#you could have achieved that with like. human artists and in that way you could have the piece be more intentionally connected

[foxmulderautism]

like yeah dude it’s really cool that you used AI to complete an art piece that was purposefully left unfinished because the artist was dying of AIDS as the government ignored the mass loss of life and health. all you really did was show that technology can bring an art piece into the modern age but why? why do we need to do that? what does it say about us if we feel that a piece needs to be ‘completed’? how are we viewing completion?? can seeing an ai generated “completion” of unfinished have the same effect of seeing the parts haring left blank and the parts where the art drips into the blank? does it aid the narrative of it in any way? can AI understand the levels at which artists used their pieces about AIDS as a form of protest? of begging to be seen? how can it when an AI’s concept of ‘completing’ the piece is just guesswork of what the colours and shapes would look like to match what haring made which is nowhere near the same level of intention that came from him? you said you ‘completed’ the piece with ai because his story is so sad but does that mean we should try to rectify sadness by getting rid of the representation of it? should we not continue to sit in the sadness and discomfort that unfinished and other AIDS inspired art asks us to do because those feelings are only a fraction of what the people who died and lost felt, is that not the least we can do for them? and what good does any of this actually do when we can use technology to ‘complete’ a purposefully unfinished art piece about an artist’s untimely death from AIDS but we can never bring keith haring or any other person who died of AIDS back to life? where does haring, the person whose illness and death lives in those blanks, come into your self fulfilling ai generated completion of his work?

[strixludica]

The unappreciated art of making mecha look inhuman

Something I noticed lately, by browsing lots of lancer homebrew and fanart and comparing it to the official art, is that a lot of third party artists, across levels of artistic competence, made mechs that looked plain to me for a reason I couldn't pin down. Again, this was only weakly correlated with other metrics for artistic quality, like posing, shading, and linework. After comparing them closely with other art that didn't give me that vibe and art from 1st party material, I realized what gave me that feeling: their mechs looked too human; they looked like they could be convincingly portrayed by a person in a costume.

If you look closely at official Lancer art and the best fanart, you will notice there are always details making sure the subject is unequivocably a giant robot and not a person in sci-fi armor.

One strange but effective way this is achieved is the legs: each manufacturer has one or more distinct style of legs, with the only overlap being between SSC and RKF (which makes sense because SSC has close ties tot he Baronies). Let's go through them and see what about them makes sure you know this is a mech:

Smith-Shimano Corpro + Royal Karrakin Foundries: SSC has three kinds of lower limbs: the Horse Leg, which they share with RKF; the Foot Without Heel, and the Anatomically Correct Human Leg With Toes.

The Horse Leg is not only obviously inhuman, but also obviously unnatural, bacause no biped would be able to move properly standing on horse hooves: it would be like contantly doing a ballerina tip-walk using clown shoes; that is something only a mechanical device assisted by top-of-the-line automatic balancing could achieve.

The Heel-less foot, due to being used almost only for their spider-mechs Death's Head and Swallowtail, has little dehumanization work to do, but it does cover that function when used on the Dusk Wink, which *is* in fact a person in power armour, but still the artist took care of reminding us of how mechanical it is, by giving it feet which have little in common with boots or any other footwear. The Toed Leg seems, at first, to be the opposite of dehumanizing: it looks the most like an actual human bodypart, it feeds into SSCs fetishization of the Human Form (phrasing entirely intended). However, that is also the reason why it very clearly shows the Monarch and Mourning Cloak are robots: because no suit of armor would ever look like a naked leg; this level of anatomical fidelity only makes sense for something mechanical, whose skin *is* armor and as such doesn't need to cover itself.

Horus: Horus is mostly the easy one, with how most of the art gives their mechs beastly paws and hooves, gecko-like foot pads, or long, amphibian fingers whose vague semblance to human hands only contrasts with the blatantly monstous shapes of the Pegasus and Gorgon. However, they have four mechs portaryed with human-like legs.

The Hydra has little need to mask its mechanical nature, but the Lich commits the grave sin of being clothed, one of the biggest risk factor in making mechs look like dudes in armor. To counteract this problem, it's feet have two very evident inhuman characteristics: they have only two long, slender toes, and they touch the ground only with their futhest tarsus, in a way that makes it obvious they aren't bearing any actual weight, as if both Lich and Hydra were alway hovering a couple feet above the ground and used their feet only to skip along it, like a venetian boatman might do with their pole.

The other two exceptions are the Calendula, which being an RKF design has their trademark horse legs, and the Kobold, which already looks inarguably like a robot thanks to the barrel shae of its main body, the Horus-patented Pikey Blobs Aesthetic(tm), but still has feet with actual toes, which achieve the same effect as those from SSC.

GMS: For the longest time, GMS did not have art at all, but let's look at the [G] Type Everest from Op. Solstice Rain:

While the Boot with Auxiliary Side-Toes shape of the foot could potentially belong to a suit of armor, if we look up at the knee it's a different story: look at the slabs on either side of the joint which restrict it to one degree of freedom, as opposed to the frontal protection typical of armor for humans; look at the opposite bends of hip and shin, which almost makes the leg look digitgrade. Inequivocably robotic despite the clearly humanistic design. However, the lower parts of mechs are not the only way their design is dehumanized: we come now to Inter Planetary Shipping - Northstar and Harrison Armory, and in a curious inversion they take the opposite approach.

Although some legs of IPS-N mechs use the above principle (the Blackbeard's angular feet whose toes almost look like retractable claws, Drake's heel-less boots, and Lancaster and Kidd's SPOT-like hooves), a lot of their mecha have quite human-looking armoured boots. HA goes a step further, likely due to a deliberate stylistic choice stemming from the anthrochauvinist ideals: Their mechs look very much like armoured warriors, often even with little skirts like the Iskander or Sherman or reinforced *baltei* like Genghis and Tokugawa. With one important exception: their head.

IPS-N has a very distinctive One-Eyed Cylinder with Another Eye on the Top shape for their mecha, it's probably a deliberate par of their brand; it sees some variation like Drake's looking more liek a helmeted facemask and Stortebecker's tricorn, but even Lancaster and Kidd have a sort of vestigial head on the front with a single eye coming out of a slit.

HA's mecha have greater variation, but nevertheless for all that their body is as human-shaped as possible, their heads are always distinctly not: Barbarossa has a flat prism with a this transparent section on top, looking more like the control tower of an aircraft carrier than a head; Genghis, Tokugawa, and Gilgamesh both have canopies recessed into their bodies; Napoleon also has a barely-extruding canopy with a strange shape and covered in Blinkshield emitters that make it look like a bug-eyed little freak; Sherman is quite literally built around having a cannon for a face; and Sunzi has its drum-looking Blinkspace device. The only HA mech that has a "head" region separate from the rest of the body is Saladin, and even then it's a flat cylinder with a rectangular window in the middle: a design which would never work as a helmet but makes sense as a rotatitng cockpit with a canopy.

The observant among you will have notice that I left out four mechs: Nelson, Vlad, Enkidu, and Iskander. That is admittedly because they are those whose design asserts its inhumanity the least.

Of the first two, despite Nelson committing the sin of clothing, it also compensates hard by leaving a gap in its tabard to show the hatch for the pilot, while Vlad unfortunately does not, and with the weirldy human-looking eye, if there wasn't a pilot for scale one might legitimately not know it's a robot without context.

Iskander is the one mech in the entire Compendium which can be cosplayed without altering its proportion: cyclopism aside, this could be a person in future armor.

Enkidu also has a look which could work just as well for a human-scale cyborg, but given that it's a deliberate statement of intent it gets a pass. At the very least it's elongated head and pad-less feet make it obvious that this is not a person in armor.

Conclusion:

Although I cannot prove it without some double-blind polls, I think one of the secrets to a good mech design is making it look not only obviously like a robot, but also giving it pose, proportions, and details such that it would look big not just on a white background with no context, but that if you tried to shrink it and put it in a scene as though it was more or less the size of a person, people would realize that it's supposed to be larger.

[bumblequinn]

hi @sourpatchsquids! thank you for your question.

as an artist with ADHD, i know this struggle very well. unfortunately offering advice on this kind of thing can be tricky, because what works for me may not work for you (and vice versa!). nonetheless, i can try; take whatever works for you, forget the rest, or reshape any part of it as you see fit. :)

but before i offer any actual tools, i have one caveat. i want you to take a moment to reflect and consider if you should be:

changing expectations

the timing of this question seems fated, because just the other day i had a therapy session wherein i expressed my grief and frustration over struggling to work lately due to my seasonal depression. it's not fair that i'm struggling just because it got a little darker outside! i just want the spark i had in the summer! i was so much more consistent!

my therapist's response: nothing about human beings is consistent. we get sick, we get tired, we get hungry and thirsty (and thirsty) and sad and lonely and restless and stressed and overwhelmed. this all gets amplified for folks who are atypical in some way or another.

when my therapist compared our seasonal cycles to those of plants and other animals, who wilt and slow down and hibernate, i protested aloud that i wanted to be a perennial instead. at this she said: even perennials change with the seasons. rose bushes have to be pruned, sometimes down to half their height! it was a dose of perspective i didn't particularly want, but really needed.

so when you're struggling to work through executive dysfunction, burnout, or brain fog, it can help to first check in with yourself about a few things. what do you have the capacity for right now? do you need any accommodation? and if so, what changes you might make to accommodate yourself?

with practice and self reflection, i've learned a handful of specific routines that help me when i'm struggling with creative work, which i'll detail next. note that while your question is specifically about music and i am specifically a musician, i believe that all of these suggestions can apply to most any form of digital creative work.

with that in mind:

#1: work slower

when i'm at the top of my game, i can get a LOT done in a day. but when i'm depressed, fatigued, or distracted, i just can't go full steam. sometimes i'll try to convince myself that i can if i just push harder, but what actually ends up happening is that i'm just fiddling with settings and going in circles rather than moving forward.

instead of that, when i want to work a lot but can't, i try to work slow. how slow? however slow i need to. take four hours to figure out the melody for a single verse. take all day to figure out that drum groove. yeah, i take a lot of breaks in between. who says i have to be my Absolute Most Productive Every Day Or Else? that's the puritan work ethic talking. kill it. be kind to yourself.

i'm reminded of advice i once read about some super successful and prolific author (gaiman? king? pratchett?) who said they wrote only four hundred words every weekday. that's already less than the word count of this post, and i'm only—[travels into the future to check my final word count]... 22.8% of the way through writing it!

now, i don't think i could function that way, because ADHD means some days i'm hyperfocused like crazy, and other days i just have no steam at all (more on that in #4-6). but it seems to me that if even someone highly respected in their profession can achieve what they have with only a little bit of work on a regular basis, maybe i don't have to punish myself for not pumping out a finished work every single week.

doing less work per day means you're much less likely to burn out, which does a lot for working more consistently. if that consistency still doesn't look like a five-day work week, that's okay! as long as it helps you work even a little more often when you want to, it's something worth doing.

however, if you're still feeling truly stuck, all hope isn't lost. you can still try:

#2: switch projects

sometimes the reason i'm moving slow is because of a bad brain day, but sometimes the reason is that i just cannot muster the motivation to do the specific task i'm trying to do right now. ADHD is fueled by novelty and interest, and if i'm not interested in what i'm doing, or it's feeling stale, that's a sign that i need to switch gears.

this is why first it's helpful for me to have more than one project going at a time. this might mean completely unrelated works, or it might just mean related tracks as with the music for a game like SLARPG or susan taxpayer.

the idea here is not to start a dozen different projects and bounce around them like i'm playing whac-a-mole—though i have done that. (i don't recommend it.) the idea here is to have a manageable number of different projects i can be working on so that if i get bored or stuck on something, i have fallback options.

what that number of projects is depends entirely on the week. maybe right now it's two, maybe another time it's three. i would probably be getting carried away if i tried more than that, but that's just my own limit. maybe yours is different. that's something for you to think about.

but it doesn't have to stop there.

#3: switch focus

maybe there is this one project that i just HAVE to work on, but the task i'm trying to do at this stage just isn't coming to me. okay, well, why don't i try working on a different task?

let's say i can't figure out what i want to do with the melody in one part of the song:

what if i try jumping ahead to a different part of the melody? ...no, i'm stumped on melodies today. okay, how about working on the drums instead? ...hmm no, i think i'm just completely tapped out on writing parts right now. alright, what if i organized my tracks, making sure they're all grouped and named in a way that i can work with easily? what if i did a rough volume balance for the mix?

and so on. if that's not enough to shake the off stuckness, i might consider: what can i do to make this project more interesting to me?

what happens if i try using an instrument or effect that i almost never reach for? what if i try sampling something obscure? what if i bang out the drums using my midi keyboard instead of drawing it in on the piano roll?

any approach that breaks me out of my usual habits is bound to get that feeling of novelty and fun back when i need it.

or maybe i can't do any of that right now, and so i take the time to answer a question from a fellow musician instead. i consider that part of my work, too, in a broader sense. check in with yourself and figure out what you can do right now. the rest will still be there later.

but okay, let's say you try switching gears, and switching again, and again, and nothing is moving. you try new approaches, but that wall of awful is insurmountable in this moment. it happens! the next thing you might try is:

#4: learn something new

when you aren't able to make progress on your projects, you can still make progress on your knowledge and craft. i often find this stokes a flame of inspiration in me where there wasn't one before. and even when it doesn't, it still gets my brain out of that feeling of stuckness and dread and into one of thought and action. learning also benefits in the long term because it adds to the well of knowledge from which you draw for all your future works.

for all the awfulness that exists on the internet, it remains an absolute treasure trove of teaching. there's an endless ocean of videos, blog posts, and articles from which you might learn something about your craft. (and if you sail the seven seas, plenty of book PDFs as well. 🦜🏴‍☠️)

it's true that the quality and depth of information out there can vary wildly, but in my experience most resources get at least some things right. and the more you research, practice, and figure out what works for you, the better you will learn to differentiate between the advice worth keeping, and the advice to forget. (that goes for all of what i'm saying here, too!)

that said, since our shared focus is music, a few resources i would highly recommend are:

music theory and composition music matters, 12tone, charles cornell, music with myles, 8-bit music theory, and this introduction by andrew huang

mixing and production dan worrall (especially this series for fabfilter), kush after hours, red means recording, andrew huang, alice yalcin efe, in the mix

general inspiration nahre sol, ben levin, david hilowitz, game score fanfare, posy, jerobeam fenderson, open reel ensemble, and ELECTRONICOS FANTASTICOS!

(if any readers have their own helpful resources for creating music or any other media, feel free to share in the replies & reblogs! 💓)

of course, on an especially bad day, it might be a challenge to seek out information, let alone retain it. that can feel pretty bad, but remember: be kind to yourself. the next thing you might consider trying is:

#5: consume art you love

not just music. books. shows. movies. games. illustration. animation. whatever moves and inspires you.

but do it intentionally. don't just pull up some random thing the algorithm suggested! check in with yourself about what you want (or are able) to engage with right now. choose accordingly. if you get a little way into it and realize it's not scratching that itch, hit the bricks. check in with yourself again. wash, rinse, repeat, until you find whatever it is that speaks to you right now.

and do it actively, if you can. don't just let it go in one eye and out the other! really pay attention to the work. what do you like about it? what are its themes and motifs? what makes it work so well? what are its flaws, and how much do they matter? what might you do differently? you can write notes as you do this if it helps, but even simply noticing and thinking goes a long way.

what you don't want to do is come at this with a lens of shame or envy. you're not here just to say to yourself, "ugh, if only i could do THAT." it's okay if it happens. use that thought as a springboard for curiosity: "well okay, how DID they do that? do i have the resources for it? if so, how could i apply that to my own work? if not, how can i adapt it, or what do i need to learn?" keep your mind open and approach the work with a sense of wonder.

as a creative person, it's very easy to think, "i should be making something right now, not watching a movie!" but that thought forgets something vital: your art is a response in a conversation. of course the "language" you use is your own, and maybe if you're lucky you'll invent a new word. but most of the words you use have been around long before you were born. you're just one voice in a dialogue that spans continents and generations, and that's okay. it's even the whole point.

none of us is an island. we are profoundly social animals. just as we can't live without eating, we can't make without learning. so half of making art is consuming it. consider this part of the process as well.

and finally,

#6: rest, and live your life

let's say you're in really dire straits. you've tried working slower. you tried changing focus, you tried changing projects. you want to take in new information or actively engage with your favorite art, but you're not in the headspace for it. what now?

take a nap. take a walk. take a shower. eat a nice meal, or an okay one. talk to a friend. maybe even do that chore you've been putting off (you know the one).

it's human to always crave making, but you're not a machine—and even if you were, machines need regular maintenance, too! you wouldn't drive a car that's completely out of gas, and you won't do yourself any favors treating your body that way either.

i know that when you take a break it feels as though you're not accomplishing anything, but you are: you're taking care of your animal self. and while you do that, your creative brain doesn't stop working! much like windows, it has countless background processes running at any given moment, with inscrutable names like "cbdhsvc_692da" or "Microsoft Edge Update Service." it's true, i checked.

when you're stuck on a project and you step away to rest, your brain is still chipping away at your ideas unconsciously. i like to tell people, "it's percolating." much like waiting for a pot of water to boil, that idea is still heating up, even when you take a step away. just be sure to check in on it once in a while. the time will pass, and it'll be boiling again before long. :)

before i go, i'll leave you with one last thing to keep in mind as you try all of these strategies:

be kind to yourself.

being human is just about one of the hardest things you can do. let alone being a human trying to survive capitalism while living with disabilities! the last thing you need on top of that is to overwork yourself, talk to yourself negatively, or treat yourself harshly. there are plenty of other people in the world who do that to you—don't be one of them.

i'm not saying that you shouldn't try to challenge yourself, to test your limits and go above and beyond your ambitions, if that's what you want to do. just remember that hard work and self compassion are not mutually exclusive. so be careful not to bully yourself. take pride in the progress you make, even when it seems small. encourage yourself like you would a friend who's going through a hard time. and when you challenge yourself, be your own cheerleader.

i hope you find this advice helpful! remember, this is just what helps me, so don't feel like you have to follow any of it exactly. maybe taking time to learn new information helps break you out of your rut more than working slowly, so you reach for that tool first. maybe having multiple projects going at once is too distracting for you, so you prefer to stick to one at a time. whatever your needs are, feel free to alter and adapt these ideas to fit you.

thank you for reading, and i wish you the best of luck in your creating.

with care, bee 🐦

[scifimademequeer]

Vulcan Tails

I'm not sure if it's known which fan "invented" Spock's tail, but in a nearly 60 year old fandom the actual pioneer is probably lost. I've been influenced by a ton of fan artists, notably shigeoreum here on tumblr and on twitter. They look very long and flexible, possibly prehensile, and end in a tuft of hair.

I've also seen the other obvious tail for Vulcans, a bifurcated tail like a demon, which is also cute but not my headcanon. From here on I'm just talking about my headcanons but I'm open to feedback/comments/questions lol. I just want to organize my thots

I really dig the imagery of a humanoid able to wrap their tail around their own waist semi-neatly. I think for most Vulcans this is the equivalent of poker face or maintaining composure, and in some formal clothing the tail is actually meant to be worn this way the entire time. It conveys several different attitudes depending on context, such as professionalism, objectivity, modesty, humility, etc.

And on the flip side, when the tail is "out" it is only mostly voluntarily controlled. It reacts to stimuli and emotions automatically and Vulcans work to control it as they mature the same way they discipline their own facial expressions and other bodily functions.

I think Surak had a docked/destroyed tail. Perhaps it was symbolic or a literal result of his outsider status. The tail could be your connection to your family line or community and when you are ostracized, it is literally cut.

This resulted in modern Surakians using the docked tail to signify the ultimate devotion to logic. And with the ritual of Kohlinar, the two meanings collide: a Kohlinar adept has achieved both perfect logic and perfect independence from their community. Your tail and your emotions are severed from you.

Along this same line, the tail is an instinctive object of interest for infants and small children. Many start walking as they hold onto their parent's tail. This could help a touch telepathy bond be maintained between children and caregivers while letting the caregivers use their hands freely.

I've read really interesting stuff about hunter/gatherer communities where babies almost never cry because they are in constant tactile contact with other people, including older children. They develop a tactile language before a verbal one and have all their needs for comfort met immediately. Sounds like how touch telepathy might work, or develop in a species.

A Vulcan in extreme distress might comfort themselves by stroking or holding their own tail. They may even comfort one another this way, or soothe a child by giving them an adult's tail to stroke. The equivalent gestures among humans might be rocking back and forth or hugging yourself.

The tail is prehensile to a certain degree but cannot lift heavy objects or ones that are too small to grip. The primary use of the tail is communication, it wants to wrap around the bodies of others as well as the Vulcan's own body. And remember that you can't pull on tails too hard because they're attached to the spine. Vulcans should have pretty well developed lower back muscles to wield this tail, I think

I have cats so I'm biased but I think the gestures are a blend between a cat's and a monkey's. Cats tails tremble, curve, lash, shake, whip, and wag to portray different emotions.

I'm writing a wedding fic and I realized that the children at the wedding would have bells and ribbons tied to the ends of their tails. But this would be seen as cringe on an adolescent or adult.

I think as far as touch telepathy goes it makes no sense for tails to be as telepathic as the hands, face, or genitals. BUT I would think that the skin of the tail IS somewhat sensitive. So, going back to the children touching a caregiver's tail, I think a Vulcan can naturally "sense" with their hands and attune to anywhere on a person's body that is ennervated. The tail is just very convenient and has developed to be a little receptive to telepathic touch, but not wield it as the hands do.

So the connotations of touching another adult's tail would be non-sexual intimacy and comfort. Maybe depending on how Surakian you are, or if you are in private, casual touching of tails is normal between friends and family members. It helps you coregulate to do so. Not only putting your hands on your friend's tail but putting your tail on their body. Maybe even wacking them with it to be annoying, I could see that as a sibling activity for sure.

[vintagerpg]

Realm of Chaos: The Lost and the Damned (1990) is the second, much delayed companion to Slaves to Darkness. It takes the same overstuffed, gruesomely illustrated approach to the two remaining ruinous powers of Chaos: Nurgle and Tzeentch. That thoroughly horrific cover is by Les Edwards, because of course it is. You might think the roster of interior artists slightly diminished thanks to the lack of work by Russ Nicholson and Ian Miller. That is not the case. While I do miss their distinctive styles and what they could have lent to the book, I think this volume is more visually impressive on the whole, a really overwhelmingly grim achievement.

A couple things of interest here beyond the awesome art and the details on the two more interesting Powers (if you didn’t know, this is the definitive, objective ranking: the best is Tzeentch, followed by Nurgle, then Slaanesh, then that ding-dong edgelord Khorn). First is in-universe. I think it is actually no longer the case, but at this point in time, the ruinous powers were thought constructs assembled out of the residual desires of human souls that pass through Chaos; this lends them a surprising complexity. They are entities made up of extremes, dominated by negative impulses, but with positives shining through occasionally, like the way Nurgle comes off as caring, or Khorne honorable, or Tzeentch inquisitive. It makes the allure of Chaos, so often characterized by horror and mutation, somewhat more understandable.

Second, these are recent reprints of the books, available only at Warhammer World in Nottingham. I had originals at one point, but honestly the binding are so fragile (and they command such steep prices) that it made much more sense to have a friend in Nottingham pick up a set and mail them to me (many thanks, Ruth!). If you want these books, I highly suggest making your own Nottingham friends.

[keehomania]

nevertheless (알고있지만) – jeon jungkook (전정국)

✧.* 18+

attachment was a curious thing. it began subtly, weaving its tendrils through the fabric of your life without notice, like the first soft blush of dawn on a still, sleepy horizon. at first, it seemed innocuous, a delicate thread that merely tugged gently at the edges of your existence, a whisper of a presence that was easily overlooked.

yet, in its essence, attachment was a powerful force, beautiful and treacherous. it painted the world in vivid hues, each moment tinged with a significance that it otherwise wouldn't have possessed. the simplest actions—a smile, a touch, a shared silence—became imbued with profound meaning. your heart swelled, enraptured by the beauty of connection, and your soul reveled in the comfort of knowing and being known.

as the days passed, those gentle threads of attachment intertwined, forming an intricate tapestry. each shared experience, each memory, added a new thread, strengthening the bond and deepening the sense of unity. it was a masterpiece of human emotion, a testament to the power of connection that filled your heart with warmth and light. the world felt richer, more vibrant, as if seen through a lens that sharpened every detail and amplified every sensation. but attachment, for all its beauty, carried a darker undertone. like a vine creeping up the side of a grand old mansion, it began to strangle, its grip tightening imperceptibly. what was once a source of joy and comfort transformed into a source of anxiety and fear. the delicate balance between freedom and dependence tipped, and your heart, once light and free, grew heavy with the weight of expectation and longing.

In this duality lay the true peril of attachment. It was a slow, insidious poison, sweet in its initial taste but deadly as it coursed through your veins. The same connection that brought life and color could, in an instant, become a noose, choking the very essence of the self. Your mind became consumed with thoughts of the other, every moment apart a silent torment, every slight perceived as a dagger to the heart.

you loved attachment. you loved love. the depth of your emotions was a wellspring of inspiration, each feeling a stroke of color, a line in a sketch, a form in a block of clay. you embraced your emotions, delving into their depths because they breathed life into your art. sculpting and painting were your lifelines, your way of interpreting the world and expressing the inexpressible. you found beauty in every raw edge, every shade of shadow and light, every curve and angle that made up the diverse tapestry of art. art was your sanctuary, a realm where diversity reigned supreme. each piece, whether a painting or a sculpture, told a unique story, resonated with a distinct voice. you loved the freedom it granted, the way it allowed you to channel your deepest feelings into something tangible, something that could be seen and touched. the fluidity of art mirrored the fluidity of your emotions, capturing the fleeting, the ephemeral, and the eternal in one breathtaking sweep.

what you didn't love, was attending your boyfriend's opening art show to show your support, only to find yourself standing in front of what he deemed his masterpiece. the centerpiece of the entire exhibit was a sculpture of you, rendered in painstaking detail, nude, in a scandalous position. the marble gleamed under the gallery lights, every curve and line of your body exposed for the world to see. jackson saw it as a pinnacle of his artistic achievement, a celebration of your form and your intimacy. he looked at it with pride, his eyes shining with the fervor of creation. but to you, it was a betrayal, a public humiliation. every whisper, every gaze, felt like a thousand needles piercing your skin, stripping away your dignity layer by layer. the room seemed to close in on you, the walls pressing inward as the weight of judgment and exposure crushed your spirit.

you couldn't breathe. the air was thick, suffocating, filled with the murmurs of the onlookers and the indifferent hum of the gallery. your chest tightened, panic rising as your eyes darted around for an escape. you felt the sting of tears, hot and unforgiving, blurring your vision. without thinking, you turned and ran, the murmurs growing louder, more accusing, as you fled the gallery. you ran until your legs burned, until your breath came in ragged gasps, until the noise and the lights of the gallery were far behind you. you stumbled onto a set of stairs, collapsing onto them, your strength spent. the world around you faded into a blur, and you buried your face in your hands, the sobs wracking your body.

the cold stone of the steps pressed against your skin, grounding you in the midst of your turmoil. you cried for the trust that had been broken, for the exposure you hadn't asked for, for the art that had turned against you. you had loved attachment, had loved love, had embraced every emotion because it allowed you to create. but in that moment, it felt like those very emotions were tearing you apart, leaving you raw and vulnerable, exposed to the harsh judgment of the world.

your tears flowed freely, each one a testament to the pain and the betrayal you felt. the love you had cherished, the attachment you had valued, seemed like cruel mockeries, twisting the knife deeper into your heart. you had poured your soul into your art, into your relationship, only to have it thrown back at you in the most brutal of ways. and so you cried, the steps becoming your sanctuary, the darkness of the night offering a cold, indifferent comfort as you wept for the love and the attachment that had led you to this moment of utter despair.

jackson trailed behind you, the sound of his footsteps echoing against the cold night air. when he found you on the steps, crumpled and broken, he paused, his silhouette stark against the dim streetlights. for a moment, he simply watched, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of you crying, your body wracked with sobs. the indifference in his gaze was chilling, a sharp contrast to the tenderness you had once believed existed between you.

“what the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “causing a scene like that in the middle of my show?” you looked up, your face streaked with tears, your eyes red and swollen from crying. “you humiliated me,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “you’ve shit all over my reputation.”

his eyes flashed with anger and disdain. “you have no idea what art is,” he spat. “you’re clueless. that sculpture was a masterpiece, a celebration of you, and you just made a fool of yourself and me.” his words struck you like physical blows, each one harder than the last. you struggled to find your voice, to make him understand the depth of your hurt. “it wasn’t art,” you whispered. “it was a betrayal. you exposed me to everyone, without my consent, without even thinking about how i would feel.”

he scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. “you’re overreacting. you always do. that piece was about beauty, about vulnerability. you’re just too blind to see it.”

with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you alone on the steps, your tears flowing freely once more. the echo of his footsteps faded into the night, leaving a void where his presence had been. you felt as if the ground had opened up beneath you, swallowing you in a chasm of despair and betrayal. you knew what art was. art was your lifeblood, your passion, your way of making sense of the world. you understood its power, its ability to evoke emotions and provoke thought. nevertheless, in that moment, you realized you had forgotten what love was. love wasn’t supposed to feel like that. it wasn’t supposed to leave you feeling exposed and vulnerable, abandoned and broken.

the steps were cold and unforgiving beneath you, a cruel reminder of the harsh reality you found yourself in. the night pressed in around you, its silence a stark contrast to the turmoil inside your heart. you had loved him, had believed in the connection you shared, but now it felt like a cruel joke, a painful illusion. you sat there, your face buried in your hands, trying to piece together the fragments of your shattered heart. the art you had loved, the emotions you had cherished, all seemed tainted now, twisted by the betrayal you had experienced. you had thought you understood love, had believed in its beauty and its power, but now it felt like a distant memory, something you couldn’t quite grasp.

and so you cried, the tears falling silently as you tried to make sense of the pain, the betrayal, the loss. you cried for the love that had turned into a weapon, for the art that had been twisted into something cruel. you cried for the trust that had been broken, and for the heart that had been shattered. in the quiet of the night, you felt the weight of your emotions, their depth and their intensity. you had loved deeply, had felt every emotion with a fervor that fueled your art. but in that moment, on those cold steps, you felt the sharp sting of love’s betrayal, and the emptiness it left behind.

the night wore on, the stars glittering coldly above, indifferent to your pain. and as you sat there, alone and broken, you realized that while you understood art, you had forgotten what love truly was. it wasn’t the grand gestures or the passionate declarations. it was the quiet moments of understanding, the gentle touch of reassurance, the unspoken bond that held two hearts together. you had forgotten that love was supposed to heal, not hurt. it was supposed to uplift, not tear down. and in that moment, you vowed to remember, to never let anyone make you forget again. the tears continued to fall, but beneath them, a resolve began to form, a determination to reclaim the love and the art that were rightfully yours, to find the strength to rise from the ashes of your heartbreak and create anew.

the club was a throbbing pulse of music and light, a sanctuary for those seeking to drown their sorrows or celebrate fleeting moments of joy. you found yourself there, the need to escape the pain and humiliation driving you to its neon embrace. the air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation, each beat of the music resonating through your body like a heartbeat. you made your way to the bar, ordering a drink to numb the ache in your chest. the liquid was a fiery solace, burning down your throat and spreading warmth through your veins. one drink turned into another, and another, as you tried to drink the night away, to forget the betrayal, the hurt, the sculpture that had stripped you bare in more ways than one.

but as the air grew tighter and the room spun slightly with the haze of alcohol, you felt the need for a moment of clarity, of fresh air. you stepped outside, the cool night air a contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the club. reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a box of cigarettes, your fingers fumbling as you searched for your lighter. It was gone, lost in the chaos of the night.

“fuck,” you muttered quietly, frustration boiling over. as you looked up, you saw a man standing nearby, a smile playing on his lips as he flicked his lighter open. the small flame danced in the darkness, casting a warm glow on his face. “need a light?” he asked, his voice smooth and warm, like a balm to your frayed nerves.

you nodded, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “yeah, thanks.” he stepped closer, the flame catching the tip of your cigarette. you inhaled deeply, the smoke curling into your lungs and bringing a strange sense of calm. as you exhaled, he cracked a joke, something about fate bringing a cigarette and a lighter together. you laughed, the sound surprising you with its lightness.

he lit his own cigarette, taking a drag as he turned slightly, giving you a glimpse of the tattoo on the back of his neck—a butterfly, delicate and intricate, its wings poised as if ready to take flight. “that’s a beautiful tattoo,” you said, your eyes tracing the lines of the butterfly. he glanced back at you, a faint smile touching his lips. “thanks. i like butterflies. got a few of them at home.”

“they’re beautiful,” you admitted, the honesty in your voice surprising even you. “especially monarch butterflies. there’s something about them that’s just mesmerizing.” he didn’t respond immediately, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out a marker. taking your hand gently, he began to draw, the marker’s tip gliding over your skin. when he finished, he held up your wrist, showing you the butterfly he had drawn there—a monarch, its wings spread wide in a silent declaration of beauty and freedom.

“now you have a butterfly of your own,” he said, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of warmth. “to remind you of their beauty.”

you looked at the butterfly on your wrist, a smile forming on your lips. it was a small gesture, but it held a world of meaning, a moment of connection that pierced through the haze of pain and alcohol. “thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the city’s distant hum. he nodded, a silent smile on his face, before turning and walking back into the club, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the butterfly on your wrist. the night seemed a little less dark, the weight of your emotions a little lighter.

as you stood there, the cigarette burning slowly between your fingers, you felt a glimmer of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, beauty could still be found. the butterfly was a symbol, a promise that you could find your way back to the love and the art that had always been your sanctuary. you took another drag of your cigarette, the smoke swirling around you like a protective veil. the club’s music thumped in the background, a distant reminder of the chaos you had escaped. but in this moment, with the butterfly on your wrist and the memory of a stranger’s kindness, you felt a small but significant shift within you.

the next day, you found solace in the familiar embrace of your studio. the room was filled with the quiet hum of creativity, the soft scraping of tools against clay, the muted whispers of students deep in their work. your hands moved deftly over the surface of your sculpture, the tactile sensation of the material grounding you, offering a brief respite from the emotional turmoil that still lingered from the night before. your fingers traced the curves and lines, each motion a silent meditation, an attempt to channel the chaos inside you into something tangible, something beautiful. the sculpture began to take shape, a reflection of your innermost thoughts and feelings, an expression of the vulnerability and strength that intertwined within you.

as you lost yourself in the rhythm of your work, the studio door creaked open, and your friend poked her head in. jihyo was a vibrant presence, her energy infectious, and her smile always managing to brighten the darkest of days. “hey, you,” she called, waving you over. “let's step out for a smoke. you look like you need a break.”

you hesitated, your hands still covered in clay, but her insistence was hard to resist. with a sigh, you wiped your hands and followed her out, the studio door closing softly behind you. the fresh air was a welcome change, and the courtyard was quiet, a peaceful oasis amidst the bustling campus. jihyo handed you a cigarette, and you lit it, the familiar act bringing a semblance of calm. she leaned against the wall, her eyes narrowing as she studied you. “alright, spill it. what’s bugging you?”

you took a drag of your cigarette, the smoke curling around you. “jackson and i broke up,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. her eyes widened in surprise. “what? when? what happened?”

you recounted the events of the previous night, the betrayal and humiliation still raw in your mind. as you spoke, her expression shifted from shock to anger.

“he did what?” she exclaimed, her voice rising. “that sick son of a bitch, how could he think that was okay?” you shrugged, the weight of it all pressing down on you. “he called it art. i called it betrayal. we saw things differently.”

jihyo shook her head, her anger palpable. “you deserve so much better than that. he had no right to expose you like that.” as she spoke, you caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the man from the previous night. he was walking by, his posture relaxed, but his eyes met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. the recognition in his gaze mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the shared moment you had experienced.

he seemed as shocked as you were, but he recovered quickly, a smile tugging at his lips. you couldn’t help but smile back, the memory of his kindness a small comfort in the midst of your turmoil. “hey, jihyo,” you said, nudging her gently and nodding in his direction. “do you know who that is?”

she followed your gaze, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of him. “oh, that’s jeon jungkook. he works in the building department. total slut, though. you should keep your distance.” her words were blunt, her tone dismissive, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity. jungkook glanced back at you once more before continuing on his way, the smile still lingering on his face. you watched him go, the memory of his smile and the butterfly he had drawn on your wrist vivid in your mind.

you nodded absently, still watching him from a distance. “yeah, sure. i’ll keep that in mind.” as the two of you finished your cigarettes and headed back to the studio, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was different from the way jihyo described him. there was a gentleness in his eyes, a quiet kindness that intrigued you. you didn’t know what the future held, but for now, the memory of his smile and the butterfly on your wrist gave you a small glimmer of hope, a reminder that beauty and kindness could still be found, even in the most unexpected places.

back in the studio, you lost yourself once more in the clay, the rhythm of your movements a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. each touch, each stroke of your tools, was an act of creation, a way to channel the tumult of emotions into something tangible. the world outside the studio faded away, leaving only the quiet hum of creativity and the comforting solidity of your sculpture.

the creak of the door barely registered in your focused state. it wasn’t until you sensed a presence directly in front of you that you looked up, your hands pausing mid-motion. there he was, jeon jungkook, the man from the night before, sitting casually on a stool, his eyes bright with curiosity and amusement. he smiled, a warm, easy smile that seemed to light up the room. “you work with such intensity,” he remarked, his voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. “it’s really impressive.”

“thanks,” you replied, your mind flashing back to jihyo’s warning about him. you tried to keep your expression neutral, though his unexpected presence had thrown you off balance.

his gaze drifted to your wrist, where the butterfly he had drawn still lingered. “the butterfly is still there,” he noted with a hint of satisfaction. you looked down at the delicate sketch, a small smile tugging at your lips. “yeah, seems like she likes it there.”

“she does,” he agreed, a playful glint in his eye. “but i think she’d like a drink more. would you wanna grab one with me?” for a moment, you hesitated, jihyo’s words echoing in your mind: “total slut, though. you should keep your distance.” but there was something about him, something that intrigued you. his easy confidence, his unexpected kindness from the night before—curiosity got the better of you.

“sure,” you said, nodding. “i'd like that.” his smile widened, and he stood, offering his hand to help you up. his touch was warm, steadying you as you wiped the clay from your hands. the studio felt different now, charged with a new energy, as you left with him, the door closing softly behind you.

as you and him left walked, the conversation continued to flow effortlessly between you. the city lights cast a warm glow on the streets, and the night air was crisp, a perfect backdrop for the unexpected connection forming between you. “so, why have i never seen you around before?” jungkook asked, his hands casually tucked into his pockets as you walked side by side.

you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. “i’m usually in the sculpting department. it’s a bit tucked away, not many people venture there unless they have a reason to.” his eyes lit up with interest. “sculpting, huh? that’s pretty cool. i’ve always wanted to try it, but my parents insisted on something more practical. hence, the building department.”

you glanced at him, curiosity piqued. “you should chase your own freedom,” you said earnestly. “do what makes you happy.” he chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. “all i chase is freedom. it’s a problem, really. but it’s why i resonate with butterflies so much. they’re the ultimate symbol of freedom and transformation.” you walked in comfortable silence for a moment, contemplating his words. jungkook’s outlook on life was refreshing, a stark contrast to the rigid expectations that had been imposed on you by others.

as you approached the bar, the lively atmosphere enveloped you. jungkook led you to a section of the room dedicated to dart throwing. the area was bustling with energy, the sound of laughter and friendly competition filling the air. “ever played darts before?” he asked, picking up a dart and spinning it expertly between his fingers. you shook your head, feeling a bit out of your element. “no, i’ve never tried it.”

he grinned, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “well, it’s time you learned.” he turned to the dartboard, aiming with practiced ease and throwing the dart. It hit the center perfectly, a bullseye. “show-off,” you teased, impressed by his skill. he laughed, handing you a dart. “come on, give it a shot. i’ll help you.”

you took the dart, feeling a bit unsure. jungkook moved behind you, his presence close and comforting. he placed one arm gently around your waist, guiding your hand with the other. the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “just relax,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “focus on the target.”

with his guidance, you raised your arm and threw the dart. it flew straight, hitting the middle of the board. you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. there was a shared moment of triumph and connection, your heart fluttering at the intensity of his gaze. “see? you’ve got it,” he said softly, a proud smile lighting up his face.

you couldn’t help but smile back, the feeling of accomplishment mingling with a growing sense of attraction. for the rest of the evening, you played a few more rounds, each throw bringing you closer, both physically and emotionally. the drinks flowed, the conversation deepened, and laughter punctuated the night. as the night drew to a close, he insisted on walking you home. the streets were quieter now, the city settling into a peaceful rhythm. when you reached your doorstep, he turned to face you, his expression tender.

“i had a great time tonight,” he said, his voice sincere. “thank you for joining me.”

“me too,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you. “i’m glad i came.” he stepped closer, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. he leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. the simple gesture was filled with warmth and affection, sending a rush of emotions through you.

“good night,” he whispered, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away. you watched him walk off into the night, your heart fluttering in your chest. the evening had been unexpected, a whirlwind of emotions and connections that left you feeling both exhilarated and introspective. as you turned to enter your home, you couldn’t help but smile, the memory of his kiss still warm on your skin.

the morning sun filtered through the trees as you walked to your campus with jihyo. the campus was beginning to stir with activity, the hustle of students preparing for the day ahead. the air was filled with the familiar sounds of footsteps, chatter, and the distant hum of city life. jihyo made sure to get a headstart, indulging in her morning vape, the sweet aroma curling around you as you walked side by side. she passed the vape to you, and you took a slow drag, savoring the fleeting tranquility before the day's demands took over. you exhaled, the vapor mingling with the crisp morning air.

as you continued your walk, you recounted the events of the previous night, your voice animated as you described jungkook’s unexpected kindness and the enjoyable evening you had shared. she listened intently, though her expression remained skeptical, her brows furrowing in concern. “and then,” you finished, handing the vape back to her, “he walked me home and gave me a kiss on the forehead. it was really sweet.”

she took a long drag, her eyes narrowing slightly. “it sounds like you had a nice time, but—” she exhaled a cloud of vapor, “—you’re playing with fire, you know that?” you raised an eyebrow, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your voice. “come on, ji. you’re being way too judgmental. he's not like that, he's different.”

she gave you a skeptical look, shaking her head. “i’m just saying, be careful. you don’t know him that well yet.”

you were about to respond when you both froze mid-step. your gaze followed jihyo’s, and you saw him up ahead on the sidewalk. your heart skipped a beat, but this time, he wasn’t alone. he was walking with another girl, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. they seemed at ease with each other, sharing an intimate, comfortable closeness. jihyo glanced at you, her expression a mixture of sympathy and concern. “well,” she said softly, “i guess i wasn’t wrong.”

you stood there, feeling the weight of her words. the sight of jungkook with someone else was a jarring contrast to the warmth you had felt the previous night. it was as if the bubble of the evening’s enchantment had burst, leaving you to confront a reality that you had momentarily ignored.

the girl beside jungkook looked at him with a smile, and he responded with a tender gaze. it was a simple, yet intimate exchange that spoke volumes. the contrast between last night’s connection and this morning’s reality was stark, and you felt a pang of disappointment. jihyo’s hand rested gently on your shoulder, her voice comforting. “i'm sorry, i didn’t mean to rub it in. i just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

you nodded, feeling a lump in your throat. “i know. it’s just, i thought there was something real there. maybe i was wrong.” jihyo sighed, taking another drag from her vape. “you weren’t wrong to feel what you felt, just be cautious. sometimes people aren’t as straightforward as they seem.”

you watched as jungkook and the girl walked further down the street, their figures eventually disappearing from view. the sight had left you feeling unsettled, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. the confidence you had felt the night before now seemed fragile, overshadowed by the uncertainty of this new revelation.

as you and jihyo resumed your walk, the campus loomed ahead, its familiar buildings a reminder of the routine and responsibilities awaiting you. the conversation shifted to other topics, but the weight of the morning’s encounter lingered, a reminder that even fleeting connections could carry unexpected complexities. you couldn’t help but reflect on his words about freedom and butterflies, wondering how they fit into this new, unsettling reality. the morning had started with promise but had given way to a reality that was less clear-cut, leaving you to navigate the delicate balance between hope and caution.

the studio was a sanctuary of focused energy and creative chaos. you found solace in the rhythm of your hands working the clay, shaping it with deliberate precision. each stroke was a meditative practice, allowing you to channel your thoughts and emotions into the art before you. jihyo, her boyfriend, and his sister had settled nearby. minho was absorbed in his own project, while jihyo and minyoung chatted softly, their voices a comforting background hum. the three of them had a natural camaraderie that brought a sense of ease to the studio. minyoung’s laughter rang out occasionally, a bright and cheerful sound that contrasted with the solemnity of your own concentration.

as you sculpted, your thoughts drifted back to jungkook. the image of him walking with another girl played over in your mind, like a record stuck on repeat. the warmth of last night seemed distant now, replaced by the chill of reality. you tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the form taking shape in your hands. minyoung’s voice broke through your reverie. “hey, we’re planning to head over to ji’s place tonight for a little get-together. we’re gonna have some drinks and hang out with a few friends from campus. you should come.”

you looked up, momentarily distracted from your work. “that sounds fun,” you said, though your voice betrayed a hint of reluctance. the idea of socializing was appealing, but the thought of seeing jungkook again—especially in a group setting—left you feeling unsettled. jihyo noticed your hesitation and gave you a reassuring smile. “come on, it’ll be good for you. you’ve had a rough couple of days. a change of scenery might help you feel better.”

uou nodded, forcing a smile. “yeah, i guess you’re right. i’ll come.” minyoung’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “great! it’ll be nice to hang out and unwind. we’re all looking forward to it.”

as the conversation shifted back to other topics, you tried to immerse yourself in the rhythm of sculpting once more. the tactile sensation of the clay beneath your fingers was grounding, a small comfort amidst the whirlwind of emotions. despite your efforts, your mind kept returning to Jungkook. the casual intimacy you had witnessed, the way he had interacted with the girl—every detail seemed to replay itself in your thoughts. jihyo and minho were absorbed in their conversation with minyoung, their voices a blend of excitement and lightheartedness. Occasionally, jihyo would glance over at you, her expression a mix of concern and encouragement. her presence was a reminder of the friendship and support you had, even when things felt uncertain.

the minutes ticked by as you worked, the sculpting process a meditative balm for your frayed nerves. each detail you added to your piece was a small victory, a way to reclaim a sense of control amidst the emotional turbulence. when the end of the class approached, you felt a mixture of relief and anticipation. the prospect of the evening’s gathering offered a potential escape from the weight of your thoughts, a chance to immerse yourself in the company of friends and let the worries of the past few days drift away.

jihyo and minho packed up their things, and you followed suit, feeling a sense of camaraderie as you prepared to leave the studio. minyoung chatted animatedly about the evening��s plans, her enthusiasm infectious despite the lingering doubts in your mind. as you walked out of the studio and headed toward the campus exit, jihyo fell into step beside you. her presence was comforting, a reminder of the support you had. “remember,” she said softly, “tonight’s about relaxing and having a good time. don’t let your worries overshadow it.”

you nodded, taking a deep breath as you stepped into the vibrant energy of the campus. the evening ahead held the promise of distraction and connection, a chance to shift your focus and enjoy the company of friends. as you walked alongside jihyo and minho, you tried to embrace the hope that tonight might bring a welcome reprieve from the storm of emotions you had been navigating. the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the campus as you made your way to her place. with each step, you hoped for a sense of relief and a chance to momentarily escape the complexities of your thoughts.

the evening's promise of relief and distraction dissolved like smoke as you stepped into jihyo’s house. the warmth and laughter that greeted you were abruptly overshadowed by the sight of jungkook among the group of people already there. the room was buzzing with energy, the clinking of bottles and the murmur of conversation filling the air.

jihyo’s cheerful greeting faltered as her gaze locked onto jungkook. she snapped her neck to minho, a look of surprise and irritation crossing her face. “i didn’t know you’d invited jungkook too,” she said, her voice carrying a sharp edge. minho raised his hands defensively, a sheepish grin on his face. “i had no idea there was tension. i thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

you stood there, frozen in the doorway, feeling a chill seep into the warmth of the room. jungkook’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was a silent acknowledgment of the situation. his smile faltered slightly when he noticed your lack of reciprocation, the tension between you palpable.

jihyo guided you into the room, her demeanor shifting to one of concern. whe led you to a circle on the floor where the others were already settling in. minho produced bottles of soju, his enthusiasm for the evening evident as he set them down and suggested starting a drinking game. the game began with a lively energy. the group’s laughter and teasing filled the space, but you found it difficult to engage. as the rounds progressed, the questions and challenges became increasingly daring. mina, one of the other girls, challenged jihyo to either take her top off or drink. just as she was about to comply, minho interjected, suggesting she down an entire bottle instead. the room erupted in laughter, a sound that felt distant and hollow to you.

jungkook’s gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes searching for a reaction. you met his gaze briefly, your own expression unyielding. the game continued around you, the atmosphere growing more frenetic and less comfortable.

jihyo’s eyes sparkled with a new idea as she turned to him, her voice carrying a playful tone. “jungkook, your turn. kiss the prettiest girl in the room or take a drink.” the challenge seemed to electrify the room. his eyes flickered to you once more, his expression a mix of resolve and anticipation. he reached for the bottle of soju, his fingers brushing its neck, before setting it down with a decisive motion. without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

the room erupted in cheers, the sound washing over you in a wave of unwanted attention. jungkook pulled away, his smile radiant and expectant, but you remained unmoved. your eyes were cool, indifferent. the kiss, meant to be playful or provocative, felt hollow and forced. the jubilation of the room contrasted sharply with your own feelings. you took a swig from the soju bottle, the liquid burning as it went down. the alcohol did little to numb the sting of the evening’s events. with a heavy sigh, you excused yourself from the circle and walked toward the door.

as you stepped outside, the cool night air greeted you with a sharp, refreshing clarity. the sky above was dotted with stars, a serene contrast to the chaos you had just left behind. you fumbled with your cigarette box, fingers trembling slightly as you retrieved a cigarette. with a practiced motion, you lit it and inhaled deeply, the smoke curling around you in a calming haze. the solitude of the outdoor space provided a temporary refuge from the din inside. uou leaned against the wall, the cigarette between your fingers a small anchor in the storm of your thoughts. the kiss from jungkook had left you unsettled, and the evening’s veneer of camaraderie had revealed a deeper undercurrent of discomfort and disconnection.

as you stood there, lost in thought, the distant sounds of laughter and music from the party inside seemed faint and distant. the cool breeze carried away the heat of the moment, leaving you with a sense of clarity and resolve. you had come seeking relief, but instead had confronted a reality that was as complex and unpredictable as ever. the cigarette burned down slowly, the embers glowing softly in the night. you finished it with a deep, contemplative drag, savoring the quiet before re-entering the fray of the evening. with a final exhale, you flicked the spent cigarette away and prepared to face whatever the rest of the night might hold.

the night air had a crisp bite to it, a contrast to the clamor of the party inside. you were about to step back into the house, hoping to reclaim some semblance of normalcy, when a shadow fell across your path. you looked up, only to find jungkook standing there, his presence as sudden as it was unexpected.

he leaned down slightly, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. his smile was disarming, and his voice carried a playful tone as he spoke. “why’ve you been so cold to me?” he asked, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

you scoffed, the earlier tension bubbling back to the surface. “why don’t you ask your friend from this morning?” you shot back, unable to keep the edge from your voice.

his laughter was soft and warm, cutting through the chill of the night. “soel? oh, she’s just a friend. nothing more,” he said, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand. his words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily stunned and silent. the embarrassment of your earlier jealousy washed over you like a tide, coloring your cheeks with a faint blush. he seemed to sense your discomfort and offered a reassuring smile. “don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice gentle. “jealousy looks good on you, by the way.”

your heart skipped a beat at his comment, a flush of heat spreading across your face. the candidness of his words, combined with the intensity of his gaze, made it difficult to maintain your composure. flustered, you looked away, struggling to regain your equilibrium. before you could fully gather yourself, his presence at your side felt oddly comforting. he matched your pace as you turned back toward the house, trailing behind you with a casual, easy stride. the sound of the party inside grew louder as you approached the door, the energy of the gathering spilling out into the hallway.

the night’s revelry had left you intoxicated and unsteady on your feet. the laughter and music from downstairs seemed to blend into a distant hum as you made your way up to jihyo’s room. the stairwell wobbled slightly under your steps, each ascent feeling like an effort as you navigated the dizzying effects of the evening’s drinks. when you finally reached her room, you stumbled through the door and collapsed onto her bed. the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a gentle light across the space. the bed felt like a comforting refuge as you sank into its embrace, your head spinning pleasantly from the alcohol.

as you rested, the door creaked open, and you heard the shuffling of footsteps approaching. your hazy vision slowly made out jungkook’s figure as he stumbled into the room, equally inebriated but with a purposeful gait. he looked around, his eyes finally landing on you with a mix of concern and amusement.

“what are you doing here?” you managed to ask, your voice a bit slurred. the question hung in the air, mingling with the scent of alcohol and the faint scent of perfume. his smile was lopsided, his gaze soft as he settled down on the bed beside you. “i came to check on you,” he said, his voice carrying a soothing warmth that contrasted with the cool night air.

your heart fluttered at his words, a sensation that felt both thrilling and disorienting. as he sat next to you, his presence was comforting and reassuring, an anchor amidst the swirl of emotions you were feeling. he looked at you with a gentle smile, his eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance.

“you’re just as pretty drunk as you are sober,” he said, his tone affectionate and teasing. the compliment made you blush deeper, and you instinctively raised your hands to cover your face. “my makeup must be a mess,” you mumbled, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. jungkook shook his head with a soft chuckle, his movements deliberate and careful. “makeup is just art, and you can't mess up art,” he said, his voice tender as he leaned in closer. his face was inches from yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. his fingers gently traced the lines of your face, his touch light as he began to wipe away the smudges of makeup from under your eyes.

the intimacy of the moment seemed to stretch and contract, a space filled with a growing anticipation. jungkook’s gaze held yours, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that matched the softness of his touch. the distance between you closed, the world outside the room fading into insignificance.

when his lips finally met yours, the kiss was hot and heavy, a potent mix of desire and need. it was a kiss that spoke volumes, expressing the unspoken feelings and the intoxicated passion that had been simmering beneath the surface. his lips moved against yours with an intensity that made your heart race, the kiss deepening with every passing second.

as the kiss deepened, the rest of the world seemed to dissolve into a blur. the music from downstairs, the laughter, the people—it all became a distant echo compared to the closeness of his embrace. the kiss was a shared moment of escape, a brief interlude where nothing else mattered but the connection between you and him. “if we continue,” he murmured, his hot breath grazing your lips. “i won't be able to stop myself.”

his eyes searched yours for consent, and even though you were tipsy, you knew exactly what you were doing. with a nod, you let yourself indulge in it, the anticipation building with every step. the room was dimly lit, with the occasional flicker from the candle casting shadows on the walls. the smell of the candle, something sweet and exotic, filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of his cologne. jungkook closed the door behind you, and in that instant, the outside world was forgotten.

once on the bed, your bodies became a tangled mess of limbs and passion. his hands were everywhere, tracing the lines of your body with a hunger that was almost desperate. you felt his tattoo flutter against your neck as he kissed along your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. you pulled at his shirt, eager to feel his bare skin against yours. the fabric gave way, revealing his toned abs and the tattoo that was inked into the flesh at the base of his neck—a delicate monarch, its wings unfurling in an intricate dance.

his mouth found yours again, and the kiss grew more urgent. your hands fumbled with the buttons of his pants, and he groaned when you finally slipped your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his hard length. he reciprocated, tugging at the hem of your dress, eager to explore what lay beneath. as the fabric was pushed aside, his eyes widened at the sight of your lacy underwear. “fuck,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with desire. “so fucking dirty.”

his words were a heady mix of praise and demand, sending a rush of heat to your core. your heart pounded in your chest as he pulled the dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. the coolness of the room hit your skin, making your nipples pebble with excitement. his eyes roamed over you, and you felt exposed, but in the best way possible. his hands followed the path of his gaze, cupping your tits and gently rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. a soft moan escaped your lips, and he took it as an invitation to lean in and suck one into his mouth. the sensation was electric, and you arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him.

his hands moved down to the waistband of your underwear, and with a quick motion, he slid them down your legs. you felt a moment of vulnerability, but it was quickly overshadowed by the desire coursing through your veins. jungkook kissed along your stomach, making his way down to the apex of your thighs. his tongue flicked out, teasing your clit, and you gripped the bed sheets tightly. “oh, god,” you breathed, your voice a desperate whisper.

his eyes never left yours as he positioned himself over you, his own pants discarded on the floor. he reached into the nightstand and pulled out a condom, ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on. even in the dim light, you could see the intensity in his gaze, the raw need that mirrored your own. “are you sure?” he asked, his voice gruff with lust.

you nodded, and it was all he yearned for as he entered you. the feeling was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and pain that had you gasping. he paused, giving you a moment to adjust before he began to move. his thrusts were deep and slow at first, his eyes never leaving yours as he whispered filthy words in your ear, urging you to let go.

you did, moaning his name as you wrapped your legs around his waist. your hands dug into his back, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he moved. your bodies fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces that had been searching for their match. the bed rocked gently under you, the rhythmic sound mixing with your ragged breaths and the slap of skin on skin.

you lost track of time as you both chased the high of climax. his dirty talk grew more intense, and your responses grew louder. it was a dance of dominance and submission, each of you pushing the other closer to the edge. when you finally reached it, your body convulsed around him, and you called out his name like a prayer. jungkook followed shortly after, his dick twitching as if it was his first time.

the morning light filtered through the curtains with a muted glow, casting a soft, hazy light across jihyo’s room. you stirred from sleep, the warmth of the bed a stark contrast to the chill of the previous night. as you slowly regained consciousness, your eyes fell upon the scene beside you. jungkook laid there, his presence so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. the shocking realization hit you as you took in the sight of him naked beside you.

panic surged through you as fragmented memories of the night before flickered in your mind. the kiss, the heat, the intensity—all of it came crashing back. the vividness of those moments left you feeling both disoriented and mortified. with trembling hands, you scrambled to gather your clothes, hastily dressing as you tried to make sense of the chaos.

in a frantic rush, you stumbled out of the room and down the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest. the house was still quiet, save for the soft murmurs of the early morning. wgen you reached the bottom, you were met with jihyo’s intense gaze. her expression was a mixture of concern and exasperation, a look that made you feel like you were about to face her wrath. “i could strangle you right now,” she said, her voice sharp and laced with an underlying tension. the threat in her words was softened only by the lack of her morning smoke, a ritual she hadn’t yet indulged in. you stood there, feeling a knot of fear tighten in your stomach. the scolding began, a tirade of reprimands that blended into a blur of guilt and embarrassment.

the weight of your actions pressed heavily upon you, and though you tried to focus on her words, your mind was elsewhere. the guilt of the night before, the uncertainty of what you had done, and the unanticipated consequences all swirled together in a disorienting mix. during class, her scolding continued, her frustration evident. you sat there, trying to stay composed as the minutes ticked by. the lecture on art and technique seemed distant, a backdrop to the internal turmoil you were experiencing. it was only when a familiar face appeared that you were jolted from your reverie.

the girl who had been with jungkook the previous morning walked in and took a seat with you and jihyo. she greeted you with a polite smile, and as she settled in, she mentioned needing help with her sculpture. you gave her your notes, watching her as she began to work with the clay, your mind still reeling from the events of the night. as she sculpted, your gaze inadvertently fell to her wrist. there, clearly visible, was a drawing of a monarch butterfly.

the sight of it sent a jolt through you, your stomach twisting in a sickening churn. the connection hit you like a physical blow, and the room seemed to spin around you. you were frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from the drawing that mirrored the one jungkook had drawn on you. unable to stay any longer, you excused yourself, the rush of emotions and physical discomfort becoming too overwhelming to ignore. you hurried to the bathroom, the need to escape the situation pressing heavily on you. once inside, you leaned over the sink and, overwhelmed by a combination of betrayal, hangover, and emotional turmoil, you began to vomit. each heave felt like it was ripping something deeper inside of you, the physical pain amplifying the emotional distress.

as you clung to the sink, the cool porcelain against your forehead offering a small comfort, you were consumed by a storm of conflicting feelings. the events of the night had left their mark, and now, the stark reality of the situation was unfolding with cruel clarity. as you stepped out of the bathroom, the heaviness in your chest felt almost tangible. the earlier discomfort was still fresh, and you were hoping for a moment of peace. instead, the moment you emerged, you heard a voice calling for you. you turned, only to see jungkook walking towards you with a grin that seemed far too bright given the situation.

“running out without a goodbye kiss? that’s pure evil,” he said, his tone light and teasing. but as you met his gaze, you saw no trace of irony or humor—just a genuine, unfaltering smile that made your stomach churn once again.

you forced yourself to look him in the eyes, trying to steady your emotions. “i just talked to soel,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “she has a butterfly tattoo on her wrist. the same one you drew on me.”

jungkook’s smile didn’t falter. Instead, he seemed unfazed by your revelation. “oh, that? i draw that on all my friends,” he said nonchalantly. “why does it bug you?”

the casualness of his response left you reeling. you stared at him, feeling a cold wave of betrayal wash over you. “is that what i am to you? just a friend?” his reaction was almost mechanical. “yeah,” he said, shrugging slightly. “is that an issue for you?”

the simple, matter-of-fact way he spoke was like a punch to the gut. you were stunned, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. the realization that you had misinterpreted his intentions, that your emotions had been tangled in a misunderstanding, left you feeling hollow. without another word, you turned away, your heart racing and your mind clouded with a storm of betrayal and shock. you walked briskly, your steps echoing with a sense of finality as you left jungkook behind. the turmoil inside you was a jumbled mess, each step away from him only amplifying the confusion and hurt.

the campus was bustling with the usual midday energy as you joined jihyo, minho, and minyoung for lunch. you sat down at the table with them, the usual chatter and laughter around you feeling like a distant echo. as they talked animatedly about their day, you remained silent, the weight of the morning’s events heavy on your shoulders.

minho finally broke through the silence, noticing the way you said nothing. “what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle but concerned. the question was like a dam breaking. you tried to hold back the tears, but the effort proved futile. they spilled over, each drop a mix of frustration, sadness, and disappointment. the raw emotion that had been building up inside you was finally released, and you found yourself unable to stop the flood.

through your tears, you recounted the events of the night before—the drunken mistake, the disheartening conversation with jungkook, and the sting of betrayal. your voice trembled with each word, the hurt and confusion palpable as you shared your story.

as you spoke, you could see the shock and horror on their faces. minho’s eyes widened with disbelief, and minyoung’s expression turned to one of sympathy. but it was jihyo’s reaction that truly struck you. her face darkened with anger, and her eyes blazed with a fierce resolve. “might actually fucking kill him,” she said with a steely determination, her words delivered in a low, dangerous tone. the promise was almost soothing in its intensity, a sign of her fierce loyalty and anger on your behalf.

you shook your head, feeling a fresh wave of guilt wash over you. “no, don’t,” you managed to say between sobs. “it’s my fault. i was too trusting. i should have seen it coming.”

her expression softened as she reached out to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “don’t blame yourself,” she said firmly. “you didn’t do anything wrong. he’s the one who failed you. focus on yourself and your work. you deserve better than this.” but despite her reassurances, you found it difficult to shift your focus. jungkook’s smile, the way he had looked at you, the crushing realization of his indifference—all of it was still vividly etched in your mind. the pain of the betrayal felt like a persistent ache, a constant reminder of your misplaced trust and the emotional turmoil it had caused.

as lunch continued, you struggled to engage in the conversation. your mind kept drifting back to him, replaying the moments and words that had shattered your sense of stability. the comfort of jihyo’s words was overshadowed by the persistent sting of your own emotions. the rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, the echoes of your thoughts louder than any external noise. the distraction of the campus environment did little to ease your turmoil, and the weight of your feelings continued to anchor you in a state of unresolved pain.

in the solitude of the studio, the air was heavy with the smell of clay and the faint traces of your exhaustion. the sculpture in front of you was nearly complete, a painstakingly crafted representation of a woman’s head—her expression a haunting blend of serenity and despair. the piece symbolized a submission to love that consumed and overwhelmed. her eyes were hollowed out, the sockets deep and dark, conveying an intense and tragic devotion. the gouged-out eyes were not merely a detail; they were the very essence of her surrender, the ultimate sacrifice for the one she loved.

your hands trembled slightly as you made the final adjustments, the weight of your own emotions interwoven with the piece. you took a step back to admire your work, your heart heavy with the sense of completion mingled with the burden of what it represented. the sculpture was a mirror to your own turbulent feelings, capturing the essence of devotion and its potential for destruction.

the quiet of the studio was suddenly disrupted by a voice behind you. “where are her eyes?” jungkook asked, his tone inquisitive yet casual. you stiffened, momentarily frozen by the intrusion. your gaze remained fixed on the sculpture, trying to compose yourself. “she gouged her eyes out,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of the sculpture’s meaning. “simply because her lover wanted her to. she would do anything for him.”

jungkook’s footsteps approached, and you felt him come closer, his presence a palpable force in the room. he stood behind you, his gaze fixed on the sculpture as he admired your work. “it’s a beautiful piece,” he said, his voice sincere but carrying an undercurrent of something else.

you kept your back to him, your attention focused on the sculpture, trying to ignore the effect his presence had on you. but then, you felt him press closer, his body nearly touching your back. he leaned in, his breath warm and tickling your ear as he gently pushed aside your hair. “are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice a low whisper. you struggled to maintain your composure, the tension between you palpable. “i have no reason to be,” you replied, though your voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

you felt him smirk against your skin, the touch of his lips sending shivers down your spine. his kisses, light and teasing, trailed down your neck, each touch intensifying your internal conflict. “we shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured, your voice wavering. his breath was hot against your ear as he replied, “that’s what makes it so fun.”

your resistance wavered as he continued to kiss your neck, the pleasure mingling with your sense of guilt and confusion. You knew it was wrong, yet the allure of the moment was powerful. finally, you turned around to face him, the decision made despite your inner turmoil. you allowed him to kiss you, the contact both electrifying and disorienting.

the kiss was intense, a clash of emotions and desires that left you breathless. jungkook’s touch was both familiar and foreign, a reminder of the complications that had arisen between you. as you surrendered to the kiss, the studio’s quiet solitude seemed to collapse around you, leaving only the swirling mixture of passion and regret. in the midst of the embrace, the sculpture remained a silent witness, its hollow eyes a stark reminder of the emotional sacrifice and the consuming nature of love. the art piece and the reality of your feelings intertwined, creating a poignant reflection of the complicated interplay between desire and devotion.

his hands found their way to your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you closer to him. you felt his arousal pressing against you, and despite your inner reservations, your body responded instinctively. the attraction was undeniable, a magnetic force that seemed to have a will of its own. his kiss grew deeper, more demanding, as his hands began to explore your body. your own hands roamed over his chest, feeling the muscles tighten beneath your touch. the fabric of your clothes felt like a barrier to the connection you both craved, and without a word, jungkook began to remove them. the anticipation grew as each layer fell away, revealing your skin to the cool studio air.

you found yourself bent over the sculpting table, jungkook’s hands tracing your spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. he whispered dirty words into your ear, his voice thick with desire, and you felt your knees wobble. the reality of the situation washed over you—the illicitness of it, the raw need you felt for each other—and you realized that this was what you had been craving, despite the guilt.

his fingers dipped lower, finding the wetness between your legs, and you gasped into his mouth. jungkook’s touch grew more insistent, and the sculpture beneath your palms seemed to pulse with the rhythm of your heart. you were no longer the artist—you were the art, being shaped and molded by his desires.

his hand slid away, and you heard the sound of his belt buckle. your heart raced as he positioned himself behind you, the tip of his erection teasing your entrance. “are you sure?” you managed to ask, the tremor in your voice betraying your nerves. “do you want me?” he replied, his voice a challenge. your body answered for you, arching back, begging for him to fill you. and with one powerful thrust, he did.

the sensation was overwhelming—his bare skin against yours, the heat of his body surrounding you. his grip tightened on your hips as he began to move, the rhythm punctuated by your moans and the slap of skin against skin. the intensity grew with each stroke, the pleasure a wildfire that consumed every rational thought. you could feel his breath on your neck, his voice a gruff whisper of praise and desire. your eyes closed, and the sculpture, the studio, the world outside—it all faded away, leaving only the two of you and the primal dance of your bodies.

his thrusts grew harder, deeper, as he claimed you from behind. the sculpture was forgotten, a symbol of a love that was now a tangible reality in the form of this explosive union. you reached back, your hand finding the base of his cock, and you felt his body tense with pleasure. the air was thick with passion, the scent of sex and clay a heady mix that intoxicated you both. jungkook’s movements grew erratic, and you knew he was close. with one final, powerful push, he reached his climax, his warmth filling you as he groaned your name.

you collapsed onto the table, spent and trembling, as jungkook leaned over you, his breath ragged. for a moment, there was only silence, the two of you trying to find your bearings in the aftermath of the storm.

but the quiet was broken by the sudden sound of the studio door opening, and you both froze. your eyes widened with panic, and jungkook’s grip on you tightened. “we can’t get caught,” you whispered, your heart racing with fear and excitement. he smirked, his eyes dark with mischief. “we won’t,” he assured you, his voice low and seductive. “not until we’re finished, anyway.” the tension grew as the footsteps grew louder, and jungkook began to move again, slower this time, his strokes long and deliberate. the game of hiding in plain sight was thrilling, a dangerous edge to the passion that had overtaken you both.

the newcomer to the studio called out a greeting, and his hand covered your mouth, muffling any sound you might make. you bit down on your lip, stifling a moan, as he continued to fuck you with an urgent need that seemed to defy the danger of being discovered. your heart hammered in your chest, the thrill of the forbidden mixing with the fear of being caught.

his movements grew more deliberate, his hips grinding into yours with a silent rhythm that matched the beat of your racing pulse. you could feel the eyes of the sculpture on you, the hollow sockets seeming to judge you even as you writhed in pleasure beneath his touch. the footsteps grew closer, and his grip tightened. he leaned in, his teeth grazing your ear as he whispered, “be quiet, baby. come for me.” the words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you did as he asked, your orgasm building like a crescendo.

just as the person entered the room, you reached the peak, your body convulsing around jungkook’s cock. he groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your neck, and you clamped down on his hand to keep from crying out. the wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you trembling and exposed. his strokes grew shallower, his cock still hard and pulsing inside you. the footsteps stopped just outside the partition that separated the main studio from your makeshift private corner. the tension was unbearable, a tight coil of excitement and fear that made every nerve ending in your body feel alive.

his eyes locked with yours, and you saw the challenge in them. you knew he was enjoying this as much as he enjoyed the sex itself—the risk, the danger, the thrill of the secret. your breathing was ragged, your body still quaking from the orgasm that had torn through you, and yet you remained silent, waiting. the person in the room spoke, their voice muffled by the wall of clay that separated you. jungkook’s thrusts grew more gentle now, almost tender, as he slowly pulled out of you. you felt the warmth of his seed inside you, a stark reminder of what had just happened.

you both waited, your breaths syncing as the footsteps grew fainter, moving away from your hiding spot. once the room was empty again, jungkook leaned down to kiss you, his lips brushing yours with a softness that seemed at odds with the ferocity of your encounter. “see?” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “no one will ever know our little secret.”

you pushed him away gently, sitting up and adjusting your clothes. your mind was racing, a whirlwind of emotions—shame, exhilaration, fear of being found out. but there was also something else, a dark satisfaction that seemed to hum in the air.

the sculpture loomed before you, the woman’s expression now a reflection of your own complex feelings. jungkook pulled on his shirt, his eyes never leaving yours. “we can’t do this again,” you said, the finality in your voice unmistakable. but as he zipped up his pants, the smug smile on his face told you that he didn’t believe you. and deep down, neither did you. the line had been crossed, and the taste of the forbidden was too sweet to ignore.

his eyes held a promise of more to come, and despite yourself, you felt your body respond. the next chapter of this illicit story was already being written, the plot thickening with every shared glance and stolen touch. and you knew that no matter how much you tried to resist, you would be drawn back into the tumultuous dance of desire and deceit that was your relationship with him.

as jungkook stepped out of the studio, his silhouette fading into the dim light of the hallway, you were left alone with the echo of his departure. you hastily pulled your clothes back on, your hands trembling uncontrollably. each movement was a struggle against the storm of emotions raging inside you.

the studio, once a sanctuary of creation, now felt like a cage closing in around you. the quiet was oppressive, amplifying the shattering of your composure. you fought to hold back the tears, but the effort proved futile. they began to fall, each drop a release of the turmoil you had been trying to suppress. you sank to the floor, your body trembling with the force of your sobs. the statue stood before you, its eyeless gaze a haunting reflection of your own despair. the sculpture, a representation of sacrifice and devotion, seemed to mock you now. its hollow eyes, gouged out as a symbol of surrender, mirrored the emptiness and heartbreak you felt inside.

unable to bear the sight, you were overcome by a furious, anguished energy. the intensity of your emotions erupted uncontrollably. you launched yourself at the statue, your hands and feet flailing as you knocked it over. the crash of clay against the floor was loud, a jarring sound that matched the violence of your grief. you kicked at the broken pieces, the fragments scattering across the studio floor. the destruction was cathartic yet devastating, a physical manifestation of the chaos within you. as the statue lay shattered, the pieces symbolized the fragmented state of your heart. each kick was a release, each broken shard a representation of your pain.

exhausted and overwhelmed, you slid down against the wall, the tears still flowing freely. the destruction of the sculpture had not lessened the weight of your sorrow. instead, it left you staring at the remnants, the once-beautiful work now reduced to a broken mess. you continued to cry, your body wracked with sobs as you gazed at the ruined statue. the eyeless gaze of the sculpture, now in fragments, seemed to reach out to you in a final, tragic understanding. the intense emotion of the piece was mirrored in your own shattered state. the studio, with its scattered pieces and your anguished cries, was a poignant testament to the overwhelming pain and anger you felt.

the contrast between the beauty of the sculpture and the violence of its destruction spoke to the raw intensity of your emotions. the studio, once a space of artistic expression, had become a stage for your most profound heartache. as you wept, the remnants of the statue lay around you, a somber reminder of the intricate connection between art, love, and the devastating effects of betrayal. in the end, as your sobs quieted and you sat amidst the broken pieces, the sight of the ruined sculpture served as a haunting reflection of your own emotional wreckage. the tears continued to fall, mingling with the clay fragments, a final, tragic testament to the depth of your despair.

as you gathered your belongings, the weight of the night’s events clung heavily to your shoulders. the studio, once a place of solace and creativity, now felt like a space of ruin and disillusionment. your hands moved mechanically, shoving your scattered materials into your bag. each motion was devoid of purpose, driven by a numbing emptiness rather than intent.

the soft sounds of your packing were abruptly interrupted by distant noises—low grunts and muffled groans—emanating from the studio down the hall. the sounds were raw and unsettling, a contrast to the quiet destruction you had left behind. your curiosity and dread compelled you to investigate, despite the turmoil within you.

you approached the door to the neighboring studio, its glass panel offering a distorted view into the dimly lit room. peering through, your heart sank as you recognized the scene unfolding inside. jungkook was there, engaged with a girl you couldn’t identify. the sight of them, entwined in an intimate and brutal display, was a dagger to your already fragile heart.

the cold reality of the moment was a sharp contrast to the warmth you had briefly experienced with him. you were paralyzed, unable to tear your gaze away from the scene before you. each grunt and moan was a reminder of your own vulnerability and the painful contrast between the connection you had felt and the stark betrayal unfolding before you. the sight of him with another, the passion and disregard apparent in their movements, left you feeling hollow. you had no tears left to shed; the emotional reservoir had been drained dry by the night's turmoil. the image of their bodies, entwined and fervent, was seared into your mind—a brutal symbol of your own sense of abandonment and betrayal.

turning away from the glass, you felt an eerie emptiness consume you. the world seemed to blur as you walked down the hallway, your steps heavy and unsteady. your mind was a void, a blank slate where thoughts and emotions once swirled with intensity. the encounter had left you drained, each step echoing with the weight of your disillusionment.

the cold air of the hallway seemed to press against you, a stark reminder of the isolation you felt. as you made your way home, the world around you was a distant haze. the vibrant life of the campus and the remnants of your art—the shattered statue, the chaotic emotions—faded into the background, leaving only the crushing emptiness of your thoughts. each step felt like a journey through fog, the clarity of the night’s events slipping away with each movement. the betrayal, the emotional wreckage, and the raw intensity of the moments you had witnessed had left you numb. you walked forward, but within, you remained frozen—trapped in the silence of your own heartache.

the sun rose reluctantly on the campus the next day, its light casting a dull glow through the classroom windows. you stumbled into your class, exhausted and hollow-eyed from a night spent in sleepless turmoil. the world outside felt distant, its vibrancy lost to you as you trudged through the motions of daily life. your movements were mechanical as you took your place among the scattered students. the studio, once a sanctuary of creativity, now felt foreign and unwelcoming. the empty canvas in front of you was a glaring testament to your lack of inspiration. the urge to sculpt, to create, was absent, replaced by a void of emotional fatigue and despair.

jihyo tried her best to offer comfort. her words were gentle, her presence a constant reassurance in the face of your turmoil. despite her efforts, the pain within you remained insurmountable. her attempts to console you seemed to fall short of reaching the deep chasm of your heartache. the betrayal and the haunting images from the previous night left you adrift, unable to focus or find solace.

the professor’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, announcing a new student would be joining the class. you barely registered his words, your mind elsewhere, wandering through the fog of your sleepless night. it wasn’t until you heard the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of surprise among your peers that you looked up.

your heart skipped a beat as you locked eyes with the new student. it was jackson. the same jackson who had once been a part of your world, now standing before you with a familiar, if unwelcome, presence. the shock of seeing him in this context, amid your already tumultuous emotions, was almost too much to bear. he met your gaze with an expression that was a mixture of apprehension and resolve. the smile he once wore with ease now seemed strained, an acknowledgment of the shared past that had ended in such distressing terms. the air in the room felt charged, the atmosphere thick with an unspoken tension. his arrival was a jarring reminder of old wounds, reopened with his unexpected reappearance.

you forced yourself to focus, trying to ignore the way your heart raced and the way your mind spun with fragmented memories of him. the professor introduced jackson, guiding him to a seat, and the room’s atmosphere shifted. the familiar face was a painful reminder of a time when things had been different, when trust and affection had colored your world.

jihyo, noticing the way your gaze lingered on him, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. you offered her a weak smile, her concern evident in her eyes. yet, despite her support, the emotional storm inside you remained uncalm. you felt as though you were caught in the eye of a hurricane, where the calm was an illusion masking the chaos within.

as jackson settled into his new spot, you couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety. the familiarity of his presence, combined with the unresolved issues from your past, created a sense of disquiet. you tried to refocus on your work, but the blank canvas before you was a stark reminder of the numbness that had consumed your creativity. the rest of the class droned on, his presence a silent but heavy weight in the room. every glance in his direction felt like a step back into a storm you had barely escaped. your hands remained idle, the sculpting tools untouched as you struggled to regain some semblance of normalcy.

the day dragged on, each minute a reminder of the fractured pieces of your recent past. as the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the class, you gathered your things with a sense of resignation. the encounter with him had been a jarring disruption, but it was also a harsh reminder that the echoes of past relationships often resurface when least expected. you walked out of the classroom, your mind still clouded with the weight of your emotions. the campus, with its usual bustle of activity, felt distant and surreal. the familiar paths and faces seemed altered, as though you were navigating through a dream that had turned unsettlingly real.

the day seemed to drag endlessly as you walked out of the classroom, feeling the heavy weight of jackson’s unexpected reappearance. the campus, once a place of refuge and creativity, now felt like a labyrinth of memories and unresolved emotions. you walked with a purpose, desperate to escape the lingering sense of disquiet that his presence had stirred within you.

as you moved through the crowded hallways, lost in your thoughts, a voice called out to you, breaking through the fog of your mind. you turned slowly, your heart skipping a beat as you saw hin standing a few steps away. his expression was earnest, eyes filled with a mix of regret and hope. for a moment, you felt paralyzed, caught between the urge to flee and the reluctant desire to hear him out.

jackson took a hesitant step towards you, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your wrist. the touch was light, almost pleading, and you could feel the warmth of his skin through your thin sleeve. his eyes were filled with an apologetic softness that seemed to convey a depth of remorse you hadn’t anticipated. “what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. you struggled to keep your emotions in check, the memory of the sculpture and the pain it had caused still fresh in your mind.

his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before he looked up again, his eyes meeting yours with a sincere gravity. “i wanted to focus solely on my work,” he said, his voice laced with an honesty that was both surprising and unsettling. “it’s been difficult since you left. i lost my muse.”

the words struck you with a sharp edge, stirring a storm of conflicting emotions within you. the image of the sculpture, the public humiliation, and the way he had dismissed your feelings—all of it came rushing back. you remembered the pain and betrayal that had clouded your heart.

“you don’t get to just come back and pretend like everything’s fine,” you said, your voice trembling. “you can’t erase what you did.”

his face fell, and he took a deep breath before speaking. “i know,” he said quietly. “and I’m sorry. i had the sculpture removed. i understand that nothing will ever be the same. i just wanted to let you know that, if nothing else, i’d like to be your friend.”

his words were both unexpected and profound, offering a semblance of closure that you hadn’t anticipated. the notion of friendship, after everything that had transpired, felt both distant and comforting. you stood there, absorbing the gravity of his apology and the genuine regret that seemed to hang in the air between you. for a moment, the chaos inside you quieted, replaced by a fragile sense of peace. his offer of friendship was an olive branch, a gesture that acknowledged the hurt while striving for something different. yet, the wound was still fresh, and the idea of moving past it was daunting.

“i need time,” you said finally, your voice steady but tinged with a quiet resolve. “i can’t just pick up where we left off.” he nodded, his expression a blend of understanding and sadness. “i know,” he replied softly. “take all the time you need. i just wanted you to know i’m here if you ever want to talk.” with a final, lingering look, he turned and began to walk away. each step seemed to echo with the weight of the past and the uncertain promise of the future. you watched him go, your mind awash with a storm of emotions—anger, relief, and a bittersweet sense of closure. as you stood there alone in the corridor, the bustling noise of the campus seemed distant, as if you were enveloped in a cocoon of introspection. the conversation with jackson had stirred up old wounds, but had also offered a glimmer of resolution.

lunch on campus was always a comforting routine. the sun was high, casting dappled shadows through the leafy canopy above. you, jihyo, and minho had claimed your usual spot at a worn wooden table, the comforting hum of student chatter surrounding you. jihyo animatedly recounted her latest project, while minho nodded, occasionally chiming in with his dry wit. you were halfway through a bite of your sandwich when you saw him—jackson. he passed by with his characteristic easy grace, a slight smile playing on his lips as his eyes met yours. respectfully, he sat on a separate bench a few feet away, not wanting to intrude.

jihyo's eyes narrowed, her conversation with minho faltering as she followed your gaze. “why is he here?” she muttered, her voice barely audible but dripping with disdain. you stood up, your decision made in an instant. as you approached him, his smile faded slightly, replaced with a look of concern.

“is everything okay?” he asked, his voice soft, yet tinged with uncertainty. “come sit with us,” you replied, your tone gentle yet firm.

“are you sure?” his hesitation was palpable.

you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. with a grateful nod, he followed you back to the table. minho raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, but it was jihyo's reaction that was most striking. her eyes widened, and she sat back, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

“jackson, this is minho,” you introduced, and he gave a polite nod. “and this is jihyo.” jackson extended his hand to her, but she simply stared him down, her gaze icy. “she may have forgotten what you did, but i sure haven’t,” she said, her voice like steel.

he withdrew his hand slowly, nodding in acknowledgment. “i understand,” he replied softly. you placed a comforting hand on jihyo’s arm. “he came for a fresh start,” you explained, your voice calm and steady. “he even got the sculpture taken down.” jihyo’s skeptical glance lingered on him, but she didn’t press further. the tension in the air was almost tangible, but his presence gradually began to feel less intrusive.

he smiled at you, a look of genuine gratitude and perhaps a hint of hope in his eyes. you smiled back, feeling a sense of warmth and relief. the past might not be easily forgotten, but in that moment, it felt like a step towards something better, something new. as the conversation slowly resumed, you couldn’t help but feel that this lunch, under the sunlit canopy, marked the beginning of a significant change—a moment of reconciliation and new beginnings.

unbeknownst to you, a familiar figure stood in the background, having noticed your whole ordeal. jungkook, leaning casually against a nearby tree, had been chatting with his friends, their laughter mingling with the warm air. but his attention had been subtly drawn to you the moment jackson appeared. his dark eyes followed every movement, every gesture you made. the way you approached jackson with a calm demeanor, the soft reassurance in your voice, and the unyielding kindness in your eyes—it all piqued his curiosity. his friends were engrossed in a lively debate about the upcoming exhibition, but he found himself only half-listening, his mind occupied with the scene unfolding at your table.

he watched as you led jackson back, noticed the tension between him and jihyo, and observed the way you mediated with such grace. jungkook brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, trying to focus back on his friends' conversation. yet, the feeling tugging at his heartstrings was undeniable, a peculiar mix of curiosity and something he couldn’t quite identify.

the laughter of his friends brought him back to the present moment, and he forced a smile, joining in their conversation. but his eyes betrayed him, darting back to you occasionally. he noted the genuine smile you exchanged with jackson, a smile that seemed to light up your entire being. he couldn’t put his finger on it. was it admiration? perhaps a touch of jealousy? he shook his head, trying to dismiss the thoughts. after all, he had no reason to feel this way. you were just another girl, albeit a talented one, whose work he respected. yet, there was something in the way you handled the situation that stirred something deep within him.

back in the studio, the familiar scent of clay and the quiet hum of creativity enveloped you. the light filtering through the tall windows cast an ethereal glow on your workspace, illuminating the clay sculpture taking shape beneath your deft fingers. you shuddered, recalling the tumultuous scene you had caused, the emotional outburst that had led you to destroy your previous work of art.

determined to push back any thoughts of jungkook, you focused entirely on the clay before you. each movement was elegant, deliberate, as your hands moved with a grace born from years of practice. your mind, however, raced with a whirlwind of emotions—freedom, butterflies, liberty, independence. the sculpture was coming to life beneath your touch: an extended hand, its fingers gently curved, and a string of butterflies, delicate and intricate, laid one on top of the other. they seemed to be chasing the freedom they so desperately desired. yet, as you worked, their wings began to wither, the fragile clay starting to crumble under your touch. they had flown for so long, yearning for independence, before finally finding solace in the palm of a hand. it was a poignant realization—that the only thing they needed more than freedom was the touch of love.

you were so absorbed in your work that you barely noticed when jackson entered the studio. he said nothing, simply standing and watching you. his presence was quiet, respectful, and he observed as you caressed the butterflies, shaping each one with meticulous care. “it’s a beautiful piece,” he finally said, his voice soft, breaking the silence.

startled, you looked up, your eyes meeting his. you hadn’t realized he was there, so engrossed in your work. “jackson,” you breathed, your hands stilling. “i didn’t see you come in.”

he offered a gentle smile, stepping closer to the sculpture. “i didn’t want to disturb you. you looked so focused.” you glanced back at the sculpture, the extended hand and the fragile butterflies. “they’re chasing freedom,” you explained, your voice thoughtful. “but their wings are falling apart. they’ve been flying for so long, seeking independence, but they realize that what they need more than freedom is love.”

jackson studied the piece for a moment, nodding slowly. “you have a way of seeing the world, of expressing it through your art. i was wrong. you know art better than anyone.” his words were sincere, and they touched you deeply. you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your face, a tender gesture, it struck you—you knew art, its nuances, its depth. nevertheless, you didn't know love. that was a realm you had yet to truly understand.

the studio felt different now, not just a place of creation, but a space where emotions, complex and raw, intertwined with every sculpted form. and in that moment, with jackson's reassuring presence and the delicate clay butterflies, you realized there was more to learn, more to feel, beyond the confines of your art.

his eyes, warm and curious, met yours. “what has you so fascinated with butterflies?” he asked, his voice soft yet probing. you paused, your mind inevitably drifting back to jungkook. the memory of the monarch tattoo on the back of his neck was vivid, a symbol of his own desperate need to chase freedom. the thought made your blood run cold, a shiver running down your spine. you forced a smile, trying to push the unsettling thoughts away. “i admire them,” you said, your voice steady but distant. “they chase their own freedom, rather than love.”

his gaze softened, understanding flickering in his eyes. “everyone deserves love more than anything,” he replied gently. you said nothing, the words lingering in the air between you. the silence was filled with unspoken emotions, a depth of feeling that you couldn’t quite articulate. “especially you,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

the moment felt fragile, delicate like the butterflies you sculpted. before you could respond, the door to the studio swung open, and jihyo walked in, her presence breaking the intimate silence.

“hey, you two,” she called out, her tone light and cheerful. “the group's going out for drinks. you’re both welcome to join.” you hesitated, the weight of the day’s emotions still heavy on your shoulders. the idea of socializing felt overwhelming, but before you could decline, jackson spoke up.

“you deserve a break,” he said, his eyes meeting yours with a reassuring smile. “come on, it’ll be fun.” with a sigh, you nodded, feeling a mix of reluctance and gratitude. his encouragement gave you the push you needed. the prospect of stepping out of the studio, even for a short while, seemed like a small reprieve.

as you gathered your things, the studio’s comforting hum faded into the background. you cast one last look at your sculpture, the extended hand and the fragile butterflies, and felt a renewed sense of purpose. perhaps, amidst the chaos and the quest for freedom, there was room for love too. walking out with jackson and jihyo, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting, a subtle change in the air. the evening stretched ahead of you, filled with possibilities, and for the first time in a while, you felt a glimmer of hope.

the walk to the bar was filled with a mixture of anticipation and unease. the streets were bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, casting long shadows that danced with each step you took. jihyo walked ahead, her laughter echoing down the empty street, while jackson stayed close by your side. as you approached the entrance of the bar, a sudden chill washed over you, sending a shiver down your spine. you couldn't quite place the feeling, but it was a foreboding sense that something was about to happen. the moment you walked in, the dim lighting and the low hum of chatter enveloped you. But it was the pair of dark eyes that you locked with immediately that sent a jolt through your entire being.

it was him, it always seemed to be him. he was sitting at a table with a few friends, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense. your body tensed involuntarily, and jackson, ever perceptive, noticed immediately. he placed a comforting arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “ease up,” he whispered in your ear, his voice calm and reassuring. “i’ve got your back.”

you finally broke the gaze, nodding at jackson, and made your way to a table as far from jungkook as possible. jackson's arm remained draped around you, a steadying presence in the storm of emotions brewing inside you. the two of you indulged in drinks, jackson leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “just so you know,” he said with a playful grin, “i’m a lightweight.” you laughed, the tension easing slightly. “i know,” you whispered back, your smile widening.

despite your attempts to ignore him, you could feel jungkook’s eyes on you the entire time. he downed his drink, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he watched you with jackson. you could almost feel the intensity of his thoughts, wondering who jackson was and why you were with him. minho’s voice broke through the haze of tension. “how about a round of darts?” he suggested, his tone light and carefree.

your mind immediately flashed back to playing darts with jungkook, the way he had stood behind you, guiding your hand, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered instructions. the memory was sharp and painful, and you shook your head. “no, thank you,” you replied politely, trying to keep your voice steady. jackson noticed the flicker of emotion in your eyes. “i’ll play for you,” he offered, a confident smile on his lips.

you nodded, grateful for his support. jackson stood up, heading over to the dartboard, and jungkook’s eyes narrowed. his fuse had blown, the thin veneer of calm shattering. “i’ll play against you,” he announced, his voice low and challenging.

the room went quiet, the tension palpable. your face went pale, and you glanced at jackson, who scoffed, clearly unfazed by his challenge. “fine,” he said coolly. “let’s play.”

the game began, and the atmosphere was thick with tension. each throw of the dart was accompanied by backhanded remarks, the words sharp and biting. “nice throw,” jungkook commented, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “didn’t know you had it in you.” jackson smirked, his eyes never leaving the dartboard. “you’d be surprised what i can do,” he replied smoothly. “unlike some people, i don’t need to show off.”

jungkook’s eyes flashed with anger. “careful,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “you might bite off more than you can chew.” jackson shrugged, his expression unfazed. “i think i’ll manage,” he said, his voice steady. the game continued, each round more intense than the last. finally, with a final, precise throw, jackson won. he turned to you, a triumphant smile on his face, and you couldn’t help but hug him congratulatory. his embrace was warm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the cold glare jungkook sent your way.

his gaze never left the two of you, his eyes dark and stormy. the tension in the air was almost suffocating, but in jackson’s arms, you felt a sense of safety and support. the night was far from over, but for now, you allowed yourself to bask in the moment, grateful for the small victories amidst the chaos.

the tension inside the bar had become suffocating, a palpable force that seemed to press down on you. excusing yourself, you made your way to the door, needing a moment of solitude to clear your mind. as you stood up, jackson placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, his lips warm and reassuring. “hurry back,” he said softly, his eyes full of warmth. but you didn’t miss the way jungkook’s gaze hardened, his jaw clenching as he watched the small exchange.

you stepped outside, the cool night air a welcome relief. reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a cigarette, the flick of the lighter breaking the stillness. as you took the first drag, the smoke curled around you, its familiar scent grounding you in the moment. your peace was short-lived, however. a voice broke through the quiet, low and unmistakable.

“is that your boyfriend?” you didn’t turn around. instead, you scoffed, exhaling a plume of smoke. “he’s my ex-boyfriend.”

jungkook’s tone was unreadable as he remarked, “you two seem close.” you took another drag, the cigarette glowing softly in the darkness. “we have history,” you replied. “we might even make up at some point.”

he laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “don’t even think about it,” he said, his voice hardening. finally, you turned to face him, anger flaring in your chest. “what does it have to do with you?”

he took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “the sight of you with another man makes me unreasonably angry,” he confessed, his voice low and intense. you were silent, your heart pounding as he stepped even closer. his presence was overwhelming, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. without breaking eye contact, he reached out, taking the cigarette from your hand. he brought it to his lips, taking a slow puff, a small smile playing on his lips.

“mind your own business,” you said, your voice shaking slightly. “we’re nothing but friends, according to you.” he took another puff before leaning in, his gaze never wavering. in a swift motion, he pulled you in for a kiss. for a moment, you kissed him back, lost in the familiar warmth and intensity. but reality snapped back, and you pushed him away, anger and confusion swirling inside you.

“i have no interest in playing your games anymore,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. he was taken aback, his expression one of surprise and hurt, but he stayed silent. you stepped back, your eyes meeting his one last time. “stick to your usual players,” you told him, your voice laced with finality.

turning on your heel, you walked back into the bar, leaving jungkook standing alone in the night. the door closed behind you, the noise and warmth of the bar enveloping you once more. jackson looked up as you returned, concern flickering in his eyes, but you gave him a reassuring smile, trying to push the encounter from your mind. as you rejoined the group, the weight of the moment lingered, a heavy reminder of the complicated web of emotions you were entangled in. the night carried on, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

the night blurred as you indulged in the haze of alcohol, the edges of your reality softening with each drink. jungkook had returned to the bar, his presence a sharp contrast to the numbness that enveloped you. he made a deliberate effort to ignore you and jackson, his attention directed toward the girl beside him. she was a stranger to him, her name unimportant as she pressed kisses to his neck and traced her fingers along his collarbone.

you hadn't planned on drinking as much as you did. but when you caught a glimpse of the butterfly on the girl's wrist, the sight stung like a needle, memories of jungkook's monarch tattoo flooding back, memories of your own cherished drawing flooding back. you stared at the bottom of your glass, realizing you had lost count of how many times it had been filled and emptied.

jihyo noticed first, her eyes filled with sympathy as she took the glass from your hand, ignoring your feeble protests. jackson, his expression a mix of concern and exasperation, leaned in close. “you've had too much,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet firm. you wanted to argue, to push away his words, but the truth of them settled heavily on your shoulders. you felt too relaxed, your movements sluggish and your thoughts muddled. jackson announced to the group that he was taking you home, his tone leaving no room for debate.

that was when jungkook's attention was drawn back to you. he watched, his eyes darkening with an emotion he couldn't name, as jackson helped you to your feet. jungkook's heart twisted painfully as he saw the way you clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping you upright. he wanted to intervene, to take you in his arms and carry you home himself, but the weight of his own pride held him back. all he could do was watch as jackson guided you out of the bar, the girl's touch losing its allure entirely.

the walk home was a stumbling journey, your words slurring together in a drunken rant about what an asshole jungkook was. jackson did his best to console you, his voice soothing even as a pang of jealousy tightened in his chest. the sight of you in pain, tears glistening in your eyes, was almost more than he could bear.

when you finally reached your front door, he paused, his hands gentle as he steadied you. “seeing you cry was one of the worst experiences of my life,” he confessed, his voice low and earnest. “any man who makes you cry doesn't deserve you.” you looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes cutting through the fog of alcohol. he leaned in, pressing a final kiss to your cheek, the touch tender and bittersweet. “take care of yourself,” he whispered before turning to leave, the weight of his unspoken feelings lingering in the air.

you watched him go, your heart heavy with the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. the night was quiet now, the world around you still as you stood on your doorstep, the echo of jackson's words ringing in your ears. inside, the emptiness of your home seemed to mirror the void in your heart. you stumbled to your room, collapsing onto your bed, your mind replaying the events of the night. the taste of jungkook's kiss still lingered on your lips, a reminder of the complicated web of feelings you couldn't untangle. as sleep finally claimed you, your dreams were a tangled mess of memories and emotions, a reflection of the chaos that had become your reality.

the next day dawned with a dreary sky, the clouds heavy and swollen with impending rain. the rhythmic patter of raindrops against your window was a somber lullaby, pulling you from the clutches of a restless sleep. you groaned, the pounding in your head a relentless reminder of the previous night's excesses. forcing yourself out of bed, you prepared for the day, each movement deliberate and slow, as if the weight of your thoughts had seeped into your very bones.

the campus was a blur of umbrellas and hurried footsteps, the rain a persistent curtain that blurred the edges of your vision. you pulled your jacket tighter, shivering as the cold droplets kissed your skin. as you made your way to your morning class, a voice called out, stopping you in your tracks. “wait! could you come with me to the office?”

you turned to see one of the teachers, her expression unreadable. nervousness clawed at your insides, but you nodded, falling into step beside her. the walk to the office felt interminable, the walls closing in as a sense of dread pooled in your stomach. once inside, she gestured for you to sit, her demeanor serious. you complied, the anxiety almost unbearable as you waited for her to speak.

“the school’s program sends ten students from different departments every year to japan,” she began, her voice measured. “they spend a year at our sister art academy to strengthen their future as artists.” you nodded, your heart pounding. “i’m aware.”

she leaned forward, her eyes intense. “your sculptures have caught the eyes of many. you’re the top candidate. would you be interested?” the words hung in the air, your mind reeling. excitement surged through you, momentarily banishing the remnants of your hangover. “yes, absolutely!”

a smile ghosted across her lips. “you’ll need to create one more simple piece, something that speaks to you. can you do that?” you nodded, your thoughts already racing. “yes, i’m on it.”

“good. finish and present it as soon as possible.” you left the office, the rain still falling in relentless sheets. the excitement that had bubbled within you was quickly overshadowed by a gnawing hesitation. the reality of what the opportunity meant settled in, heavy and unyielding. you would be leaving everything behind—your friends, your school, and jungkook.

the thought of leaving him sent a fresh wave of uncertainty crashing over you. despite everything, despite the confusion and the pain, he was a part of your world. the idea of being an ocean away from him was almost too much to bear. you found yourself wandering aimlessly, the rain soaking through your clothes, each step feeling heavier than the last. your mind was a tempest, torn between the excitement of a new adventure and the fear of the unknown. the prospect of creating another sculpture loomed before you, a task that now felt monumental under the weight of your emotions.

the memory of your last piece resurfaced, the butterflies chasing freedom only to realize they needed love. the irony wasn’t lost on you. as you trudged through the rain, you realized that this new piece had to encapsulate everything you felt—the excitement, the fear, the longing, and the love. you headed back to the studio, the familiar scent of clay and plaster a strange comfort. as you began to work, the world outside faded away. your hands moved almost of their own accord, shaping and molding, each touch a cathartic release of the turmoil within. the rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows, a melancholic soundtrack to your efforts.

hours passed in a blur, your focus unbroken despite the emotional storm raging inside you. the sculpture began to take shape, a raw, unfiltered expression of your heart. it was a simple piece, yet it spoke volumes—a delicate balance of freedom and love, the very essence of your struggle. by the time you stepped back to admire your work, exhaustion had settled into your bones, but there was a sense of accomplishment too. the piece was a part of you, a fragment of your soul made tangible.

as you stepped into the bustling café where you had arranged to meet jihyo and jackson, the atmosphere was charged with the soft hum of conversations and clinking coffee cups. the light rain that had persisted throughout the day drummed gently against the café’s windows, adding a soothing rhythm to the scene. you were greeted by their warm smiles as you took your seat, the weight of the day’s revelation still heavy on your shoulders.

jackson leaned forward, his eyes alight with genuine enthusiasm. “you know, this opportunity is amazing. your talent has always been evident, and this chance in japan is well-deserved. i’m so proud of you.” jihyo nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting the same pride and encouragement. “you’ve worked so hard. this is the kind of break you need to truly shine. i know you’re feeling hesitant, but remember how much you’ve accomplished. this is your chance to take it to the next level.”

you smiled weakly, your excitement mingling with apprehension. “i definitely plan to take it. it’s just, everything’s happening so fast, and i’m not sure how to let go of everything I’m leaving behind.”

jackson reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on yours. “your art is the best thing about you. it’s not just a part of you; it’s a reflection of who you are. anyone who gets to experience it, anyone who gets to know you through your art, is incredibly fortunate. you’re meant for great things.”

“thank you,” you said softly, feeling a wave of gratitude mixed with unease. it was then that you noticed a familiar figure through the café’s window. your heart skipped a beat as you saw jungkook sitting outside, his presence an unexpected jolt to your already fraught emotions. your breath caught in your throat as you observed him with another girl, who sat comfortably in his lap. they were sharing an intimate kiss, the tenderness of the moment starkly contrasting with the chaos swirling inside you.

the sight was a knife to your heart, the image of their closeness slicing through your resolve. you felt the world around you narrow, the laughter and chatter of the café fading into a distant hum. every beat of your heart seemed to echo with the impact of what you were witnessing. the gentle curve of jungkook’s smile, the way he held her—it was a brutal reminder of what you were losing. struggling to maintain composure, you excused yourself with a shaky voice. “i think i need some air. i’ll walk home.”

without waiting for their response, you stood abruptly, the café’s warmth feeling stifling against the cold storm brewing inside you. you pushed through the door, the crisp rain and cool air a sharp contrast to the suffocating emotions that had taken hold. each step felt heavy, the rain drumming against your skin a harsh, unrelenting reminder of the turmoil within.

as you walked, the image of jungkook and the girl replayed in your mind, a relentless echo that seemed to drown out all other thoughts. your heart felt like it was being pulled in a hundred directions at once—toward the excitement of your new opportunity and the painful reality of what you might be leaving behind. the rain continued to fall, mingling with the tears that slipped down your cheeks, unnoticed. the world around you seemed to blur, your thoughts a chaotic whirl of feelings and memories. the prospect of the future was overshadowed by the haunting present, and the weight of your choices seemed almost unbearable. you trudged along, the journey home a silent testament to the internal struggle you faced. the thought of him and his effortless connection with someone else was a harsh reminder of the emotional complexity you had to navigate, and the path ahead felt uncertain and fraught with both hope and heartache.

the rain fell in heavy, unrelenting sheets as you walked home, each step a painful reminder of the emotional weight you carried. the sky was a somber gray, the clouds a reflection of the storm raging inside you. your body felt frail, your legs weak, as if the very essence of your being was being drained away. the weight of what you had seen, the raw pain of feeling worthless, clung to you with an almost tangible heaviness. jungkook had meant the world to you, yet now it seemed that even that precious world was slipping through your fingers, leaving nothing but a hollow ache.

you trudged along the empty streets, the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the pavement blending with the chaotic rhythm of your thoughts. the cold rain soaked through your clothes, chilling you to the bone, but it barely registered against the emotional frost that had settled over your heart.

suddenly, you heard your name being called out. the voice was distant, but unmistakable. you recognized it instantly. it was him. you kept walking, trying to push the sound away, as if ignoring it could somehow make it disappear. but then, you heard it again, more urgent, cutting through the rain-soaked night. your steps faltered, and you turned around, your heart sinking as you saw him running towards you, his figure becoming clearer with each stride.

jungkook was drenched, the rain pouring down his face, mingling with the anguish that seemed to be etched into his features. his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. he reached you, breathless and soaked to the skin, but his presence was like a burning beacon in the storm.

“don’t go,” he said, his voice breaking through the relentless roar of the rain. you stared at him, confusion mingling with the pain in your chest. “what are you talking about?”

“i heard about japan,” he continued, his voice raw and pleading. “don’t go. please.”

the words struck you like a blow, but you fought to keep your composure. “i have no reason to stay,” you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain firm. to your surprise, jungkook took your hands into his, his grip warm and desperate. “i need you here,” he said, his eyes filled with a pleading intensity. “i need you to stay.”

the tears that you had been holding back began to well up, blurring your vision. you pulled your hands away from his grasp, your voice cracking as you spoke. “i need to be as far away from you as possible. i like you too much, jungkook. i care for you, but i can’t give you the freedom you want. i need to chase my own freedom.”

you turned away, but his grip was swift and unyielding. he grabbed your arm, pulling you back, his fingers digging in with a desperation that matched your own inner turmoil. you could hear the ragged breaths escaping from his lips as he clung to you, his voice barely above a whisper. “please, just stay. don’t go.” you tried to pull away, but he held on, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close until your back was pressed against his chest. his embrace was both comforting and agonizing, a paradox of warmth and sorrow. you could feel his heartbeat against your back, a rhythmic reminder of the pain that was being shared between you.

he whispered into your ear, his voice trembling with emotion. “i need you. please don’t leave me.”

the tears streamed down your face uncontrollably as you remained silent, the weight of the decision pressing heavily upon you. his pleas were a bittersweet melody that tore at your heart, the pain of leaving him and the freedom you sought intertwining into a tormenting dance. with a final, wrenching sob, you pulled your arm away, turning to face him one last time. his face was a picture of heartache, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he watched you, his expression a mixture of longing and devastation. the sight of him, so vulnerable and broken, was almost too much to bear.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you turned away once more. the rain seemed to pour harder, as if the heavens were weeping for the love you were leaving behind. you walked away, each step feeling like an eternity, the pain of leaving jungkook and the promise of your future battling within your heart. the finality of your decision was a heavy burden, but you knew that you had to forge ahead, even as the sorrow of what you were leaving behind threatened to consume you.

the night had been a long, dark tunnel through which you stumbled, your steps muffled by the weight of your sorrow. the rain had pattered relentlessly against your window, a haunting lullaby that matched the rhythm of your tearful sobs. you had cried yourself to sleep, each tear a silent testament to the heartache that coursed through you, mingling with the cold emptiness of the night. the warmth of your bed was of little comfort, overshadowed by the turmoil that roiled within your chest.

as dawn broke, its pale light filtered through your curtains, casting a somber glow over the room. the sun’s early rays were a stark contrast to the storm inside you. you rose, your movements slow and weary, the exhaustion from the previous night clinging to you like a second skin. with a heavy heart and leaden steps, you prepared yourself for the day ahead—the day of your presentation.

the studio was quiet, save for the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. you walked to your piece, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders. the sculpture you had created—a delicate representation of butterflies and an outstretched hand—stood in the center of the room, bathed in the cold light of morning. the clay had been shaped with painstaking care, each butterfly a testament to your emotions, each wing a silent echo of your heartache.

you gazed at the sculpture, your breath catching in your throat. the butterflies, which had once been a symbol of your freedom, now seemed to mock your sorrow. their fragile wings, once vibrant and hopeful, were now a muted reflection of your internal struggle. the hand beneath them was extended as if in an eternal gesture of solace, yet it seemed to grasp at something forever out of reach. the piece was a paradox—a representation of the freedom you yearned for, coupled with the love you were leaving behind.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your teacher’s voice, cutting through the silence like a lifeline. “everyone's waiting,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. the words jolted you into action, and with one final, reluctant glance at your sculpture, you lifted it with trembling hands. the weight of the piece felt like an anchor, dragging you toward the theatre room where your presentation awaited.

as you entered the room, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. the space was filled with an array of faces—jihyo and jackson, their supportive expressions a stark contrast to the tension that gripped you; the professors from japan, their keen eyes scanning you with a mixture of curiosity and evaluation; and jungkook, who sat among them, his presence a palpable ache in your chest. he looked worn, his face haggard as if the night had been a battleground of its own. when the room fell silent, you began your presentation, your voice wavering as you started to speak. your gaze frequently flickered to your piece, but it was jungkook’s eyes that held you captive. the connection between you was electric, a silent conversation that spoke louder than words.

you began to explain your sculpture in intricate detail, your words a poignant reflection of the emotions you had poured into it. “the butterflies,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion, “represent the pursuit of freedom. they chase after an elusive goal, their wings a delicate dance of hope and struggle. eventually, after chasing freedom for so long, their wings began to wither. fall apart. they become weak, as they search for solace from the hand that awaits them,” each phrase you uttered felt like a resonating dagger piercing through jungkook’s heart, each description a painful reminder of what you were leaving behind.

the room’s ambient noise faded into a background hum as your focus remained solely on jungkook. the intensity of his gaze made it hard to breathe, and despite the precision of your words, you could not hide the tears that brimmed in your eyes. the sculpture, which you had hoped would be a beacon of your artistic achievement, was overshadowed by the rawness of your feelings. as you concluded, your voice cracked with emotion. “all they’ve ever known was freedom,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, “nevertheless, all they ever needed was love.”

the professors responded with polite applause, their approval a distant echo to the tumultuous storm of your emotions. Your heart was focused solely on the sight of jungkook, whose eyes were fixed on the sculpture with an expression of profound sadness. a single tear slid down his cheek, tracing a path that seemed to embody all the words left unsaid between you.

he turned abruptly, his face a canvas of heartbreak, and you watched as he walked away, your eyes following the path of his butterfly tattoo. the symbol, so intricately tied to your shared history, seemed to pulse with a haunting resonance. it was as if the butterfly was an echo of the love and freedom you both had chased, now left fluttering in the storm of your separation. the finality of his departure was a bitter pill, and as you stood there, the weight of the moment pressed heavily upon you. the sculpture, the presentation, and the love you were leaving behind melded into a poignant tableau of loss and longing.

the presentation room, once filled with the fervor of evaluation, gradually settled into a subdued murmur as the professors gathered their thoughts. their voices, though hushed, carried an air of reverence. one of them, an elderly man with a sharp gaze softened by years of experience, approached you with a warm smile. “your work is extraordinary,” he said, his voice rich with genuine admiration. “the way you’ve captured the essence of freedom and love through your sculpture is nothing short of brilliant.”

another professor, a woman with a commanding presence and a graceful poise, nodded in agreement. “indeed,” she added, her eyes sparkling with approval. “your piece speaks volumes. the subtlety and depth of emotion conveyed through your butterflies and the extended hand reflect an understanding of art that goes beyond technique. it’s a rare gift.”

you stood there, feeling their praise wash over you like a gentle tide. despite their words, a hollow emptiness lingered within you, a void that seemed impervious to their accolades. they continued, “we are pleased to inform you that the academy in japan has reviewed your work and welcomes your arrival as soon as tonight.”

the words were a formal acknowledgment of what you had anticipated, but they did little to stir excitement within you. you simply nodded, your face an impassive mask that concealed the whirlwind of emotions brewing beneath. your teacher, who had been a silent witness to the exchange, gave you a supportive pat on the shoulder, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and empathy.

as you prepared to leave, jihyo and jackson were by your side, enveloping you in heartfelt congratulations. “you did it!” jihyo exclaimed, her voice a mixture of joy and sadness. “this is such a great opportunity for you.” jackson joined in, his embrace firm and reassuring. “we’re so proud of you,” he said, his voice heavy with sincerity. “this is your chance to shine, to make your mark on the world.” yet, amidst their praises and supportive words, you felt a profound emptiness. the accolades, the approval, even the opportunity felt distant, overshadowed by the weight of your own emotional turmoil.

just as you were about to leave to pack, jackson’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “wait,” he called softly. you turned to face him, curiosity mingled with trepidation in your eyes.

he took a deep breath, his expression a blend of melancholy and resolve. “i knew it would never be me,” he began, his voice steady yet laden with unspoken emotion. “when i saw your work, and when i saw jungkook’s tattoo, i understood that this was something i could never be a part of.” his words were an acknowledgment of the deep-seated truths that had been woven into the fabric of your shared experiences.

his gaze softened as he pulled a sleek black box from his pocket. “i have something for you,” he said, holding it out with a tender gesture. “jungkook asked me to give this to you.” with a final, gentle kiss to your forehead, he wished you a safe journey, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and resignation. “i’ll always be waiting for you,” he said softly.

you accepted the box, feeling the weight of it in your hand. as you turned to leave, the heaviness of your heart seemed to magnify with every step. the box felt like a tangible piece of the emotions you were grappling with, a silent witness to the complexity of your feelings. once you were home, the task of packing your bags seemed almost secondary to the allure of the box. you set your belongings aside, your gaze fixed on the small, unassuming container. the anticipation was almost unbearable as you slowly opened it.

inside, nestled in a bed of soft black velvet, lay a silver necklace. the pendant was an exquisite butterfly, its delicate wings capturing the light with a subtle sheen. the craftsmanship was impeccable, every detail of the butterfly’s form rendered with a delicate precision that took your breath away. your hands trembled as you lifted the necklace, the weight of it feeling like a physical manifestation of the emotions you had been suppressing. with a mixture of reverence and sorrow, you clasped the necklace around your neck. the cold metal brushed against your skin, and you could feel the butterfly resting over your heart.

as you fastened the clasp, the floodgates opened, and the sobs that had been building up erupted uncontrollably. the tears streamed down your face, each one a reflection of the anguish and longing that had been bottled up inside. the necklace, a symbol of love and departure, seemed to echo the pain of leaving behind the things and people you cherished.

you sank onto your bed, the weight of the necklace a bittersweet reminder of jungkook's affection and the heartbreak that had marked your journey. the room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a space where your emotions were laid bare, each tear a testament to the complexity of your farewell. the necklace glistened softly in the dim light, a silent witness to your sorrow and the new chapter that awaited you. as you lay there, the tears slowly subsiding, the butterfly pendant against your skin felt like a fragile promise—a delicate symbol of the freedom you sought and the love you had to leave behind.

the airport buzzed with the ceaseless motion of travelers, each with their own stories of departure and arrival, but for you, it felt like the world had stopped. every step toward the gate was weighted with the gravity of what you were leaving behind. the butterfly pendant lay cold against your chest, a stark reminder of the connection you still felt to jungkook, its delicate form pressed close to your heart.

the evening was draped in a shroud of melancholy, the terminal lights casting a pale glow over the bustling scene. you walked through the throngs of people, each stride a battle against the urge to turn back, to run away from the decision that tore at your soul. the departure board loomed ahead, and you searched for your gate, the numbers and letters blurring together through the haze of your emotions.

when you finally reached your gate, your heart sank. the moment had come, and the reality of your departure hit you with a force that nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. the weight of your chest was unbearable, the ache of leaving everything behind more than you had anticipated. your mind swirled with thoughts of jungkook, the memories of your time together interwoven with the pain of parting. just as you were about to resign yourself to the inevitable, you heard your name being called. it was a voice you would recognize anywhere, even amidst the cacophony of the airport. you turned slowly, your breath catching in your throat. there he was, running toward you with an urgency that mirrored the turmoil in your heart.

you stood frozen, unable to move as jungkook reached you, his breath ragged from the sprint. his eyes, filled with a mix of desperation and love, locked onto yours. “don’t leave,” he pleaded, his voice breaking with the weight of his emotions. the tears were quick to follow, faster than your words could form, streaming down your cheeks in a torrent of unspoken pain. he continued, his voice trembling. “i don’t just need you,” he said, his hands trembling as he reached out to cup your face with a gentleness that broke your heart. “i love you. i can’t bear the thought of you being so far from me.”

the background noise of the airport faded into nothingness as you sobbed, your vision blurred by the flood of tears. his touch was a balm to your aching heart, his words a lifeline in the storm of your emotions. he repeated himself, his voice steadying with conviction. “i love you.” in that moment, the world around you ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, standing at the precipice of a decision that would alter the course of your lives. you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cold metal of the necklace against your skin.

“i love you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible through the sobs that wracked your body. the admission was a release, a catharsis of the emotions you had held back for so long. you clung to him, feeling the strength of his love envelop you, grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in ages. but even as you surrendered to the moment, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered the harsh truth. you knew it wasn’t love, not in the way that was meant to last. it was a tempest of passion and pain, a connection born from the shared scars of your pasts and the unspoken longing that had drawn you together.

as you stood there, entwined in each other’s arms, you knew that this love, however flawed and fleeting, was all you had ever wanted. it was the reason your heart ached, the reason your soul soared, and as you buried your face in his shoulder, you made a silent promise to cherish this love for as long as it lasted, no matter how brief or bittersweet. no, it wasn't love. nevertheless, you were in love with him.

✧.*

a/n: if there's one thing i'm gonna do it's add jackson wang as a random side character...this was inspired by my favorite horror kdrama aka nevertheless

[innieandsungielover]

A/N: This is my first ever fic that I'm posting on this account, or on skz in general, so I hope you guys like it! My inbox is open, so hit me up ig?

Pairing: Bully-ish!Hyunjin x afab!Reader (enemies to lovers)

18+ minors dni!!!

CW: Unprotected sex, oral (fem! receiving), cum eating, fucking in a public area, but no one comes inside!

WC: 3.3k

Love is a fickle thing, it always starts with an infatuation. You constantly think about them, yearn for them, cry for them. Surround yourself with the things they like in hopes of finding something in common.

You never felt you could find this sense of attraction. You watched as people fell in and out of love, but for you, it was just a figment of your imagination. 

There was only one time you were close enough to “love” someone, but instead of the feeling of contentment, it was one of hatred. You were infatuated with him, but not in the way that most would be, you could only see the negative, blinded by hatred for the man in front of you. 

He was in your art class, while you worked with clay pieces, he worked with watercolors. Everyone was in awe of his work, especially your professor. 

There were always subtle tones of love in every one of his paintings. It was his main emotion, his main drive, and it was truly beautiful.

The first time you ever saw one of his paintings was when you accidentally stumbled upon it, it being left in the classroom to dry as he went to go get coffee. 

You were working on one of your structures, an entangled face that showed a range of emotions. It was something that you wanted to achieve to show the complexity of the human mind, of emotions, but you ended up getting distracted by his painting.

You stood in front of it for what felt like hours, looking over each brush stroke, each blend of color, it was beautiful. You hadn’t realized you were crying, a few tears wetting your cheek until Hyunjin was in front of you holding out a tissue. 

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry” you tripped over your words as you took the tissues from his hand, thanking him. “It’s no problem, I’m actually very grateful” 

“And why is that?” you asked, dabbing the tissue at your tear ducts.“My work has never brought someone to tears” he grinned, taking a sip of his iced americano, the condensation of the drink ran down his cup like your tears just moments prior. 

“I don’t know how it hasn’t, the way you depict love is truly extraordinary, I’ve yet to see anything like it before. It isn’t even your form of painting, nor the medium, but the way you can feel the emotion pouring through the artist into their art is magnificent” 

“Such high praise from the teacher’s pet, what did I do to deserve this?” he chuckled, sitting back at his easel, playing with the brushes in the palm of his hand. 

“I’m not the teacher's pet” you glared at him, hating the way your voice stuttered as you spoke out against his accusations. “You most definitely are” he rolled his eyes, causing your eyebrows to furrow, “how else are you affording all your materials while others have much crappier ones? T-E-A-C-H-E-R’S P-E-T” he stated, enunciating every note at the end of his sentence.  

You glared at him, not feeling the need to prove yourself against his harmful words. No longer wanting to be belittled, you turned around, the clay that was previously stuck to your hands cracking. 

You tried to ignore him, truly, but every time you thought you were no longer going to see his face, there he appeared. 

At first, it was at your job, he would come at least three times a day, getting his daily Iced Americano fix. 

“Isn’t it unhealthy to drink more than one of these a day?” you asked, it was slower today so you had time to talk to him as he paid. 

“Wow, she speaks!” he exclaimed, slowly pulling out his card. “I thought you were taking a vow of silence seeing as every time you don’t even ask me what I want. I thought customer service helps you keep your job?” he joked, tilting his head to the side. 

“Well, my manager said it was okay to ignore dicks, so I think that’s what I’m doing!” you grinned, using your ‘customer service voice’ as he just rolled his eyes at you. 

“You would love to see my dick” he whispered, coming closer to the register so only you could hear him. 

Through a smile, you muttered, “If it’s anything like your personality, I bet it’s disgusting and nothing special!” 

He just tsked at you, walking away as someone had finally entered the little coffee place, coming up to the register to place their order. 

The next place was in your own apartment. You had no idea that your roommate, Felix, was close friends with the devil incarnate. 

“Why does he have to come over?” you whined, your body clad in overalls and a tank top as you took a bite of the warm brownie that he had made to help bring you to the “dark side”. 

As you took another bite, you didn’t realize the chocolate that was oozing out of the fudgy dessert, getting on the corner of your mouth. 

“He’s my best friend, plus I don’t know why you don’t like him. He’s like so nice to everyone, not to mention isn’t he your type? I do remember you loooove tall guys, people who are into are, and love reading. He checks all of your boxes babe” he giggled, watching as you glared at him, cheeks filled with the brownies he made you. 

“That doesn’t forgo him being one of the worst people I’ve ever met like he’s such a fucking asshole” you groaned, taking a sip of milk. 

“Hey! That “asshole” happens to be my best friend, so don’t talk about him like that or I’m cutting you off!” 

For such a small and kind dude, he sure had a fiery side to him. You simply nodded your head, lowering it in defeat, allowing him to pet it. 

He began to coo at you as he stroked your hair back. “Look at you being such a good roommate” he giggled, feeding you more of the brownie, which you happily accepted. 

“Now I have to go shower, so if he comes, please open the door for him and make him feel a bit welcome?” Lixie grinned at you, bopping your nose as you nodded your head, not wanting to be a nuisance to your friend. 

You scrolled on your phone, your legs hitting the cabinets underneath the counter you were currently situated on before you heard the jingle of the door knob. Before you could even jump down, the door opened itself, Hyunjin in front of it key in hand. 

“Felix, I can’t wait to tell you about this–” he cut himself off as he saw you, legs jangling off of the kitchen counter, phone in one hand, brownie in the other. 

“What the fuck are you doing here? Are you a stalker or something?” he groaned, placing his stuff on the couch, only for his hands to cross over his body, trying to prove a point. 

“I live here, Felix is my roommate and I’m going back to my room,” you said as kindly as you possibly could, not wanting to upset Lix after he politely asked you not to be a dick. 

“I don’t believe it, you want me that bad you made up an entire scheme to try and sleep with me, I mean I know I’m irresistible, but still that’s a new low.” 

Before he could continue spewing nonsense, you took his hand dragging it to your room. You opened the door allowing him to look inside. Your bra on the floor, your bed made but a bit crumpled from sitting on it earlier, and pictures of you and your friends littering the walls. 

“Is this enough proof for you?” you asked, tilting your head to the side waiting for his response. 

Instead, he took your face in the palm of his hand, his thumb first stroking your chin then slowly shifting down to the corner of your lip. He pulled you a bit closer, your eyes roaming his face, and your breath was caught in your throat. You thought he was going to kiss you, he pulled away with a laugh. 

“What a loser, you had chocolate all over your face while trying to talk to me. Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed?” he grinned, placing the thumb that was just rubbing at the corner of your lip into his mouth, savoring the taste. 

“You mean nothing to me, so why would I care?” you shrugged, taking your wallet in your hand before slowly moving away from your dorm frame to the entrance of your apartment. 

“Tell Felix I’m not going to be back for dinner” With that you left, leaving Hyunjin dumbfounded in the middle of your apartment. 

He was just trying to play hard to get, but you were still not getting it. Did you not notice that he went out of his way to go to the coffee shop that was out of his way, only on days you were working? How he spent hours in the classroom with you just to hear what song you were obsessed with that week, it was like you were oblivious to his infatuation with you. You couldn’t be that dumb, could you?

The last and most hated place to see him was the studio. It was your sanctuary, sure your room meant a lot to you, your own private space, but while working on your art, everything was basically white noise.

From the moment you put on your headphones, you are lost in a trance. The only thing on your mind is the piece in front of you and how you could make it better from the last. 

You were so immersed in your work, that you didn’t realize that Hyunjin had entered the room, working on his own piece.  

Almost an hour had passed as the two of you sat working on your respective pieces. What you didn’t notice was that he was on the phone. You could see his lips moving, but you didn’t think much of it, partly because you didn’t care enough, and the other half was because your favorite song was playing and you had forgotten about him.

It wasn’t until your headphones died that you finally heard the words leaving his mouth. 

“She’s so fucking cute, but I don’t know how she hasn’t noticed that I like her yet. Like why else would I go to her coffee shop 3 times a day Felix? And don’t say it’s because I have a coffee addiction, I know that, but I only go there to see her. And fuck, did you see her at Bin’s party, that short skirt I thought I was going to cum right there and then. How difficult is it for her to see that I like her?” he groaned, covering his face with his hands.

You didn’t even realize that you dropped your bowl of water until he looked up at you, your eyes meeting his. Before you could properly react, he quickly hung up the phone, walking towards you. 

You didn’t even realize, but you had started to run away, but you had nowhere to hide. You squatted down, trying to shield your body from him, but it only allowed him to come closer to you. 

“You heard what I said, didn’t you?” he asked as he crouched down to meet your height.

You didn’t respond, instead just nodding your head, which caused him to groan. He slowly pulled your hands away from your face, his hand on your chin. 

“I like you” he whispered, his face coming closer to yours. “Okay?” you responded, your voice quieter than his. 

“Let me show you” and with that, he captured your lips with his, pulling your body closer to him. Your lips were working in tandem as he wrapped your legs around his torso, your hands flying to the back of his neck, allowing him to pick you up. 

He pulled both of your bodies up, leading you to the closest desk, not allowing the two of you to break your kiss. His tongue licking at the seam of your mouth, begging for an entrance. 

You allowed it, your breaths getting heavier as he pushed his cock into the seam of your leggings, the room filled with your whimpers as he pressed deeper into you, allowing you to feel the hardness of him through his jeans. 

He slowly pulled away, a trail of spit connecting the two of you. “Fuck” you whined as he slowly pulled down your leggings, the cool air causing goosebumps to riddle your legs and arms. 

“Look at this pretty little cunt” he whispered, admiring the way your lips pushed against the cotton of your underwear. “Can’t wait to eat it” he grinned, tearing off your underwear causing you to shout. 

“Hyunjin what the fuck, I never said you could do that?” but you were cut off by the feeling of his plush lips against your clit, lapping away. Your hands instantaneously grasped his hair, pushing him deeper into you, allowing the only thought on his mind to be your pussy. 

You moaned as he continued lapping at it, learning every curve, where you loved being touched. He wanted to understand you, know what made you tick, he wanted to make you his. 

He slowly brought his hand up to your cunt, his finger teasing your hole before slowly pushing it inside of you. “Do you like that baby?” he whispered into your cunt, the vibration on your clit causing your eyes to roll back. 

“Feels so good” you whimpered as you lowered yourself, your back hitting the table. 

He didn’t want to stop until he made you cum in his mouth, he needed to taste you after chasing you for months. He slowly added another finger, thrusting it inside of your soaking hole, his other hand grabbing your thighs, pulling you closer to him. 

“Gonna cum Jinnie” you whimpered, your high being near. As soon as the word Jinnie left your lips, he felt like he was going to cum, the sound of you moaning his name was ringing in his ears and he needed to hear it again and again. 

“Fuck baby, gonna cum, gonna cum on my fingers like a good girl?” 

“Yes, gonna cum for Jinnie” you whimpered, your orgasm taking control of your body, it twitching under the feeling of his fingers continuously thrusting into you, hitting that spongey spot in your repeatedly. 

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on” he whispered, kissing your lips once again. 

You could feel his cock pressing onto your thigh, it protruding through his jeans and all you could think about was making him feel good.  

“Want to make you feel good Jinnie” you whined, pulling away from his lips as your hands frantically went to his jeans, pulling them down to try and get access to his cock. There was a slight wet patch on his boxers, which made you whimper. 

“Please, need it” you whined, your hands trailing to your cunt, spreading your lips apart to show him how wet you were for him. 

“You are going to kill me baby” he grinned, pulling his boxers down, allowing his cock to hit his stomach. Your eyes looked at him in fear when you saw his size. He was long and thick, bigger than everyone you’ve ever been with. 

“Don’t tell me you are scared” he chuckled, running the tip of his cock along your folds, capturing your wetness along his tip. You shook your head, trying to prove to him that you weren’t. 

“It’s okay baby, I’ll go slow, let me get a condom” But before he could even reach into his jeans to get his wallet, you stopped him. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill, please need to feel all of you Jinnie” 

Who was he to say no to your cute pleading face, so he slowly pushed the tip of his cock into you, causing the two of you to moan. You at the feeling of your cunt being stretched out, and him at the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock. 

His cock was so deep inside of you, you felt like you could cum from just his cock resting inside of you. 

“Fuck baby, your pussy is taking me so well, wish we did this before instead of all this bickering, it’s like you were made for me.” he moaned while slowly beginning to thrusting into you, making sure he wasn’t going to fast.

To ensure your comfort, and to get you closer to your high because he knew he wasn’t going to last long, he began playing with your clit. “Jinnie feels so good, you are so deep inside of me” you whimpered.

He took it as a sign to start thrusting into you deeper. Each thrush hits your g-spot perfectly. With the stimulation of his finger on your clit, you couldn’t do it anymore. You started clenching down on him harder and harder. 

Your cunt was locking him in and all he could do was groan. The final push was when he moaned directly into your ear. You came all over his cock letting your moans hit his ear. He pulled out of you stroking his cock “Where do you want me to cum baby?” he whined, feeling close.

“I want it in my mouth” you begged and that was all he needed. He slowly lifted your body from the table as you fell to your knees in front of him, allowing him to push his cock into your mouth. 

He shoved it deep inside, causing you to deep-throat it, and came straight down your throat. “Fuck, I can’t believe we didn’t do that sooner.” he grinned. 

“It’s all your fault, you were the bully” you whined, trying to find your leggings to pull over your body since the room had gotten significantly cooler. 

“We should get dressed though, we don’t need anyone else to know what we just did” he looked around frantically, a worried look on his face, causing you to laugh.

“You just fucked me on a desk, and now you are scared?” 

“Yes, because I had this whole plan of taking you out to dinner, and buying you this really pretty dress I saw that I thought looked perfect for you and everything” he pouted. 

He looked adorable like this, and you couldn’t believe it was the same man that made your life a living hell, that was now in front of you causing you to coo at his jutted lip. 

“You are so cute” you mumbled, grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss. Maybe love starts off different for everyone. 

_____

You walked into your apartment, hand in hand. A grin splayed on his face as you fought with him about how drinking iced americanos more than twice a day was crazy, and how his heart was going to stop. 

The two of you didn’t even realize that Felix was in your living room until the two of you heard an “I fucking knew it!” 

He was whooping and hollering around your apartment. “I knew it was going to start with this enemies-to-lover type shit and then boom y’all are going to fuck” 

Before the two of you could even utter a single word, he stopped you by continuing. “Please tell me it wasn’t on our shared couch though, it doesn’t need to be fucked on a second time” 

“You what!” you looked at him with fury in your eyes, Hyunjin just laughed at the spectacle playing out in front of him, damn he loved you. 

[venuszn]

☆ : Open When

Summary / In which Bada writes you letters to read whenever you miss her presence

Cw / Angst, Fluff, Smut, Dom!Bada, Fem!Reader, Phone sex, ummm probably missed some, MDNI

Wc / 5.3K words

Open when you’re sad

“Hi princess,

I’m sorry that you’re feeling this way right now and that I'm not there to hold you and tell you that everything will be okay. But I can and will tell you that with the words in this letter. You know that I love you and I will keep saying it till the words dry up my throat.

I wish nothing but happiness for you but I’m also aware that bad days are inevitable and that sadness is a human emotion, which like happiness, you should be allowed to feel in all its entirety. I know it's hard right now, but allow yourself to feel sad. You’re allowed to cry, you're allowed to scream and maybe even throw something (like a pillow or teddy - don't hurt yourself). You’re feeling down and that's ok, you’re human.

I know I always say that you're perfect (to me you are, you’re literally heaven sent you’re my angel) but to the rest of the cruel world perfection isn’t possible and so you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. I like to remind myself that sadness is an emotion. Its power is not absolute. It will come and it will go making room for other emotions such as relief, happiness, hope . . .

There will always be hope.

You are strong and you can take back control of your emotions. But allow yourself to feel them first, it doesn’t make you weak. It takes a lot of courage to face the raw and uncomfy feelings we have and I know you can do it. Go at your own pace and remember that your feelings are valid and that you are loved.

Especially by me, your loving and maybe a little bit obsessed girlfriend.

Lots of love,

Bada.”

A tear dropped onto the paper. You blinked and quickly wiped your eyes, not realising that your girlfriend's heartfelt expressions had triggered an earthquake of emotions within you. Bada knew that you had a tendency to repress your emotions. She knew that when you were sad you skillfully put on a facade, a mask, and played the ideal role of the happy easy going girlfriend. You didn't want to burden anyone with how you felt. You were used to dealing with it alone and so you always did.

But Bada showed you that it was ok to not always be ok. That you didn’t have to bear it all alone. You weren’t perfect, some days you fell back into old habits and distanced yourself from her as the exhaustion from faking happiness would overwhelm you. But she was always patient and waited for you.

She showed you that you could still be loved even on your bad days.

Sobs thundered in your chest. You gripped the letter as if the words themselves would slip between the cracks of your fingers and drift away into the night. Your face grew hot with tears and you allowed yourself to be. To simply be.

Bada wasn’t here with you right now but you knew her love was.

Open when you miss me

Gentle rays of sun shine through your curtains. It illuminates your skin as it kisses it with its warmth. You sit up and raise a tired hand, attempting to shield your eyes as a loud and unflattering yawn rolls from the back of your mouth. Your hazy eyes drift towards the empty space beside you. If you stare long enough you can still see the outline of her presence, hear the whispers of her slow words thick with sleep as she would pull you closer by the waist and join her lips to yours - the sweetest of good mornings.

But now those mornings were not a reality but a memory.

Mornings like this weren’t foreign to you. It had been a couple months now and you had grown used to waking up alone. You missed Bada and this was the first time you were both spending months apart from each other. You were caught between sadness and pride. Of course you were sad but at the same time you couldn’t help but admire the achievements of your girlfriend. Bada’s popularity had skyrocketed beyond the heavens themselves and many artists and idols were reaching out to her for collaborations and such alike. You had never seen Bada glow the way she did. Joy seemed to radiate from her and your chest could barely contain the swell of your heart as it pumped in pride for her.

That is why you smiled and swallowed the lump in your throat as Bada said she was leaving behind her favourite sweatshirt, “because I know it’s your favourite too”. It is why you insisted on driving Bada to the airport and it is why the both of you held each other a little tighter that day and allowed your lips to linger a second more. Bada knew you were trying to be brave for her but that wasn’t what she wanted.

“I’ll see you real soon. Four months will fly by.” Bada said as she gently rubbed your cheek with her thumb.

“I know it will. Have the best time won’t you ? I mean, you’re touring with an idol. That's amazing.” Your voice betrayed you as a slight quiver slipped through.

Bada’s gaze saddened. “I’ll try. You know I'll miss you right ?”

A sob threatened to rise from your throat and you tried to swallow it once more.

“I’ll miss - I’ll miss you more . . .” You choked out.

Bada wrapped her arms around you and brought you to her chest, your arms locked around her sides and you swore you would need to be pried away from her. Her head rested comfortably on top of yours and she squeezed you gently.

“I’ve left you something.”

You pull back and look up at her, confusion knitted your brows. “What do you mean you’ve left me something ?”

“It’s under the bed in a shoebox. And no, it's not shoes.” She smiled down at you.

When you got back to your shared apartment you searched under the bed and immediately found the shoebox. You scoff lightly with a small smile, not believing that you didn’t notice it earlier.

You remove the top and your breath catches in your throat.

A library of letters sat in two neat rows, filling the four walls of the box. You gently run your fingers over the edge of them, sneaking glimpses of the words written on the envelopes.

‘Open when you’re sad.’

‘Open when you need reassurance.’

‘Open when you want to punch your annoying coworker.’

You choke out a laugh mixed sob and tears threaten to spill. You wondered how you got so lucky to have someone like Bada in your life.

The morning sun had shifted slightly, its rays now painted your room walls a warm golden. Bada’s words stared back at you on the envelope as you traced the curves of her letters with your finger, following the path of ink as it journeyed into words.

‘Open when you miss me.’

And so you did.

“Hello my princess,

I miss you too. Very much. I know you’ll see me on social media smiling and dancing but just know that I'm always thinking of you. I wish I could be there with you right now, to hold you and kiss you. I’m writing this before I leave but I just know that I’ll miss your kisses. Of course I will. Kissing you feels like home and I’ll miss my home. Even now as I’m writing this I’m wishing that I was kissing you. But they say absence makes the heart grow fonder. My heart will probably explode from the overflow of fondness. However, I want to apologise in advance for how busy I might get. But I promise I will do my best to talk to you. I have no idea what to expect but I imagine there will be days where our communication is sparse. But always remember that I still love you and miss you.

Please take care of your health, make sure to eat your meals and go to sleep on time. I need you to be happy and healthy when I get back.

I love you and I am counting down the days till I see my baby again.

Lots of Love,

Bada.”

Open when you’re happy

The chime of the doorbell danced through the air and you perked up.

Your lips stretched into a smile as you bounced toward the front door, almost running. You were expecting this as it had become a weekly routine and truthfully, you were near enough befriending the delivery man who you were now seeing more frequently than some of your friends.

You swiftly swing open the door and your eager eyes meet the familiar smile of the old man but you couldn’t stop your gaze from jumping to the brightly coloured item that sat in his arms.

“Good afternoon to you.” He greeted warmly.

You smiled and returned his warmth, “Good afternoon to you too.”

He chuckled and outstretched the item toward you and you took it from his hold.

“Today's flowers are pink asters.” The man said with enthusiasm.

“They represent love and sensitivity. They're also the emblem of Venus - the goddess of love. Your girlfriend is putting all of us to shame.” The man chuckles and you watch as his crows feet deepen. You remember the way he praised Bada, saying that he has never seen such heartfelt dedication from a person.

Bada had scheduled flower deliveries each Monday because she knew that you loved flowers and also because she knew that you loathed Mondays - the man was slightly speechless. He called it young love and made a comment about how some people go through their entire lives unable to find love and that if you find it with someone - anyone - then that's a blessing you should cherish.

And you truly did. You now sit in front of the vase of flowers and you admire its beauty. If the stars themselves fell to the earth and sprouted seed this is what the result would be - vibrant hues and an explosion of petals. They were truly beautiful and your heart pulsed with love for Bada. She was your happiness.

Your gaze shifted back to the opened letter on the side and you read it once more.

“Hi baby :) Happiness looks beautiful on you.

You’re always beautiful but I love the way you gleam and radiate when you’re happy. I especially love your smile. I feel like everytime you smile a fairy is born. I hope to one day meet one of your many fairies.

But I digress, I’m happy that you’re happy. I wish I could see you and be happy right there with you. But feel free to send me pictures of your smile (many of them) and tell me in detail about what made you happy ! You know I'd love to hear all about it. I hope you continue smiling and I know that there are more happy days ahead for you. There definitely will be - you are an attractor of everything pure and joyful (and of me).

I love you lots my angel,

Bada.”

Open when you’re in the mood

You remember when you first saw those words on the envelope. You remember scoffing at your girlfriend, not taking it seriously. She was oceans apart from you, there’s not really much that she could do when you were feeling needy and missing her touches.

You thought wrong.

You also remember the way your brows twitched in curiosity and how you felt a subtle rise of intrigue within you at the two words written on the paper.

“Ring me.”

Though you never thought that you would find yourself in this position. The position being your legs spread apart, your two fingers stretching out your dripping cunt and Bada - on speaker phone listening to the entire thing.

“Keep touching yourself for me, princess.” Bada breathed through the phone. She had been instructing you on what to do, how fast and how slow, ordering you to not hold back your moans because she ‘wants to hear your pretty sounds’.

“Add a third finger.”

You’re not sure if its because of her words or because of how fucked out you were but you nearly come right then. You let out a shaky breath and slide your free hand down in between your legs, you spread yourself a little more, giving your third finger room to enter. The dull sting mixes with the sensitivity and pleasure and you hesitate.

“It only feels good when you do it.” You whine as you slowly push further, your tight hole sucking your fingers in.

“Imagine that those are my fingers. You like it when I finger fuck you, don’t you ? The way you cry out my name and grip onto me as I pound your hole.”

You grew wetter at Bada’s words.

Your fingers slide in and you begin thrusting in and out. A thin layer of sweat glistened your skin as you lay half naked on the bed with your eyes fluttering up at the ceiling. You did as Bada said. You shut your eyes and imagined that your girlfriend was there - above you with her slender fingers stroking your pussy walls. You imagined her kissing the side of your neck as she usually did, and then slowly making her way down to your chest. You imagined her taking your hardened nipple into her warm mouth, her tongue sliding against it as she licked and tasted your tits. Her free hand would then join, playing with your other mound of flesh as her mouth busied itself with the other. She would start off by teasing your nipple by ghosting over it with her thumb. She would then gently tug at it before rolling it between her fingers. You imagined her hushed words, saying something about how beautiful you were and about how good you were being for her before she would mercilessly thrust her three fingers into your cunt, her thumb teasingly brushing over your swollen clit ever so often.

The tightening of the knot in your stomach pulls you out of your fantasy and a loud moan falls from your lips. Your breaths pick up speed and a chorus of whines and whimpers flow from you as you begin to chase your climax. Your back arches and your fingers move faster, curling up as they rub against the top of your walls.

“Fuck - Fuck, Bada.” You cry out as you feel your legs begin to shake.

Bada lets out a breathless curse and you hear shuffling in the background and then a door shut.

“You coming, princess ? I wanna hear you moan my name.”

You nod your head, forgetting that she can't see you, coherent words fail to leave your mouth. Your body tenses and your walls contract around your fingers. Pleasure rushes through you and for a moment you swear you see stars. Your body trembles and your legs shake as cries and moans for your girlfriend fall from your tongue.

“You’re so hot. Fuck. I wanna see you, princess.” Bada says, voice dripping with want.

You lay breathless, fingers still nested in your aching hole as you slowly guide yourself down from your high with slow thrusts. “But you’re not - you're not in your hotel room.” You breathe out.

“I’m farther away from everyone now.” Bada said as she reassured you. “ I’m in an empty room. It's okay baby . . . Plus, this makes it hotter.”

You let out a light breathy laugh, “You’re such an exhibitionist.”

Bada chuckles, “So are you. Now let me see you, princess.”

You reach for your phone and accept the video call request. Bada emerges onto your screen and your heart flutters. You smile and bite your lip slightly. She was wearing her glasses and you had always had a thing for her in her specs. You gazed at her and the lazy smirk that sat on her pink lips.

“Hi baby.”

“Hey princess.”

Your cheeks grew warm and you looked away for a moment.

“Now don’t get shy on me. We’re just getting started.” Bada says with a slight raise of her brow.

“Prop your phone up against something. I wanna see you properly.”

You obeyed and you positioned your phone on top of the bedside table, angling it toward you as you sat with your knees together on the bed.

Bada drank in the sight of you, she licked her lips and you saw her gaze deepen.

“Fuck, you’re wearing my shirt. You fingered yourself in my clothes ?” Bada said as she leaned into the camera slightly. “You’re so dirty aren't you princess, such a slut for me.”

You nod and fiddle with your fingers in your lap. Your body burned with both desire and slight humiliation.

“Go and get my strap.”

Your breath caught and your eyes widened. “What ?” You say, unsure of if you were now experiencing auditory hallucinations.

“I want you to fuck yourself with my strap. Go get it.” Bada stated coolly.

You now found yourself in another position. That position being your legs spread apart, once again, but now with Bada’s thick strap rubbing against your pussy lips, your wetness coating its length. And Bada sat watching through the camera as she once again instructed you on how she wanted you to touch yourself.

Bada stared at you hungrily with pupils blown.

“Keep rubbing your clit with it. Just like that princess. Don’t stop until you’re dripping and desperate, just how I like you.”

Your mouth hung open as you sang soft moans. You guided Bada’s strap against your clit, now swollen, as you rubbed yourself along the length of it in desperate motions.

“Bada - Bada, fuck.” You whine. “I’m close - gonna come . . .”

Bada’s smirk stretches. “Stop.”

Your eyes snap to the screen and you blink furiously. “Pleas-”

“I said stop, princess. Be a good girl for me, hm ?”

You reluctantly come to a stop, your hips slow its pace and you remove the strap from in between your legs.

“As much as I love seeing you touch yourself in my clothes, I want to see your pretty tits. Take your shirt off.”

You do as she says and pull the shirt over your head, your chest now on full display to Bada’s eager eyes.

Bada lets out a breathless curse as her eyes roam your body. “You’re heavenly.”

Your heart flutters at your girlfriend's words.

“Now spread your legs for me and fuck yourself with my strap.”

You moved closer to the camera and positioned yourself in front of Bada’s waiting gaze. You leaned back on one arm and parted your legs, your aching cunt now on show. You guided her strap along your pussy lips coating it with your juices. You hum slightly and a whimper leaves your lips as you gently push in the tip of the strap.

Your eyes flicker back to the screen and you swear you've never seen Bada’s gaze as intense as it was.

“Just like that. Stretch yourself out good for me.”

You sink onto Bada’s strap and your cunt clenches around it. You begin slow motions of gentle thrusting and then throw your head back as you feel the tip hit a particular spot within you walls - cries falling from your lips.

“Fuck. I wish I was there, baby. Gonna fuck you into the mattress when I get back.”

And you knew that was a promise she intended to keep.

Open when we fight

It had been nearly a week since your last proper conversation with Bada. You were both busy and had been adjusting to the constant changes of time zone differences. It was becoming a little draining for the both of you but the daily little check ups and good morning and night messages cushioned the pain. It was the little things that kept you going all this time but you were beginning to crave a little more attention from your girlfriend.

Bada, on the other hand, was becoming stressed. Rehearsals were tough and the jetlag exhausted her. Simultaneously, Bada was also worried about you. She was aware that the communication between the both of you had dwindled recently and she knew you did your best to work with her schedule but she also knew that deep down you were hurting because of it. Bada was beginning to feel inadequate and she carried the blame.

That is why she regretted it as intensely as she did when those harsh words flew from her mouth that one evening.

“You’re suffocating me. You know how busy I am and honestly right now I need some space.”

Bada’s words were like ice to your ears and you felt the frost of her tone bite and sting you. You shivered, slightly taken aback by her words.

“Oh . . . Okay then. No worries, see you.”

You hang up the phone.

You stared into space for a moment. Numbness spreading over you as you swallow your sorrow.

Your phone vibrates and you force your heavy eyes to look over to it. You see Bada’s contact flash on your screen. You scoff and deny the call before putting your phone on do not disturb.

The moon peers at you through your window and you only hope that she’s gazing at you with empathy. She too was worlds apart from her lover, unable to meet. Tears brim in your eyes and you blink them away.

The sun rises and you soon follow. You turn on your phone and then turn off do not disturb only to find countless missed calls and messages from Bada pleading for your forgiveness. Your heart pangs and you decide to respond.

“I just woke up. Went to bed early last night.” You type and hit send before tossing your phone onto the bed.

You were still a little sad. You felt dejected and you felt unwanted. Perhaps you were a little pushy, but all you wanted was to speak to your girlfriend. You sigh as you stare into the mirror at your deflated reflection. A small box under your bed then catches your attention and you find yourself kneeling to pick it up.

Bada’s letters.

You had gone though nearly half of them by now but you had yet to open this particular one.

“I’m sorry.

I don’t know what we fought about but that doesn’t matter because I apologise for making you upset. I would never intentionally hurt you but sometimes I can be a dummy and I make mistakes. So I'm sorry baby. I hate seeing you upset or angry and especially if I'm the cause. I want to thank you for still staying with me all this time regardless. Everyday I'm still learning and growing and everyday I'm thankful that I get to do that by your side. We are two imperfect people but we make a perfect pair if you ask me. I know sometimes you also make mistakes but I forgive you. I will always forgive you. When we fight we showcase our room for growth as a couple and as individuals. We disagree sometimes but that is normal. There’s nothing wrong with you and nothing wrong with us. I still love you baby. I always will.

Lots of love,

Bada.”

Just as you finish reading your phone vibrates and you look to see Bada's name on the screen.

“Good morning baby. I’m sorry about last night. You’re not suffocating. I'm just really stressed right now but I promise it’s not because of you. It will never be you.” Her message read.

Your lips pouted slightly and you typed back, “I'm sorry too. I know I can be extra clingy sometimes. But please don’t feel pressured to always respond. Take out time for yourself too, it’s okay. I’ll always be here.”

On the other end Bada let out a small breath of relief and finally allowed her body to relax. She read over your words and her heart yearned for you.

Another message pings through and Bada breaks out in the first genuine smile that week.

“Btw your letter was cute. I’ll always love you too.”

Open when it’s our anniversary

The chime of the doorbell rang through the apartment and your brows twitched in puzzlement. You double checked the day - it wasn’t a Monday - so weren't expecting any deliveries. You also were not expecting any visitors. Regardless, you make your way over to open the door.

Before you stood none other than the delivery man. Who boasted the widest of grins as he held out a wonderful arrangement of flowers toward you.

You stand, mouth slightly agape as you take in the beauty of the blossoms before you. The sweet aromas danced through the air.

Today was your anniversary with Bada and you had both planned to video call later that night. You knew Bada was busy and that she was gearing up for the finale of the tour later that week, so you were grateful that she cleared out a few hours of her schedule to spend with you. But you had not expected anything like this.

“Your girlfriend really outdid herself with this one.” He chuckled as you took the bouquet into your arms, its sheer size competed with the top half of your body. You poke your head around the bouquet and you smile back. “It’s our anniversary. I had no idea she scheduled flowers for today - and flowers this big. I’m so sorry you had to carry this.” You say with a meek laugh.

“Nonsense. It's my pleasure.” The old man waves his hand, swatting away your words. “You have grown to become me and my wife's favourite customers - both you and your girlfriend. We’re honoured that she chose our small flower store and made all those orders. So please, it’s not a problem my dear. I hope to see you both around sometime and feel free to stop by, my wife would love to meet the lovely lady that she picks flowers for.”

Your heart warms and you nod your head, “Of course. I’d love to stop by. But I'll see you on Monday won’t I ?”

The man shakes his head, “This is my last delivery dear.”

You frown slightly and you feel your mood dampen. “But why ?”

“Because I’m back.”

That voice.

You step out into the hallway and your head spins to the direction it came from.

Bada Lee.

Bada walked toward you. Your eyes scanned her tall frame, her oversized shirt that draped around her body, her grey baggy sweatpants that hung from her hips and her wide and comforting smile that plastered her face.

That was your girlfriend. And she was home.

You ran towards her and she met you halfway, scooping you and the large bouquet into her arms before spinning you around. You laugh and you cry. Trails of tears fall as happiness overtakes you.

“You’re back ?!” You exclaim as you hastily wipe your face.

Bada gazes down at you with the fondest of eyes. “For now, yes. Happy anniversary baby.”

She leans down to gently press her lips to yours.

The old man chuckles in delight, “Congratulations to the both of you. I expect to see you both at my shop very soon.”

You and Bada grin and you wish him well after agreeing to pay him and his wife a visit.

Your head remains in a daze and you squint your eyes at Bada, unsure of if you were now experiencing visual hallucinations.

Bada laughs as she puts down her suitcase, “What ?”

You fold your arms, “You’re really here ?”

“I am.”

“You said next week.”

“I might have told a little white lie . . .”

You whine and gently smack her arm causing her to laugh even more.

“And all those flowers you’ve been sending . . . and the letters ?” You pout slightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

Bada steps closer and takes your chin between her thumb and index. “You deserve everything and more. There was no way I wasn’t going to see you on our two year anniversary. I planned to be here from the very start.”

You look up at her and you hold her gaze. “You did ?”

Bada hums. “I did. However, I'll be catching a flight back tomorrow but by the end of the week I'll be home for good.”

You nod your head in understanding and Bada smiles down at you before leaning in to bridge the gap between your lips. Your arms rest around her shoulders and hers on your waist, her grip firm as she gently caresses your skin with her thumb. You part your lips and tilt your head, Bada hums against your mouth before slipping her tongue through your lips - deepening the kiss.

Moments pass and you are forced to come up for air. Bada then rests her forehead against yours.

“You read today's letter yet ?” She mutters softly.

You gently shake your head, “Not yet. I was about to but then the doorbell rang.”

Bada smiled and took your hand into hers.

“Perfect.”

Bada now sat beside you on the bed with the letter in hand.

She began to read.

“To my princess, my baby, my best friend and to the love of my life,

Happy Second Anniversary <3

Happy 730 days of us and of our love. These 730 days are just the beginning because I know that we have a lifetime ahead of us. Thank you for staying with me, for being with me despite my shortcomings. Thank you for being my best friend, my confidant and thank you for loving me back.

You truly are an angel walking this earth and I sometimes wonder if heaven misses you. I’m prepared to put up a fight because now that I have you - not even Zeus himself could pry me away from you. Nothing on earth nor in the heavens above could taint the love that I have for you. Know that my heart belongs to you and that I am ready to cross whatever seas that may lie between us.

I’ll see you soon my love.

Bada.”

You were at a loss for words and watched as Bada neatly folded the letter and placed it back into its envelope. She then looked at you and gently took your hand intertwining your fingers.

“I love you so much.” You whisper, afraid that your voice would fail you.

“I love you more my princess.” Bada pulled you closer and then set you on her lap.

You gaze down at her and she peers up at you, her fingers ghost over your thigh, tracing lazy shapes over the fabric covering your skin. Sparks of electricity shoot through you and you lick your lips slightly. Bada’s gaze intensifies. Her hands now slowly creep up your shirt, your warm skin under her fingertips.

“I’ve missed you.” You breathe out, gravity pulling you in.

“I’ve missed you too.” Bada’s hands lingered as they explored the familiar territory that was your curves.

You shudder and your breath picks up.

“Wanna show me how much ?” You say softly.

Bada’s lips stretched into a slight smirk but her eyes overflowed with love.

“Of course baby. I’m gonna take my time with you . . . Missed you so much.”

Bada kept her promise and she took her time with you, exploring the work of art that she swore had no price.

Your body, your soul - you.

Author’s note / Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed <3 Feel free to send me requests of letters that you’d like to see Bada write . . . Totally down to do more of those :3

Tag list / @princhii , @lil-elliesgf , @wiselight , @nimxie , [Open]

[oozedninjas]

Heyyyy I was wondering if you could do how the boys realize they're in love with you and how they react to said realization? Maybe even how long they'd take to confess??

Sorry if that's too much in one go or if you've already done it, ily and I love your writing <3

These are technically two requests so I'll just stick to "How they realize they're in love" if that's okay :)

MDNI / Turtle guys are mid to late twenties

BAYVERSE GUYS REALIZING THEY'RE IN LOVE

---

Leonardo:

Once he notices, Leo would carefully consider the implications that come with romantic emotions and reflect upon whether or not he's willing to go through what it entails to give himself to someone.

He would make sure this isn't just a fleeting thing before making any decisions on acting upon those feelings. Once he does, he'll drop little hints that surpass obviousness.

Don't get me wrong, it isn't that he is not brave enough to make the moves; it's just that he assumes that what he has to offer is little and prefers to give you all the signs. This way, if you want a relationship with him, you have the necessary tools to let him see that you do want to be courted.

Donatello:

Donnie's sharp enough to recognize what he's feeling the moment he discerns those exquisite tingles in his chest as something beyond just excitement. Yet, like the reserved creature that he is, digesting such emotions and coming to terms with them is… another thing entirely.

I think he would tough it out for the most part. Often bombarded by intrusive thoughts of a negative reaction on your side if you were to find out. His mind plays tricks on him, making him daydream about delightful dates with you, followed by the voice of mockery asserting that could never come to happen.

He has to be realistic. It isn't logical that someone as beautiful and brilliant as you are would risk being with a non-human creature who's not even biologically compatible with you. No, he's better off as your friend.

Raphael:

He knows what he feels for you; however, he refuses to accept it in his heart (or in front of anyone else, for that matter) because it would be too painful not to be reciprocated. Nevertheless, as his feelings for you grow, so do the desires to protect you and keep you safe and secure. This makes it difficult for him to conceal his true feelings to a sharp, tenacious eye as your own.

If he comes to confess his feelings, Raphael would strive to balance his rough exterior with moments of tenderness, as he recognizes the importance of displaying his softer side to achieve more deepening emotional connections.

Mikey

Mikey's excitement and eagerness to be around you would give him away in the blink of an eye. It's cute because he holds this "We should totally date! Haha, joking, joking... UNLESS!" attitude all the time.

I think he would express his feelings in a joyful, creative form. You can expect an outpouring of artistic expressions: drawings, poems, or spontaneous acts of affection.

I think Mike's the one with a higher rate of emotional intelligence; many lessons he's learned across his journey, and in his adult years, it's easier for him to establish his limits and boundaries. With this in mind, I think he would ponder if it's worth potentially ruining his friendship with you. If the answer is yes, he goes with everything he's got.

[thatnarcissisticfeel]

I think that a lot of people without NPD have a really poor understanding of "narc supply" or the specific type of positive attention that pwNPD crave. Even the egotypicals who are allies, the ones denounce narc abuse and anti-NPD ableism, don't fully grasp it.

There's this false idea that NPDs like to be worshipped and showered with compliments all of the time, and I mean, yeah, most of us would eat that shit up, but I know that for myself and a lot of other pwNPD it's deeper and much more, I guess, personal?

I don't really know how to describe it, so I'll give an example: As a kid, no one really paid attention to my creative endeavors, my accomplishments, my feelings, etc. And if they DID pay attention, the attention was negative. I could always do better, I could always be smarter, stronger, etc. This came from peers and adults alike. So I developed a coping mechanism where I would tell myself that everyone else was wrong, that I'm actually the best person around, etc. I don't have to explain what disorder I ended up with as an adult as a result of all of that. :P

But anyway - the wound of constantly being ignored at best and insulted at worst is still there. You know how when you're in a group chat or a conversation with multiple people and no one ever pays attention to your comments, while paying attention to everyone else? Yeah, that shit hurts EVERYONE, but especially pwNPD. Even the smallest acknowledgment can be "narc supply."

You know how when you achieve something really cool and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you will be quick to praise OTHER people?

You know how when you post art/edits online and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you compliment someone else's post in the exact same thread?

You know how when you ask your friend to read your favorite book or listen to your favorite artist or whatever because of how much it means to you, and they never do it, but then they read/listen to everyone else's favorite thing at everyone else's recommendation, and how much it pisses you off? (Hurts even more if you have the SAME favorite book/artist and someone reads/listens to it at the other person's recommendation and not at yours.)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I could go on and on. That shit would bother anyone, us narcissists aren't alone in being hurt by that, but my G-d, it impacts pwNPD in such a specific way.

But let me flip it around to the positive!

A narcissist doesn't necessarily get their "supply" from someone telling them that they're the coolest person in the world and that they're a god. (Though if you do want to say that to us we probably won't complain!) Sometimes they get their "supply" from something as simple as someone acknowledging their achievements, and giving specific praise on what the achievement was. ("It's so cool that you won a prize in the music recital. The song you played sounds like it was really difficult and I loved your stage presence.")

Being told, "Wow, you did such a great job on your artwork, I love the colors!" goes a very very long way for a narc, especially when said narc is used to being IGNORED for their art.

Hearing, "it's so cool that you like that book, I'll have to read it and tell you my thoughts!" can help a narcissist's interests feel acknowledged.

You might be reading this and thinking, "well, isn't it just basic human interaction to compliment your friends or try out their interests"? And, well, maybe it is, but the whole point of NPD is that most of us grew up without receiving that type of attention, so now we're very very desperate for it - and very, very, VERY sensitive to when it doesn't happen, or is even perceived to not have happened. Something as small as being talked over in a group chat can set us off, but something as small as a simple, "hey, it's so cool that you did this, I love it." can win us over.

And to be completely fair, most of the time us being "ignored" isn't completely intentional. Like, I get it, yeah, sometimes timing just doesn't work out for person A to read my favorite book at my own rec, but by the time person B is in their life, person A can read it, and it's not anything personal. Sometimes the content I make just isn't someone's ~style~ and they support me, they really do, they just don't know what to say. Sometimes someone forgets to respond, or doesn't get a notification when I send them something I made or tell them about something I did. (There is less excuse for being ignored in face-to-face/offline convos though.) But because of the trauma of us constantly being ignored as kids/teens, the smallest little thing hurts and as a result we seek and crave attention EVERYWHERE.

So now, to give in to narc stereotypes of begging for attention: If you're a person without NPD and you genuinely want to help the narcissists you have in your life, the second best thing you can do for us is checking in to make sure we're not overlooked. Try to be sure you're not ignoring us, and if we do something cool, try to compliment it, even if it's something you don't fully "understand." Ask us about what we've been up to lately, what we're proud of about ourselves, and agree with us that what we've done is pretty cool. I mean, you'd do that for any friend, right? It's really not all outlandish for a narc to want that.

(If you're curious what the FIRST best thing you can do for a narcissist is, it's giving us a million dollars unlearning your anti-NPD ableism and calling people out who use narcissist as an insult as a synonym for abuser. Even in "offline" spaces, even when we're not around, even doctors/therapists. Even "narc" abuse survivors.)

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

I have no problem of being accused of “whitewashing” Sauron’s character because the majority of the “Rings of Power” fandom doesn’t really understand what he is, anyway.

Sauron is not a human nor a symbolically human character (like the Elves, who are meant to represent the intellectual and artistic-driven humans on Tolkien legendarium). Charlie Vickers already said, using different words, that the fandom can’t really atribute human-like feelings (or characteristics) onto his character, and he’s absolutely correct. Because he’s not playing a human.

Charlie talked about this in the context of Sauron’s cosmic connection to Galadriel in “Rings of Power”, and almost everyone nods in agreement, but then makes the mistake of projecting human-like onto Sauron (narcissism, psychopath, sociopath, whatever it may be).

Sauron/Mairon is a Maia, which is the equivalent of a demigod or an angel in Tolkien legendarium; a servant to a Vala, the Gods or archangels of the lore. He was created by Eru Ilúvatar, so he’s divine in nature, a higher being, at the beginning. He chooses to side with Melkor/Morgoth (the Devil of the legendarium); he becomes a fallen angel, a demon. He’s not longer a “higher being” per say because, in Catholic-Christian tradition, demons operate on the lower frequencies of existence.

I would even argue that Tolkien wrote Sauron as more of an idea, than an actual character. With this being the reason why we don’t have much dialogue from him throughout the legendarium. Of course, “Rings of Power” needs to adapt this to the best of their possibilities, and I think they are doing a great job with Sauron’s character, and it’s also clear Charlie Vickers has done his homework on the character.

I still see a bit of hesitation on Charlie’s part on elaborating on Sauron in his interviews, which is very common among actors who have to play villains or “supervillains”. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s justifying his actions or making Sauron look sympathetic. But Charlie, like all actors, understands his character motivations better than anyone. And the show is trying to make the audience understand it, as well, but this usually flies over peoples’ heads who are accusing the show of making Sauron “relatable” in some way or even make you cheer for him or whatever.

This could be the case if he was a human character, but he isn’t. He’s a spiritual being, a supernatural creature, a demon. Us, humans, can’t never relate to him, no matter how many spins folks try to make on it. He operates in a total different level. And that’s why I hate with a burning passion these takes of him having “evil” human-like characteristics or mental disorders. To me, this is completely missing the point of Sauron’s character.

Of course he feels entitled to rule Middle-earth; he helped create the place alongside the other Valar and Maiar at the beginning of time. He literally shaped the world he seeks to dominate; his qualities are imprinted on it (this being the reason why he has true immortality and can’t never be destroyed for real, by the way). Of course he sees himself above Men, Elves and Dwarves, because he literally is. Tolkien wrote him that way.

Would you call the Christian/Jewish/Islamic God, Odin, Zeus, and all the others God of worldwide mythology “psychopaths” or “narcissists”? Probably not because they are Gods, and Gods are, in general, assh*les and d*cks.

Even in Tolkien legendarium, who drew inspiration from several mythological sources, Eru Ilúvatar sinks an entire island, killing everyone in it, because Men wanted to achieve immortality. Is he a “psychopath” too? Tolkien tells us that Eru is the supreme authority on his legendarium, the ultimate good, because he symbolizes the Christian God; and during the Second age He’s very much like the Old Testament God, a punisher, more than the modern “God the Father”, and Númenor is the Atlantis myth.

I’m not really a fan of the phrasing of Sauron seeing other characters like insects, but it’s a way to put it. Precisely because he’s a demigod, who’ll aspire to become an actual God. And that’s probably his biggest sin in the legendarium, alongside with betraying Eru Ilúvatar (God) for Melkor (Satan). On the Third Age, Sauron becomes a “incarnation of evil” and a “spirit of malice and hatred”, like Tolkien tells us. But he’s not “absolute evil” because Tolkien doesn’t believe in such a thing. I already talked about this in here.

In “Rings of Power”, it seems the “not wholly evil” bit is related to his connection with Galadriel. His true intentions/feelings towards her are yet to be revealed to the audience. Why does Sauron want to bind himself to Galadriel so badly? We had this plot in two seasons already.

The simplest explanation is that Sauron wants to harvest her light for himself, but he could easily find the same light in every other Elf who was born during the Years of the Trees in Valinor, because the light of the Two Trees also shines on them. Even Celebrimbor had the same light, and Sauron never had the intention of binding them together. So, indeed, what makes Galadriel different? Because he was willing to share his power with her, too.

All of this is very theological, but it is what it is. Don’t shoot the messenger. We can’t really analyze Tolkien legendarium without the heavy religious Catholic-Christian inspiration, because that’s the core of the mythology Tolkien created. It’s really inevitable if we want to understand it.

Anyway, you can think of Second Age Sauron as a sort of “Dracula on steroids”. I think that’s the closest comparison I can find. Because Dracula is also demonic character, but he’s not a “fallen angel” like Sauron. I wouldn’t exactly compare him with representations of Satan/Devil/Lucifer on pop culture, because that’s Melkor.

Then we have character arcs, and even Sauron has one in Tolkien legendarium: Sauron starts “Rings of Power” in his repentance era (Halbrand); then we have Annatar or “Sauron the reformer” who wants to rebuild Middle-earth with good intentions; then the “King of Men” when he starts to get carried away with pride and power; until he returns to his role as Morgoth’s secretary/representative, at the end of the Second age; he gets defeated. When he returns in the Third Age (the version most fans are familiar with from “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy and the Peter Jackson adaptations), he claims to be Morgoth come again, and this is the evilest he has even been, a “second incarnation of evil” like Tolkien describes him.

[annymation]

Reimagining the characters in Wish

(Part 1- Asha)

Hey guys! I don’t really know how to start this, but let’s just say that I… Didn’t like how Disney’s 100th anniversary movie turned out, like at all.

But I can tell there was a lot of unexplored potential beneath this story, that in my opinion felt overly simple and bare bones.

But if you love it, that’s awesome, more power to you, I wish I could’ve loved it too. And I don’t want to rewrite it to show I’m “better than the writers at Disney” because I’m definitely not lol, I have no experience in writing, and I’m sure they put a lot of passion into the project and I respect them for that. But this movie inspired me with ideas for a different story that I think is worth telling.

But I won’t start telling it today, instead, I'll start a series of blogs sharing my ideas for changes in the characters and their stories, after I get some feedback I will start posting more of the story itself.

If you’re interested, then come along!

Asha✨

Personality

- Asha is a 18 year old girl, with a passion for drawing and helping those around her, sometimes even worrying more about helping others than helping herself

- She’s like a big sister to her 7 friends, always being the voice of reason and acting responsible, but not in a bossy way, she’s actually very playful with them

- To the people of Rosas tho, she's seen as kind of a weirdo, for you see, she spends almost every time of the day drawing in her sketchbook

- She practices everyday to become a better artist, and the people of Rosas find this to be very peculiar, after all, why would you take so much effort to perfect a talent when you can simply wait to turn 18 and wish for the king to make you an amazing artist?

- Asha doesn’t mind these comments, although they have made her less willing to share her drawings with others that aren’t her 7 friends

- As the story progresses we see Asha flourish from a shy and introverted girl to a brave woman who after discovering a terrifying secret about the kingdom’s rulers, steps in and inspires others to join her and fight an evil sorcerer king and his alchemist wife (yes, I made Amaya an alchemist, more on that on part 2 when I talk about how I’d change Magnifico and Amaya)

- Some Disney characters that share similarities with her personality wise are: Belle, Tiana, Pocahontas and Esmeralda

Main Traits:

Calm and mature

Determined

Passionate about her interests (drawing, dancing, philosophy and stars)

Helpful and generous

Perceptive and always questioning things around her that no one pays attention to (like why do all the artists only paint the King and Queen?)

Playful

Compassionate

Backstory

Oooh boy I gave this poor girl so much angst, okay let’s go

Asha grew up with her grandfather, her parents both died in a fire when she was just a baby

(this isn’t just to fit the “haha Disney princess has no parents” cliche, there’s plot relevance in this “mysterious fire” that I’ll talk about later)

Growing up with her grandpa, he’d always support her dream to be an artist, like her mother, who was an art teacher

Her mother not only drew really well, but she also was able to create the illusion that her drawings could move, by flipping through the pages of her sketch books

In other words, her mom was an animator

Asha saw this technic her mom used as a form of magic, so she would often tell her grandpa she wanted to “Do magic just like my mom”

Her father was a philosopher (this was established in the actual movie but never explored haha whyyyy), who taught people that working hard to achieve your dreams is not only rewarding, but also essential, because it’s part of the human nature to persevere and fight for what we believe, even if we fail, even if it’s hard, just keep moving forward.

This philosophy may sound very “umm duh” for me and you since we all know and hear everywhere nothing in life comes for free… But that’s not the case in Rosas

In this rewrite the kingdom wasn’t created by Magnifico, but rather the kingdom has existed for many generations, being ruled by different kings before Magnifico who also granted wishes… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The point is that the culture of just asking the king to give you or make you whatever you want to be has been in this kingdom’s culture since forever, so when Asha’s dad comes out saying “hey! Maybe we should stop just relying on the king to make our dreams come true, right?” He’s actually being quite a revolutionary… and sharing a very dangerous belief to other people…

At this point you might suspect what caused that “mysterious fire”

So, back to Asha, growing up with her grandpa, they shared a lot of happy memories together. Reading her father's books and her mother's art books helped Asha connect with them even tho she never had them in her life.

But as her grandfather grew older, he became senile.

Asha went from being taken care of by her grandpa to being the one who took care of him when she was still around 13 years old, and when she turned 15 her grandfather passed away of old age

Asha went on to live with her best friend Dahlia, the two became like sisters.

Though she managed to move on from the loss of her grandfather, she could never shake the feeling that he died without getting his wish granted... But she had no way to prove that, it was just a feeling

The wish granting system works different in my rewrite, instead of there being a public wish granting ceremony once a month, there would only be a public wish TAKING ceremony, that would work just like in the movie, you turn 18, you go give your wish to the king yada yada yada.

But the wish granting part would work like this: Almost every night the king would release the wishes up in the sky, they would float down like balloons to their respective owners while they sleep, and once they woke up in the morning they'd feel that their wishes were granted, for they would wake up changed.

With this method, there's no way of confirming if someone really got their wish granted or not, unless you went to ask the king.

Asha never did ask the king if he granted her grandfather's wish, but her grandfather would sometimes express how he wasn't feeling completely fulfilled in his life, he felt like there was something... missing.

This feeling of hollowness persisted in him until the very end, no matter how hard Asha tried to help her grandfather, she never knew him as his real self, because he gave part of his soul to the king, the most beautiful part of his soul, his wish.

Asha had no proof that her grandfather didn't get his wish granted, only a gut feeling.

But because of this, Asha wasn't that thrilled to give her own wish to king magnifico, knowing there was the possibility of it never being granted.

Not to mention she didn’t even know what to wish for, “I’m just 18 and you guys expect me to already know what’s my heart’s deepest desire? I’m still figuring that out, all I know is that I wanna draw”

Plus she wanted to follow her father's philosophy and achieve her wish on her own, eventually, when she figured out what her wish even was.

Asha never rebelled against the system tho, she wasn't a confrontational person. She just accepted the people of Rosas preferred to rely on the king's magic, but that just wasn't for her.

However, on her 18 birthday, when it was expected of her to give her wish to the king, she simply said she didn't have a wish, and even if she did she wouldn’t want to hand it over, she wanted to make it come true on her own. This lead to an argument with the king, and after a series of events (that I don't have time to summarize here, but you can find out about it on my rewrite) leads to her finding out a terrible truth about her kingdom. And that's how her story begins.

Design

- I’d keep these braid ornaments that Asha had in the concept art

- Since in my rewrite she’s not that invested in the kingdom of Rosas, I’d remove all the Kingdom of Rosas symbols that are present in her design (there are a LOT of them)

- I’d replace these Rosas insignia with more star and constellations themed symbols, to reflect how Asha believes that the stars are connected to people and they can guide us, just like how her father believed.

Final Thoughts

My intentions with these changes were to give Asha a strong emotional hook, and something that makes her feel relatable.

The emotional hook here is how she spent so much of her life taking care of her grandfather that she kinda never had time to worry about her own desires, that alone can be relatable to caregivers of elderly people that watch their grandparents or even their own parents lose themselves as time passes, and end up worrying more about the person they’re taking care of than themselves.

Asha has this internal emotional conflict where she feels she needs to constantly help others the same way she helped her grandfather, and one of the things she’ll learn as the story progresses is that it’s not selfish of her to want more for HERSELF.

Another thing that would be relatable about Asha is her passion for drawing, and how most people in Rosas would say she’s wasting her time practicing so much when she can just wait until she turns 18 and wish to be amazing at drawing.

She’d never stop believing that taking her time to improve on her talent and trying again and again was worth every second of her time, because let me tell ya folks, drawing is HARD, and animating like Asha’s mom did is even HARDER, it takes a whole lot of practice, and Asha was determined to keep trying.

She’d be much like Belle, remaining true to herself even tho those around her considered her odd, and very passionate about drawing just as much Belle was passionate about reading.

I also find it funny how Asha’s motivations are fairly down to earth, like in Disney movies you usually have:

I want to be free from these palace walls!

I want to explore the ocean!

I want to open a restaurant!

I want to find true love!

And then there’s Asha here like

“My life is fine, I just wanna chill and draw stuff”

And that’s it, but, in her environment where everyone is expected to have this great wish that they have to give to the king so he’ll make it a reality, she’s kinda the odd one out, and I love that. Would be a great subversion of the Disney formula.

Of course after she learns Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions she gets a lot more agency and the desire to save her people, her “call for adventure” if you will.

But what are Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions? Click here for part 2 and find out!

Thank You For Reading!

[tinyundercover]

pepper & felix

part sixteen

SURPRISE MF its out a day early

MASTERPOST word count: 4.7k

“Sit still,” Pepper murmured, brow furrowed with focus. 

On the end table next to Felix’s couch, Pepper sat cross-legged, a miniature paintbrush held in both hands. In front of him, Felix’s long fingers rested, splayed out on the end table, and from the couch Felix rested his chin on the back of his other hand, observing the borrower’s movements.

After dipping his paintbrush into the open bottle of nail polish next to him, Pepper returned to painting Felix’s nail, completely covering it in black polish. 

Felix hummed, lifting his head from his hand. “It looks good!” He experimentally moved his fingers, all five nails now jet black and glossy.

Pepper sent him a glance, twisting to search for another paintbrush. An array of art supplies sat next to him, an awkward blend of human-sized and borrower-sized materials. When Pepper finally found a plastic sheet of tiny silver gems, he announced, “I’m not done yet.”

“I figured.” The human let out a laugh and rested his cheek on his other hand, draped over the arm of the couch. The nails there were already finished, painted black and decorated in silver gems.

Felix, originally, had been a little apprehensive when Pepper had asked to paint his nails. He had worried that Pepper would grow bored or exhausted with the task, but the borrower insisted, treating Felix’s nails like any one of his other art projects.

The human didn’t paint his nails that often, but when he did, he gravitated towards his usual simple, soft colors— gray, pale blue, or white. Pepper had taken the liberty to find the black nail polish that Felix had bought but never touched, tucked away in a cabinet underneath Felix’s bathroom sink, and Felix couldn’t find it within his heart to refuse.

Pepper’s excitement had actually been adorable. Felix was aware that Pepper enjoyed being artistic, but the human didn’t get to see that side of him often, as most of Pepper’s art projects were constructed in the privacy of his little home. Besides, the microscopic size of his journals meant that Felix wouldn’t be able to see the details, anyways, which inwardly disappointed the human. He wished that he could support Pepper’s artistic endeavors the same way that Pepper regularly supported Felix’s passion for music.

Serving as a blank canvas felt like a fair compromise. Felix leaned into his sleeve, heart fluttering, watching as Pepper carefully pressed a silver gem into the center of his ring finger’s nail. The borrower’s gaze was intense and focused, as if this was the most important thing he had ever done. Felix did his best to keep his hand still.

Pepper worked diligently, tiny hands dancing delicately over Felix’s fingertips. As he decorated the rest of Felix’s fingers with silver, the borrower’s satisfaction visibly grew, until he finally finished with the last gem on Felix’s thumb. 

Felix blinked curiously as the borrower pushed himself to his feet, proudly gesturing to the fingers below him. “Now we’re done!”

Mindful not to bump into Pepper, Felix held both hands above the end table, eyebrows high as he examined his nails. Silver gems glimmered up at him, more symmetrical than he would have been able to achieve on his own. The black nail polish underneath was bold, and definitely not a color he was used to wearing, but it was growing on him.

It was hard to dislike anything that clearly brought Pepper so much joy. The borrower was trying to play it cool, crossing his arms, but the excited rocking of his heels was anything but subtle. “What do you think?”

Felix wiggled his fingers. “They look amazing,” he breathed, pulling his gaze away from the detailed designs to admire his soulmate. “Thank you! I— this is incredible!”

Pepper fought a grin, ducking his head. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Seriously, I love it,” Felix pressed, beaming. “I wish I could do your nails.”

Pepper snorted at the absurdity. He held his hands out in a similar fashion to Felix, splaying his hands in front of his face. Felix couldn’t even see his nails, let alone try and paint them. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Felix laughed lightly as Pepper began to organize his things, dropping his gray gaze to the pile of art supplies. After a moment of silence Felix spoke up, observing the delicate movements of Pepper’s hands.

“I, um…” A nervous feeling danced around Felix’s throat, restricting his words. Pepper peered up at him, expression nonchalant, closing the bottle of nail polish. The glass bottle reached his shoulder.

Felix exhaled, glancing down at his freshly painted nails. “I was wondering if, uh— if you’d want to go out on a date. Like, a real date.”

His hesitant words made Pepper freeze, tiny hands jerking away from the bottle. Felix felt a pink tinge creeping into his face, and he cleared his throat, rushing to explain. “Only if you want to. We don’t have to go out in public, or anything. It’s up to you.”

Silence stretched for a second too long, as Pepper stared up at him, gray eyes enormous. Felix was just about to haphazardly change the subject when Pepper finally responded, voice breathy. “Yeah. I want to.”

Felix blinked in response, heart jumping. He had been terrified that Pepper would refuse, offended at the idea that there might be something even slightly romantic between them— but clearly they were on the same page. It brought a warm feeling of relief into Felix’s chest.

The human ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed to face the borrower. “Oh! Okay, ah— good! Would tomorrow night be okay with you?”

Felix tried to keep his face light and casual, not wanting to reveal that he had already checked tomorrow’s weather repeatedly and had been purposely keeping his Thursday night open for several days now. To his relief, Pepper nodded vigorously, tiny hands fumbling.

“Yes. That sounds perfect.”

—

Pepper had never been on a date in his life, let only on a date with a human.

Four days ago, Pepper had given Felix a kiss on the nose. He had been emboldened by a surge of confidence, but his confidence had dissipated rapidly over the next few days. Neither of them mentioned that kiss— much like how they hadn’t mentioned Felix’s drunk kiss. Felix, honestly, didn’t seem to be treating Pepper any differently, and Pepper had started to wonder if maybe he had taken things too far too quickly.

But Felix had asked him out a date.

Pepper’s heart raced. He exhaled, dragging his hands down his face. On the floor of his room, his clothes were strewn around him in haphazard piles.

“I’ve literally kissed him,” Pepper mumbled to himself, digging through a pile of shirts. “He’s kissed me. This isn’t a big deal.”

Still, the fear of the unknown was difficult to combat. Pepper didn’t even know where they were going yet.

After struggling for twenty minutes, Pepper finally settled on a plain black crewneck and baggy blue pants, not unlike the cargo pants that Basil usually wore. He didn’t have a lot of nice clothes, but he figured this was good enough.

Right on cue, Felix’s voice filtered into his mind. “Hey, I just got home from rehearsal. Do you want to meet in the kitchen in… maybe half an hour?”

“Sure,” Pepper responded, trying to sound nonchalant despite the racing of his heart. “See you then.”

Pepper suddenly wished he had a phone, so that he could call Basil at her place in the lounge and tell her what was going on. He didn’t know much about how phones worked, but it would be nice to have one right now.

He spent the next fifteen minutes pacing around his room, smoothing his clothes, double-checking his bag, before finally deciding that he should make his way to the kitchen. He sent a quick telepathic message to Felix that he was on his way before he slipped into the long passageways of the walls.

When Pepper emerged from behind the toaster, Felix wasn’t there yet. Being alone in the kitchen somehow comforted Pepper and worsened his fears at the same time. 

It wasn’t exactly a secret that he and Felix were advancing onto romantic territory, and had been for a couple weeks, but it still left Pepper feeling dizzy. He had absolutely no experience with romance at all, and his little knowledge of how soulmates worked didn’t help the situation.

Basil had talked with him about it, explaining that some people ignored their soulmates altogether, while others found their platonic best friend in their soulmate and searched for romance elsewhere. That only confirmed Pepper’s fear that Felix would never choose to be with a borrower if he didn’t have to.

But, no— Felix had asked him out on a date.

The exhilarating feeling returned, leaving Pepper rocking on his toes, heart racing. He pulled at the threads of his crewneck, which were a bit loose, considering that he had merely thrown this sewing project together a few weeks ago.

At the sound of Felix’s footsteps approaching, Pepper straightened up, listening intently. His gray eyes were wide and curious as Felix finally stepped into the room, his towering height sending a fluttery feeling down the borrower’s spine.

Over a white button-up, Felix wore a black sweater vest. In addition to his black dress pants, the human was wearing a much darker palette than usual, which surprised Pepper somewhat, and the borrower could only wonder if he had intentionally chosen these black clothes in order to match his dark nails. Pepper’s first thought was that it was an incredibly sweet gesture.

His second thought was that black was a very flattering color on Felix.

The stark contrast between the darkness of his clothes and his light skin and features left Pepper feeling dizzy, oddly enough. Fighting the heat growing in his face, the borrower nodded politely, crossing his arms. “You look nice.”

A breathy laugh escaped Felix, moving closer. “Thanks. You too.”

Pepper didn’t hesitate to step onto Felix’s hand when he offered it. Throwing his hands out to balance, he peeked up at Felix. “Where are we going, by the way?”

Felix flushed, glancing away as he brought Pepper up to his left shoulder. The borrower watched him quizzically as he scrambled up onto the knitted material of Felix’s vest. “I actually want to keep it a surprise, if that’s okay.”

Pepper raised his eyebrows, suddenly anxious— but Felix knew better than anyone not to put Pepper in danger. “Oh!” He kept his voice playful. “You won’t even tell me a little bit?”

Felix shrugged, jostling the borrower momentarily. After offering a quick apology for the movement he responded, “Well— we’ll have to drive there. Is that okay?”

Pepper had already accepted that a car ride would be very likely. He nodded. “Yeah, no worries.”

In the next few minutes, as they made their way through the apartment building, Pepper could only wonder where they could possibly be going. The only time he had left the apartment recently (willingly) had been to accompany Felix to his audition.

Honestly, Pepper wasn’t really even sure what humans did with their time. Felix didn’t seem to be as crafty as Pepper, which made sense, considering the vast difference in what the two of them needed to do to survive. Pepper enjoyed sewing as a hobby, but at its core, it was a survival tactic for him. 

Felix’s hobbies revolved around music, which made Pepper wonder if they were possibly going to some sort of music performance. He had enough common sense to understand that humans played music for each other, much like how Felix sang onstage. Curious, and a little baffled, Pepper sank closer to Felix’s neck.

The sun beamed down on the two of them as they stepped outside into the parking lot. Self-conscious, Pepper clung to Felix’s silver hoop earring, gaze dancing. There were no other humans around, but he still felt overwhelmed in such an open space.

“How is Basil doing?” Felix asked as they approached his car. Pepper had only been inside it once, when Felix had rescued him and Basil from their kidnapping. “Settling in okay?”

The polite question helped to ease the tension between them. Pepper nodded, subconsciously tightening his grip on Felix’s earring as the human opened the car door with an unfathomable amount of casual strength. “Yeah, she’s doing really good, actually. Her room in the lounge is really coming together.”

The borrower smiled, recalling how he had spent the entirety of his Monday helping Basil to organize her new space. He knew from experience that the first few weeks of moving somewhere new could be emotionally draining, so he had been happy to help. “Her room finally looks like a home now, you know? It started off as this dark, dusty, empty space, but now it’s super cozy. She even took an old scarf from the lost and found and made some tapestries out of it to put around her room.”

“Aw, good! I’m glad things are going well for her.” Felix expressed his approval as he slid into the driver’s seat, careful not to jostle Pepper. His blue eyes were kind as they settled on Pepper’s reflection in the side mirror. “How often do borrowers move? It can’t be easy, right?”

Pepper hummed curiously, settling into the crook of Felix’s neck. Felix hadn’t made any indication to move Pepper down to the passenger seat, so the borrower got comfortable where he was. He paused to let the initial roar of the engine die down before he responded, gazing out into the parking lot as the car rolled into movement. “We don’t move around a lot, usually, but it depends.”

After a beat, Felix asked, “Where did you live before?”

“Your apartment is my third home,” Pepper explained, entranced by the movement outside. “I grew up in a bakery. It was this little place on a street corner, with all these cute green and pink decorations. It was nice, but it’s kind of a tradition for borrowers to move out of their childhood home once they’re an adult, so when I was nineteen, I moved into a new house— but the couple that lived there started setting out mouse traps, so I left. I moved into your apartment a little over a year ago, when I turned twenty-one.”

Felix’s eyebrows were high. He briefly pulled his gaze from the road to observe Pepper in the mirror. “You’ve lived in my apartment for a year?”

Pepper blinked. He supposed he hadn’t revealed the exact timeline before. “I guess I have.”

“Huh… I can’t believe I never noticed you.”

Pepper almost snickered. “Not being noticed is kind of the whole borrower thing, man.”

Felix released a sheepish laugh at that. “Right. Of course.” After a moment he added, “I’m glad I met you, though. Even if I wasn’t supposed to.”

Pepper smiled, absentmindedly threading his fingers into Felix’s vest.  “Yeah. Me too.” He decided not to make a snarky comment about the unfavorable circumstances in which they met, basking instead in their shared warm moment.

“You’ve mentioned the bakery before,” Felix added after a quiet minute of driving. “You grew up there with Basil, right?”

“Yep.” Pepper admired the buildings whizzing past them, bright and enormous. “She’s six years older than me, so she kind of took care of me.”

Felix’s brow furrowed out that. He looked as if he wanted to ask more, but changed his mind, nodding in response. Pepper blinked.

He had never really brought up his family to Felix— not only because it had never come up, but because he didn’t have much to say. His father had died shortly after Pepper was born, so he didn’t remember much about him aside from the brief feeling of comforting hands on his shoulders and warm, brown eyes. 

His mother, on the other hand, had left unexpectedly in the midst of Pepper's childhood. The rest of Pepper’s teenage years had been spent with Basil— then by himself, once Basil had inevitably moved out. 

“You have a sister, too, right?” Pepper finally asked, changing the subject. “What’s she like?”

Felix smiled. “Her name’s Kelsey. She’s really funny, and she’s so sweet. I think you’d really like her.”

Pepper blinked at that. It hadn’t really occurred to him until now that he might have to meet Felix’s family at some point, as absurd as it sounded. 

He vaguely remembered seeing Kelsey once or twice, when she had visited Felix’s apartment over the past year. She looked a lot like her brother, lanky and blonde, aside from the bright streaks of pink in her hair. Of course, back then, Pepper had never stuck around either of the humans long enough to get a read on their personalities.

“Does she do theater too?”

“Yeah, actually. For her it’s more of a hobby— she’s gonna go to college for economics— but theater definitely runs in the family.” Felix smiled. “She’s auditioning for Legally Blonde soon.”

“That’s a kind of musical?” 

“Oh— yeah. It’s a really good one.”

Pepper beamed, oddly proud that he had made the connection. It was nice to finally have a grasp on how human theater worked. “Well, wish her luck for me.”

Until Felix’s car pulled into the largest parking lot Pepper had ever seen, the borrower hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Suddenly remembering that they were on a date, Pepper straightened up, curious.

He examined the enormous gray building in front of them, brow furrowed. With a distinct lack of windows, the building was comparable to a cement brick. “Where are we?”

Felix parked the car. His black nails danced over the steering wheel, hesitant. “An art museum.”

Curiosity flickered in Pepper’s chest, and he leaned forward, searching the bland gray building. “Oh! It’s got a bunch of human art in it, right? Like, paintings, and stuff?”

Felix relaxed microscopically at Pepper’s positive response. “Yeah. I just figured you might be interested in this, because you’re so artsy, and stuff— is this okay? Do you want to go?”

“Yeah!” Pepper’s heart positively melted at the considerate gesture from Felix. “Yes, absolutely! Except— are there a lot of humans in there, usually?”

Felix shook his head, smiling. “It won’t be crowded, and if we do see people, we can avoid them. I checked online and they’re usually not busy on Thursday nights.” He hesitated briefly as he shut the car off. “Although, when we first go in, you might have to hide hide. Just for a few minutes.”

“That’s okay.” Pepper’s gaze danced down, searching for Felix’s messenger bag, but it wasn’t in the car. “Oh.”

Felix seemed to be hit with the same realization. The human pursed his lips, subconsciously patting himself down. “Oh,” he echoed.

Peering down the towering length of Felix’s torso, Pepper registered that he didn’t have any pockets on him, either. The borrower tilted his head, running his hand over the color of Felix’s white button-up.

When he had accompanied Felix to his audition, he had wedged himself between the folds of the fabric on Felix’s shoulder in order to remain hidden. However, if Felix needed to talk directly to another human in order to get into the museum, a simple fabric fold wouldn’t be enough to hide Pepper.

With a strike of inspiration, Pepper straightened up. “It’s okay— I can just…”

He faltered, self-conscious about what he was about to suggest. Meeker than before, continued, “I can just hide in your sleeve— you know, in your hand?”

He had been ready to announce the idea before he had even considered being scared. Hiding, trapped in Felix’s hand, with no knowledge of what was going on outside— it was a terrifying situation to put himself in, but he had a strange feeling in his chest that insisted it would be okay.

Only if Felix agreed to it, of course.

Felix’s blue eyes flickered, surprised, peering down at his hand. His thumb played with the sleeve of his white button-up. “That would be okay with you?”

Pepper shrugged, trying to play off his sudden wariness. “Yeah, it’s fine. Only for a few minutes, right?”

“Yeah,” Felix agreed, although he seemed to feel just as nervous.

It wasn’t a situation that either of them were used to. Felix had held Pepper before, obviously, but he always refrained from closing Pepper into a fist. It would be uncomfortable for both of them, especially considering that they could be surrounded by other humans. Pepper was willing to make it work, however, if it meant he could explore the art museum with Felix.

He didn’t know everything about human society, but he was smart enough to understand what a museum basically was. The idea enthralled him.

Once Felix was standing outside the car, ensuring that nobody was around, he lifted his hand to his shoulder. Pepper’s gaze dragged down from the enormous gray building— the museum, in fact, was the largest building he had seen in his life— to peer down at Felix’s palm.

It amazed him how quickly Felix’s hand had changed from a thing of terror to a comfort. Fingers as tall as he was curled inward, once threatening— but as Pepper stepped delicately onto the hand, he felt oddly protected by them. Something emotional shifted in his chest.

Felix moved his hand in front of himself, allowing the borrower to adjust before gently moving him to his non-dominant hand. Pepper immediately felt secured by the fingers curled around him, and he clung to Felix’s thumb and forefinger, acutely aware of how much power rested in his soulmate’s hands. His heart thudded on instinct, struggling to meet Felix’s gaze.

“Just a few minutes, I promise,” Felix said softly, and Pepper relaxed, nodding. He sent a lighthearted salute up, earning a breathy laugh. Moments later, Pepper was completely concealed from sight, as Felix tugged his sleeve over his hand. 

Pepper exhaled as Felix began walking, gaze dancing around the confined space. He wasn’t in complete darkness as his imagination had suggested he might; the sunlight filtered through the white fabric of Felix’s sleeve, providing the borrower with enough visibility not to go into a panic. 

The fingers around him were loose and accommodating, barely a fist at all. Pepper shifted into a more comfortable position, sinking into the warmth around him. He wondered if Felix could feel his heartbeat, with how his large finger was resting against his back.

His instincts murmured at him every time Felix’s fingers shifted around him, fleeting thoughts of being squeezed or dropped entering his mind. To be held like this was to completely surrender himself and trust Felix. He had no knowledge of what was going on outside— he just knew that Felix was with him, completely surrounding him with his presence. The thought left Pepper feeling somewhat dazed.

Pepper closed his eyes, resting his head back. He could hear Felix speaking to someone, and felt the shifting of gravity as Felix moved his hand, but he willfully ignored all of the noise in favor of peace of mind.

Felix was correct; it only took a few minutes for the sleeve to be tugged away. Pepper straightened up within Felix’s palm, squinting at the sudden onslaught of light, feeling like a frazzled baby bird.

Felix seemed to feel the same way. He hid a teasing smile, blue gaze dancing away respectfully as Pepper attempted to flatten his shaggy hair. “Sorry. Should’ve given you a warning.”

“It’s fine. As long as there’s no one around…”

Pepper trailed off. He had glanced around in search of other humans— but the room they were in was empty. Dark walls stretched around them, the floor expansive, and for a moment Pepper was reminded of being inside of the walls, with its enormous passageways and empty space.

Several gold-framed paintings adorned the walls, each one lit dramatically. Pepper’s breath left his body, and he immediately leaned towards the painting closest to them, attempting to see the little details. “Holy shit. Is this real?”

Felix seemed a little surprised by his reaction, but he approached the painting nonetheless, lifting his hand higher so Pepper could see. 

The painting beamed down at Pepper, an abstract rendition of two young girls playing on a swing set. Pepper wasn’t unfamiliar with fancy artwork, but this was the first time he had seen a painting with such detail or color. His gaze danced to the label below it.

“This is from 1986? These paintings are old!”

“You have no idea,” Felix teased, bringing his hand to his shoulder. Pepper quickly got the idea, scrambling up onto the dark sweater vest, double checking to make sure no other humans were in the room. “There’s artwork here that’s hundreds of years old.”

Pepper’s mind was racing. He had sewn clothes and drawn doodles in his journals for years, but most of his artwork tended to fall apart over time. It just seemed to be natural for paint to smudge and threads to wear down. He couldn’t imagine preserving something for hundreds of years.

As they examined the paintings surrounding them, Pepper rattled off questions, thrilled. A lot of things Felix couldn’t answer, because he wasn’t exactly a trained painter— but he was happy to see Pepper so excited.

Just as they reached the last painting, a young couple entered the room. Felix fell quiet at their presence, and after Pepper ducked against Felix’s neck in surprise, he took it as his cue to leave.

The panic in Pepper died down almost instantly as Felix moved to another section, filled with more paintings of wildly different styles. Pepper, recalling just how large the building had appeared from the outside, beamed with the realization of how much artwork there must be to explore.

The minutes flew by as they moved from painting to painting, speaking softly. Pepper remained enraptured the entire time.

“That one looks like you,” Pepper commented as they observed a painting of a tall, ghostly man. Felix snorted.

“Right. And you’re the bird.”

A tiny bird rested in the ghostly man’s hand, barely a stroke of paint. Cupped in the thin, pale fingers, the bird was barely noticeable.

Pepper blinked, then punched Felix’s neck. “Shut up.” 

The borrower was incredibly grateful for how quiet the museum was, something he hadn’t expected it to be. The borrower usually pictured every human structure to be filled with movement and noise— but the silence of the museum was a pleasant surprise. 

Pepper’s gaze drifted towards Felix, examining the length of his jawline and the smoothness of his cheek. The human was speaking quietly, discussing the origins of the painting in front of them, but Pepper was more focused on the movement of Felix’s jaw and fighting the sudden dizzying urge to reach out and touch it. 

Flushing, he turned back towards the painting, gently grasping Felix’s hoop earring for stability.

Only when they entered a room filled with towering human statues did Pepper remember exactly what he was— a borrower, currently on a date with a human.

A fluttery feeling filled Pepper’s chest, and he subconsciously straightened up, sending Felix a glance. He suddenly wondered if Felix had been on dates before.

The human had never mentioned any past romantic experiences, and the thought made Pepper feel a little uncomfortable. Was Felix comparing this date to any previous dates? Surely dating a borrower was significantly worse than dating another human, right?

“You okay?”

Pepper blinked, realizing he had fallen silent. His gaze turned towards a marble statue, towering over him, the details incredibly intricate. “Yeah, I… yeah. Sorry, just lost in thought.”

Felix’s voice was gentle, polite. Pepper momentarily hated him and his never-ending patience. “What were you thinking about?”

Pepper hesitated, drumming his fingers over his knees. For a moment, he thought about sharing all of these negative thoughts with Felix— but what would be the point? Felix had asked him out on a date, as soulmates. It didn’t matter what might have happened in the past.

Exhaling, Pepper dropped his shoulders, lifting his gaze to the next shoulder. A warm feeling in his chest, he inched closer to Felix, placing a small, steady hand on the human’s neck. He could feel the heartbeat underneath, quickening.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Pepper murmured, heart fluttering.

Felix’s shoulder shifted underneath him, surprised, before the human spoke again. His voice was as gentle as ever. “Of course.”

-----

they can have one nice chapter where nothing bad happens. as a treat

happy pride month!

TAGLIST: @smallsday @compact-katrina @satethesatelite @taters169 @entomolog-t @gtzel @gt-newbie @da3dm @clumsiergiantess @vee-normous @fee-hunter @torakan @mabelisthebatman @andithewhumper @mothsintherain @violetlight @heroofthe13thday @phoenix-on-the-run @houseboatmac @dav8530

[authorforrosie]

Book: Her

Pairing: Rosé x female reader

Warning: fluffiness and mention of hard career

Words:867

Quote: „I would not wish any companion in the world but you." William Shakespeare.

In the overfilled city of Los Angeles, nestled amidst rolling hills, loud noises, many crowds across the streets, a lot of architecture and blooming meadows, there resided two souls destined by the stars to meet and entwine their fates. You who has the name Y/N, a gifted photographer who was hired by the vogue with an eye that saw the world's beauty in every shadow and light, and Rosé Park, a K-Pop singer whose voice could summon tears from even the hardest hearts. A member of one of the most famous girl groups called blackpink.

The future of the blonde dyed woman unknown since she recently just debuted with her first solo album, many tears shed which reminded of water filled oceans. The amount of love like no other written in every lyric, heartbreaking lyrics that broke hearts with each beautiful vocals.

A weight of having to be perfect still weighted on Rosé's shoulders. Since she had a reputation of the perfect singer in the k-pop industry as a blackpink member. It left her more vulnerable as a solo artists with an unknown music journey in the future. Each blackpink member is trying to break out of the "perfect" reputation. Jennie even released a rap about the management holding them back from achieving big things in the music industry in a ad.

The tale begins one fateful award event on a certain night, when the event was alive with the sounds of the loud conversation of celebrities. Lights glowed like stars fallen to earth, and the scent of perfumes and blooming adrenaline filled the air. You, ever the observer of life's fleeting moments, wandered through the crowd with your camera, capturing the joyous faces and tender celebrities as only humans being scenes that unfolded before your eyes

As night descended, the event reached its crescendo with the arrival of Rosé, the golden voice loved by many on stage with a baby pink mic in her hand. Her voice, rich with emotions while sweet like honey, filled the air with melodies that spoke of love, being lost, and longing. You, drawn by the haunting beauty of her song, found yourself standing at the edge of the crowd, your heart thrumming in time with the music. You could feel the emotions she poured in her song's through your veins.

Your eyes met across the sea of faces, and in that moment, a spark ignited. Rosé's voice faltered as he gazed upon you, a vision of grace and elegance, your camera poised like an artist's brush while she continued to sing, but her heart now sang for you alone.

After Rosé's performance, she sought out the mysterious photographer. Rosé found you siting next at another celebrity. You looked absolutely breathtaking in her opinions which made her not wanting to lose an opportunity to have a conversation with you.

"Hi pretty, you look lonely. You caught my eyes while I was performing. A beautiful camera by the way." said Rosé while her australian accent could be heard, " your presence has inspire my soul. I am but a humble singer, yet I feel compelled to capture the essence of the beauty in song, as thou dost capture the world in thine art."

Your cheeks flushed with the warmth of her words, replied, "Good darling, your voice has moved me like no other. I am Y/N, a seeker of truth and beauty through the lens of my camera. Might I have the honor of capturing the likeness, that I may remember this night forever?"

Rosé was grateful that she had some self-control otherwise she would've flushed red cheeks by your reply. Your words took her breath literally away.

Thus began your journey of love, each discovering the depths of the other's soul through your shared passion for art. Both of you spent countless hours together, exploring the event later even a little bit of LA and surrounding crowds, capturing the world's wonders in photograph and song.

Rosé would sing as you photographed, her melodies weaving through the air like golden threads, binding your hearts ever closer. You, in turn, would find new inspiration in Rosé's music, your photographs revealing the hidden beauty that her voice evoked.

Your love for each other blossomed, unfettered by the trials and tribulations that life often brings. Both of you were kindred spirits, united by your art and your love for one another. Your bond with Rosé grew ever stronger, a testament to the power of love to transcend the boundaries of time and space.

Years passed, your love story became legendary in the music industry. The music industry was forever changed by both of your presence, and the memory of both of yours love endured, passed down through generations of singers as a symbol of the enduring power of art and the human spirit.

And so, in the twilight of your lives, you and Rosé, your hearts still entwined, looked back upon your journey together with gratitude and joy. For you both had found in each other a love that transcended the ordinary, a love that was truly extraordinary.

[queer-geordie-dyke]

"My new colleague, Andreas Katsulas, the actor whom I could have met years ago in Paris but didn’t (I lived in Paris on a theater grant while he was there working with my idol, Peter Brook), impresses me deeply on the first day I meet him. His whole face AND body are covered by make-up.

He sees me one day on the set, as I’m sulking over my sad destiny. He sits down by me, in front of the sound stage, in the blistering August heat, lights up a cigarette and puts it into his mouth, the only part of his face not covered with latex (he’s undoubtedly braver and more committed than me, having let “Them” put black lenses into his eyes). “Just remember: all acting started with masks,” says Andreas. “Try to find freedom within the new frame. Try to think of the restriction as liberation.” Watching him work, I clearly understand what he means. I’ve never met an actor with such unlimited freedom.

And what else is the ultimate goal of every actor, of every artist in fact, but achieving freedom? In his work? In her life? Not only is my vanity and my whole sense of identity (as a woman, as an actor, as a human being) shaken on every level; I’m also dripping with sweat under the unforgiving California sun. Waiting for my shot, I pant and whine to whoever wants to listen. I notice: Andreas never, ever complains. “Think of the old country,” he advises me. “Think of all those old ladies back home (he himself is of Greek origin, so we are neighbors in a way and we like it), those women covered from head to toe in heavy black cloth. It’s a simple technique: you sweat and let that sweat cool you down. Try it.” Ah, Andreas. Could there have been a better role model for me? I became and still am his humble student."

- Mira Furlan, Love Me More Than Anything In the World

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Yan Wushi and Shen Qiao Comparison

The author of Thousand Autumns, Meng Xi Shi, wrote in the Foreword, "The two leads have extreme personalities that are diametric opposites: one finds joy in helping people, while the other resolutely believes that human nature is evil. But because both are them are incredibly strong, they cannot convince each other. And so when they meet, they’re destined to clash in a blaze of intense sparks." While I reread the series, I collected a few of my favorite quotes that described Yan Wushi and Shen Qiao's personalities and world views so I could compare them side by side. It is amazing how two characters who are polar opposites can complement each other so well.

Shen Qiao: “When it comes to worth, every heart weighs it differently. Grudges have a source, and debts a debtor, but involving innocent people should never be commended. When you don’t save the people you could have, when you don’t take action when you could have, a shadow lodges in your heart forever. Whether other people know about it—whether they’ll feel grateful—that’s their business.”

Yan Wushi: As always, whenever Yan Wushi opened his mouth, sarcastic comments streamed out. Hearing them was enough to make any listener grit their teeth. But with the way he stood upon the cliff face, hands clasped behind his back and robes dancing, the assembled spectators simply had to look up to him as well. His achievements and martial arts, his incredible strength—many understood that they’d never reach such heights. It was human nature to admire those of great strength, and if anyone claimed they felt no trace of admiration for the egotistical Huanyue Sect Leader—who had the power to warrant such an ego—they’d be lying.

Shen Qiao: Even when he’d fallen into the mire, when he was smeared with dust and grime and was at anyone’s mercy, still he struggled back to his feet and walked onward, step by step. His comrades’ betrayal, his kindness being repaid with enmity—it was as if he’d taken none of it to heart.

Yan Wushi: But Yan Wushi was the kind of man who reserved even his egotism and conceit for those on his level. The mediocre remainder weren’t worth his attention, so he couldn’t care less what they said or thought.

Shen Qiao: “During our time in this world, everyone has to make their own choices. Some will choose to preserve their lives at all costs, and some will choose to give up their lives for their reputation or to demonstrate their innocence. In all cases, there is nothing to criticize. Only during the darkest hour will one’s true self emerge.

Yan Wushi: This Huanyue Sect Leader’s character was just as the rumors painted him: mercurial and unpredictable. Even after they’d spent so much time together, Shen Qiao still dared not say that he completely understood him.

Shen Qiao: “There are many people in this world. Some of them good, some of them bad. But even more can’t be categorized as simply ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Their thoughts may be different from yours, and the paths they choose may also be different... You mustn’t reject others just because they’re different from you. As a person, you have to be like an ocean that embraces the hundred rivers: tolerant and broad-minded. The same holds true as a martial artist. The narrow-minded are limited in what they can achieve. Even if they reach the summit, they won’t be able to stand there for long.”

Yan Wushi: In Yan Wushi’s eyes, the incompetent would never be worthy of his attention. Counting decades into the past, there’d been one exception in Shen Qiao, but there was only one Shen Qiao. No one else deserved any extra concern from him, even if they were his disciples. He’d already taught his disciples his skills; if they needed his protection in everything, why bother wandering the jianghu? They might as well bash open their heads and die.

Shen Qiao: He was happy to treat others with kindness, and he didn’t care how much he gained or lost in exchange. But when other people returned him a similar kindness, to the point that they were willing to die for him, it was far harder for him than simply receiving nothing in the first place.

Yan Wushi: Shen Qiao shook his head. “He’s not cruelhearted—he never had a heart in the first place. He treats everyone in the world with the same callousness, and he’ll never be particularly gentle toward anyone...”

Shen Qiao: In this world there are many, many situations where giving someone something doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll receive anything in return. When you choose to give, you must remember this, or else the only one hurt will be you.”

Yan Wushi: In Shen Qiao's opinion, Yan Wushi had no reason to bring trouble down on himself like this. But ultimately, Yan Wushi was Yan Wushi. If he moved according to other people’s expectations, he wouldn’t be Yan Wushi anymore.

Shen Qiao: “From the great Dao springs forth many thousand paths,” said Shen Qiao. “Some are fast, some slow, but none are better than any other.”

Yan Wushi: He adored Shen Qiao to a ridiculous degree, but this kind of adoration was usually expressed through teasing and bullying.

And what they think of each other by the end of the series:

Just as Shen Qiao was thinking this, he heard Yan Wushi say, “A-Qiao, do you know?” “Mm?” Shen Qiao returned to himself. “In the past, I classified all humans into two categories.” “Mm,” said Shen Qiao. He knew this. “They were either your opponents or insects.” Opponents were those who could stand on equal footing with him. Insects were the ones not worth his attention. In the past, Shen Qiao had been an insect in his eyes. “But now,” Yan Wushi said leisurely, “I’ve changed my way of thinking. A-Qiao, you’re different from most people in the world. You have compassion for all mankind carved into your bones, to the point that you’re willing to give yourself up for others without asking for anything in return. In the past, I thought you were the same as everyone else: you might start out good and innocent, but the world is fickle, and in the end it’d teach you to change as well. But you went completely beyond my expectations. Human affairs are like a stream, yet you are a rock. No matter how the stream flows, you will never shift.” Shen Qiao gave a brief laugh. “It’s rare to hear Sect Leader Yan praise me. How remarkable! This humble Daoist is greatly honored.” “Do you still hold a grudge against me in your heart?” Shen Qiao shook his head. “No, it’s the exact opposite. I admire you greatly. There aren’t many people in this world who can live so willfully, but Sect Leader Yan is one of them. Before I left the mountain, the only world and jianghu I knew was the tiny little space that my late master had told me about. I’d never seen it with my own eyes. If not for Yan Wushi’s instruction, I wouldn’t be alive listening to you say these things now.”