of biased you want it to be, the same way you do with google! and if you approach it w the same critical view you do when u use other sites idk. plus if ur doing genuine research ur obvs not using ChatGPT (ur probs not using google either) ur probs using it to clarify ideas before then finding other more credible sites. The problem I do strongly consider is it probably does mean that future generations won’t develop high level critical thinking skills but we were on the path anyway lmao maybe I’m not who I think I am, maybe I’m now a nihilist lmao why am I even yapping. actually no - idk that much ab evolution but maybe quick thought, isn’t it likely that humans are going to adapt to critically think in different wahs about different things? the same way we once critically thought about our survival in the caves and nowadays we be thinking about what we post on social media(lol I should do more of that rn) whichever way society goes we gon be just fine. it ain’t gonna feel fine at all for a lot of us but… yeah idk I give up.

[adanaac]

Could I ask about your OC's? Specifically Ophicucus and Tsuru, I love how majestic Ophi is drawn and Tsuru fascinates me both with the concept and also how lovely you have illustrated him.

I hope you are well, and thank you again for helping me with my questions o7.

Sincerely HMAD.

oh good i get to talk about my son!!

my blorbo my beloved my babygirl he means everything to me

i made him in 2017 so hes sort of grown up with me (or i've grown up and realised things about him that i couldn't have when i was younger. i have so many complicated feelings abt this that i made a short comic about it last year)

to preface this im not a great writer dont expect good writing from me lol all i have is my personal experience and stealing tropes from stories i like

(got a lot to say so its all going under the cut. also a lot of death mention)

So. who is this dude

Tsuru (not his real name in-story, i havent come up with one im happy with), 18 years old, a ghost

he has a little sister, Ori, 15, who was meant to be my sona but then i just drew him more and like drawing him more anyway

first 2 drawings i ever did of him. he was based off natori natsume yuujinchou at this point, i dont remember why or if i even liked natori that much, but i remember distinctly hes based off him

u may have noticed he sort of looks older in my older art. this is because first of all art style drift lol but also as ive gotten older ive figured out that 18 isnt actually that old.

theres also a black haired version of him (two actually) its basically something like this ⬇️

important to know that everything about this dude is a convoluted metaphor

i lovingly summarize white tsuru as "people pleaser" and black tsuru as "nihilist prick" in my head and those are the things consistent throughout all the AU versions of him

(important differences only to me) alive tsuru doesnt act like black tsuru at all thats just his warped self perception (he also doesnt act exactly like white tsuru either)

also alive tsuru has black eyes and the shortest hair, black tsuru has blue eyes and slightly longer hair (also white tsuru is slightly taller than both of them)

if they all existed at the same time they would hate each other on sight but fortunately (unfortunately?) he is just 1 dude with issues

the general vibe is white tsuru is the "yippee floaty trickster" brand of ghost and black tsuru is the sort of ghost in horror media that stands just outside your field of view in the darkness dripping with blood

for the longest time only white haired tsuru was a "character", "black haired tsuru" existed just as his corpse at most, a footnote

but over the past 2 years ive figured that hes actually really fun to draw and play with, and in a different way than white tsuru

(wait fuck isnt this just abe trio. i do always almost accidentally draw tsuru when im trying to draw haruaki.... fuck.....)

(ive had tsuru for long enough that i just keep tacking details from my fav characters onto him.....)

halls smp

so ive been on this minecraft roleplay server called halls smp with other artists for the past 2 years, theres a new season of it every few months with a different theme each time to keep things fresh and ive just been making AU versions of tsuru for it so ive had a lot of opportunity to think about him

season 1 - halloween - jiangshi tsuru

this one is almost entirely unchanged from his base characterization because i didnt want to rp too much and also didnt know there would be future seasons at this point (also basically after the first day i gave up on being called "tsuru" bc its too hard to pronounce and everyone called me canada anyway)

same basic story, guy dies and theres now a white haired version of him (actually this is the same for all the AUs). in fact im pretty sure the black haired version of this one is exactly base alivetsuru. basically what ive been interested in exploring is different kinds of death, the events leading up to it, and what kind of person he becomes afterwards (but also in equal amounts im interested in making fun designs and playing minecraft and fucking around)

(this feels like the start of the beginners guide...)

i associate him with doves and at the time, tarot card 18: the moon, but in retrospect i now think he's card 0: the fool.

season 2 - winter - ishmael

guy who died at sea and eaten by a interdimensional whale and got isekaied. loosely conceptually based off moby dick, although i havent actually read it LOL but i did spend a week reading up on drowning and hypothermia

strangely, his death didnt create a white haired version of him, perhaps because he didnt have anything in life to give up his identity and replace it with. (and also remember the hair color doesnt actually mean dead/alive)

im only calling him ishmael now in retrospect, at the time he was just tsuru/canada

while designing him i had the biggest crisis bc i didnt want him to look to much like this old old oc i had (pic 1) but then i sucked it up and went with it anyway

i never got around to drawing it but his fingers are black from frostbite thats why he wears gloves all the time.

hes one of my favorite iterations of tsuru he looks so mad or upset all the time it makes me want to tease him, and also i think the grey skin and eyebags are very cute

i associate him with whales and tarot card 18: the moon

season 3 - golden grove - fox tsuru

honestly i think this is my favorite design of him i kinda popped off. i think im just a lot more comfortable working with warm colors. and also i associate white tsuru with foxes anyway (black tsuru is totally a catboy btw) (why is he not associated with cranes if his name is tsuru you ask?? bc cranes are hard to draw next question. he did start out based off cranes tbf, thats where the white hair and the tallness comes from)

dead fox possessing his dead human friend's body (although thats only the most literal interpretation of events; in all these iterations there's only ever been 1 person) the white tsurus are mostly interested in "moving on", whatever that means to each of them

btw my banner on this blog is him

hes sort of a set with s2 tsuru to me, mostly bc theyre the ideals that "white tsuru" and "black tsuru" hold taken to the extremes, and also theyre on opposite ends of the "hates people hates talking" and "loves to talk and mess with people" scale

anyway. hes tarot card 10: wheel of fortune to me

season 4 - wild west - mirage

the desert dragon, mirage. this is the season i started giving them actual names that arent "tsuru" and putting actual thought into the story lol previously it was just vibes-based character design. i have a short thing written about him thats meant to be the script for a comic, but i never got around to drawing it.

a sandworm-esque dragon that got tired of being a dragon and took up a passing witch's offer to give him a human form. this is all a metaphor i think. he has longer hair bc i wanted to spice things up a little

(also i consider this a form of death bc he left behind a giant sandworm/dragon skeleton somewhere in the desert)

the mirage-dragon thing comes from the shen 蜃 (which is used in the chinese word for mirage, 海市蜃楼 haishi shenlou, literally translating to "ocean city and shen's castle"). it's a clam-like dragon that produces foam that creates mirages over the ocean.

if u read "even if you slit my mouth", this is what the "shinkiro" or "shin" in recent chapters is. (i had one of those "smug because i already know all about the mythological creature a story is referencing" moments, which i also had with the four gods in yohaji bc i used to translate a game that mentioned them too)

isnt it romantic in a way? that the two places mirages are most known for happening are the ocean and the desert.

i dont have too much art of him because around this time i was uhhh (checks calendar) got back into yohaji and got consumed by it for a couple months lol (can u even blame me. it was july to september that was when like chapter 91 came out lol)

an earlier version of his design that i didnt end up using but i still really like this art

hes tarot card 9: the hermit to me

season 5 - fairytales/medieval - ophiuchus

NO FUCKING WAY YOURE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS for this one i actually ironed out what kind of people the black haired and white haired versions of him are. and also specifically this one isnt black tsuru but alive tsuru

i have a short poem thing about him, to summarize its like so many other fairytales about grateful animals granting their saviors something, but it doesnt end well for anyone

hes based off ophiuchus and asclepius of course, but also a lot of other snake stories in general, like the lindwurm and baishezhuan

to reiterate, for none of these stories do i consider there to ever actually have been 2 separate people, its always just 1 fucked up guy

i also sort of consider him to be a set with mirage, for both being serpents, and also for being "black tsuru whose personality is like white tsuru" and "white tsuru whose personality is like black tsuru", thereby codifying for myself that to him, someone who's stuck in his own head a lot, what matters most to him is his ideals, what all his actions are in pursuit of

he's tarot card 12: the hanged man to me

bonus: dnd character - alba

i also have a version of him i play for dnd, named alba to match with my party who all have color themed names. a halfling ranger who's very small and very loud. except he has amnesia and cant remember anything from before he was 12 (hes around 18 now according to him), including that he's actually a changeling who just transformed into a halfling to seem older than he is to work at a bar and nearly died in a bar fight.

(if you spend as much time fretting over semantics as me, you may note that changelings are medium sized and cannot transform into halflings which are small sized, for which my explanation is that he's been in halfling form since he was a kid, and after the amnesia he thought he actually was a halfling. this is also why his hair is white btw bc changelings have white hair. pre-amnesia in his "actual" halfling transformation he had black hair. i care too much about semantics but hey isnt dnd the semantics game anyway?)

anyway congrats alba for being the only version of tsuru that hasn't outright "died"!! if only because dnd has actual rules and i can't pull my usual death-ghost nonsense as easily!!!

hes very ship of theseus to me, all versions of him are. what makes up a person? what defines them? is it their face, their appearance, their name? their personality, their memories, their ideals? if you slowly replace each of those, one at a time, with a copy thats very similar to the original, at what point are you a different person?

as thanks for reading all of this i'll reveal what some of the metaphors are, the core of who tsuru, as a character, is to me. maybe this is fairly obvious, but all the death and personality weirdness stuff is a convoluted metaphor for depression and autism, as well as the experience of reading the things you've written years ago, seeing old photos and others talking about who you were years ago and finding that person wholly unfamiliar, that you understand the thought process of that person no more than you would a stranger's, as a result of having taken apart your identity and replaced it piece by piece with things from people you like more than yourself.

im always scared of scrutinizing tsuru too hard because he's just a weird reflection of myself, and i think i'll only be able to write a version of him thats more of a "whole person" once i figure that out for myself. the only way you see your own reflection is through a mirror after all, a flattened 2D surface.

haha this got kinda weird and depressing and personal at the end (mostly bc ive been writing this in the middle of the night, its now 4am)

after seeing my soul laid bare like this, if theres one takeaway, i think its pretty obvious why i'm so enamored by the parts of yohaji that i talk about often (huh wasnt this a post about my oc why did it become about yohaji)

oh yeah i just realised u probably also wanted to hear more about my yohaji version of tsuru specifically. honestly theres not really more to it i just like drawing him in situations. like of course the same themes apply but i just like drawing this dude thats 90% the reason hes my sona. like heres a pokemon au of him i drew recently bc i wanted to draw them as kids and also as pokemon gijinkas

anyway thats all. not really bc i could go on and on about him but this is way too long and also way too personal at this point. i think about him a disproportionate amount, i only have 2 other ocs i remotely care about and the extent of my thoughts for those guys is "i think hes fun 👍"

this has probably also been like, the 3rd most comprehensive description of tsuru that ive made, 1st being the thoughts in my head and 2nd being the past 5 years worth of DMs with my friend who i talk about tsuru with

(why was this sort of structured like the beginners guide. if youve seen the beginners guide tell me if im right or delusional. if u havent, go watch a playthrough of it, have an existential crisis, and then afterwards tell me)

[lowkeychenle]

see my sea is my comfort fic fr like i love the trope of mc being anti romance due to prior experiences and love interest changes the fact ,, i enjoy them cos i relate to it n then the other reason is bc its chenle ?? theres a lack of GOOOOD written works for him (or any written works for that matter) (i mean like aside from like 7drm headcanons n reactions, theres not tew many chenle x reader in comparison to the other dreamies)

so the fact that your blog is enriched w chenle works = immediate follow

+ oh and ur chenle smut is so good too?? = post notifs on! literally digging thru the chenle smut tag is sooo 😐😐 so i can only rely on u my friend 😔 thank u 4 ur service<3

i would like to reiterate how much i love ur jaemle series as a fellow jaemle stan..... pretty sure i sent u an ask about it and your guidelines surrounding it but idk if i ever sent it bc i was half asleep (no like actually frl lmao) or if tumblr ate my ask

i also was the anon who asked ab emoji anons n oh i def would love to (/gen) but idk how much i'd be interacting cos im in a bit of a mental rut atm so my social interaction is looowww. still supporting my fav blogs tho no worries, w rbs opposed to asks :<

all that being said , i was js curious ab ur current wips if u have any or if ur main focus is on 'is it over now' ? was wondering what we could expect from u is all, no pressure whatsoever!

HIIII <3 omg thank you for reading my work and loving it and also following me that's so cute :')

I've received a couple asks about the Jaemle series and I do plan on continuing it, I'm just not sure when lollll. I have a bunch of misc. smut ideas I'll be writing at some point. These next few months are super busy for me as I'm hoping to graduate in August this year, but that means I, unfortunately, do not have much writing time.

I hope you feel better soon for real :( mental ruts are the WORST I was just in one myself so make sure you take care of yourself <3 if you ever just want to chat, you're more than welcome to send me a message :)

Some of my current wips include:

Is It Over Now? - Chenle x Reader / Jisung x Reader! Based off of the song of the same name by Taylor Swift. This one is crazy and I'm still kinda questioning myself on how to end it (because I'm a chenle slut but how do you like...pivot on bad behavior idk)

Somewhere Else - ??? x Reader; lol I'm thinking Mark or Jaemin for this one. They seem to fit the picture in my head more than Chenle for this one unfortunately. Basically just an achingly fluffy piece with some smut in it lol

Stars Aligned - Chenle x Reader; basically Mastermind by Taylor Swift but he for sure knows the whole time and when the relationship becomes public (ex. gets exposed), things start to switch up

Several miscellaneous smuts that just pop into my head randomly. I have like 10 docs of just random smut scenes I haven't completed yet LOL

And then, of course, I have some text au reqs in my inbox I'm working on and my new smau titled Musically Inclined. That one is fun lol.

[willow-lark]

you put out your call for talking about fantasy byler and my brain immediatrly went !!!!! except there's no coherent thoughts, just microwaving all the st characters as fantasy versions of themselves

anyway, fantasy byler is >>>>> and you're doing a saintly act by posting your fantasy au 💜

since i'm dry on fantasy byler ideas rn (or at least coherent enough ones to bombard your inbox with), i have a question: thoughts on fantasy stoncy? 👀

okay HELLO! fantasy stoncy my beloveds yes yes YES! if u don't mind i think i might use this ask as an opportunity to think/talk ab stoncy specifically in my fantasy au only bc i have been attempting to write a stoncy tie-in to that universe for stoncy week for like. the past week and it is Not working in my brain. but honestly there r SO many ways their dynamic fits into all kinds of fantasy aus so. i have many thoughts.

ok!! so. in my fantasy au stoncy starts off first with jancy. while the wheelers are in lenora, nancy doesn't really clock that jonathan exists. jonathan knows who she is--her brother is over at his house constantly, ofc, and he'll see her around in town. he thinks she's pretty, but doesn't want to cross the boundaries of class and really just admires her from afar. (AND NOW I'M THINKING AB JANCY AS WILL TURNER AND ELIZABETH SWANN ADGFDFJYKL MY HEART) anyways. perhaps they have one or two brief interactions, but never anything prolonged. jonathan isn't nearly as broken up about it when the wheelers move back to the capital, and he's got more important things to worry about like taking care of his family than some girl he never even talked to.

on the other side, nancy enters society in the capital at age 18, a year after the move, and a match is quickly set up between her and Steven Harrington, who is not a knight but whose father is an advisor to the king, and is part of a high-ranked noble family. Steve is immediately struck by her sharp wit and ambition, and Nancy feels affection for him as well. they are married when she is 19. (i am still trying to figure out how to fit barb in here, but at some point her death by demogorgon attack puts a strain on their relationship.) they don't have any kids YET by the time of fantasy au, but they are fairly happy--not perfectly so, but their relationship is by no means akin to karen and ted's.

at the time of fantasy au, jonathan was by no means expecting to get a letter personally from mike about will having been taken in battle, much less to be invited back to maple house with will and his mom as will recovers. he's not very impressed with steve upon arrival, who (though improved from when he and nancy were first married) gives off an air of doucheyness. he is attracted to nancy again, though, who actually knows his name now!

after an insensitive first impression (specifics TBD) steve, of his own accord and with nancy's support, decides to befriend and make it up to jonathan, who is skeptical at first but then we get some of that stonathan goodness, an examination of their class differences, and them eventually bonding. this is where it starts. romance begins to build between them, but jonathan keeps deflecting it. he is the most cognizant of the three about propriety (stancy are privileged enough to disregard it). but at this point nancy has grown fond of him as well, and she and steve discuss what they want to do about it. one thing leads to another, jonathan is won over, and things go incredibly well for the three of them :D

[clemencetaught]

get to know the author!

name : ferre

pronouns :  they/them

preference of communication : discord, but i can do tumblr ims. honestly, i’m slow on both but i’m a tad quicker to get back to ppl on discord….although again, these days i prefer to keep my discord to solely those whom i feel ooc wise comfortable around!

most active muse :  this guy ( patrick ) clawed his way into single muse blog status with the number of times he gave me brainrot on my multimuse so i’d say it’s probably patrick :’D

experience / how many years :  like about on-and-off for about 8 years? i did do a little bit back in 2013 in quizilla ims which was my introduction to rp before i started formally on tumblr in 2015….that being said i was on-and-off for about the first three years until in 2018 when i made calum- he was the first muse of mine that actually like, stuck :’D that being said, i did also take like a year hiatus in 2020 before coming back in 2021 so uh….eight years might not be the most accurate number jfksdljfkl

best experience : this attempt so far?? Has been so wonderful and i wouldn’t change any of what has happened for the world- my mutuals and writing partners are so skilled and friendly and patient and LITERALLY some of their muses have managed to elicit responses and character development from my muses that i would have NEVER imagined :’D but if we have to go specific….maybe it’s the hunger games au verse i dragged some ppl into?? the plotting and characters they have come up with is PHENOMENAL and wow, i’m gonna stuck to them all like super glue for 5ever &lt;3

rp pet peeves : so many! my biggest ones, however, are self-centered and inconsiderate partners: those who disregard my rules, those who talk only about their own muses in every thread and plotting interaction, those who only seem to take interest in my blog(s) when it involves receiving writing from me. That and blogs that follow first but never make a move/any indication of interest, not even a like on my posts….no offense, but i’m not chasing after you. Other pet peeves include facechasing, trauma dumping ( ooc and ic ), and drama. oh, and partners who just don’t?? Respond to my attempts at some kind of ooc interaction- it can even be in tags, but if you’re not saying anything then that kills my enthusiasm very quickly.

fluff, angst, or smut : see, i want character development and exploration in my threads so i don’t think it’s fair to split up threads into these categories bc if done with intention, you can learn something new about your muse and your partner’s muse in any thread ( and yes, that includes the crack threads- DON’T UNDERESTIMATE ME :D ) i will say though, smut is highly unlikely here just bc patrick is demisexual + it’s gonna take like 2839402384098 years for him and hyuk to look at and act on each other in that manner :’D

plots or memes : plotting <3 but memes are good for starting off plotted dynamics tho!! most times, however, i’m not a fan of first meetings either. I like to have some kind of dynamic/backstory to go off of and would rather not overstep any boundaries so you’re not really a plotter… we might not be a good match. 

long or short replies : see, patrick is a literature professor. for someone softspoken and reserved, he has a TON of thoughts and opinions so whenever i do try to keep things short and sweet, he bucks against it and will give me at least three paragraphs….over 1000 words too. we’re very ( not ) sorry :’D

time to write : depends on what’s happening at work and what my mood is. I do try to do my writing in the afternoon/morning though as most days i feel like i haven’t done anything productive/meaningful until i’ve written at least something.

are you like your muses : hahahaha, nah. I mean, we do have similar interests ( ie. literature and working in higher ed ), but personality-wise he’s much more stiff and erudite than me :’D i will say i think all characters we write do have pieces of ourselves in them, otherwise they’d never be able to grow, but for the most part, no i don’t think i’m really like patrick <3 at the very least, i'm not nearly as repressed as him fjskdlfjsl

tagged by: @wynterlanding ( thank you so much ♡ )

tagging: take it if you would like!! i'm would be curious to see how you describe your own rp style :3

[minheeskitten]

May go insane. May write ivan getting a name carved into him. Idk. We'll see.

Deity chiwoo is a thing i love rn so. Fight me.

Also. My characterizations of the members do change a lot. Based on info i have. Based on AU im in. And i am always writing in an AU.

Current AUs conquering my brain: Deity!chiwoo Cultist!ivan.

Cultist ivan lives rent free.

Siren!ivan is another. Oh gods i love him.

Theres also sugar baby arthur.

Oh and the bear hybrid jahan

Oh and dolohin themed Siren!mujin. Ft octopus louis. Against poor arthur. Dolphins are evil. But i write in aus so. :)

There was a yandere ish ivan that i was batting around for a bit but it's not been posted and idk if it will be tbh bcs idk if I'll finish it.

I have so many more things i just. Need to actually write instead of thinking ab them lol

[maiseui]

HOLY FUCKFKFUCKDUCKDUCKDUCKFC HOLY FUCKCK LIKE HOLY FUCUUCUKDMK ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ JEMSJDKFJEFKJDD. IM KITERALLY LOSING IT BRO WHAT THE FUCJ KK KKK 😭😭😭��😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

bro. bro. BRO. WHAT YHE CUCJCK??????? like the fucking 180 gave me WHIPLASH AND I MEAN THAT IN THE BEST ‼️ WAY ‼️ POSSIBLE ‼️ LIKE THE START OF RHE CHAPTER TURNED OUT REALLY SLOW AND I LOVE THAT U KINDA DRAGGED OUT THE CONVERSATION AND MADE JIA NOTICE ALL THESE TINY TINY TINY ABOUT HIM ; i can’t tell if it’s just your writing style or if it’s her characterisation but she definitely notices so many little things and she amplifiesit like crazyyyyyy?? I THINK ITS RLLY ENTERTAINING ACTUALLY bc I LIKE HEARING WHAT SHE THINKS AB JUNGKOOK?? ANYWAY IT SYARTED OF SLOW AND THEN U COULD LITERALLY -FEEL- THE CHAPTER SLOWLY AND SLOWLY AMP UP AND THEN FUCKING BAM!!!! CRAZY PSYCHO EVIL VAMPIRE JUNGKOOK IS HERE ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ bro the way. i screamed. jaw dropped . this was insnae i have my head in my hands I FUCKING LOVE IT

The dialogue is Delectable. fucking Delicious. “the world calls for that nosiness” 😫😫😫 “i don’t bite, jia” YEAH U DO BABY 😫😫😫😫 “WHY SHOULD I DO THAT”??? 😵😵🤭🤭🤭 yes. yes. THIS IS MY SHIT RIGHT HEREEEEEE GIVE ME THE FUCKING CRAZINESS THE CREEPINESS THE FUCKING ARROGANCE BC HES SUPERNAYURAL HELL YEAAA IM IN LOVEEE w this reveal like it fucking amped up the story so much and i love it 💖💖💖 GIRL U DID SO WELL PLS U DESERVE SM Head pats 😭 IT WAS SOOO THRILLING READING THE LAST SCENE AND NOW IM LEFT W SO MANY. QUESTIONS LIKE WHO TF WAS HE TALKING TO??? THE PRIEST OF THE CHURCH OR ANOTHER CHURCHGOER ORSOMEONE IN KAZUHAS LIFE LIKE??? WHO???? ALSO IM LOOKING AT THE FORCED ROOMATES AU LIKE HUH???? IM SO CURIOIS TO SEE THE FUCKING EVENTS THAT LEAD UP TO THAT LIKE IM SATTTTT IM SO SAT FOR THIS ‼️‼️

also jia most definitely despises jungkook now like there ain’t no way she’s gna be like o? u bit n killed her ? me next pwetty pwease 🥺 WHICH MAKES THIS SO MUCH MORE JUICYYYYY LIKE ENEMIES TO LOVERS FUCK YEAAA BITCH ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

anyways u rlly did stop taking c******* bc girl u were hungry and guess what u did? U DEVOURED. U FUCKING ATE BRO THIS WAS SOOOOOSOSOSOSO GOOD I CANT EXPRESS THAT ENOUGH!!! the characters r so interesting and the plot is so intriguing w all these diff tropes so icant wait to see where this goes 😭💖💖ASL OTHE WRITING HERE WAS SOO POIGNANT I REALLY LOVE THE WAY UOU WRITE: SO CALM WITH SPARKS OF ELECTRICITY HERE IN THERE WHEN IT REALLY MATTERS I LOVE IT

lets gaur MANIFESTING CHAPTER 3 SOON 🕯️🕯️🕯️

jeon jungkook being perfect was a fact you could vouch for; up until he appeared to church without his dear fiancée and his chocolate coloured eyes that delineated so much kindness. the question is—why is it just you noticing his sinister differences?

pairing : jungkook x you (as jia). au(s) : vampire!jungkook, forced roommates!au, enemies to lovers!au. genres : dark romance, mutual pining, slowburn, angst, innuendos of suggestive themes.

content : you tear down jungkook’s fake front of being the most generous soul without knowing he’s an attractive yet menacing curse who lived for way too long. on days you want him to vanish, you sway at his sickly charms—and so does he.

your relationship with jungkook tied into a playlist.

previous chapter. next chapter. chapter directory. masterlist.

chapter two.

word count : 6,4k.

“can you spare some time?” jungkook now smiles in the way you expect. late for you and your suspicions. at this point, you’re just thinking—”surprise me more, jungkook.”

“coffee’s on me.” you suggest gladly. “it’s for yesterday.” 

jungkook raises a brow. “are you sure?”

“let me,” you coax. “i’d say the time is quite perfect for it.” you appeal even further as you scan your surroundings once more. everyone’s already gone to where they should be. should you be pleased that no one is near?

“undeniably a perfect time to share cups of coffee.” jungkook nods like he just bought your seduction. “sounds like a plan.”

“you said it was your first day today?” you almost confirm for yourself. this guy hosts chaos in his life; he has too many things going on. you won’t even be shocked if he confesses that he’s actually a father of two children. “how about we walk over to the café at the front? it won’t be as busy as before, so don’t worry about running late to anything.” 

“i wouldn’t have asked you if i was in a hurry.” jungkook tilts his head in amusement. “do you have somewhere to be?”

you shake your head in denial. “not exactly.”

“let’s take our time then, shall we?”

the next thing you know, you’re walking side by side with him. he’s half a head taller than you as he strides with confidence under the tender sunlight; one hand hooked onto his jean pocket, his beautifully proportioned legs leads him into taking bigger steps compared to yours. he’s more focused on the scene ahead of him rather than glimpsing at you back and forth; which is an act you’d predict from him, knowing how much of a smart conversationalist he is.

a defined jaw, cheeks full and protruded—it gives him the heavenly balance of youthfulness and masculinity. his eyes are so round and almost reflective with a glimmer, but some strands of his hair are soon going to blanket the starry stars thanks to the attractive length he’s trying to maintain—not too short; not too long.

“does that mean you studied anatomy in the past?” with a subdued voice of yours, you gently intrude his proclaimed silence.

“i unfortunately couldn’t make it further than second year of medical school.” he takes a hitched breath upon chuckling at his own failure. “but i was lucky to be acknowledged in the anatomy and physiology aspect of things, so here i am, giving out additional lectures whenever they need.”

jungkook likely excels in that too; based on the way he’s been conversing with you all this time, he’s been giving you the most detailed and thorough answers to your questions. he speaks fluidly too; he hasn’t stuttered once or spoke too fast for anyone to understand. you can imagine how he’d be when talking to the students in his room.

“everyone’s been wondering what you do.” you confess as you study the side of his face while walking under the trees. shadows envelop his pale face, and you’re no longer able to watch the subtle changes to his expression. “an educator suits you.”

“you think?” his cheekbones move upward; you assume he’s smiling. 

“definitely.”

“can i ask how you injured that ankle of yours?” jungkook’s soft, deep voice blankets your ear like warm honey; a voice full of genuine concern. you can tell he’s not asking for the extra point into his account—that much you know after experiencing a life full of tangled twists and hazardous turns. “i happened to notice on the day we met.”

“and i tried so hard to hide it.” you easily admit your defeat in a whimsical exaggeration. “is this your interest in anatomy acting up or was i just awful at acting?” tightening your lips in wonder, you narrow your eyes at jungkook’s face of contemplation. 

“i have a feeling you’re going to take back your offer on the coffee if i answer truthfully.” 

“i didn’t know you had such a side to you.” you almost scoff before chuckling at his tenuous boast about himself. you suppose he’s not wrong, since no one else noticed for the past few weeks. jimin is an exception.

jungkook stifles a laugh. “i’m sorry to disappoint you.”

outside the trees’ embrace is the café. situated beside the university fountains, the café is petite for everyone’s convenience; the smaller it is, the easier it is for the baristas to receive and submit orders. from what you see, there’s three workers today—a good headcount for the morning wave of students desperate for coffee. their laughter enlightens you; it apprises you that your guess about the rush hour is quite true.

you sigh in relief. “there’s almost nobody around.”

“is there anything in particular you like?”

“i usually go for an espresso.”

“you do?” jungkook asks in surprise when he intentionally takes a bigger step forward. now you realise he’s been trying to walk at the same speed as you this entire time. “you’re the first.” he then says once he reaches the cashier.

“first of?”

“w—what can i get you?” the cashier stutters in nervousness. all the colour in her face has flooded into her cheeks, her shoulders are tense and her fingers are curled into her palms.

is she acting like that because of jungkook?

seriously? 

like, seriously?

“we’ll have two espressos to have here, please.” with his customary smile glued to his face, jungkook swipes his card before you can even process your flabbergasted thought.

“wait—” instinctively trying to block jungkook from paying, your hand touches his at the sound of a melodic beep. your body freezes at the familiar sound, knowing it’s too late to bother, so you simply heave out a sigh of disbelief. “that was my chance.”

“how about you decide where we sit instead—” he suggests teasingly. “—after your hand wakes up.”

“i—” you immediately rip your hand off of jungkook’s. “sorry.”

jungkook nods at the cashier upon confirming the order before walking relatively out of the queue, seeing that there’s a student waiting behind. that’s another person witnessing you blatantly holding an engaged man’s hand.

jungkook is engaged.

doesn’t that mean he should be wearing a ring?

that was the left hand you just held—his cold hand—but there isn’t a ring on it.

is there a possibility for it to be on his right hand?

it’s not—that was the hand you held yesterday.

“where would you like to sit?” with the receipt slipped in between his fingers, jungkook turns to you for an answer.

“how about outside?” you suggest. “the sun’s nice, it’s shining this way.”

“shouldn’t that be the reason to avoid the sun?” jungkook shuts down your invitation adamantly; however, in the softest voice and the gentlest smile. without both, you’re sure it would’ve sounded like a warning.

“to some.” you reply vaguely for now. “we can sit over there.” you beckon towards the seat of two in front of the cake display full of creamy confectionery. it’s a place illuminated with mostly artificial light rather than natural lighting.

you know the silence he’s given you is indicative of an approval, but before you can entirely check his expression, you catch a barista approaching the counter to announce the freshly made coffees jungkook ordered just a minute ago. no doubt about it, they’re yours—judging by how small the cups are and how fast it was made.

“two espressos!”

“i’ll go.” you quickly insert. you need to remind yourself that this is not a race, but it feels as if jungkook actually started one. he isn’t good for the competitiveness you were born with.

like clockwork, everything collectively goes on like it should. you, jungkook—the two of you happened to meet out of pure coincidence today, and now, like two freakishly normal acquaintances who are on the same wavelength to maintain a conventional relationship as two catholics attending the same church, the two of you are facing each other—awkwardly—whilst sipping on espressos.

lips departing from the cup, you clear your throat before peering up decisively. “i’m curious what brought you to our church.” your face brightens; grinning heartily with your eyes in play now; they crinkle and shut tight, harmonising with the curve of your lips. “we’re quite undersized if you haven’t noticed already. that’s why you’re making such an impact in the community.”

“you’re flattering me,” jungkook breaks into a short, airy chuckle behind his cup. “but to answer your question, it was merely a suggestion. someone i know recommended your church, saying kazuha and i will be welcomed by a collective of friendly people.” he whispers, “which happened to be very true.”

his answer is so detailed yet so average. it makes complete sense to know he has to consider a friendlier environment for kazuha since she’s not quite fluent in korean, so a friend’s recommendation would be easily followed and trusted.

nothing to note there, and nothing is finding you like electricity like earlier. you could swear his silence spoke so loudly to you back there. was your instinct simply a figment of imagination?

“i assume it hasn’t been long since you moved to seoul,” you ask quietly. “is that correct?”

“i lived in greece for a while before living in busan for a few years.”

“greece,” you lower your gaze to reminisce. your daydreams were filled with overflowing desires to go to santorini one day—the thought still stands, if you really look further down in the crevices of your heart. “i didn’t expect that as an answer.”

“my parents got married there, loved it a little too much and stayed behind longer than anticipated.” jungkook chuckles deeply. “you and i both know how unpredictable life can get.”

“and you moved here because of kazuha?”

“because it all seemed to work out.” jungkook continues, “with the job opportunity of doing something i genuinely enjoy, and to live here with her. it’s much more convenient to stay in seoul if we have to go back and forth to japan as well.”

what if he really is a nice guy?

“that sounds like a dream, despite the constant moving.” bobbing your head with your lips subtly pouted, your thumb traces the curves of the porcelain cup handle. “it must’ve been scary, going from one place to another at a young age.”

jungkook sits in silence when he registers your last sentence. “it might’ve been.” he then admits emptily after a minute. the boy who possessed everything now looks so hollow.

“my father is a neurosurgeon, so he’s always away to operate. my mother is a translator for celebrities, so she’s always overseas, always living in different times.” you breathe out the tightness in your chest. “and it was scary for me, to be left alone like that—since home didn’t actually feel like home, with anyone there but myself. i figured it might’ve felt similar to your journey.”

jungkook lifts his head to smile warmly at your story. perhaps it reached him, like you wanted it to. “your childhood sounds more tough than mine, if i’m being honest.”

“it might’ve been.” you mimic his words playfully. 

jungkook sets his cup down onto the table before looking straight into your eyes. he takes you out of thought. given the definition of his gaze, you really do think twice about how much his eyes glow, albeit exceptionally dark. “you said you were significantly interested in something rather than someone.” he tilts his head in wonder, ���would that be ballet?”

“it would be.” you answer honestly. “so it’s not nice being handicapped with an injury.”

“tendonitis can be healed as long as you take good care of it.”

“how did you know?” you don’t sound shocked, but your eyes widen at his scarily accurate conjecture. “can you easily tell?” 

“please don’t forget kazuha also follows your path.” jungkook grins when he alludes to his fiancée again. “she had the same problem in japan.”

“of course,” you nod understandingly. it’s no doubt that ankles are the first to go when you’re a ballerina. yet here you were, pondering if that was another mishap, since anatomists aren’t doctors or podiatrists.

“perhaps it’s your turn to tell me why you’re here,” he says. “i’ve been curious as well, since i can’t imagine what kind of business ballerinas would have at a university.”

you break into a chuckle at how naïve this smart guy can be. you felt it in the car—this guy feeds you the best chances to attack. “think harder.” you raise a brow teasingly, “this university has more than a normal university would.”

as told, jungkook indulges into deep thought. his look of contemplation shows him habitually tipping his head to the side as his orbs dive straight to the floor. at that, you become aware of his new piercings again. it’s even more noticeable now that it’s reflective.

“the dance studio.” he says after a short skip in time.

“that’s it!” you exclaim like you’ve been waiting this whole time for him to hit the bullseye. “i mean,” not only did you just notice how unnecessary it was for you to be jumping like that, but you also feel his words from before seeping into your spine. “i was only here to take a few of my belongings i left behind.”

jungkook frees an amused laugh. “i don’t bite, jia.”

instantly retreating to your cup of espresso, you take another sip before locking eyes with the guy. “j—just know that i’m taking care of myself.” you stammer in embarrassment.

“please stay away from physical activities.” jungkook leans over, both his elbows resting against his thighs when he does. “i’ll only say it once since i’d hate to be that person.”

“you’re…” you shake your head to cut yourself off. compliments will cause misunderstandings—you’ll save it. “thank you.” is all you mumble.

what if his voice changed a bit?

what if he has some new piercings?

what if he doesn’t wear an engagement ring?

what if he’s overly sensitive to sunlight?

jungkook is right, maybe it’s time for you to face the harsher truths of reality rather than fixating on foolish deceptions. there’s no need to corner such a flawless guy. this isn’t the time to allow your imagination to run wild—you’ve graduated from such thoughts. 

what did you expect to discover anyway?

pushing himself back against the chair, jungkook coincidentally stares off to the side and catches the time on the wall. “i’m afraid i’m going to have to end our time here.” he states, “can’t be late to my first class.”

“go ahead.” you reply cordially. “i’ll see you on the weekend.”

“we’ll talk again.”

at his own words, jungkook stands, flashes another grin from above before exiting the café. the barista’s gaze is glued to his back as he leaves, and so is yours. the second you watch jungkook disappear from your vision, your eyes return to the front, only for you to stop yourself from swallowing when you notice jungkook’s cup untouched. the cup is still full of black espresso, now cold from the wait.

in your hands are brand new pointe shoes yet to be broken into, and ahead of you are mirrors, enclosing you in a familiar darkness. you sit there, and only a few lights are illuminated; they’re dimmed, not cranked to their maximum brightness. it’s you that you want to see—nothing else. it’s always been like this for you, though the darkness scares you time and time again.

clenching onto your rigid pointe shoes, you stare blankly at your bandaged ankle. as much as you want to tear the damned thing off so you can slip your feet perfectly into your new pair of pale pink shoes, you just squeeze your eyes shut and sigh out to the greyed ceiling. 

will today become a mistake and a regret in the future?

there’s months left till the competition. a brief calculation of 90 days remaining until you fly out to whatever continent in europe and compete against ballerinas from different countries. 

the thought of it kills you—it crushes a bit of you inside and you’re in flames to impress, but you know days of patience is what you need rather than gruesome hours of practice.

endure it.

face it.

broken things can heal crooked, and that can’t be you.

the weekend found you like how monday would; it caught you in a blink of an eye. your weekdays felt like vacation because you were only resting at home, caring for your ankle while studying your old ballet videos. you also might’ve squeezed in bits and pieces of your favourite series here and there and maybe cooked yourself two different instant ramen cups at an ungodly hour. you overdid yourself there, but you settled down to officially declare this time as your resting period.

you exit your car, unknowingly stepping into a wet splash. the puddle below your feet pooled throughout your drive here, because after one week, the skies showered the world once more. thankfully it wasn’t as persistent as last weekend, but it was still a hindrance on your way here. cars were desperate to slow down ahead of you, and all you could do was groan behind your steering wheel while selling yourself to the sound of rain pattering against your windshield.

you frown at your partially soaked feet before shaking off any excess water stuck to your sneakers. thankfully it wasn’t your bad feet, otherwise you would’ve dealt with a wet bandage. “the rain and i definitely have issues.” you grumble to yourself.

looking ahead, you see the usual crowd of people at your church, waiting around for the doors of the church to open for today’s mass. you’re exactly on time because of the downfall earlier, so you try to walk faster to avoid the fate of being the last person entering those doors. 

when you approach the front, you wave casually to the few people recognising you first—kim jisoo, park chaeyoung and kim mingyu. 

“you could’ve taken your time.” chaeyoung’s eyebrows both collapse in concern. “shouldn’t you be taking it easy?”

you shake your head profusely to reassure chaeyoung’s restlessness. she’d always be the first to worry if anything happened to you. “i’ve been taking it way too easy.”

“have you now?” jisoo squints in scepticism. “that doesn’t sound like you at all.” 

“i have,” leaning forward into jisoo’s face, all you do is purse your lips and make a ‘tsk’ noise out of them frivolously. “you’d be surprised when you see that i’ve eaten most of the instant ramen you left behind last time.”

“really?” jisoo’s face brightens like the sun on a cloudy day when she hears that you’ve been outwardly taking care of yourself; eating what you want, sleeping as much as you want. “now i’m not worried—so, chaeng, don’t be worried.” she nods adamantly at chaeyoung.

chaeyoung huffs before smiling widely. “okay,” she dismisses softly. 

“you say something too, mingyu.” jisoo pats mingyu’s shoulder—and it’s undeniably quite a stretch for her, since mingyu definitely has some height in him. “hasn’t it been long since you last saw jia?”

“i think… it’s been a good two months?” mingyu thinks aloud. 

“hm,” you hum before cracking a laugh behind your hand. “i don’t know, you tell me. maybe it’s been three, or even one?”

“stop that,” mingyu uses his index finger to poke the centre of your forehead. you always get pushed back from this, consequently why the guy never stops. twenty more centimetres and you would’ve ran into his forehead with your own. “i went on my business trip when you won that competition.”

“impeccable memory.” you feign amazement by gasping dramatically. “how did that go anyway? didn’t you fly to beijing?”

“says you.” mingyu naturally lowers his hand. “it was nice, since getting out of here always feels good, like the air is different, the food is different, the people are different—”

“he hates us,” jisoo whispers noisily.

“he totally hates us.” chaeyoung whispers back just as noisily. 

“no way, mingyu.” you gasp more dramatically than before. “without you here, the air is also different and the church is different—”

“i want you to pray for your safety today.” mingyu quips. 

shrugging off mingyu’s wise words, your head turns, and you automatically notice jungkook engaged in a bigger group. some are laughing and exchanging carefree grins to one another, but the focal majority dons earnest expressions. when you glance over, it’s as if jungkook physically felt your stare; he doesn’t make it a secret (not that it’s meant to be) the second he recognises you from afar. eyes first—jungkook smiles, then you observe him slowly excusing himself out of the group crammed with adults and other younger adults close to your age.

“who’s that?” mingyu asks.

“that’s right, mingyu wouldn’t know since he was away.” chaeyoung says. “he joined our church probably a week after you left.”

“he joined with his fiancée—” jisoo adds quietly, “who is weirdly not here today.”

she isn’t?

“great to see you again.” wearing a cool guise, jungkook never misses to sound proper. he offers everyone around a courteous smile to begin before returning to you. “are you taking care of yourself?”

you laugh nervously, feeling rather aware of your friends’ stares. you want to desperately yell at their faces that you’re not homewrecking and this is solely happening because of too many coincidences. “always.” you answer boldly. “and i assume your lecture went well, judging by your friendly face?”

jungkook chuckles attractively at what you said. “even if it didn’t, i wouldn’t be making it noticeable.” he replies. “it went well, and i most certainly wasn’t late to it either.”

“as expected.” you praise. “also, is kazuha not with you today?”

“kazuha urgently flew to japan because her father suddenly had to be admitted for high blood pressure.” jungkook explains, “she couldn’t tell me when she’ll be back, so she preferred me to stay behind.”

“is that so?” you murmur. “please send her my best regards.” 

“i will.”

“that reminds me,” you almost forget to make your adorable and speechless friends known to the captivating (and taken) stranger named jungkook. “this is mingyu, chaeyoung and jisoo. they’ve been a part of the church for as long as myself.”

jungkook nods knowingly before facing the two girls first. “thankfully we’ve already met before.” he grins comfortably. “isn’t that right?”

“very right.” jisoo agrees.

“sure did.” chaeyoung straightens her dainty shoulders and tucks her hands into her blazer pockets. “it’s really nice to see you getting along with everyone.”

“you’re too nice.” jungkook deflects.

“that must mean i’m the last person you haven’t met.” mingyu speaks up. “it’s nice to meet you, jungkook.” he offers jungkook a hand. you espy how levelled this whole exchange looks—it’s got to be the perks of being similar height. “i’m mingyu.”

jungkook gladly accepts his hand and gives it a firm yet gentle shake. “it’s nicer to meet you, mingyu.” he replies. “let’s get along.”

“you bet.” mingyu grins smugly.

“we should head in,” jisoo suggests as she brings attention to the opening doors ahead. the two doors swing open heavily with two female reverends pulling each door from behind. light leaks out of the fracture between the doors, faintly igniting the cool evening.

at that, the whole of the community moves towards the entrance. when you walk in, the church is ablaze—from top to bottom, almost every wall is covered in stained glass. it’s a place where you can’t differentiate the time of the day when you’re inside; day or night—the church always stays unchanged. this church isn’t as vast as others, but reasonably cramped and compact—you can see everything from where you are—that being somewhere in the middle, closer to the back.

beside you, there’s chaeyoung with her eyes squeezed shut and hands clasped. jisoo and mingyu went over to the right together, meanwhile jungkook is one of the people in front. upon taking out your rosary from your purse to clench in your hands, the priest climbs a short flight of stairs to stop behind the podium, standing before the pane of religious stained glass. 

the mass goes on for an hour. the priest peruses the bible, voicing the god’s prayers. when the first segment rolls over, someone is chosen to read the next prayer behind the lower podium alongside the priest. 

you, luckily, have gone up already less than a month ago.

as coincidental as it can get, jungkook happened to be today’s spokesman. how merciless of them, to elect a newcomer like that. nevertheless, in your mind, he seemed to be the perfect prospect anyway. not only does he speak eloquently, but you heard him—the guy never stutters; he delivers every word as if there’s a ribbon tied on top of each term. 

jungkook relaxedly rises from his seat and treads lightly to the podium on the left wing. everything about jungkook is so blasé in this specific moment, which you assume is from his so-called experiences. as so, he even seems to be aware of how sensitive the microphone can be, otherwise he wouldn’t be flipping the pages of the bible so quietly. you knew it—he’s in his zone.

“... mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death.” jungkook articulates. “amen.”

“in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit,” the priest recites. “amen.”

like that, the mass reached the end. it’s around 7pm when everyone scatters, returning to the normalcy of sharing conversations under the moonlight before concluding their weekend. the moon looms over half of the people who remain, while the rest bid their farewells until next time. consequently, that’s you saying your goodbyes to jisoo and chaeyoung, since they have a farther way to go than you.

“i’ll see you next week.” you mouth to the pouting jisoo and the pouting chaeyoung waving at you from ten metres away.

“did you drive?” mingyu asks beside you.

“i did,” you answer with your eyes fixed to the two girls ahead. you watch them vanish when they turn a corner into the car park before meeting mingyu’s eyes that were stuck onto you the entire time. “do you need a ride?”

“i was going to ask you that.”

“that’s awfully considerate of you.” you tease in a whisper. “i’m fine though, since i brought my ride with me.” nudging mingyu against his arm, you give him a toothy grin.

mingyu nods once. “you be careful on the road then.”

“don’t think my driving skills deteriorated because of a single injury.”

mingyu snorts at your furrowing eyebrows tagged along with your dauntless remark. “i’ve been thinking that way before you injured yourself.”

“oh,” you blurt blankly. “just go already.”

“i’ll see you next week—” mingyu drops his arm on top of your head. “—shortie.” he mutters playfully.

you kick the air when he’s staring back at you, already metres ahead. “i’m literally taller than jisoo!” you squeak when he’s gone.

in case you forgot anyone, you examine your surroundings once more. apart from you, everyone’s waving to each other, fading into the coal black of the night, disappearing to pursue their car to rush back onto the road. the headlights of some cars in the distance remind you of fireflies dancing in the dark; which urges you into a realisation that those glowing lights will be zooming off soon, turning off the majority of light in your life, so you decide to leave when the amber lights afar start to wane one by one.

walking quietly on your own, you reach your car—and that specific puddle you bathed your feet into last time. you squint and shake your head, denying the thought of making the same mistake twice. after, your hands sink into your purse to fish out your car keys before going around the puddle to jump into the driver’s seat.

the car park is fully vacant, but there are vehicles lined up on the main road just up front. not that you desperately needed reassurance, but a part of you rests easy anyway, especially knowing that there’s mingyu out there waiting for the traffic lights to blink green.

you hum while fiddling with your phone to choose a song for the road. “perfection.” the corner of your lips lifts at your favourite song—charlie puth’s dangerously.

before you can press the accelerator with your beloved music playing in the background, you glance at the church one last time absentmindedly. it’s like a built-in mechanism, checking out your back the second you abandon a place. you think nothing much of it until you catch a shadow walking past the spot you were exactly at ten minutes ago.

you must be seeing things.

if there was really somebody there, the lights would’ve switched on because of the sensors. 

for a split second, you feel a shiver run down your spine. your neck and shoulders feel freakishly ticklish from it, but you want to prove yourself once more that you might be wrong. your body slants to the right, your head peeking out to see more of the church. the lights are still off, and there’s no one there.

“what?” you spit out in puzzlement. “stop scaring me.” you whimper in the dark while decreasing the volume of your song. you’re not in the mood for a party in your car anymore.

you’re seeing things.

eyes clung to the church in hopes of finding nothing again, you silently push the button to start up your car. “this is because i rewatched ‘attack on titan’ last night.” laughing nervously under your heated breath, you move your gear stick into ‘drive’.

it’s at this moment you see the light flicker. the light was brief and small, but you definitely saw it glint in your peripheral vision.

what was that?

which light was that?

you think back—if you possibly saw someone—or something go past the spot you were in earlier, it moved to the left—that being the church.

did someone leave something behind?

you think back once more—did you see everyone leave? was anyone left behind—or did you not see anyone leave? what makes you so sure that you were the last person out?

“why am i even thinking about this—” you sigh in disbelief. “let’s just go.”

wait.

hold on.

a thought crashes onto you—it ruptures everything in your head, and you’re thrown back into the endless pit of your unnecessary hyper analysis of everything and anything. 

you didn’t see jungkook go.

you didn’t see jungkook when you saw everyone waving to each other.

if you think about it, jungkook would’ve been heard or talked about at the last minute. knowing he’s the star of the church, no one would just let him go without saying a word or two to him.

you would’ve heard that if that happened.

you know you’re crazy; you know you’re insane for jumping to this conclusion when you know this is psychotic of you. 

you immediately shut down your car when you feel a silver of composure upon seeing that it’s only 7:40pm. an illicit disaster can’t feasibly occur at this time, or no one would actually plot to do anything profane at this time of the night. it’s still relatively early, and you’re going to sneak away and rely on security cameras if there’s really someone you don’t recognise in the dark, roaming around the grounds of the church alone.

conscious of the fact that retracing your steps back to where you were will trigger the lights, you duck your head and soundlessly approach another entrance of the church by looping to the side. it’s a separate entry for the priests, so it’s much more upfront than the main gateway. you have no idea if you should be feeling rather grateful or rather dense (for obviously committing to this thought of yours), but at least there’s enough cover for you thanks to all the shrubs encircling the building. no human eye can detect you with this much darkness drowning you as well.

the only disruption for you right now is this door. you can’t see through it because it’s not exactly transparent. anything you see through it is heavily hazy like a cloud, but you could try to make out shapes if given context. 

crouching down to align with the height of the shrubs, you push your ear against the door to pick up any noise from inside. for now, there’s utterly no sound coming from the opposing side of the door; merely the sound of your ridiculously fast heartbeats. determined, your jaw tenses up and your toes curl in your shoes as you persist in waiting for the next few minutes.

the sound of doors swinging open—it’s forceful and reverberating. it’s conspicuous that the person behind the door has no intention to keep themselves a secret, like they’ve come with a solemn purpose.

the sound of their footsteps is relaxed, unhurried, rhythmic… they know exactly what they’re here for, and it’s not their first time coming here. otherwise, their steps would be broken up, wondering where to go in this pitch blackness.

“about your beloved girlfriend, that—” he cracks into a disturbing laughter. “i forgot which one.”

is that jungkook?

he exhales in thought, “the one you begged me to save.”

no way in hell that it is.

this guy sounds… completely different.

“she reincarnated,” he says. “and called herself kazuha.”

kazuha?

terror suddenly washes over you; your heart is now throbbing in your ear, and your muscles are completely frozen. now you seriously feel your instinct screaming and pleading you to retreat. even if your mind was detained with horror or not, you can barely understand anything—whatever the hell this guy is saying about saving, reincarnating and about kazuha—she wasn’t even here today.

“you should’ve seen the face she made when i bit her.” he snickers in a breath heavy and husky. “sorry, now i’m really bragging, aren’t i?” 

bit?

“you’ve grown,” he mocks. “i was hoping to see you insane again. you’re quite a sight to see yourself.”

is kazuha… dead?

“let’s see how long you last.”

right after that, everything stopped. you couldn’t hear his threats anymore, nor his steps or the sound of the door slamming back shut. you can feel the rate of your heart slowing, but you already know every colour is drained from your face. whatever that was feels like a fever dream to you, and you still don’t know whether to believe if that was true or not. life has never been this questionable to you.

shocked, you muster courage to drag yourself out of hiding nonetheless. your car isn’t far from where you are, but you still think it’s smart to take your time. god knows if that psychopath is still lurking around and talking to the skies. you gradually find your way out of the shadows and see that your car is still undamaged. judging by how things are right now, you wouldn’t even be surprised if your car exploded into flames then ashes.

“jia?”

you stand there for a couple of seconds, feeling yourself shrinking away at the sound of your own name. you try your hardest to contain any shallow breaths and shaky limbs. there’s a weight in your stomach now, and the pounding of your heart is starting to feel painful.

“may i ask why you’re here?” 

it is jungkook.

he killed kazuha.

“it’s not nice to ignore someone, jia.” jungkook’s aura completely shifts; there isn’t an ounce of sweetness left in his voice, instead he sounds exactly like that voice from before—you prayed for it to not be his, but deep within, you knew it could only be him.

“i was waiting for you.” crossing your arms, you deadpan as you spin around. this really isn’t time for you to argue, but you’d rather die than exhibit your fear. 

“were we ever that close?”

“if we’re close enough to sit across from each other and share cups of coffee,” you challenge. “wouldn’t it make sense for me to stop if i see them doing something awfully strange, like talking about reincarnations and biting into your fiancée?”

“the world calls that nosiness.” with his head lowered, jungkook takes steps forward. everytime he inches closer, your body naturally flees by taking steps backward. 

your limbs are free; you’re under control again as you back away from jungkook. “and what does the world call you?”

jungkook finally raises his head and glares into your tentative eyes brimming in perturbation. “instead of talking so much,” his fingers creep around your neck, and you instantly stiffen at his cold hand connecting with the heat emanating from the base of your nape. “why don’t you try and beg me to save you?” forcibly yanking you down to be on par with his lips, he then whispers scarily, “amuse me.”

your heart is beating so frantically, you could actually feel your body beating as one. it feels nauseating when it clashes with the pure fear coursing through your flesh and bones. your breaths are clinging to your throat and you’re failing to swallow them down. your legs are paralysed and so are your shoulders. one single move, and you think you’re going to crumble and fall to pieces.

“no one wants to die.” you answer breathlessly. “did kazuha not tell you?”

retracting his hand, you carefully watch jungkook resort to putting both hands into his pockets instead. “she couldn’t.” he laughs huskily, “she had no idea she was dying.”

snapping your head upward, you scowl at his deranged smirk. “what the hell are you?”

“i’ll tell you,” jungkook harshly lunges forward to press your body against the nearest wall. your back lands rather softly against it, and you think a lot of it because now you understand he’s exceedingly capable of adjusting his brute strength; that being nothing alike to a human’s. “in exchange for your blood.” he crooks his head into the side of your neck and breathes heavily onto your skin.

blood?

panicking, you try to tear him away by pushing his chest. he doesn’t budge, but you find a moment to steal a glimpse of his half-shut eyes that’s centimetres away from your face. 

the colour of his eyes are yellow.

“jungkook,” you interject. “promise me you won’t kill me.”

his breathing stops, and you squirm as you watch the rest of his eyes open slowly. his yellow orbs are devoid of any emotion, but they look at you in fascination. 

“i’m being serious.” swallowing the lump in your throat, you clench onto his shoulders desperately.

“why should i do that?”

[raplinesmoon]

Doom Boy (KNJ x F!Reader)

pairing: Namjoon x reader (also featuring hyung line) genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, mafia au, 18+ summary: Namjoon was a doom boy - he’d spent his entire life running from the ghosts of his past, keeping you and your son safe from the monsters that lurked on the city streets. He should have known that one day they’d catch up to him.

warnings: the mafia, attempted attack, drinking, mentions injury, mentions of past ab*se, brief mention of illicit subtances and money laundering, minor character deaths, choking, a great escape, Namjoon being an art hoe, smut warnings: sexting, dirty talk, brief daddy kink moment, explicit sexual content, soft dom!Namjoon, oral (f receiving), riding (it’s Namjoon duh), wrap it before you tap it pls

word count: 14.2k

a/n: happy Joon day (i hope i make the deadline) oh gosh, I don’t even know what this is like this was just supposed be some angsty yearning but it turned into this whole story bc Namjoon is the loml. i highkey think this is a huge mess and like cried outlining it bc i was feeling so many emotions, but it’s the first piece of writing in a month that i haven’t trashed completely (rip Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook fics that shall never see the light of day). i really, really hope you like it! pls also excuse any grammar errors, i’ll go back and fix them soon!

Thank you to Ryen @kithtaehyung for the gorgeous banner!!

listen to the playlist!

By all accounts, it was a typical Friday. The sun blazed down on the pavement, rivulets of sweat making their way down Namjoon’s back on his commute home from the office. Shuddering, he loosens his tie, eager to let the shackles of his mundane office job fall away from his being. Combing a hand through the strands of his hair, he thinks that maybe he should get a haircut next week, but ultimately decides against it when he imagines your face in his mind, lips pursed in a pout and eyes shimmering with the glimmer of unshed tears.

I love your hair like this, he can hear you whisper breathlessly, his mind flitting back to the memory of your fingers tugging at the strands nearly a month ago, daring him to pull you into another kiss after what had already been an endless night tangled up in the sheets, making the most of the precious time Hyun had at his jobumo’s house. He’d never been able to deny you a single thing, not since the moment your hand had shyly slipped into his on the walk back from your college library, the comfortable silence between you two soon blossoming into a life he’d never dared to dream of for himself.

His steps become quicker as he grows more restless, pushing through the endless hordes of city-goers around him, the tall skyscrapers casting a grim shadow above the streets below. He’s suffocated by the heat as soon as he makes his way into the subway, descending multiple flights of stairs until he sees freedom within his reach, signified by the screeching of wheels against the railway track.

Stepping into the air-conditioned compartment, Namjoon lets himself breathe, shrugging the strap of his satchel back against his shoulders, his eyes surveying the crowded train compartment. The train comes to a halt at the next station, the doors hissing to let the next group of commuters in, and he pales when he sees the ghost of a reflection in the glass — someone he hadn’t seen for years.

For a moment, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him, the tall broad, shoulders and dark ebony hair of a man his height disappearing as soon as the train starts again, but Namjoon remains deeply unsettled, the acrid memories of his past coming back to haunt him the most in moments like this. Moments where he didn’t have you, or Hyun, to remind him that with everything he’d left behind, he’d gained something exponentially more wonderful and precious.

His phone pings, snapping him out of his daze, and he looks down at it, a notification from you lighting up his screen. A smile makes its way onto his face, the tension seeping from his veins when he swipes on it.

Only to go slack-jawed a moment later. Namjoon looks around, making sure no one can see the bright light of his screen, before bringing the phone up closer, his mouth gaping at the picture you’d chosen to send him.

You hadn’t changed yet, the silky dress you’d picked out and shown him last night lying in a heap next to you on the bed, your body clad in the most provocative mix of lace and cut-outs, beyond anything his wicked mind could have conjured up.

Come home, you said. I can’t wait much longer.

Namjoon looks up as the train comes to another pause, a faint smirk making its way onto his face when he notes that it’s now time for him to get off.

Date night could finally begin.

Under the dim lights of L’Etalage, you babble on excitedly about the latest gossip from the work week - two of your coworkers were potentially flirting with one another; another one would finally take their sour attitude with them and quit, your supervisor just learned he was having a baby. Your heart grows ten sizes when you think about how you’d gone through those same life changing moments years ago, falling in love with Namjoon, the intelligent, outgoing man who’d sat behind you in one of your science classes, and how now, you were happier than you’d ever been. Life was perfect with him by your side.

You talk, and Namjoon just listens, enraptured by the sound of your voice, his lips twitching into a small smile when he sees your eyes twinkle like stars under the candleglow.

“Namjoon?” You interrupt his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, baby?” He smirks back, and you falter, flushing when you remember the text you’d sent him earlier.

There hadn’t been enough time to do anything about it, of course. Namjoon had barely pinned you to the wall, his hot breath fanning over your neck, before the phone rang, an excited Hyun up from his nap, babbling on FaceTime to his appa about all the fun toys his halmeoni had given him. You’d sheepishly excused yourself to go change into your outfit, leaving a frustrated Namjoon behind.

“This meal cost $200, Namjoon,” you raise an eyebrow. “We’re not about to leave right before I get my matchamisu.”

You jut out your bottom lip in a pout, and Namjoon laughs. The only thing you liked more than sex was sugar, and he couldn’t blame you. The matchamisu was delicious. Still, he couldn’t resist toying with you after the tease you’d given him earlier.

“Who says we have to leave?” He folds his arms, watching you bite your lip at the way his muscles strain against his dress shirt. “The bathrooms here are pretty nice from what I remember.”

Your lips part in an “O”, eyes dilating to pools of black, only for the waitress to choose that exact opportune moment to swing by, placing the matchamisu and two spoons on the table in front of you.

“Please enjoy,” she flutters her eyelashes, speaking only to Namjoon, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your husband was an attractive man, but he was also oblivious to the way other women flirted with him. He acknowledges her presence for a split second to give a polite nod, before his hand is reaching for yours across the table. His fingers fit perfectly into yours, the twin bands adorning your hands glinting brightly enough to send a message.

You shouldn’t feel smug when she walks away with a scowl, but part of you feels giddy.

Namjoon presses his lips to your knuckles, his dimples making an appearance as he grins while watching you dig in, moaning in delight when the sweet, creamy dessert hits your tongue. 

“I thought you were only supposed to make those sounds for me,” he quips, yelping when you smack lightly him on the arm, lifting his hands up in surrender. 

You return your attention to the plate in front of you, but Namjoon’s sharp, intent gaze has already done its damage, surveying you hungrily, a pool forming between your thighs. Watching as he excuses himself to the bathroom, you realize you both needed to get out of here.

And fast.

Washing his hands in the sink, Namjoon feels sparks erupt across his skin, anxious to get you home and have his way with you while the night was still young. You played off his salacious flirting, but he could see the way it affected you, your breath coming out in heavy pants, skin glistening with sweat.

He makes his way to open the door, only for it to swing open right before he can reach for the handle, his shoulder bumping into another one. Namjoon reaches for the shorter man before he can topple over, but freezes when he sees the face looking up at him, the blood in his veins turning to ice.

“Yoongi-hyung,” he manages to rasp after many moments of silence, unable to fathom the sight in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

Namjoon’s head begins to spin, and he feels like he’s floating, suspended in the air and watching the scene unfold before him, face-to-face with a man he thought he’d never see again, a man he chose to never see again, when he’d left the life he’d had before you behind.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi’s arms reach out in an embrace, and Namjoon dodges it coldly, watching his hyung’s smile falter, cat-like eyes surveying his tense figure. “It’s been a long time.”

“I’m going to ask you this again,” Namjoon spits through clenched teeth. “Why are you here?”

His thoughts immediately flit to you, sitting out there alone, and he realizes you both need to leave now. Namjoon had been running from the ghosts of his past for as long as he’d known you, swearing to himself to protect you from the danger that lurked underneath the paved city streets. And now it had found him again.

“She’s waiting for you out there?” Yoongi asks, and Namjoon resists the urge to say something he knows he’ll regret later. So he knew who you were. He shouldn’t have expected any different, and he silently prays that Hyun’s been left out of their reconnaissance. 

“Seokjin-hyung saw you today,” Yoongi continues, and Namjoon freezes again. So his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him. He’d recognize Kim Seokjin’s broad shoulders and lithe body frame anywhere, remembering how it’d felt when they used to train together, tackling each other into hard concrete until one of them admitted defeat.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon abandons the honorific, and watches Yoongi’s face flicker in disappointment, before settling back into the stern, unfeeling mask he always seemed to have on. “You have to go.”

The older man opens his mouth to protest, but Namjoon pushes him aside, barely making it a few steps before he hears Yoongi call out to him.

“You can’t hide from who you are forever, Namjoon-ah,” he warns. “You and I both know that sooner or later, everything goes to shit.”

Resting your head on Namjoon’s shoulder, the two of you forgo a taxi home, walking hand in hand on the road, the pale moonlight casting everything in a soft glow. You lift your head gently to gaze at Namjoon, frowning at the way his nostrils flare and his brows seem etched in a permanent furrow. He’d been tense ever since he’d returned from the bathroom, and you wondered if he was upset with you for rebuffing him earlier.

“Joonie,” you whisper, turning his face to yours. The two of you come to a stop on a secluded street, and Namjoon’s face softens at the use of your favorite nickname for him. To everyone else, he was always Kim Namjoon, the prodigy from the south side of town, always crushed under the weight of expectations that weren’t his own. He’d hated the way his name sounded growing up, hollow and business-like to his ears, devoid of any affection or tenderness. 

But to you, he was Joonie, the name you’d randomly come up with one late night studying, the two of you drunk on a caffeine high and laughing deliriously about anything and everything but the exam you had tomorrow.  He’d fallen just a little bit in love with you that night, the way your smile shone brighter than the incandescent, artificial lighting of the library. It’d stripped him bare, piercing through the walls he’d built for decades, and Namjoon felt something with you he’d never felt before. He felt human.

“Talk to me please, what’s wrong?” Your eyes bore into his, searching for answers.

Answers that Namjoon could never give you if he wanted to keep his family safe. The lies felt like a stab to the heart every time he let one escape, but overtime, the wounds had begun to scar, leaving ugly marks in their wake. And it hurt a little less to keep the truth from you every time.

“We need a bigger house,” he says, stroking your temple with his thumb. It wasn’t wrong. “It’s about time we gave Hyun another sibling, don’t you think?”

The tension melts from your shoulders, and you flick him in the forehead.

“You idiot! I thought something was bothering you, like a life-and-death situation, and you’re just horny!”

“You caught me,” he wraps his arms around you, leaning to whisper in your ear. “Are you still wearing that little number you sent me earlier?”

“Who said I’m wearing anything underneath?” It comes out in a breathy moan, and you feel Namjoon go stiff beside you. “Now take me home.”

Namjoon doesn’t move, frozen in place, looking beyond you to a cluster of trees, his eyes becoming dark.

“___, hold onto me,” he chokes, his voice breaking, and you feel a chill run down your spine. “And whatever you do, don’t look anywhere but straight ahead.”

Namjoon’s hand comes to grab your wrist in a death grip, and you feel your hand go limp from the circulation being cut off. Your heartbeat speeds up instantly, blood pounding in your ears.

“Joonie? What’s going on?” A single tear escapes, running down your face, and Namjoon’s heart shatters down the middle. The fear in your eyes was something he’d told himself he never wanted to see, and he darkly wonders if running into Yoongi earlier had been an omen of what was to come.

You can’t see it, your eyes untrained, but Namjoon knows that the two of you are being watched. He can make out the faint figure of a human silhouette through the trees, and the gleam of something silver. And probably sharp. 

He had to get you out of here. 

“Listen to me, when I count to three, you have to run. Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back. Go to your parents’ house and find Hyun. You all need to leave the city now.”

“Namjoon, please,” you sob, and your wail echoes into the empty street. “What is happening?”

“____, that’s an order,” he says sternly, his face grim, and you cower in his presence. He’s shifted from your soft, loving husband into something far more menacing, his eyes narrowing in thinly veiled fury. “NOW GO!”

His voice snaps at you, and you break, turning from him and running as fast as your legs can go. Rounding the corner, you pause, peeking around just in time to see an unknown man in blank lunge at your husband, a silent scream lodged in your throat when you see the gleam of a knife in his hand. 

You don’t stay long enough to see what unfolds, terror striking your heart and goosebumps erupting across your skin as the wind howls, the quiet streets eventually giving way to busy intersections, until you’re at a bus stop.

Heaving, you crumple over, sobs wracking your entire body as you wait for the bus to come, to take you away from the horrors of what had started out as the most normal night.  

When it does come, you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights flicker outside, and a painful realization sets in one that leaves you completely numb.

Namjoon had never told you that he’d find you later, that everything would be okay. You should have stayed with him, should have protected him like he protected you and Hyun. But you’d let fear win, and now you’d lost him.

Namjoon shoves the man off of him, blood pouring from the stab wound he’d inflicted on his thigh. He wouldn’t be out for long. He’d been quick, but Namjoon was quicker. He’d been waiting for this moment for years, his instincts still as sharp as ever, honed from years of looking in the shadows, wondering if his demons would ever catch up to him.

But now you’d been caught in the crossfire - the way the blood escaped your face when he’d told you to run burned in the back of his brain. You were scared, and he knows for a fact it wasn’t just because of the unknown assailant. You were scared of him, finally witnessing the monster that Namjoon harbored deep inside.

Chest heaving, he catches his breath, tasting the bitter tang of salt before he even knows he’s crying, curses flying from his lips. He doesn’t know how long he sits there and sobs, shivering in the cold, but he hopes you’d listened to him, and that you and Hyun were far, far away from this hellhole. Neither of you deserved to rot with him.

He doesn’t hear the footsteps approach until someone is directly in front of him, their eyes taking in the sight of the unconscious man and the bloodstains all over Namjoon’s white shirt.

“Namjoon-ah? Shit, what happened? Where’s ___?”

Hoseok. The universe hated him, he was sure of it. Namjoon looks up, Hoseok’s worried face staring down at him, and relaxes when he doesn’t see a hint of anger. He wasn’t sure what to expect when they ran into each other again. Hoseok had been the one who took his leaving the worst; the loss of the only friend he’d had his age cutting deeply into him. 

I fucking hate you, the last text had said.

“I was running patrol on the area when I heard one of Ahn’s men had been spotted in our neighbourhood. I came as fast as I could.”

“Is he dead?” Hoseok’s boot prods at the man, who looks barely conscious. Namjoon musters enough strength to shake his head, still unable to say anything, when he sees Hoseok’s gaze shift to the knife beside him.

“Let’s go,” he offers Namjoon a hand. “Whoever they were, they knew you’d be here tonight. It’s not safe.”

Namjoon falters for a moment, unable to accept Hoseok’s offer of help. If he did this, he knew Hoseok would take him back to the compound, back to everything he tried so hard to leave behind. And away from you. He feels like he’s in limbo, watching the road ahead split into two paths.

Hoseok says nothing when Namjoon rises and accepts his hand, giving a silent nod of acknowledgement before the two of them head off into the night.

“Mama,” Hyun sobs into your shoulder. “Where Appa go?”

His tiny fists ball into your shirt, and you do your best to bounce him up and down, keeping your own tears at bay. It’d been three days since you lost track of Namjoon, and in those three days, there hadn’t been a single text, call, or sign that he was okay. That he was still alive.

After picking up Hyun from your parents’ house, tearfully telling them the whole story, the two of you had returned home last night. In the back of your mind, you knew you were going against the last thing Namjoon had told you when he ordered you to leave the city, but you had to be here. He’d find his way back to you. He had to.

Every few hours were like this - Hyun would suddenly remember Namjoon and his tiny whimpers and sobs made you consider if it was finally time to stop waiting and call the police. Yet every time you dialed the number, something made you reconsider. The last look on Namjoon’s face remained burned into your memory, the shadows casting half his face in darkness when he asked you to run.

Your husband was a simple man. He left for work at 7:05am every day, and came back around 5:43pm. You knew he had excess money to spare, but you never asked him where it went, his only splurge being on an expensive bike he liked to ride on weekends. Date nights were mostly full of ramyeon and sushi on the couch at home, the fancy dinner a couple of nights ago a rare occurrence for you both. Which is why you were deeply unsettled by what had happened. 

It was almost as though Namjoon knew trouble was waiting for you that night, as if he’d been anticipating things to blow up in his face, The way he’d been so prepared — his calm, collected demeanor through it all made you shudder. Like he’d had experience dealing with it before. And that was what gave you pause.

Namjoon never really spoke about his life growing up – he was an only child, and while he was sociable in college, he mostly kept to himself. That didn’t stop you from wanting to get to know more about him, his brown eyes glimmering with the depth of the man he hid from everyone else. Everything had been a whirlwind after, falling into bed just as easily as you’d fallen for him, eloping right after you’d both graduated, with Hyun coming soon after. 

He’d never gone into detail about his family to you — only that his parents weren’t around, and you could see the pain in his eyes when he went slack-jawed and silent, eyes misty with unshed tears. That was when you’d decided that Namjoon didn’t need his family - he had the two of you right there, and that was enough.

But whatever happened that night changed everything. You shivered thinking about how you ran so easily when he told you to, how you didn’t want to stay to see who came out on top - Namjoon or the other man. You had a feeling the answer would twist your stomach into more knots than it already had.

Putting Hyun to nap on the couch, you decide to make a cup of tea to clear your head. And that’s when the doorbell rings.

Namjoon stares up at the ugly brown ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He’d begged his father to paint it to complement the green walls, yearning for a taste of the outdoors that he never got to see living in the compound, with its cold concrete floors and stark white walls. In retaliation, Namjoon’s father had smashed one of his plant pots, screaming about how Namjoon needed to get his head out of the ground and finally start taking responsibility of his duties as the leader’s son.

So Namjoon had done what any 16 year would do. He’d corralled a snickering Seokjin, a skeptical Yoongi, and a spirited Hoseok and taken his father’s car for a joyride to snag a few cans of spray paint.

The uneven paint job stares back at him, and he smiles at the memory of the four of them running out of the hardware store, whooping in delight. Not a hair looked out of place, the room the exact same way Namjoon had left it seven years ago. And yet everything was different.

Stretching, he looks at the pots on the windowsill, each plant a former paragon of pride for him. Evidence that he, Kim Namjoon, was nothing like the slimy crooks he’d grown up around. He respected life enough not to turn it into a living hell for others. Fingering the withered leaves now, he remarks at how big a fool he’d been to think so.

“I tried my best to water them,” Hoseok appears behind him, setting down a glass of water. “But you were always better at the outdoor shit than I was.”

He feels the bed creak next to him, and it’s silent between them for a few moments.

“Hobi,” Namjoon croaks, and he feels Hoseok stiffen at the use of his nickname. “I’m sorry.”

Hoseok’s lips purse into a straight line, giving no indication that he accepts Namjoon’s apology. But he had to say it anyway.

“I sent Yoongi-hyung and Seokjin-hyung to check on her,” he says softly, and Namjoon’s heart sinks with guilt because he hadn’t been thinking about you, or where you were right now. All he hoped was that you were safe.

“You fucking bastard,” Hoseok chuckles, a tear slipping out. “You got married and you didn’t even tell us. I was supposed to be your best man.”

He’s unsure how much Hoseok knows about you, or even Hyun, but the bitter regret in the other man’s voice tells him that he wasn’t the only one with wounds who’d been festering for longer than they should’ve.

Namjoon knows he owes an explanation to him, to all of them, but tonight, he’s tired. The moonlight filters in through the windows, casting an eerie glow over the room, and he can’t help but feel that everything’s about to change.

“____?” The man outside the door has eyes that gleam like a cat’s, piercing through the darkness as he surveys the home you share with Namjoon. Behind him, a taller man, his face covered by the shadows, looms, and a chill runs down your spine. Hyun was still sleeping peacefully on the couch.

“It’s about Namjoon.” The other man’s voice is gruff, his impatient sigh echoing into the night, and you watch his eyes widen as the door swings open.

“Who are you?” you ask through gritted teeth. “How do you know my husband?”

They step inside, their dark suits casting a shadowy gloom over what was once your bright and cheery home. Hyun naps away, and you become ever more aware of every tiny breath he takes when you see their eyes flicker to him, a surprised look on both of their faces. 

“He’s yours?” The taller man asks, and you hate the way he looks at your son, a stone mask over his perfect features.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen, please,” you beckon them over, not liking the way they continue to study him.

Stepping into the space, it feels more cramped than you’re used to, Namjoon usually preferring to keep out of it lest he set the house on fire with his lack of cooking prowess. Thinking about him had you experiencing a pang of guilt.

“My name is Yoongi,” the cat-eyed man mumbles, and then gestures to his partner. “This is Seokjin.”

The other man, Seokjin, looks at you curiously, and you don’t like the way his eyes bore into you, as if he’s trying to convince you to unveil your darkest secrets with one glance.

“We were Namjoon’s friends,” Yoongi says calmly, which seems to set Seokjin off.

“We’re his fucking family, Yoongs,” he spits out.

You feel dizzy – Namjoon had never mentioned these strange men to you. As far as you knew, he didn’t have any siblings or cousins he was close to. Who were they, and what did they want with him?

“Is he safe?” You have a million other questions, but this feels like the most important one.

Yoongi gives you a nod, and you feel the tension seep from your body, only for your heart to stop at his next words.

“But he’s not coming back. Look, it’s not our place to tell you about Namjoon, and it pains me because you deserve answers that you’ll never get. But you have to listen to him and leave. It’s not safe for you or your family here anymore.”

Head spinning, you resist the urge to crash into the side of the dining table as you stumble, catching yourself quickly enough to take a seat. 

“What do you mean? Where’s Namjoon? Why can’t I talk to him?”

“Listen,” Seokjin hisses, cornering you. “If you know what’s good for you and the kid, you’ll listen to us. We may fuck with a lot of nasty things, things that would make your toes curl, but there’s enough psychos out there on the streets who won’t hesitate to fuck over a woman and her child. We’re trying to give you an out.” 

Yoongi looks you over, and you see his eyes flash with sadness at the tears that fill your own.

“Namjoon isn’t who you thought he was. I know it’s hard, but you need to listen to us. You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. You can still have a happy life, meet someone new, fall in love again.”

You feel delirious. 

“You’re lying. Namjoon is my husband. No one knows him better than I do. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He literally rides bikes with Hyun and they pick flowers together, for god’s sake!”

You don’t know why you feel the need to defend the accusations against him. The fact that they were telling you this at all meant that your husband had caught you in his web of lies, that all the years you’d spent by each other’s side were a farce.

“Yoongi, let’s go,” Seokjin says darkly. “We’ve done what we needed to do.”

Turning to you, he spares Hyun one last glance before crossing the threshold.

“I hope we never have to see each other again ___. For your sake.”

“You have a son,” Seokjin says monotonously as Namjoon pads sleepily to the breakfast table, freezing in his tracks when he hears him mention Hyun.

He’d been too tired to think about anything last night, knocking out as soon as he hit the pillow, seeking reprieve from the mess of thoughts in his mind that wondered how he was going to get out of this. And back to you.

Sipping his coffee, Seokjin starts at him sharply, Yoongi looking past him at the paint chipping on the wall, and Hoseok’s mouth parted in surprise.

“For fuck’s sake, Namjoon, what else are you hiding from us? I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Hoseok’s voice rises, ignoring Yoongi’s warning to keep it down. 

“Kim doesn’t know he’s here,” Yoongi seethes, and Namjoon pauses. They hadn’t told his father?

Looking at Yoongi, he knows he can always count on him to be the voice of reason, to work through the hundreds of questions Namjoon has.

“Are they safe?” The most important thing.

Yoongi nods his affirmation. “For now.”

Looking at the three men, men who he’s known for most of his life, Namjoon finally lets himself feel the anger that’s been building inside of him. Everything had been fine, he’d been happy. Why’d they have to fuck it all up?

“Then do you mind telling me what the fuck I’m doing here?”

“Should’ve left his ungrateful ass on the streets, Hobi,” Seokjin quips. “Ahn’s man would’ve taken care of him when he came to.”

At the mention of Ahn again, Namjoon looks at Yoongi curiously. “I thought we had a deal with the Ahns. Why were they roaming around our territory, looking for trouble?”

Yoongi pushes the chair towards him, beckoning him to join them at the table. Namjoon takes the seat uncertainly, pleading with them to finally answer his queries.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

. . .

Your father is dying. Seokjin’s words have been echoing ceaslessly in the back of Namjoon’s mind, ever since he uttered them an hour ago. We need you.

The news brings Namjoon more relief than he’d cared to admit. Kim Yonghyun had never been much of a father to him anyway. His own mother had known better than he did, vanishing when Namjoon was twelve, never to be heard from again. She was still out there somewhere, hopefully where Yonghyun couldn’t find her.

Looking out the window, he looks out onto the courtyard of the compound, the bars on his window reminding him that this was the same prison he’d run away from years ago. Even if his room was still pristine and untouched, like it was waiting for him to come back. Even if Hoseok had still brewed him a cup of his favorite espresso after Namjoon had coldly refused to talk further about Hyun.

His own son was named after the monster who created him, and Namjoon wonders if he’d ever truly been able to let his past go. Or if it’d always remained, a black stain hiding under the disguise he’d created for himself, the false life he’d built. The one that was now about to come crumbling down.

He’s driven our organization to shit, Hoseok had said. Starting careless disputes with the other families, engaging in pointless violence. We need a better leader, a stronger one.

They needed him to finally step up to onto the pedestal they’d created for him, to accept his legacy with open arms. If you’d asked him seven years ago, Namjoon would have vehemently refused, convinced that there was a better life for him out there, one where he could live freely and be a normal kid who went to college, who fell in love, who got married and bought a house. Now, he wasn’t sure if those had been dreams or delusions.

He needed to talk to you.

It’s not even a day later when you hear the distinctive clink of Namjoon’s keys at the door, Hyun babbling at the table. 

The soft thud of his shoes at the entryway feels like the loudest sound you’ve ever heard, heavier than the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. 

“APPA!” Hyun screeches with joy, his chubby arms reaching out for Namjoon’s longer ones. 

“Hyunnie,” Namjoon’s eyes crinkle in adoration, lifting him up out of the high chair swinging him around. Hyun’s delighted giggles echo, Namjoon’s soft chuckles accompanying them, and for a moment, it feels like everything is back to normal. But it isn’t. 

You don’t lift your eyes to look up at Namjoon, and he notices. Pressing a kiss to Hyun’s hair, he sets him down.

“Hyunnie, go play with your toys. Appa needs to talk to Mama for a few minutes.”

“Hyunnie miss you Appa. Pleez don’t leave again.” And with that he waddles off, leaving the air heavy in between you both. 

Namjoon takes a seat next to you at the table, watching the way your throat bobs like you’re trying not to cry, and he feels tears of his own spring forth. 

“___,” he reaches for your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, and that’s when you explode into quiet sobs, praying that Hyun can’t hear you from the other room.

Namjoon’s arms wrap around you in an instant, stroking your back until the sobs subside, urging you to take deep breaths, and finally you’re ready. 

You reach behind you to grab for something, and Namjoon pales when you push a folder with a stack of papers his way, his worst nightmare coming true. 

“No,” Namjoon protests, refusing to open the folder. “Absolutely not. Why are you doing this?”

“You lied to me Namjoon,” you declare firmly, doing your best to overcome the wobble in your voice. “Or is that even your real name?”

All the blood rushes out from Namjoon’s face at your accusation, wondering what you found out, what you knew now, and he aches with the regret that he never got to tell you himself. 

He’d been thinking about this moment for years, about what he’d do if this ever happened, and despite the thousands of theorized and calculated ways he’d settled on going about his explanation, he chokes back a sob. A needy, desperate feeling overcomes him, one that tells him that this isn’t it, that this can’t be the end.

“What are you saying ___? Are you calling me a liar? Look at me.”

He lifts your face up to his, searching your eyes for a spark of emotion, anything that would convince him you didn’t mean what you said, but all he finds are hollow pools of emptiness.

“I’m still Namjoon. I’m your husband, I’m Hyun’s father. This, this is all real. What we have is real. I’m begging you, please, please don’t throw it away like this.”

You take a moment to respond, knowing that what you have to say will be the end of this, will probably drive a stake through the spectacle that had been your marriage, and you feel less guilty when you remember that he did this first. That while all you’d ever been was honest, loving him with everything you had, he’d kept secrets from you. He’d put you and Hyun in danger.

“Is it drugs, then?” Namjoon recoils, feeling his stomach drop. “Or do you fuck with people’s money instead, putting them in helpless situations just for a couple hundred dollars you need to survive? I always used to wonder, why it felt like even though I was your wife, I never knew you properly. Never knew anything about your past. I thought it was because you had some kind of unresolved trauma. But that’s bullshit. You’ve been the one traumatizing people for years. You and the rest of your friends.”

You knew who he was, the legacy he came from. He doesn’t even need to ask how you found out. You’d always been the smartest woman he’d every known, putting together the most complex mathematical formulas. All you needed was a hint. Yoongi and Seokjin had fed it right to you.

“This isn’t fair,” he chokes out. “You don’t know anything about the other side of things, ___. You can’t even imagine what I’ve had to go through, why I’ve had to do what I do. I did it for you!”

“Stop saying that!” you cry out. “Stop it, please. If you really wanted to protect me, if you really wanted to protect Hyun, you would have left. You wouldn’t have brought this darkness into our home. Do you know what could happen to him, Namjoon? He’s only three years old!”

At your outburst, Hyun comes running into the kitchen, his face falling when he sees his Mama’s eyes red with tears. 

“Mama,” he reaches out for you, and you pull him onto your lap, holding him in a death grip, because you’re afraid of what will happen to him if you let go.

“Mama, no crying peez, Appa came back,” he wipes a tear from your face, and Namjoon’s heart breaks into two. Hyun didn’t know that it was his fault. You gently stroke his dark hair, whispering in his ear to go up to his room and change, and that you’ll come by for a bedtime story soon. You say nothing when Hyun asks for Namjoon to come up too, and Namjoon knows tonight will be his last night ever spent in his home.

When Hyun leaves, he reaches back out for you, but you slap his arm away.

“___, please, there’s no need to overreact. I can explain everything, just please, please don’t push me away. I need you.”

The last sentence comes out in the form of a sob, and Namjoon wishes more than anything that you’d hold him right now, that you’d stay by his side while things fell apart around him.

“Do you know what the worst part of this is, Namjoon? I’ve been staring at my phone for days, trying to summon up the courage to say something, to call the police, to ruin you. But I can’t. Because there’ll always be some sick, twisted part of me that loves you. But I don’t want you to lie anymore. I want you to leave.”

Namjoon’s shoulders slump in defeat, and his voice shakes.

“Is there nothing I can say to convince you to fix this?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Namjoon accepts. “I’ll go.”

You don’t say a word to him as he pads out of the kitchen, slipping his coat over his shoulders and tying his shoes. He wonders if he should stop in and say goodbye to Hyun, but decides against him. His son would hate him eventually for what he did, and if Namjoon had learned anything from running away from home, a clean break was best. He hopes that the two of you can live peacefully now, no longer burdened by the demons he’s had to shoulder.

As he slips out the door, he hears your voice, so quiet that he’s almost not convinced it’s real.

“Thank you.”

Hoseok is awake when Namjoon returns, red-eyed and aching, drunk off one too many glasses of whiskey. He says nothing at first when Namjoon collapses onto the seat across of him, but eventually he can’t hold back.

“The old man wants to talk to you in the morning.” 

It feels like another punch to Namjoon’s gut, having to face his father after losing you. He feels like a laughingstock, hearing his father’s mocking words in the back of his mind, calling him weak, sentimental, a fool.

For the first time in his life, Namjoon agrees with him. When he was a boy, he’d dreamt of a life away from the city’s underbelly, one that wasn’t governed by the shackles of duty and tradition. His mother leaving had only fueled his desire to seek an out. Because Namjoon didn’t want to commit himself to a life of lies, violence, and deceit. 

He knew that Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin operated outside of the frame and that the work they did was illegal. To them, the Kims had always been about being the shining paragon of the city’s scum. Their deals with the cops to keep trouble off the streets had worked for decades, but now it seemed like just like Namjoon’s own life, his father’s empire was collapsing. He knew Yonghyun was growing senile with his old age, and Namjoon shivers when he thinks of how bad things had gotten for them to come looking for him again.

As he ponders, Hoseok studies him curiously, remarking that the Namjoon that sat before him now looked nothing like his clumsy childhood friend who’d always raved about poetry and or school. Namjoon had always been the best of them, a bright star amongst a sea of dark mercenaries. But now, he looked completely worn, ready to submit to a fate he’d never wanted.

“Do you really hate us that much, Namjoon-ah?” Hoseok asks quietly, and Namjoon gulps, unable to answer him. His head was pounding. 

Hoseok knew Namjoon had snuck out to see you, and for the first time, he realizes how little he actually knows the man who he used to call his best friend. He assumed at first that is was some kind of magic pussy that kept Namjoon in a chokehold for so long, but seeing him now, he can’t help but think it’s something deeper.

Hoseok had never really known love growing up. He couldn’t even say he loved the fiancée his parents had chosen for him. But he had an inkling that love was what destroyed Namjoon’s life, what turned him into the shell of a man sitting before him.

He’d do anything to get his old friend back.

“Hyunnie, please let go of Mama, please,” you beg your screaming son, snot and spit soaking the side of your blazer as he balls his tiny fists into the fabric, refusing to go with the daycare teacher. 

He hadn’t understood Namjoon’s departure at first, asking you every day if he was coming home, if he’d been working too much. You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, so you lied, saying Namjoon was away on a trip. He’d believed you for a while, but Hyun was as smart as Namjoon.

Now, he realized his father wasn’t coming back, and it only meant he clung on tighter to you. It broke your heart that Hyun thought you’d ever leave him. You wondered if he’d hate you should he ever find out you sent Namjoon away. 

Summoning up the urge to peel Hyun off of you, you press a dozen kisses to his tear-stained cheeks, his tiny sniffles sending pangs of guilt through you. The daycare teacher smiles sympathetically at you, before luring Hyun away with a book, and you muster a tiny grin at his somewhat excited face. He was Namjoon’s son, through and through.

The thought of Namjoon sends a jolt of pain across your temples, and you resist the urge to cry in public, knowing you had a sea of tears stored. You thought you knew what you were doing, ending things between you two, but you’d never imagined how impossibly hard it would be doing everything alone. 

Namjoon had been your partner in every way. He’d shouldered every burden with you equally, and celebrated every happiness. To have it all stop so suddenly felt more overwhelming than you could put into words.

It felt like your life had come to standstill, the man you’d left behind taunting you, while the future remained dark and murky. You’d do your best for Hyun, of course, but you didn’t know if you’d every truly be able to recover.

You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. You can still have a happy life, meet someone new, fall in love again.

Yoongi’s words echo in the back of your mind, and you want to tell him just how wrong he was, but the sight of someone leaning against your car stops you.

Your shocked face stares into Namjoon’s dark eyes, and you feel the ground slip out from underneath you. Namjoon’s arms are out before you can even topple over, catching you. He looks taller, his hair longer, wearing what looks like an expensive designer suit, the fabric more fine than anything you’ve seen before.

He looks at you with concern, studying for any signs that you’re sick, or hurt. When he’s satisfied with your overall condition, he finally speaks.

“I’m not going to take up too much of your time, I swear. I have some things to do after this.”

You wonder what things he’s referring to, and decide you don’t want to know. 

“I just,” he starts, but pauses mid-way, shoulders slumping. “I just wanted to see you again. And Hyun. I’m sorry ___.”

You give a subtle nod, but no indication that you have any sympathy for him, and turn to leave. Before you can get into the car, he spins you towards him again.

“My real name is Kim Namjoon. Not Kang. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but my father’s name is Kim Yonghyun. You don’t have to say anything, or respond, but you deserve to know.”

And then he lets you go.

Tucking a sleeping Hyun into bed, you sit down on the couch, the bright glare of your laptop hurting your eyes. Opening Google, you type in Kim Yonghyun, and your mouth gapes in shock. 

The articles about the Kim family go back for decades. They’re not just a lowlife gang, they’re an entire organization. Yonghyun was their current leader, and Namjoon was his son. Heir to a criminal legacy. Your gut twists as you click more articles, names popping up that were familiar to you - Lee, Ahn, Song. These people owned over half the city. They were everywhere, infiltrating your daily life. And you’d fallen in love with one of them. Suddenly, parts of Namjoon’s past begin to click for you. The way he’d been so desparate to have a normal college experience, dragging you out to a bar with him. The way he’d put his entire soul into doing well at his classes, interviewing for jobs. You’d always told him to slow down, that the two of you had many years to figure it out, but for Namjoon, figuring it out was difference between life and death. 

You wonder if your kind, gentle husband who loved books and stopped for tiny animals on the side of the road had ever killed a man.

Slamming your laptop shut, you curl up in the blankets of the couch, hoping that tonight Namjoon wouldn’t chose to visit you in your dreams again.

Namjoon frowns, looking over the stack of files that Seokjin had unceremoniously dumped on his desk. Unbelievable. His father had him reading through twenty years’ worth of documents on the organization, everything from the code of honour to the accounts. The old man didn’t trust him.

His glasses slide down his nose, and he rubs at his temples. Disappearing without a trace hadn’t been his finest move.

“This look suits you,” Seokjin snickers from across the table, and Namjoon scowls. “You look like a proper godfather.”

“Shut it,” Namjoon grumbles, and Seokjin’s smile only grows wider.

“Only like being called daddy, huh?” he quips, and Namjoon’s ears go red. Fuck Seokjin and his merciless teasing.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me—” Seokjin looks at him with wide eyes, and Namjoon holds up a hand to cut him off.

“One more word, hyung, and you’ll wish you kept your stupidly perfect mouth shut.”

“So,” Seokjin ignores him completely, spinning around in his office chair. “What’s the grand plan, Godfather Kim? You gonna take over for Yonghyun or what?” 

Namjoon doesn’t respond, and Seokjin leans over the table.

“Is it really that bad, Namjoon? Our org is more well-run than most of the other lowlifes on the streets. You have everything here - unlimited respect, unlimited bitches, unlimited money.”

“There’s more to life than bitches and money, hyung.” And Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“God, you and Yoongi are the exact same. You get married and turn into huge simps. So, tell me about her.”

Namjoon looks up, prepared to tell Seokjin that he’s not in the mood for his jokes, but the look in the older man’s eyes is sincere, like he genuinely wants to know.

“___ is,” Namjoon begins. “She’s everything to me. Before I met her, I didn’t know one person could change your entire life. After I ran away, I wondered if I made the right decision, about whether leaving this all behind was worth it. But she, she made it worth it. She and Hyun are the best things that have ever happened to me.” 

Namjoon closes the file, rising abruptly. Running into you had been an impulsive decision, and he hadn’t fully prepared himself for the rush of emotions he felt seeing you again. Your hair still smelt like the jasmine shampoo you used, the bags under your eyes darker and your clothes a little rumpled, but his body still responded in the same way it had when you’d shyly kissed him when he dropped you off after a study date so many years ago. And he felt guilty.

“Namjoon-ah, I’m sorry.” Seokjin’s words make him turn sharply. “We didn’t want to drag them into this, I swear.”

“What do I do hyung?” Namjoon holds back a sob. “I lost her.”

“You’re a smart guy, Namjoon-ah. You’ll figure things out. You always have.”

The knock on the door startles you awake, and you nearly fall out of bed looking at the time on the alarm clock. 12:03am. Quietly slipping into your house shoes, you check on Hyun, afraid something had happened to your baby. A deep sigh of relief escapes when you see him nestled in his crib, sleeping peacefully with one fist curled up into a tiny ball.

Padding down the stairs, you look at the various pictures on the wall - photos of you and Namjoon and Hyun throughout the years. Your graduation photos, your engagement photos, your wedding, Hyun’s first birthday. Memories that had been destroyed in the blink of an eye. The crushing realization hits you that you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to keep this house anymore. What’s worse is that you realize you may not want to either. 

You peek through the doorhole, paling when you see Namjoon on the other end, and you’re sure he knows you’re currently behind the door. Throwing the door open, you take in his disheveled appearance, suit rumpled and hair sticking up in every direction, Yoongi right behind him.

“I–, I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I just wanted to see Hyun. Five minutes, that’s all.”

“He’s asleep,” you clarify, wanting him to leave as quickly as possible. “Now is not a good time.”

“Please,” he begs, his eyes misting, and you move without thinking, stepping aside to let him in.

Behind him, Yoongi follows, back in your home for the second time in as many months, and you watch his eyes flicker to the various portraits that line the walls and sit on top of the tables.

Namjoon climbs up the stairs, and you don’t know why you decide to follow along, intruding on the private moment as he disappears into Hyun’s nursery.

“Hyunnie,” his low voice echoes into the emptiness of the room. “How are you buddy? You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you.”

The heaviness in Namjoon’s voice makes it clear to you that he’s crying, and your arms itch to wrap around him, to comfort him. He wasn’t a terrible father.

Namjoon stares at the cot for a few moments longer, never making a move to reach for Hyun, and then he turns and makes his way out, stopping in the hallway.

“Thank you—”

“Do you want a cup of tea?” you blurt out. 

Nodding silently, Namjoon follows you down to the kitchen, Yoongi appearing shocked that he doesn’t seem to be heading straight for the door.

“Both of you sit, please. I’ll make some tea.”

You get to work, pots and pans clattering as you swear under your breath, trying to keep the volume down so you don’t disturb Hyun.

Yoongi’s sharp eyes peer across the table at Namjoon, and he nods, subtly willing Namjoon to break the not so awkward silence.

“My father, I mean, I, uh-, I have some money set aside for Hyun’s college fund.”

Yoongi’s neutral stare turns into daggers, and Namjoon grows even more flustered.

“I don’t want to take your money.” You set the tea mugs on the table, pulling up a chair, the only sound the be heard the occasional slurp of the hot beverage.

“___, is there nothing I can do to make this work? I want to fix this.”

His plea surprises even Yoongi, who turns to look at your reaction. You remain frozen, mouth agape, before firmly nodding your head.

“I can’t trust you Namjoon. You lied to them, you lied to me for so many years. That doesn’t just go away.”

“I know. It won’t go away, but it doesn’t have to. But maybe we can put these pieces back together, use them to build a stronger foundation. Like kintsugi.”

The mention of the golden seams fills you with a warmth you didn’t think was possible to feel again. You look down at the mug you’d picked out, and a small smile graces your face when you see that it’s the one he repaired for you in the same way right after you’d dropped it during your first week in the house.

The conversation suddenly feels too suffocating, to intimate for your weary-eyed self in the dead of the night. There was a lot the two of you had to work through, things that could take years to properly unpack. Could you condemn yourself to that nightmare? Could you subject Hyun to the pain of two parents who had a hard time being in the same room? You weren’t sure it was worth it. But you also knew that Namjoon would keep turning up, using Hyun as an excuse or blaming a coincidence, just so he could convince you again. 

“We should get some sleep,” you put the mug down, your soft steps echoing as you walk out, leaving the two men alone, but not before you hear Yoongi’s hushed voice.

“College fund? Really?” 

The recoil of the shot rings in Namjoon’s ears as he watches the bullet whiz through the air, missing the target completely and lodging itself into the wall. He lets out a heavy sigh, the empty weapon falling from his hands.

“Great job, Namjoon-hyung. You were so close! You’ll definitely make it next time.” The doe-eyed boy next to him bounces with pent-up energy, patting him on the back. Jeon Jungkook was every bit the son that Yonghyun deserved. He, along with new recruits to the Kim clan, his cousin Taehyung and Park Jimin, were the sons that Yonghyun always deserved. Never missing a mark. Never fucking up a mission. Never running away from anything. Namjoon doesn’t have the heart to tell Jungkook he missed on purpose. Not because he sucked, but because he was a coward. The pressure from his father had been mounting for him to finally prove himself worthy of the Kim lineage, and to send him out on a mission. Namjoon had accepted with reservations in his heart - no longer sure where his life was taking him.

The good news was you started to let him visit Hyun, Namjoon slipping through the door at the middle of the night to stroke his son’s hair. He could feel your eyes watching him from the nursery door, but you never came inside. 

He thinks back to his last visit a few days ago.

He’d been brave enough to press a kiss to Hyun’s chubby face, his cheeks puffing out as he stirred slightly, which was Namjoon’s cue to back away. Until he heard it.

Come back Appa, the tiny voice whimpered, and Namjoon had never walked faster out of Hyun’s room, tears clinging to his lashes until he bumped into your frozen figure outside. Your cheeks were wet with tears too, and Namjoon didn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, sobbing into your shoulder, the two of you staying like that longer than he could count.

When you finally separated, a choked whimper escaped you, like you wanted to say something, but instead, you turned on your heel, sprinting towards what was once your shared bedroom. The soft thud of the door slamming shut had been the end of that.

“Jeon, can I steal him for a second?” Yoongi comes up behind him, clapping Namjoon on the back. He’s not alone. His wife, who Namjoon had known well throughout their childhood, is behind him, the two of them looking at him with a mischevious glint in their eyes.

“You’ll never believe who we ran into just now,” Yoongi’s wife laughs, and Namjoon tilts his head in confusion.

She launches into an animated discussion about how she’d seen ___ and Hyun while touring a a daycare for Hana, Yoongi’s daughter.

“She’s wonderful Namjoon, why haven’t you ever introduced us?” Namjoon looks to Yoongi for support, but the other man just smirks, placing a reassuring hand on his wife’s back.

“Don’t worry dear, I have a feeling we’ll see Namjoon and ____ together sooner than we’ll think,” reaching for his phone.

Namjoon’s own phone pings with the notification of a text, and he looks down to see that Yoongi has sent him a discreet picture of ____ and Hyun, smiling happily as they talked to his wife, and he breathes a sigh of relief. The way you talked to them with ease puts a small glimmer of hope in his chest, that maybe with time, with convincing, you could be okay with this. Okay with him. And that the three of you could be happy again.

He’d keep fighting for you both. He had to.

Shivering, you shake tiny droplets from your hair as you step inside, the stark, white walls of the gallery as uninviting as the outside climate. You chatter your teeth and rub your arms in an attempt to warm up. Hyun was at daycare, and part of you felt guilty for leaving him there when you knew you didn’t have any work meetings today, but you needed time alone. To think. 

The receptionist greets you with a warm smile, excitedly telling you all about their latest exhibit, and you smile and nod politely, eager to get away from her chipper presence, and to bask in your own gloom. You could have done anything else today - caught up on paperwork, tackled the massive pile of laundry that sat in your room, had a treat-yourself session at the mall, but something compelled you to come and see the new gallery that had opened in the city. Sighing, you realize it’s probably because Namjoon would have loved it, and you missed seeing the way his eyes twinkled when he saw a piece he liked, standing behind you and sending goosebumps all along your arm when he whispered the meaning into your ear.

Half the time, the comments would quickly stray away from the art, and turn to the way he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you at home, to tear your clothes off, to have you screaming under him while he made you forget your own name. Another shiver hits you, but this time, it’s not from the cold. 

Shoes clacking, you step into the open space, the paintings arranged neatly along the wall, and you pick one to study.

The interlocking lines and the bold geometric patterns kept you busy, your eyes flitting from corner to corner, head swimming with thoughts about the tricks the painting seemed to be playing. They looked like they went on forever, creating a grid, or a map, that careened off the canvas, trailing off into infinity. It made you feel even more lonely, a mere speck in this huge world, full of so many things you were unaware of. 

“It’s called Nucleus,” a voice calls out from behind you. One that you knew all too well. You turn to see Namjoon, his hair equally soaked and heavy coat dripping onto the floor. You should have known he’d be interested in the exhibit. It wasn’t like mafia bosses existed outside the realm of humanity.

You want to back away as he comes closer, but remain frozen in place.

“The lines and patterns are supposed to draw your eyes to every corner, make you study the entire painting, but it’s a trick of course. All that really matters is how they come together in the center, creating a focal point of attention. A nucleus. An omphalos. A heart.”

You look up at him, sucking in a sharp breath, and you want to be alone, somewhere private, somewhere he couldn’t see you break down from all the pain, all the hurt that you’d put the two of yourselves through.

Namjoon senses you’re about to leave before you do, and he already slips an arm around your waist, stopping you in your tracks.

“It’s raining. Let me drop you home.”

Gulping, you nod your agreement, his hand never leaving it’s place on your waist as the two of you step out into the deluge.

. . . 

Rain always scared you. You hated how dark it made everything seem, the eerie shadows it would cast through the blinds of your home, the loud crackle of thunder that would wake Hyun up with a sob. 

Namjoon, on the other hand, loved the rain. It reminded him that the world wasn’t monolithic, that it was ever-changing. It helped him realize that he didn’t have to be forced into a role he didn’t want to play, that while it poured outside, new life could be born and could blossom.

The two of you come to a pause outside the doorstep, Namjoon’s eyes mirroring the storm outside, full of uncertainty. You were sure you were the same, the two of you mirroring each other, but no longer having the same nucleus to pivot around.

Namjoon holds his breath, wanting a few more moments with you to remember, before fate would inevitably set you on your separate ways again. He can smell the dew collecting on the grass, but there’s also the fragrance of your shampoo, and he observes the way the droplets collect on the tip of your nose, before dropping down to wet your lips.

You surge forward, seeking his lips, and Namjoon stumbles for a brief second, before his arm comes up to wrap around you, meeting you halfway. You feel dizzy, clinging onto his warmth like it’s an anchor, keeping you from floating away from this moment.

The solid wood behind you falls away when Namjoon wrestles with the doorknob, the two of you slipping and sliding into the entryway, Namjoon’s tongue becoming more insistent, and a low whine escapes from the back of your throat.

The two of you part, soaked and trembling, and Namjoon rests his forehead to yours. You can feel his hot breath fan against your cheeks, now flushed from the cold, and you realize your fists are still balled into the heavy material of his jacket. 

Heat rises in your chest, and you feel like a livewire, tingling at the mere thought of having Namjoon so close to you again. You knew this was a bad idea, that it would complicate everything, but you didn’t have it in you to care, heart skipping a beat when Namjoon pulls you back in, seeking your lips once more.

The coat falls to the floor in no time at all, and you can’t stop your hands from roaming everywhere, Namjoon’s damp shirt doing nothing to hide the body you knew so well, the one you’d probably never forget.

His thumbs slip underneath the hem of your shirt, tracing circles into the top of your hips, you whine even louder.

Moments later, the scratchy sheets of the bed meet your back, Namjoon setting you down softly, reaching over his head to take off his soaked clothes. Sighing, you reach for his hands, the warm fingertips slipping through your cold ones easily, and pull him towards you, limbs tangling together in desperation. Your skirt slips up to your waist, exposing your soaked panties, and Namjoon’s hands settle on your thighs, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, and dips his head down to leave soft kisses on your core.

“Say it,” he begs. “Say you want me.”

“I n-need you, Joon, need to feel you, fuck–” 

You moan when he pushes the fabric to the side, flicking his tongue against your folds, and your hands reach for his hair, tugging at the strands while he groans underneath.

“Fuck, I missed the way you taste, always so good for me,” he groans, slipping a finger in to circle around your clit, and you writhe against him, unable to take the teasing. 

“Does my pretty girl want me to fuck her?” He groans into your pussy, arms flexing to keep you spread out underneath him, and you babble incoherently, unable to put your desire into words. All you knew was that you never wanted this moment to end.

When you feel yourself teetering on the brink, body flushing with anticipation, it all stops. Panting, you look at Namjoon, his dark eyes surveying you hungrily, and a shiver makes its way down your spine.

“Ride me, baby,” he orders.

Peeling the rest of your wet clothes off, you watch Namjoon settle into the pillows, like he never left at all, and it makes your heart lurch. His hand reaches for yours when you climb back over him, hips straddling his thighs, and he presses it to his chest, right above where his heart beats, hissing when he slips into you.

You rock against him slowly, gently, your heavy breathing the only sound amidst the backdrop of rain, and his hands reach for you, roaming over every bit of your body, light touches that drive you wild. Leaning back, you anchor yourself on the sheets, allowing him to roll his hips upward, the two of you moving in tandem.

“Mine,” he sighs, cupping your ass. “All mine.”

“Yours,” you echo, walls clenching around him when he began to slowly rub circles on your clit, tears stinging your eyes.

His other hand reaches for your neck, pulling you in to wipe the tears away with the pad of his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours as you fall apart around him, Namjoon’s thrusts speeding up as he groans into your shoulder, your arms drawing circles into his back as he spills inside of you.

Lifting you off of him, his arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel a wet trail of tears on his cheeks as the words spill out, and he tells you everything.

Tells you about growing up with a father who belittled and abused him for being weak, about his mother who left when he was a teen, about Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok, his friends who he feels like he’d abandoned. He tells you that he’s not sure what the right thing is anymore, not sure who needs him more – the city or his family, and how he feels so fucking lost all the time. He rambles until his voice becomes thick with fatigue, slowly eventually to the deep breaths you’d come to know beside you for yours, and you wrap his arms tighter around you. 

When you wake up in the morning, he’s gone.

Namjoon’s head pounds with guilt as he follows his father into the car, the tinted windows obscuring his plight from the world around him. Behind him, Yoongi and Hoseok look on with sharp eyes, guns belted into their holsters, preparing themselves for the imminent shitshow that was about to arise.

The problem was, it had already begun the moment Namjoon kissed you last night. His mind runs through the countless memories he’d stored from that night, from your soft lips to the sharp cries of pleasure that he’d wrought from you, and decides that he’s even more fucked now.

Looking at his phone, his thumb hovers over the text you’d sent him, one that was definitely borne from anger at seeing an empty bed when you woke up.

I’m leaving with Hyun in a week. Please don’t come and see us again.

Sighing, he decides to focus on the car moving to quell his nausea, to keep back the bile that rises in his throat. He had to hold it together in front of Yonghyun. If he messed this up now, he’d have nothing left.

. . .

Taking the receipt from the bank teller, you survey the amount of money withdrawn, praying it’s enough for you to start somewhere new with Hyun, your heart breaking at the thought of finally leaving Namjoon for good. You’re one foot out the door when you hear a voice behind you.

“___? Is that you?” Turning, you’re met with the handsome face of Kim Seokjin, looking grim-faced in a black suit.

Ignoring him, you keep walking. You wanted nothing to do with him, nothing to do with Namjoon anymore. 

“___, please, please wait,” he stops you with a hand on your arm, beckoning you to sit with him. The two of you make your way to a secluded bench in a park, and Seokjin stares at you, before sighing in defeat, realizing you weren’t going to talk.

“Yonghyun is taking Namjoon to make a deal with the Lees today,” he looks out at the people strolling by. “It’s a test for him – if Namjoon does well, he’ll become the leader. These types of things usually go one of two ways - either we handle it, or becomes a bloodbath.”

“Good for him,” you grit through your teeth, ignoring the way your heart does a flip. “It seems like that’s what he wanted all along.”

“I’m not here to talk to you about Namjoon,” he says somberly. “Whatever happened is between him and you, it’s not my place to interfere.”

“Look,” you say with a clipped voice, “Can we cut this bullshit? What do you want Seokjin? You can’t convince me to go back to him.”

“I’m here to tell you about me,” he says, his eyes trained to the ground. “About my story.”

“What makes you think I want to hear anything about you?” you say, instantly regretting how rude it sounded.

“You probably don’t, but I always do this. Whenever I have this random feeling like everything might go to shit, I find the most random person I can think of, and tell them about Kim Seokjin. It makes me feel like less of a petty criminal, and more of a human, like someone people would want to remember. Sometimes it’s the ahjumma who runs a fruit stand, or the ahjusshi on his way to work. Sometimes it’s a bored kid. Today, I just happened to find you.”

He offers you a sip of his coffee, and you politely decline.

“I guess I should start at the beginning,” he chuckles. “I’ve known Namjoon since before he could walk. My father was his right hand man, but my parents were killed when I was young. Namjoon’s family took me in, and soon enough Yoongi and Hoseok joined our little circle. We were the best of friends’ thick as thieves, and for a while we were happy, but then Namjoon’s mother left.”

Your mind flits back to Namjoon’s hurried conversation in bed, babbling about how his mother had enough, about how she had to go.

“Namjoon was nothing like his father. He was everything like her, and the moment he saw that Yonghyun had pushed her away, had turned her into an unhappy shell, he grew restless. I always knew he’d leave us one day, that he’d try to carve out his own path.”

“Yoongi and Hoseok were bitterly upset, they couldn’t believe him. I couldn’t either. I mean, what kind of dork runs away from a multi-million dollar empire for a college education?”

You laugh hollowly at his joke, and he musters a small smile.

“It must have been about two weeks after he left. Or maybe it was a month. I’m not sure anymore. When you’re as old as I am, the days all start to blend together.”

“You don’t look a day past thirty,” you quip, and he snickers.

“It started with a girl,” he sighs. “Most things do. Contrary to what you think, even members of the mafia need our old wake me up call, and I stepped into a random coffee shop, and there she was. I flirted with her like an idiot, cracked my silly jokes, and it felt different from all the pointless hook-ups I had, from all the missions I’d spent with a gun strapped to my back chasing money. We started seeing each other.”

You look past him out onto the park, guilt permeating your body at his words. Was this how Namjoon had felt when he met you? Were you really worth leaving behind everything to him.

“A month later, she was dead. Shot outside the coffee shop after locking up one night. All because they knew she was associated with me. All because I was selfish, and only thought of myself. That’s when I realized there was no way out for any of us, except Namjoon.”

Shuddering, you think back to the years Namjoon spent shrouding the dark side of himself from the world outside, how difficult it must have been to carry this black mark on his back for so long.

“I fucking hated everything in that moment. I hated my family, I hated my friends, I hated this life, I hated her. But most of all, I hated myself for being a walking target on the backs of those I cared about the most. I couldn’t console her family, her co-workers, I couldn’t do anything. They all would have seen me as the monster who caused her death. All I could fucking do was go back to doing what I had always done.”

He rises suddenly, telling you that he has to go soon, but that he needs to finish, that there’s something you need to hear.

“There was one night, where I was wandering around, recklessly drunk, probably in a park like this. I felt like doing something stupid – maybe killing someone, maybe shouting into the void. And I saw him. Namjoon. With you.”

You freeze. You and Namjoon had gone to the park hundreds of times, sometimes walking through it at night, other times riding your bike through the day. A chill runs down your spine when it hits you how close the two of you had come to meeting, Namjoon’s two worlds colliding.

“I wasn’t spying on you, I’m not an asshole. But you guys were being all cutesy and shit, and it finally struck me that he was in love. He hadn’t run away out of some misguided sense of fear, or superiority. He just wanted to live a normal life, one that was full of happiness. I never told anyone I saw you two because I knew it’d blow up in his face. And mine too. But I guess it did anyway, huh?”

Tapping his foot anxiously, his hands begin to shake as he grows restless.

“I gotta go. But even if you don’t take Namjoon back, and I’m not telling you that you have to, I’m telling you there was something there worth fighting for. Namjoon’s not a stupid man, he knows how to set priorities, and he chose you. And Hyun. That has to mean something.”

He turns on his heels, and you feel your head throb, eyes misting with tears.

“Seokjin!” you call out to him, and he turns, looking at you curiously. Smiling at him, you let a tear trickle down your face. “In another world, do you think we could’ve been friends? All of us?”

He smirks, crossing his arms.

“Maybe. But we’ll never know, will we?”

And with that he walks away.

Sweat trickles down Namjoon’s back as Yonghyun’s face grows redder, his screams becoming shriller. He can tell the Lees aren’t amused with his proposition to buy up more of their territory. His heart thuds in his ears, and he looks down the line to Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin, who’d joined them recently. They all remain stone-faced, like they’d been through this before.

“Kim Yonghyun, you bought from us years ago and promised you’d double our investments,” Mr. Lee says calmly, and Namjoon fears him. “Instead, you’ve driven our businesses into the ground. Our partnership isn’t working anymore, we see no reason not to forfeit it.”

Every one of the Kims tenses around him, their shoulders slumping in defeat, mournful at the ruination of their empire. Namjoon, on the other hand, sighs in relief. This was it, he could finally be free from everything tying him down, he could make it right with you.

“You can take the boy,” Yonghyun says, nodding towards his son, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold. “Marry him off to one of your daughters. He’s of no use to us anyway.”

“NO!” Namjoon interrupts him, and Yonghyun cackles at his panicked face, his withered arm reaching for Namjoon, offering him up to the Lees.

Namjoon squirms in his father’s tight grip, the Lees looking on in horror, and Yonghyun groans.

“God, shut up, you stupid boy!” he howls. “I’m sick of you.”

And his arms close around Namjoon’s neck.

Namjoon’s lungs burn as he squeezes, the blood rushing out of his head, and the sounds around him become muffled, his father’s screams of delight the only thing he can hear as his vision becomes spotty.

Until a shot rings out,, followed by another and Namjoon feels his father slump forward, choking on blood as the two of them thud to the ground.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok screams. “Are you with us, shit, shit, shit! Yoongi, help me, goddamnit.”

Together, the two of them pry Yonghyun off of him, and Namjoon regains enough clarity to see Kim Seokjin in front of him, smoke coming from the end of his pistol while he clutches his chest, the white of his shirt seeped in blood. Seokjin gives him a nod, and turns to leave, his footsteps echoing on the concrete stairs.

“We need to get you to a hospital, fuck,” Hoseok sobs, clutching Namjoon for dear life, and they carry him out. 

Stirring, Namjoon rubs his eyes sleepily, the beep of a heart monitor and the IV attached to his arm telling him he’s in the hospital. Blinking, he focuses enough to figure out he’s alone, the only other person in the room the nurse who charts down his vitals.

“Are you feeling better, dear?” the kind voice asks, and Namjoon’s heart drops to his stomach. He’d know that voice anywhere.

“Eomma?” he croaks, turning to look at a face he hasn’t seen in years. She looks the exact same as the day she left.

“Namjoon-ah?” she whispers, her eyes looking him up and down like she can’t believe it. “Is it really you?”

She lets out a sob, coming to hug him, and he winces when she presses into his body.

“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot your arm was sprained,” she blubbers, and he doesn’t say anything, surveying her.

“You were here this whole time?” he says, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you come back to us? Why didn’t you find me?”

“Because I never wanted to see you like this, Namjoon-ah. I was afraid, and I was scared. I left because I knew what your father was capable of. He made it his personal mission to turn the lives around him into a living hell, to the point where people didn’t even want to live anymore. I didn’t want to one day cradle your lifeless body in my hands, either because he’d had enough or because you’d had enough.”

Namjoons eyes fill with tears at seeing his mother, the only other woman in his life who’d shown him what it was like to chose himself, to chose happiness. Everything that he’d been through, everything he’d had with you, had been by her example.

“I kept tabs on you, though, I’d always look in the charts of nearby hospitals, looking for your name. It was a sign of relief every time I didn’t see it.”

“Will you stay with me, Eomma?” Namjoon asks, and she smiles sadly.

“Namjoon, I can’t—, if your father ever got word of me, he’d—”

“He’s dead,” Namjoon declares. “Seokjin killed him.”

His mother’s eyes widen in surprise, a tear leaking from them, and she collapses into sobs, shaking at his bedside. Her body is so withered, frail from so many years of abuse, and Namjoon holds her in his arms, whispering reassurances into her ear.

“You’re safe, Eomma. We both are.”

Namjoon looks nervously at Yoongi and Hoseok, their nods encouraging him to go on, and he straightens the tie his mother had picked out. Making his way up the path to your door again, he prays that you and Hyun haven’t left yet. 

The door opens before he can even knock, Hyun’s tiny figure looking up at him with wide eyes, and Namjoon resists the urge to sob at how much he’d grown up in the past couple of months. 

“Hyunnie?” you call out to him, sounding exhausted. “Who’s at the door?”

When Hyun doesn’t answer, you decide to come check, only to find him wrapped in Namjoon’s arms, your son sobbing into his father’s shoulder. You freeze when you see his arm in a sling.

“Never gonna leave you again, bud,” he says, muffled into Hyun’s tiny shoulder.

“Namjoon? Why are you here? What’s going on? The Kims—”

“There are no Kims, ___. Not anymore. It’s over.”

You throw yourself against him, sobs wracking your body.

“I missed you, god I missed you so much, I was gonna go insane.”

Taking your hand in his, you look up at him, lifting them to press a kiss to his knuckles, and he smiles at you.

“Don’t leave me again, okay? Whatever you need to say you can it. I promise I’ll listen, and we can work through it.”

Gesturing for Hyun to come join you, he wraps you both in a tight hug, savoring it, until you lean close and whisper in his ears.

“You’re our nucleus, Namjoon.”

Namjoon realizes he’d never really been weak at all. Not like Yonghyun had seen him. And now, as the autumn leaves crackled on the lawn, and Hyun ran excitedly outside, jumping through them with Yoongi and Hoseok, he realized that there may come a time in his life where he’d have to choose again. And for all the times he could have committed himself to a life of doom, times that sought to tempt him with his worst nightmares, he’d come out of it choosing you every time. 

Epilogue - 3 months later

“What do you mean he’s gone?” you look at Namjoon brows, furrowed in worry. Across the kitchen, Namjoon paces back and forth, feet clacking against the tile, as he resists the urge to rip his hair out.

In the distance, you can hear Hyun giggle, his halmeoni chasing him around the living room, and your eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Jungkook told me they haven’t been able to get a hold of him. Yoongi and Hoseok are up the wall.”

Rising from your seat, you try to calm your fretting husband, pressing a peck to his lips. You pout, and he sighs in resignation, knowing that it isn’t his problem to worry about. His hands come up to rest on your stomach, running over the tiny, firm bump that had brought forth new change into his life just two weeks ago.

“He’ll be fine, Namjoon,” you reassure him. “I know he will.”

“How?” Namjoon croaks out with worry, and you can’t blame him for his freakout.

“He’s Kim Seokjin, duh,” you deadpan, and Namjoon chuckles at your expression. “Now, stop this worrying, okay? I was promised matchamisu tonight, and I’m holding you to that.”

Accepting your hand, he lets you lead the way. Time for another date night.

a/n pt. 2: thank you for joining me on this crazy ride! for reference, the artist Namjoon and OC are talking about is Lee Seung Jio, and his series called Nucleus. As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

[adorerdraco]

Not My Type (Like You) ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: you should like do a one shot or even another mini series about amortentia/love potions in general. i’d soooo read that

AU SEVENTH YEAR WHERE VOLDY NEVER CAME BACK <3 f**k that mf !

italics are for flashbacks <3 i love them if you couldn’t tell 

Warnings: mean!draco, cursing, more mature themes/ideas, little bit of spice towards the end teehee but not too much bc idk how to write smut to save my life

Words: 4.5K

A/N: I saw a tiktok that kinda inspired this and i couldn’t get the idea out of my heaaaad if anyone knows which one im talking ab send it my way so i can show !!!! ALSO I LOVE THIS ONESHOT I LOVE DRACO AND I AM IN MY FEELINGS this might be my new favoriteeeee

Draco Malfoy was insufferable.

The Prince of Slytherin was unbearable for many reasons, things you've been taking notice of since your first year at Hogwarts when you accidentally had the ”pleasure” of interacting with him when he called you stupid in a class for reciting a spell incorrectly. That day, a hostility blossomed. A hostility that ensued nothing but teasing, mocking, and criticizing that would sometimes go too far and you'd both have to be pulled away from each other by your friends’ before either of you said anything excessively harsh that had no return.

You often felt like Malfoy sought you out to bother you and only for that. You could be sitting in the Quad with friends, conversing and laughing like nothing in the world mattered, and a few minutes later you'd be hurling insults towards the blond across the courtyard after he would yell something infuriating to you with that smug smirk on his face and his goons laughing wildly beside him as if he just said the most hilarious thing they've ever heard. 

On the days you’d ignore him, not having the patience or the energy to deal with him, he would still somehow find a way to push your buttons. Little things here and there like passing you in the corridors and tugging at the ends of your hair gingerly like a child but enough to tick you off or sending you notes from across the class in the form a small fluttering bird with a lousy drawing of you usually with a message along the lines of, “Y/L/N, hopefully, this note finds itself in the nest of hair you have today xx DM.”

In all honesty, there wasn’t a day you didn’t encounter Draco and it’s been that way for seven long years. Neither of you ever gotten tired of mildly or spitefully bullying each other and neither of you ever dreamed of stopping. He was one of the few constants in your daily life, and you in his. It was like you both lived on annoying the other, and in the midst of all the chaos that you brought to one another; there was a small, teeny, tiny acquaintance - not that either of you would ever admit it. You may have noticed it the time you bet each other ten galleons for who would win in the Triwizard Tournament your fourth year and he bet on Viktor Krum while you on Cedric Diggory. (he’s very much alive i refuse to think otherwise.)

“So you’re telling me, your mother is the reason why you’re not at Durmstrang,” you scoffed. “This whole time I could have been saved four years of headaches.”

“You’re just jealous some of us have more opportunities than others,” he snarks back pompously. “Unlike you, I hardly believe you would be graceful enough to even be considered admission into Beauxbatons.”

You had gone to see the last task of the competition just like the rest of the schools, all packed tightly onto the stands and watching carefully the exit of the maze. Naturally, you had arrived with your own friend groups, but somewhere during the time of sitting there and even being a few rows behind the blond and his minions, the two of you had met in the middle bench after he was trying to prove something wrong to you. 

When Cedric appeared back in front of the stands with the glowing Triwizard cup held high over his head in victory and every Hogwarts student loudly celebrating, you had jumped up from your seat and shook wildly an irked Draco beside you. He roughly shrugged your hands off his stiff shoulder, looking up at you with a sneer that you met with a bright beaming smile.

“Pay up, Malfoy!” You held out your hand towards him, opening and closing your fingers to receive the bet money. “I believe it was ten galleons you owe me.”

He begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket and fished out the coins, counting them defeatedly before tossing them into your palm. “What a waste of galleons.”

“Hey, you made the bet,” you reminded him with a still very bright smile. You shoved the money into your pockets, keeping one of the gold coins in between your fingers, and gave him a small hair ruffle that he harshly recoiled from before you turned to jump back up towards the level of stands your friends were originally sitting at.

“Were you really sitting with Malfoy this whole time?” One of your friends questioned when you reached them, a goading smirk on his face.

“Ooooh, she definitely was,” another friend piped up, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

“Shut up,” you smack her arm casually, showing the pair the one gold galleon you were holding. “We are not. I was only sitting with him to get my bet money.”

“Sure,” they drawled in unison, sniggering when you threw your head back in annoyance.

You looked down the rows to see the mop of white hair you just sent into disarray. He was slowly descending the stairs of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. Almost as if he felt your eyes on his back, he turned back to look at you, his cold gray eyes gazing into yours. It was like everything around you went quiet, the only thing in your focus was him and all you could do was stare back. It wasn’t until your friends started stifling laughter and whispering “aww’s” that you snapped out of the short-lived and odd few second trance you were in. He waited for you to do something before he turned back around, and you did - by holding up both hands; the one golden galleon on your left and your middle finger on your right, grinning to yourself when he rolled his eyes throwing you the finger right back before he finally disappeared into the mob of people below.

You were briskly walking down the corridors, books held tightly to your chest with your friend at your side while you made your way to Advanced Potions with Slughorn after Snape finally made his way into the DADA position. It was an easy class, potions being something you had a knack for and it gave you enough leisure to mess with your “favorite” Slytherin who shared it with you. 

“Look there goes your boyfriend,” your friend teases, elbowing your upper arm roughly and nodding her head down towards the hall to the tall blond appearing around the corner and entering swiftly into the class.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss. “I’m tired of everyone saying that. I hate him and he hates me, end of story.”

“You know when you say you hate him, it just sounds like the opposite,” she says tauntingly. “Besides, hate is a strong word and very misplaced. Maybe, it’s just years of built-up tension that both of you have been too nervous to do anything about.”

“Tension? Yeah, I want to strangle him,” you laugh to yourself at the thought.

“Not that tension, idiot,��� she shakes her head, “I mean sexual tension...clearly.”

You gave her a horrified look mixed between being disgusted and being offended. You held your hand over your mouth and pretended to gag as dramatically as you could. “I am appalled that you would even say that. I would rather be locked in a room with Filch and Peeves and hear them argue and fight all day than to be with Malfoy like that.”

“Come on, think about it,” she encourages, stopping the two of you a little ways away from the classroom. “You guys 'hate' each other?” She finger quotes the hate, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “When you hate someone, you don’t go out of your way to talk to them every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Also, this isn’t a cliche, this is real life. We hate each other, that is all there is to it.”

You picked up the walk again, your friend to following behind you while letting out a deep and exhausted sigh. You couldn’t help but think about what she said, sure, perhaps at one point you thought Draco was attractive with his bright silver hair, his glittering gray eyes, his little button nose that he would crinkle up every other word he spoke in his charming haughty voice, or the way he’d tower over you in the middle of a conversation gone wrong and he’d be talking lowly to you but all you’d be able to focus on was the sweet scent of apples and cologne that radiated off of him.

“No,” you whispered almost silently to yourself, forcing yourself out of your thoughts and shaking your head from side to side as if it was going to get the image out of your head. He was mean, disrespectful, arrogant, and insulted you daily - even if you both laughed about it or gave props for the perfect jabs.

The first thing your eyes landed on when you walked into the dingy Potions classroom was Draco, his focus trained on the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. Just as his eyes were about to flicker down towards you, and sensing that he was about to, you quickly avoided his gaze and concentrated onto Slughorn who was waiting patiently by his desk with a bubbling cauldron for you and your friend to join the crowd in front of him.

“Great! Now that we’re all here,” Slughorn began excitedly, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he grabbed the ladle in the cauldron and began stirring it while continuing his lecture. 

You were trying to listen, capturing only the professor’s last sentence as he called on someone who raised their hand. All attention was thrown out the window when you realized Draco was standing near said classmate, a look of annoyance suddenly clouding his features when his pale eyes met yours.

“What?” He mouthed. You ignored him, trying to turn your concentration back onto Slughorn but nothing he was saying made sense, and right as you caught a word you did understand, a shuffling and an abrupt arm knocking into yours threw you right back out of the loop.

“Watch it,” you snap hushedly when you notice who it is. “Why are you over here?”

“I can’t say hello to my number one fan?” He whispers back, snickering slightly when you scoffed quietly.

“Fan? Says the one who shoved his way through the crowd to come over here,” you grumble, crossing your arms. 

“I hardly shoved,” he mutters. “I only moved because I couldn’t see Slughorn from where I was standing. Not everything’s about you.”

“Really? Because to me, it seemed like you came over here for my attention.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, a patronizing smile making its way onto his face. The type of typical boy smile where his mouth is half agape with his tongue smoothing over his teeth as he stared off across the room with his fingertips rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline as he thought of what to say. You stood still as he bent down, nearing his mouth towards your ear and whispering hotly, “you wish, darling.”

Slughorn sent everyone to their paired tables, and as everyone began moving and Draco sauntered off away from you, you stood stuck there, shocked with the lingering chills that were sent down your spine from your archnemesis’ comment.

“I told you, you’re into each other,” your friend sang expectantly from behind you, grabbing onto your sleeve and directing the two of you towards your table. 

You were working peacefully at your workspace, cutting up, peeling, and crushing the ingredients that your friend was sliding across the surface to you. In the table behind you was where Draco was working annoyingly quiet, tossing the stripped stems of the roses at you that you had to peel, tiny thorns pricking at your ankles through your socks since the bigger thorns had been taken off for the potion. As payback, you would throw back loose extra pearl dust you ground up, giggling tauntingly when he would frown at you for getting the coarse white powder all over his Italian leather shoes and most definitely inside of them as well.

When you, and seemingly the rest of the class, had finally thrown in all the ingredients and the potion promptly finished brewing, beautiful clouds of white and pink smoke began rising from the cauldrons, each one having a lovely scent of first; freshly pressed high-priced linens, then a faint smell of a brand new racing broom out of a box with a freshly polished wood handle that then quickly transformed into a sweet harvest of apples, green specifically, and finally...

“Ugh, gross,” you pinched your nostrils closed, turning your body around and sending a scowl towards Draco’s way. “Malfoy, we get it, your cologne is expensive, now stop spraying it. I was smelling all these wonderful things and you ruined it.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you were crazy. “Are you mad? I didn’t spray anything, I think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Well you laid it on too heavy this morning then, it reeks in here.”

“You’re one to talk, Y/L/N. Did you bathe yourself in that dreadful perfume you wear just now? And that ghastly lip shiner thing you use,” He sneers, crinkling up his nose. “I can’t even think straight, I might vomit.”

“Lip shiner? It’s called lip balm, you prat,” you retort, crossing your arms angrily. “Either way, I haven’t used or sprayed anything either so-”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Your friend suddenly exasperated loudly from beside you making you briskly whirl around to look at her, a look of pure annoyance etched onto her face. “Are you two really that daft? Honestly? Have you been paying attention to anything other than each other? For instance, the potion we just made?”

This gained the attention of your classmates around you in the surrounding tables, turning their heads slightly but not obviously with small knowing smirks on their faces while they snickered quietly and listened. It was soundless as you reached towards the book in front of your friend, pulling it painstakingly slow towards you in fear of the words that were written on the open page.

“Amortentia,” you muttered glumly as you read the page, pushing it away from you dejectedly as everything began to click.

“The reason you’re both smelling each other is because you’re what the other desires and is attracted to. Wow, what a revelation! As if the whole school didn’t already know.”

You were afraid to turn around. You could feel the cold and hard pair of eyes burning holes onto your back and the immediate amount of whispers and giggles of the people around you. Luckily, Slughorn was busy at the other end of the room, working diligently with another pair of students who managed to mess up their potion. 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco announces finally.

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” You questioned, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you turned again and took notice of the way his lips were curling upwards as if it was the most disgusting thing he could have ever heard.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” he deadpans. “Why would I ever desire someone like you?”

There had been occasions over the years when you were in this situation. None as drastic and as revealing, but there would be times when friends and others would poke fun and say the exact same thing your friend told you earlier. The usual, “they got the hots for each other!” and you would always brush it off and joke about how you could never, and he’d do the same. It was always amongst laughs and jokes, but as you looked at the Slytherin in front of you - there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his hardened face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you seethed, biting down hard on your lip to refrain from lashing out either in tears or in insults, you couldn’t decide. “If I’m so revolting, leave me alone from now on, I mean it.”

“I never said that,” he argues. “You’re just simply not my type.”

For some eerie, awful reason, the words tore into you like a sharpened knife going easily through butter. You were used to his insults, his mocking, his comments about your appearances - but this hurt, and you couldn’t explain why. You thought, for a second, possibly, that maybe your friend was right. Maybe there was a hidden attraction you had for the platinum blond that you buried deep away and one that he had for you. There was no way that was the case now, not at all. 

And for the first time in your life, you couldn’t be more sure of a simple little fact.

You hated him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

You don’t know how long you spent sitting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, back against the cold tiled wall with your knees brought up to your chest. Your friends had tried to console you after the public rejection and humiliation, but their words only made you feel worse. You felt silly for being so bothered about being rejected by Malfoy, he wasn’t exactly someone you fancied, to begin with.

After dinner, you went off the grid and found yourself where you’re now sitting. The ghostly girl flew restlessly around you, popping out of her stall now and then to chat but then going back into her abyss of nothing when she learned you were still upset. You noticed it made her a little too pleased, considering the fact it was always her who was miserably wailing about her problems in the bathroom. She tried to hide it and let you talk to her about how you felt, but she gave terrible advice most of the time. 

“Well, if it was me, I would have never started fancying someone who was mean to me,” she mumbled. “Like when Paul Wighorn made fun of my hair for a whole year and laughed when I cried. I hated his guts then and I still do now.”

She had a point, but she was also Myrtle. Nothing about the overly dramatic ghost made sense.

“I don’t fancy him, It’s just weird,” you trail off. “I can’t imagine a day without him, even if he is a complete arse. We always joked about how we hated each other, but I didn’t think he actually meant it, I guess.”

“I think you do fancy him, though,” she whispers knowingly in your ear, making you flinch from her cold draft. “Stop denying it, it’ll only keep making you feel worse. Amortentia doesn’t lie, silly. Maybe when you drink it, but before that, all real feelings are there, whether you know it or not.”

You sat quietly, taking in her words before something came crashing down onto you like a wall of bricks.

“I suppose that means he’ll have to stop denying it too,” she adds thoughtfully. 

“Myrtle,” you rush to get up, smoothing your hair down profusely and fixing the wrinkles in your clothes. “You’re a genius.”

“I am?” She asks excitedly. “What did I say?”

You waved her off, giving her another thank you before rushing out of the bathroom and into the empty corridors. You were trying to go back to your dorm to sleep, hoping that when tomorrow came you would be bold enough to confront the Slytherin Prince but it was thirty minutes past curfew, something you didn’t notice until you were bustling down the steps in a rush and came face to face with the man of the hour himself doing his Prefect patrolling duties.

“Go to your dorm, Y/L/N,” he sneers. “I’ll take away house points, don’t test me,”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I’ll take away house points? Watch me. Five-”

“No, you twat,” you groan, swatting his arm with your hand. “I don’t believe that I’m not your type.”

He stayed wordless for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks and clenching his jaw as he peered down at you from his lanky height. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think you were my type until the amortentia made me aware of it,” you answer quietly. “Actually, my friend had a hand in it, but it was mostly the potion.”

Silence, again. Still and deadly. You could hear the large clocks around the school tick and tock, the hundreds of paintings snoring peacefully or chattering quietly. You avoided looking up at the boy in front of you, all of a sudden feeling small under his gaze until you felt cold fingers brush against your cheekbone and then softly through your hair causing you to finally look up into the soft wandering almost blue eyes. 

“I didn’t find out with the amortentia,” he muttered almost reluctantly as if it was the most difficult thing he had to reveal. “I’ve known I’ve liked you for a while.”

“How long is a while?” You curiously wonder aloud.

“I’m not telling,” he smirks. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out one day.”

Both hands came up to rest on your cheeks, slightly cold but soft and tender. It sent chills throughout your body as he took a step closer to you and then closer, backing you carefully into the diagonally ascending stone wall that went in the direction of the stairs. Your breathing was getting uneven, you noticed the way you accidentally switched to manually forcing yourself to inhale and exhale normally when he leaned down with his face now being mere centimeters from yours. It was torture, having your eyes closed and feeling the way his nose was brushing against yours, minty breath warm against your lips as he ghosted over them with his. He was so close, you smelt everything that was in the damn potion that got you here. It sent flutters of warmth down your body, trickling down and seeping deeply into every bone in your body as if this is was the remedy its been needing. This is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally felt a soft pair of lips being pressed into yours, it felt almost unreal that you were there. It was awkward the first couple of seconds, both of you wondering how in the world had you gotten yourselves in this position, but after you relaxed and he found his Prince of Slytherin confidence - it was magic. His lips moved languidly against yours, affectionately and full of longing. He kept his hands on your cheeks, still timid to move anywhere else while you kept yours resting lightly on his sides. It scared you a little, how fast and how easily you melted into each other, like if this was something you’ve been doing with him for years rather than torment the other for laughs. 

You hated the feeling when he pulled away, a gust of freezing castle air passing through the space between you and cooling your lips and face from his contact. His hands dropped down to his sides and he looked down at you with a small smile, a teeny bit smug, but happy. You wanted to feel the same way, but a question still loomed over your head, overpowering the giddiness you were vividly feeling.

“Why did you lie earlier?” You question softly, directing your gaze to the floor. “In class, I mean.”

He thought about his answer for a second, sighing deeply when he realized he had to uncover more truths about himself to you. You took a mental observation at that, he didn’t like to talk about feelings. “You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. I thought I’d beat you to it and reject you before you could reject me.”

“What made you think I’d reject you?” You coaxed. “Other than the fact that I made you a sworn enemy at eleven.”

“Exactly that,” he laughed lightly. “You’re unpredictable, Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself at the realization that he finally used your first name. “So are you, Draco.”

“Not really,” he grins. “Like in just a few moments, for example, I’m going to start snogging you.”

You opened your mouth to encourage him but shut it quickly when he closed the space between the two of you again, this time much closer than he was before. He was flush against you, and when you say you could feel everything; you could feel everything. You were almost begging for him to lean down and kiss you again by the time you felt his hands on you again, running delicately around the exposed skin of your hips when your shirt hiked up an inch on accident. He leaned down again, and with the advantage of his lowered height, you let your hands slide up his arms, biceps, and ultimately the nape of his neck where your fingers continued up into his hair. The breathiest gasp escaped his throat as you tugged at the ends gently, smirking to yourself when he closed his eyes in delight at the touch.

His lips came down onto your fast this time and hastily, pressing himself impossibly closer into you. You could feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hold moving upwards onto your waist as he continued to kiss you fervently. His teeth bit down softly on your bottom lip and you wasted no time in parting them slightly for his tongue to meet yours. You tugged at the platinum strands of hair again, feeling triumphant when a low groaning sound emitted from his throat at the sensation as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.

You knew you were done for when one of his hands slowly slid up your upper body, stopping first at your collarbones with warm fingertips fluttering over the skin, before he moved it upwards completely and he now had his large hand wrapped comfortably around your neck. You gasped in delight into the kiss, a swarm of butterflies going directly to your lower stomach as he squeezed against the artery in your neck meticulously, the coldness from his Malfoy family crest ring only adding fuel to the fire. He tore his mouth away from yours with his hand still clutched firmly around your throat and you were almost sent into orbit with the look he was giving you. A look filled with desire, adoration, and intensity - his pale gray eyes were much darker, almost a dark blue that resembled the starry night sky on a summer night.

Lips reattached themselves roughly and feverishly against your jawline, peppering long and tender kisses all the way towards your ear and then down towards your collarbones where he was beginning to undo the rest of the top buttons of your school dress shirt. You felt him smile against your hot skin when you’d writhe underneath him, emitting weak whimpers that you couldn’t hold back that he ended up having to clasp a free hand over your mouth as he whispered into your ear to stay quiet.

It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a poorly lit corridor where anyone could walk past and see the frenzy that was unfolding, nor did it matter to Draco that his Prefect duties were long forgotten. Your friend was right, and everyone else for that matter; it wasn’t hate you felt for the blond at all, it was years and years of a craving and a hidden yearning packed with displaced tension.

And now, you were both exactly where you wanted to be; together.

[jayflrt]

alice as one of the older kids on sfw enhablr (not saying ur old !! 😭😭 it’s just that there’s a lot of minors on here) how do you feel abt the current content for the maknae line? like ik it’s not always super sexualized or anything but sometimes i see stuff that’s just the way it’s worded really rubs me the wrong way ☹️ esp bc some of the kids on here are so young it makes me feel like if they see stuff like that , they might start think it’s okay for others to treat them the same or vice verse … whenever i see edits of niki on tiktok , i have to avoid the comments bc there’s almost always like a “daddy” , “how is he 16” or “you don’t know what you do to me” like wtf he’s a literal child ?? it makes me so mad and honestly so uncomfortable :( and i saw an article on kboo today too that said niki apparently has around 200 explicit or mature fics written abt him on ao3 … sometimes even the fboi trope (usually when it’s written abt minors) bothers me bc i see minors writing abt it (like 13-15 y/o) and i don’t understand why they don’t just use the term player or smtg … bc they’ll go out of their way to mention how the character has sex a lot an whatnot , even that feels way too suggestive for me personally for a minor too write let aline abt a minor too , sorry for the rant,, i was just wondering how you felt … omg also though tbh i noticed that some of the minors on here / blogs in gen seem way too comfy on here like they’ll be sharing where they live , their actual names and sometimes like giving a lot of personal info … like did they not learn abt internet safety or do they just no care? as one of the older kids , i kind of worry abt them :( i really hope everybody stays safe on here <3 & some reminders: never be afraid to block anyone ! bc i’ve seen a lot of minors on here get sent stuff from the p*rn bots or just weird dms :( & u don’t need to force yourself to interact with someone , make sure ur comfy with them first !

HAHAH dw anon i know what you meant !! plus i’m aware i’m on the older side of the enhablr audience 😵‍💫 you actually bring up a point that’s been my mind a lot recently because i’ve been seeing a lot of suggestive undertones in comments directed towards riki especially on tiktok lately 😭😭 as you said, i get that there’s a trend of comments that are like “how is he only 16” and “the things he does to me” but i always feel so weird about the first one especially 💀 idkkk i thought i was just being a buzzkill but the comments do put me off a little LOL like these ones

yeah idk ab minors writing fuckboy tropes bc it’s like veryyyy suggestive and very much toeing the line of borderline smut 💀 also i don’t get the point of a fuckboy trope for riki :/ i feel like it adds absolutely nothing to the plot too if the point is just a “bad boy au” other than fanservice so i truly don’t understand the point. and riki has over 200 mature fics written for him??? that’s so horrible oh my god 😭

i think it’s much more common to share more information over the internet now than it was years back, and it’s a little scary sometimes 😵‍💫 i do hope everyone is practicing internet safety tho bc there are some evil evil people out there <//3 also i actually find it hard to block ppl HAHAH but yes don’t be afraid to block porn bots and people who are being suspicious !! i actually blocked a porn bot just a while ago 💀 i’m not sure why there’s soooo many of them on tumblr all of a sudden :o

[captainpangolin]

I am interested in the arranged marriage plot ideas/guide.

Oh for the trobed fic? Alr

So looking back at my document, I didn't have much of a plot or particularly creative ideas lol but the basic premise was that Troy's kingdom and Abed’s kingdom were at war for x years and someone (probably drunkenly) suggests a marriage as a peace treaty.

I split the characters into being either with Troy (Shirley and Pierce) or with Abed (Annie, Jeff, and Britta + the rest of the cast but not really part of the core 7 just kinda There doing royalty AU things in Abed’s palace I guess, but i havent figured them out as of yet haha)

I gave each person a royalty AU job/role: Shirley is Troy's favorite cook/basically second mom, Pierce is his treasurer (he's got money, that was the best thing I could think of, shush /lh). Annie is Abed’s cousin living in his palace ((platonic) trobedison shenanigans ensue), Jeff is a lawyer or advisor or something, and Britta is Troy's bodyguard bc I couldn't think of anything else ajsjdjndhd

I was researching stuff about arranged marriage bc I wanted to give the fic a seminar title if I ever managed to write and finish the darn thing, and i found out there are multiple named types (This was just a quick Wikipedia/Google search, I didn't look into it too much, full disclosure haha)

And then I spent (far too much) time looking at Arab/Islamic (so sorry, I'm not sure of the correct word) architecture, just cuz I don't think there's enough of Arab culture in media and i would've liked it if Abed wasn't made fun of as much as he was in the show because of being Muslim/brown in general. I basically just visualized various mosques and palaces for inspiration/reference in my descriptions, specifically these ones: the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque (Abu Dhabi, UAE), the Jameh Mosque of Isfahān (Isfahān, Iran), the Alhambra (Andalusia, Spain), the Taj Mahal (India), and for the stained glass, the Nasir Al-Mulk Mosque (Shiraz, Iran). I found a list of the most beautiful/important Arab/Islamic architecture to find these, but idk what the list was called, sorry. (Just thought it was cool, + Islamic architecture never fails to impress me so even aside from it being for a fic, I was just having a lot of fun lol)

ANYWAYS, yeah that's basically all I had, but my friend suggested working in the Pillows and Blankets war, except it's an actual civil war; maybe Trobed has a fight or something else happens and Troy forms/joins a rebellion à la "Pillows and Blankets" and from there, shenanigans and pining ensue.

sorry if this wasn't much help but uh ye there you go. At the least, this helped me just dump all my ideas onto the table so thx lmao

I'm gonna try to get my friend to help me write this since my style doesn't quite work for the characters/tone, but we honestly might not finish it so if anyone is interested, PLEASE write this (and maybe tag me if you do, idc how many words it is, im just in love with this au lol) :>

(This fandom and pairing seriously need more wild fics; so many are pretty much canon-compliant, if not merely wishful thinking, I want more wacky and imaginative concepts and a wider range of AUs, there just aren't enough imo)