#who is at fault for that (both for the initial fall and the never ending Cain and Able struggle in which you find yourself)?

[bewitched-hours]

Hello there ! first of al you are realy cool writet:D

and second of all can l have small request so l have idea fantasy!forsaken /Yan!azuretime ×lapis lazuli reader like reader is a water gem robloxian and live in water towers whit their kind and azure and two time meet whit them by accident and fall in love whit reader (reader have same traumas like lapis lazuli)

Gonna be honest, I genuinely had trouble reading this but I'll still happily do it! And thanks for the compliment! I love Steven Universe so this is gonna be a lot of fun!

Reader gets She/Her-

Being a gem was never easy.

Sure, your kind were adored for keeping this world in such great condition and bringing balance to the elements but...

Sometimes it got overwhelming.

That's why you preferred your time in the water towers you made with your fellow water gems. You could hide from the public there and relax... Usually.

Hell, you didn't even mind the occasional visitors if they were being polite but maybe that's why you ended up in a mirror.

No... Who were you kidding... You had no fault in this.

It was all the gem war that started this. A war where all of gemkind were wrapped into the chaos and had to choose between fighting and fleeing.

But you took too long to choose and ended up sealed into your gem form to be put into a mirror and show the holder whatever they want from a moment in history.

You never forgot... And you wanted out...

You've been held by many people, told to show them different points in time which forced you to relive those memories even if you weren't apart of them initially.

You figured you could finally rest when you were hidden away from prying eyes and left in darkness after a crack in your gem messed with your abilities. They finally grew tired of you not functioning and left you to rot in your own abyss...

Naturally, it was a shock to see another face again. Much less that of a regular robloxian.

You were confused at first, trying to figure out how much time had passed as they called out to someone to take a better look at your current form.

They creeped you out a bit but you'd take any chance for freedom you could get. You just had to wait and spend enough time with them to hopefully form your own sentences to communicate.

You fortunately- or unfortunately- knew you couldn't access the long-forgotten history anymore. There was no more torture but also no way to call for help because you just knew if you had called for help when you could, those who knew would've only punished you for being unruly.

"Azure! Come look at this!" Two Time called out as they held your prison of polished silver with a reflective metal framed with turtle shell and gold. Back in the times where this mirror was made, it could've sold for a lot. It gave you an odd sense of pride back then.

Another face came into view before both of them seemed to admire your little prison... If only they knew...

Regardless, you were patient. You watched whatever the mirror allowed you to see as they took you away and brought you to a small cabin by the ocean.

Although they didn't place you in a way where you could see the waves, hearing them was just as comfortable as you allowed them to inspect your gem.

"I wonder what happened..." Azure muttered.

Oh, you would've happily shown them the war that happened after robloxians got a little too greedy and decided to spark a war between gems... But alas...

"Well, we could try to get it out but it seems stuck pretty deep... It would sell better after being repaired." Two Time's words stuck to you like a needle. They didn't know you were alive but thinking of being sold was... Unpleasant...

It was over the span of the next few days where you could capture enough from them to start your plan.

It started small, grabbing their attention by butting into their conversation with a suggestion you picked up from Azure, using their own morning greetings to wish them a good morning, that stuff.

Once they actually began talking to you did things go quicker.

They'd learn fast that you can only repeat back what they've indirectly taught you and they tried to use that to figure out more about you. It wasn't too surprising but you've been able to explain you were the gem on the back of the mirror and that you needed to be freed.

You promised them you'd do anything for your freedom and they agreed to talk about your end of the deal once you were out. You couldn't thank them enough for it.

Maybe you should've never asked them in the first place. Just stay quiet and wait for another century or two. It would've been easy.

But no, you were too eager to move again.

The real story started when they finally got you out. They somehow managed to put in enough force but still be as careful as ever when they pulled you out and you were able to reform. You didn't have any pupils because your gem was still cracked so your eyes were a little more reflective.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" You practically rushed to see them up close and show them your gratitude. "I-I can finally move! I can see freely!"

You spun around and materialized your water wings to make sure your gem was still properly intact.

But you didn't forget your end of the deal.

"What can I do to show my gratitude?" You smiled softly, not realizing they had both been mesmerized by your beauty and quietly agreed on something while you had been spinning and looking at the stars.

"We want you to stay with us." Were the words that sealed your fate. Innocent at first glance and you were too overwhelmed with the feeling of freedom to really deny.

With a simple handshake, your fate was sealed and you were effectively bound to them until the day they'd die.

You could still be around the cabin and play with the water like you used to but they were patient in showing you why they wanted you to stay with them.

From the moment they laid their eyes on you, it was an obsession. They wanted to be the only ones admiring your beauty and gentle nature but they didn't want you to get scared or lose your smile.

It started with convincing you that you would be taken away and tortured if you were found out along with some convenient coincidences where strangers were being pushy with you and they stepped in to protect you... It just helped that you had a more timid nature with strangers now that you were out and vulnerable again.

Then it evolved into little affectionate gestures and convincing you they wanted to make you feel safe and comfortable even though you couldn't figure out where other gems were.

Eventually they even had you convinced that any gems spotted were crushed and turned into jewelry, which further aided in keeping you dependant on them.

It was through all that, all their work, that eventually got them to their goal when you confessed you've felt a strong draw to them and they were quick to reciprocate. It made your heart flutter and you never once considered questioning them, making their prepared excuses for nothing.

Although, you could've sworn that they'd whisper about their obsession with you whenever you dozed off... But they'd always tell you you must be hearing things...

If anyone picked up on the fact I used a mirror specifically from medieval times in this, you get a cookie (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[valvesoftware]

breakups are so fucking weird. three years and just like that it's gone. huh

[age-of-moonknight]

“Vengeance Never Dies,” Moon Knight: City of the Dead (Vol. 1/2023), #5.

Writer: David Pepose; Penciler: Marcelo Ferreira; Inker: Jay Leisten; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[valleydolli]

𐙚 Ao3 Fics I’ve read and love 𐙚

𐙚 infidelity by @tawus (completed)

gojo x fem reader

Your marriage to Gojo Satoru lost its initial excitement, since your husband spent all his time either at Jujutsu Tech or on exorcism missions across the world. To ease your loneliness, you picked up your favorite pastime from your student years — clubbing — behind his back. Too bad that on Satoru’s most recent mission he spots his wife dancing in a nightclub with a bunch of guys in the skimpiest dress he has ever seen on her…

𐙚 desert rose by @sadistic-kiss (on going)

all jjk men x fem reader 😭

Toji Fushiguro finds you during one of his hitman jobs. With no idea what to do with you he decides to bring you home to his house of misfits. They weren’t picture perfect but neither were you.

𐙚 mascara by @/softstellars (on going)

geto x fem reader

You've never been a particularly good person, you're self-aware enough to know it. It's your only flaw, and recently you've actually been working to better yourself. For example: paying for a 30-dollar Uber so you can take your friend home only for her to ditch you for some guy when it comes down to it. Although you’re pissed, you decide to try and make the best of it instead of get into a screaming match with her. It's an easy thing to do when Getou Suguru is offering you everything to do just that. Everything a party entails: liquor, weed, and sex with a perfect stranger. And Getou knows perfectly well you have a boyfriend, so it's not like he'll want anything serious.

𐙚 a pearl by @lemonlover1110 (completed and posted on tumblr!)

toji x fem reader

The Fushiguros needed a nanny, and the pay was too good to not apply, especially since your family needed financial help. You were the perfect nanny for the kids, they loved you as if you were their own mother. Slowly, you built up the perfect relationship with the family. Especially with Mr. Fushiguro. A man who would constantly visit you after dark. A man who you thought had sincere intentions but at the end of the day didn't care about you. A selfish man who just saw you as a tool to make his wife mad. A man who didn't care about you but didn't want you with anyone else. A man that took away your ability to know what a healthy relationship was. You couldn't speak up about it since all the fault would fall at your feet and would be deemed as the "homewrecker".

𐙚 you, my angel and my saint by @lemonlover1110 (completed and posted on tumblr!)

toji x fem reader

sequel to a pearl!

After having an affair with your boss, you're left to deal with the consequences, those being: two exhausting new jobs and a child. A child that he never got to know the existence of. Now all you had to do was keep her hidden, which should be an easy task, right?

𐙚 rings by @/bungeemum (on going)

toji x fem reader

you divorced the man in front of you for a reason. so why was he standing on your doorstep, guilt plastered on his face, and eyes glinting with hope?

𐙚 a dangerous game by @/anaoyuo (completed)

gojo x fem reader

geto x fem reader

Both men agreed to a game about who fucks you first, but they didn't play their cards right. Gojo and Geto changed the course of the game when they decided to keep you around for way longer than intended, making you fall for their sweet way to deprave you, and now you have to face the consequences in a gamble that they call their life.

𐙚 fate’s gamble by @/anaoyuo (on going)

gojo x fem reader

geto x fem reader

sequel to a dangerous game

缘分— a story about predestined affinity, set in a world where the intoxicating thrills of wealth intertwine with amorality.

𐙚 him & i by @pharixden (on going)

gojo x fem reader

toji x fem reader

sukuna x fem reader

A cheating husband, a widowed bodyguard and a malevolent fling of the past who owes a favour isn’t a combination for the faint of heart, but not every girl is a damsel in distress.

𐙚 changes by @lemonlover1110 (on going also on tumblr!)

gojo x fem reader

From childhood friends to lovers to mere strangers. Your love story with Satoru Gojo was one from a fairy tail, until it wasn't. When you were twenty-one, Satoru left you without an explanation. Five years later, you meet again but nothing is quite the same. Too many things need to be explained, especially the fact that there's another Gojo that Satoru has yet to meet.

𐙚 the man in apartment 381 by @lemonlover1110 (completed also on tumblr!)

toji x fem reader

Looking for a new beginning after the death of your husband, you move away from town. That's when you meet him, Toji Fushiguro, a widower with a three-year-old son. You two understand each other, which draws you close. Except you two don't realize that feelings would eventually develop, and neither of you want that. Feelings are the last thing you two want after finding out the great damage that they can cause. When you two discover this, it's too late.

𐙚 4th avenue viewing by @/softstellars (completed)

nanami x fem reader

Nanami Kento is intelligent, serious, reserved and can easily catch someone in a lie. It's his job to do just that, he's renowned for it. So when he comes to your university to offer up an internship, it's quite the opportunity. Anyone would jump at the chance, except for you. But no, you just had to be the one caught in a lie.

𐙚 forgotten souls by @/killerpoultry & @/bebobopobo (completed)

sukuna x fem reader

You and Sukuna have been married for years. Even though he is brash, mean, and sadistic, you love him more than anything. While he may not show it much, he truly loves you too. One day you get into a terrible car accident and lose all your memories. You learn to live once more while Sukuna must now get you to fall in love with him all over again.

𐙚 love kills by @/sourome (on going)

i actually don’t know 😭 i think toji x fem reader

The wealthy and successful Zenin family, well respected and seemingly perfect. But all that glitters is not gold. Toji Zenin, CEO and face of the Zenin Group acts like a gentleman but is a vile creature that has ruined many lives, such as yours. That married man dared to play with your mother’s heart many years ago, destroying her sanity and her life and ultimately killing her. Now years later and being all grown up you decide to seek revenge, he deserves to suffer that same destiny and die of love. With the help of a few friends you plan to become a part of his life and his every thought but you didn't take into account his son, that man had the potential to turn your plans upside down.

𐙚 the black swan by @uselesslydamaged (completed)

sukuna x fem reader

Loving someone is easy, but experiencing it is harder.

𐙚 bodyguard by @/succybuss (on going)

toji x fem reader

Your Grandfather, a man involved in unsavory businesses that has taken you under his wing, has informed you that you will be under the care of a full-time Bodyguard. Unhappy with your grandfather's decision, you decide to go out for a night of drinking for your last night of freedom. There, you encounter a man you planned on taking home, but life had other plans in store for you...

𐙚 violet lights by @septembersummer (completed)

gojo x fem reader

In which you're at a party that you should've skipped when you capture the attention of a boy who looks like an angel and grins like the devil. He looks beautiful in the neon lights, and maybe you just want to make your ex-boyfriend jealous, but trouble with a tongue ring does sound like fun, just for tonight. What's the worst that could happen, you know?

𐙚 starboy by @septembersummer (completed)

gojo x fem reader

sequel to violet lights

After your ex-boyfriend gets arrested on national television, you find yourself realizing that you really didn’t know much at all about Gojo Satoru. Well, he’s better known in the Yakuza as The Six Eyes, not that he ever told you that.

𐙚 sweet little lies by @/mooglepaws (on going)

toji x fem reader

Megumi Fushiguro is the perfect Fiancé. Caring, loyal, successful, devastatingly handsome and crazy in love with you. So how and why do you end up fucking his Dad? As your wedding looms and the consequences of your affair unfold, you have to make a choice between the Fushiguro men.

This is a Toji x Reader x Megumi but the smut is almost exclusively Toji x Reader focusing on their affair.

𐙚 the twist of a knife by @darkcat23 (on going)

gojo x fem reader

This world is dull, colourless in your eyes. You are just trying to keep going with your life, not bothering anyone, trying to support your mother and yourself. So what happens when you agree to help your ex one night? And what if you catch the attention of a certain white haired assassin? And he shows you just how colourful this world truly is. or, a story of a girl with a violent mind and a boy with violent tendencies, finding each other, intertwining, and feeding off one another. perhaps it is fate that has brought them together. or perhaps it's something more sinister, something more cold.

𐙚 untameable waves by @/circedemedici

(unknown i guess hopefully i can let you know)

has been taken down i dont know if it’ll come back but if it does i’ll link it! but i’m leaving it here because it was most definitely my favourite :(

please let me know any other fics you’ve read because i love reading fics with a LOT of plot and also let me know if you end up reading any and you enjoy them as much as i did! :3

i think i used every tag known to man LOL 𐙚

[tossawary]

I've been toying with a "third transmigrator" AU for SVSSS in which the third transmigrator is a teenage girl who ends up in Luo Binghe. This teenage girl tried to read PIDW because someone else liked it, but didn't get far because she didn't like it.

Disinclined to follow the plot, the teenage girl decides to transition, because fuck it (crying breakdown), she doesn't want to be a guy. Ning Yingying is initially the only one in on it (and then some Qian Cao Peak people). This new Luo Binghe knows JUST enough about the plot of PIDW to avoid Shen Qingqiu's attention as much as possible and so swears Ning Yingying to secrecy regarding the transition. She intends to hide it until the Transmigration System lets up on the missions and restrictions a little.

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is like, "How am I supposed to improve my relationship with the protagonist if i never see him? Did he just jump out a window to avoid me?! Also, hmph, the bullies are all calling him 'Luo-Shimei' now? Just because he's pretty??? I had better go tell them off for it!"

(Shen Qingqiu, please, your students are getting the impression that you're transphobic!!!)

If Luo Binghe's transition comes out before the Immortal Alliance Conference, Shen Yuan is going to 1) think it's his own fault somehow and 2) be more than a little weird (and a little transphobic) about it.

Shen Yuan (internally): "Oh, shit, NOT abusing the protagonist turned him into a girl??? How does that work???"

The endgame relationship here is a messy love triangle between Luo Binghe, Ning Yingying, and Ming Fan. Ming Fan is like, "What do you do when the shidi you hate falls down the stairs and nearly dies, and then apparently can't remember you used to bully him and expects you to be a good shixiong, and becomes best friends with the girl you like but also starts turning into a cute girl too??? But you can't tell Shizun any of this otherwise the girl you like will kill you???" Ning Yingying is like, "I was so caught up in the thrill of makeovers and having a new sister that I forgot to examine why, when she's approached by guys, I want to tear their throats out with my teeth. Ming-Shixiong is not good enough for A-Luo!!!" And Luo Binghe is like, "Wow, Ning Yingying is such a good friend. And so pretty. I could stare into her eyes for hours. Ming Fan is kind of a jerk sometimes, but he's cute, I guess. He needs to shape up if he wants to win Ning Yingying's heart someday! She married a guy, so she's definitely into guys."

This third transmigrator isn't paying too much attention to their own love life partially because they're too busy 1) trying to survive, 2) trying to do right by their friends, and 3) trying to figure out if Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge are in a "toxic yaoi relationship" and, if so, which one of them tops more frequently and where Yue Qingyuan fits into things.

If you haven't guessed yet, this third transmigrator is actually Shen Yuan's younger sister, who transmigrated at like 16 years old at the oldest. This identity reveal comes out at the Immortal Alliance Conference, seconds before disaster (the push into the Endless Abyss), and no earlier. It does not go well. The Transmigration System is mostly to blame.

Live Shang Qinghua Reaction: "Oh, fucking yikes, bro."

This Luo Binghe hands a lot of control over to Meng Mo to get out of the Endless Abyss. An inadvisable amount of control, really, even if Meng Mo is soft on the girl. Afterwards, they sort of stumble into the arms of Huan Hua Palace. Shen Yuan's sister did not read far enough to know pretty much anything about this sect, especially not that it's a terrible idea to be here while being both a Heavenly Demon and (post-transition) looking like even MORE of an identical clone of Su Xiyan.

(Tianlang-Jun and Zhuzhi-Lang ARE both going to be kind of awful and weird about it, yes, at least initially.)

Gongyi Xiao, after showing basic kindness to this poor young woman: "Hey, why are those two Qing Jing Peak disciples glaring at me like they want me dead?"

[heeseungiez]

crushology 101 | part 1

synopsis! after a bad breakup with a guy you didn’t even find attractive leaves you reeling, you vow never to date anyone you don’t actually find hot… problem is, somehow, you ended up with five of them in your life, all at once?

featuring! tomorrow x together and many other idols (for like 3 seconds)

pairings! ot5 x gn!reader

genre! college au, fluff, inspired by crushology 101 (the kdrama) and the og work bunny and her oppas by nieun!

word count! 8k

a/n! to be completely honest, i initially wanted this to be a one-shot? but then i thought it might be more fun to cut it off where i did. i can also post it now instead of waiting longer yano... soooooo enjoy this silly little realistically unrealistic college au with tubatu

check out my masterlist!

part 1 | part 2

Choi Yeonjun. Choi Soobin. Choi Beomgyu. Kang Taehyun. Huening Kai. 

Five guys, each more handsome than the other. All of them vying for your attention. How did you end up here? Well… the story isn’t exactly short. But there is enough time to at least get into the important parts. 

So, where shall we begin?

Right…

A year ago, a few months after you started your first year at university, you found a boyfriend. However, he wasn’t exactly conventionally attractive. You told yourself that it didn’t matter though, as long as your boyfriend genuinely liked you. And he was so nice, or at least he seemed to be. 

Your friends, Emma and Chloe, weren’t very convinced of his act and judged him harshly. Back then, you thought it was because they just didn’t find him attractive, so all of his faults were all the more obvious to them. But it wasn’t his looks that were the problem.

The son of a bitch dated you for months, only to try to prove to his friends that you were easy. Jokes on him, because you were nowhere near that. He didn’t get into your pants even after months of his stupid act, and you ended up nursing a broken heart over what? A scumbag who wasn’t even all that.

And he had the nerve to say you — YOU — were out of his league. Honestly… you might not be a top model, but when a man who is three steps away from being an incel says that about you… it does hurt. (And you hurt him back, though beating up your boyfriend turned ex did no good things for your reputation.)

From that point forward, you promised yourself to only date men that you found attractive. At least, so you can cry over someone other people won’t call a rat, or would sympathise with you rather than give you judgy looks.

Yet your best solution for the following semester was to just… not date at all. It was easy too, when people remembered you as the crazy ex who managed to break a guy’s rib. 

So you didn’t date. You lived your life in sweet, sweet peace all the way until the summer semester of your second year. Until he appeared in your life. The first of five…

It’s a regular day for you as you go to class. Your first day of a new semester and a new subject for credits. Everyone you know from the upper years has had only great things to say about the professor teaching it, so you couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to register for it and witness the teachings of Professor Lee himself. 

Not to mention it’s actually incredibly hard to get into the class since it has a limit of twenty students per semester, and prioritizes both speed and overall grades when signing up for the course. So being first to sign up doesn’t mean you’re in, but having a perfect score but signing up late also doesn’t guarantee it. Which also means none of your friends got into the subject. 

You enter the class, entirely oblivious to your surroundings as you scroll through your playlist, music blasting in your headphones. A bag with your laptop hangs on your shoulder, and thinking back to it, you should’ve paid attention. 

Colliding with a student who was busy talking to someone was certainly not on your itinerary. Even worse, your loosely slung bag falls off your shoulder, the loud thud of your laptop and other belongings almost reminiscent of the dip your heart makes. 

Every piece of work you have ever made is on that laptop. Sure, the most important bits are saved on external drivers and the cloud but the small things, the seemingly unimportant things, the ones waiting to be used, those will never see the light of day if your laptop breaks. 

“Fuck, no, no…” You instantly crouch to check the state of your laptop. Is it intact? Yes. Will it boot? You can’t say for sure until you open it. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The person you bumped into apologizes, though you don’t blame him at all. His hands reach for the other items that spread across the floor while you check the state of your laptop. “I can pay for repairs if it’s not—”

His voice dies down when your laptop boots, and you let out a huge sigh of relief at the device’s tenacity. Finally, you can look up at the man that nearly caused you a heart attack by practically blocking the entrance. 

And your heart actually stops. 

One of the most beautiful faces you have ever seen graces your vision, and your eyes widen in disbelief. He has the kind of look that reminds you of summer, of full fields of colorful flowers, and running through meadows under the bright sun in the middle of July. It’s the boyish kind of look your teenage self would most certainly write heartbreaking love songs about, imagining an infinite amount of “what if” scenarios. 

“I know you,” the guy breaks your daydream, a smile appearing on his pouty lips. “Y/N, right? I’ve seen you around a lot.”

“I—” you can’t believe a man like this knows who you are. Mainly because you don’t know who he is, and you swear you would remember him if you met him before. 

He chuckles at your flustered state, understanding the situation easily. “I’m Yeonjun. Choi Yeonjun,” he introduces himself casually, as if it made all the sense in the world that you don’t know him, but he knows you. “I was wondering if you’d take the class this semester.” He grins like he’s happy to know that you are taking it. 

The more he speaks, the more confused you get. You stare at him like he’s grown a second head, and he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck in the most captivating way possible. His T-shirt rides up the slightest bit, revealing a toned torso that you did not need to catch a glimpse of. 

“Why would you—”

“Well, you’re a music major, right? Most people want to get into Mr. Lee’s class.”

“But you’re not a music major,” you say plainly, because you would remember, okay? You would know if this man shared your major. 

“No.” The corner of his lips rises in a soft smirk. “I’m a dance major, actually, but I’m really interested in producing, so I signed up and got in.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Yeonjun repeats with a soft grin. “You here alone? Wanna join me and—” He points toward a row of seats with a bunch of people you are familiar with. Like Seo Changbin, a third year music major. “Well, them.”

“Uh, sure. Yeah, I guess I can do that,” you stutter out, internally freaking out. Not only is this beautiful man asking you to sit with him and his friends, but one of those friends is also among the top students in your major. 

“I promise not to bite.” Yeonjun winks at you, and your entire world stops again, processing the whole interaction. 

He laughs. “Come sit with us. We plan to grab lunch after class, too, so you can join us.”

“Me?” You point at yourself quizzically, looking around. But everyone is already diligently seated, so it’s only you and Yeonjun at the entrance. 

“Well, unless there’s a really stunning spirit I can’t see standing next to you, then you are definitely the person I’m asking.”

You meet the second of five on the same day as Yeonjun. Because people tend to forget about the music room at campus, you use it for your own benefit quite often. Today is no different as you take advantage of the community instruments to work on one of your many projects. With headphones on your ears as you strum on the bass, trying to figure out the notes, you don’t notice anyone entering the room.

And he doesn’t notice you at first, either. He types away on his phone as he walks forward, completely unaware of his surroundings until his foot catches on one of the many scattered cables on the ground. He stumbles, and although he doesn’t fall, the phone in his hands does escape his hold, landing practically on your lap. Not before it hits you in the head, of course, to make the experience even worse.

“Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” The guy runs up to you immediately, inspecting you from head to toe as if the phone were a weapon that could cause you internal bleeding and a concussion.

And maybe it did, because when you look up into the face of the guy who is practically on his knees, begging for your forgiveness, your eyes make angel wings sprout from his back, and a halo levitates just above his golden hair.

He makes you think of the fresh spring air, walking through a cherry blossom path. He would catch a petal from the air for you, only to notice that there are already many of them stuck in your hair, and he would laugh so softly, with such affection in his eyes, that it would make your heart burst with love and adoration. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, hand hesitantly reaching for the spot where his phone hit you. “Did I hurt you?”

You reach out for his hand, stopping him before he could touch you. It’s warm, his hand, and with the redness of his cheeks, you assume it’s from the slight embarrassment he currently feels. With your lips pressed tight together, you shake your head.

“I’m fine,” you reply simply. “What happened anyway? Did you throw your phone at me or something?”

“Oh… you didn’t see?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, but your confused expression tells him enough to let out a breath of relief. It means he didn’t embarrass himself more than he thought he did. “In that case, I’d rather not disclose that information.”

“Fair enough.” You nod, ready to go back to your work. But the guy lingers by your side rather than leaving you alone. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m Huening Kai,” he introduces himself with a smile. “You’re Y/N, right? I’ve seen you around campus a bunch of times.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And I really like some of your projects. Professor Min has a habit of throwing around a lot of praise when it comes to you,” Kai shares the information with a grin, standing back up. He towers over you now, and you have to crane your head to see his face. “I think we’re in his class together this semester.”

“Oh, that’s great. We’ll see each other every week, then.” And your eyes will be blessed with the sight of one of the most good-looking creatures to ever exist on this earth — but you leave out that part, of course.

“And if you don’t have anyone to work on group projects with, then you can have me,” he adds light-heartedly, but the idea of working alongside someone as striking as Huening Kai sounds almost absurd to you. This is the second handsome guy suggesting to either sit or work with you in a class. And the phrasing? You can have me. Someone save your poor heart because it might explode. 

What the hell is going on?

“You’re not just trying to get a ride on my back, are you?” You raise a brow at him suspiciously, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“I’d never!” He raises his arms in defence. “I just… kinda don’t really have friends.”

“What!?” you spit out in disbelief, staring at the boy. 

“I mean I do have friends. It’s just that I don’t share any classes with them because they’re in different majors. That’s what I mean.” He chuckles nervously, looking away from you.

“Right… That makes sense.” You nod to yourself. “Sure, though, I wouldn’t mind working with you if there are any group projects.”

“That’s great.” Kai grins. “By the way, do you mind if I share the space with you? To be honest, I thought nobody’s gonna be here.”

“No problem. I come here for the exact same reason anyway.” You smile at him.

The two of you spend hours inside the music room in silence aside from the occasional question here and there. Huening Kai does make a habit of stealing glances at you quite often, and you’re not any different when it comes to watching him work. 

You meet the third of five at the bus stop. It’s late at night because you completely forgot about the time, and Huening Kai was no help either. The only reason both of you realized how late it had gotten was because Kai got a call from his younger sister about missing dinner with their parents.

Usually, at this late hour, nobody sits at the bus stop. But today, a guy stands tall, leaning against the frame of the bus schedule, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

Even from here, you can see he’s handsome. And uninterested too, which makes today somewhat easier as compared to what you experienced with Yeonjun and Huening Kai. 

The guy glances at you only when you walk toward him, stopping next to him to wait for the bus. His brows furrow as something catches his attention.

Before you know it, his attention is fully on you, a huge grin adorning his lips. “Are you listening to KARA?” he asks, pointing at your headphones. You had no idea that your music was that loud. 

“Yeah…” you reply.

“I love KARA!” the guy exclaims.

“They got me into music.” You smile at the memory and shrug. “I like to take inspiration from their songs when I’m working on my projects.”

“Oh? A music major?” the guy asks, and when you nod, he adds: “My friends study music at Yein University nearby, are you by chance—”

“Yeah.” You nod again. “And you?”

“I go to Batu University for media management, but it kind of goes hand in hand with the other guys… I’m Soobin, by the way. Choi Soobin.” He offers you his hand.

“Y/N,” you say with a smile. 

The bus arrives then, but as you both pleasantly find out, the two of you live in the same street and are practically neighbors. So after exchanging numbers, you promise to see each other at a normal hour of the day, too. 

You bump into the fourth boy in the library. Unfortunately, studying at university as a music major doesn’t actually mean that it revolves around playing instruments, singing and making the music itself. Sometimes you do have to bury your head deep into textbooks and learn about the history and theory of it all, so you can either take inspiration, or learn from your predecessor’s mistakes in order to create a new generation.

And sometimes, it’s simply a consequence of a terrible choice when it came to elective — entirely unoptionally optional — courses. 

You tend to not pay much attention to your surroundings when you study at the campus library. With headphones on your head, music blasting loudly, but at a healthy level, you lose yourself in a world of words that make sense on their own but lose their meaning once they’re strung together in a ludicrous line of academic bullshit.

Today is different though. Because despite your desire to cram at least a few names into your brain and what they entail, your phone keeps blowing up with messages from your friend group chat, or either of the three boys you have met so far. Even when you put the phone on do not disturb, it’s as if your brain still catches the waves of each blocked notification on the device. 

To make matters worse, you can’t shake the feeling of somebody staring at you. But when you look around yourself, there is no one. Or, well, there are people — obviously, you are sitting in a crowded and very shared area for students — but none of them are interested in you any more than they are in the books they pretend to read. 

You decide to give up studying after two hours of sitting and barely three lines of notes in your notebook. 

The chair creaks as you stand up, but your peers ignore the sound, disregarding it with sympathy because the thoughts of giving themselves a break are probably floating in their heads, too. 

Leaving the library is a freedom you allow yourself only because you’re barely one week into the new semester. 

You did not expect to step on a pair of glasses on your way outside of the library. But here you are, listening to the loud crack of glass and plastic under the rubber sole of your shoe. Your eyes widen as you look down, noting the expensive looking frames, and fairly thick lenses. 

“Has anyone seen my glasses?” A voice asks nearby, and your heart drops into your stomach, knowing that you probably ruined this person’s only pair of glasses and completely disrupted their way of life until they get new ones. 

You pick them up despite yourself, a huge frown appearing on your lips as you assess the damage. 

Spoiler alert: it’s bad.

“I think I found them,” you say regardless, turning in the general direction of where the voice had come from. 

To your relief, you think, the person is already wearing a pair of glasses. He’s pretty, in a good way, you’d say. With dark hair falling into his eyes in styled waves. Quite tall, too. He’s what people would call the resident cute nerd, someone who you’d want to tutor you when you pretend to be dumber than you truly are. 

“Fuck. I knew I’d dropped them,” he curses under his breath, not even considering the fact that you stepped on them and it’s entirely your fault they’re ruined. “I always carry spares in case,” he adds and points to the glasses already sitting on his nose. “Blessings of a minus five vision, I guess. Can’t function without either glasses or contacts.”

“I’m so sorry. I can pay for a new pair,” is the first thing that leaves your mouth when the guy approaches you, and he shakes his head. 

“No, it’s not on you,” he says, looking at you sympathetically. “I dropped them here, it’s my fault. They could’ve gotten stolen too, and nothing much would change.” His nonchalance throws you off guard because the pair truly seems expensive. 

“I have dozens more at home if it puts you at ease,” he adds as if he could hear your thoughts, his words seemingly leaving his mouth at a mile per hour. “You could say I have a record of being reckless with my glasses, but contacts tend to irritate my eyes.”

“Oh…” you don’t know what to say. 

“I’m sorry. Uh, I’m Choi Beomgyu,” he introduces himself to you. “I didn’t mean to randomly talk your ear off, it’s just a self-defence mechanism in embarrassing situations.”

“I feel like I should be the one embarrassed and apologetic,” you say, a soft smile making its way to your lips. “I’m Y/N.”

“Well, if you really feel apologetic, would you mind giving me your number?” Beomgyu asks. 

“What?”

The boy simply grins as if it’s a completely normal situation. “I’m easy to please, really. If you treat me to a cold beer, everything can be easily forgotten and forgiven.”

“Is that what it is?” You raise a brow at him. “A ploy to get free beer?”

“Well, I didn’t plan for my glasses to get broken today, but if I can get your number and a free beer, I will be very satisfied.”

“Truly a man with simple needs.”

“Never needed to be anything more.”

You met Kang Taehyun on a completely random Tuesday. Walking through campus, you mind your own business until a commotion catches your attention by the basketball court available mainly to P.E. majors.

Normally, you would disregard the situation because why would you care about a bunch of sweaty boys playing with a ball? But then you catch sight of three familiar faces — guys from your major — all playing against one man, and losing. Which piques your curiosity to the max.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask someone on your left, when you make it to the tiny crowd, and the person turns to you with an excited grin.

“They made a bet to play three on one. If Kang Taehyun loses—” the person points at the only guy you don’t recognize— “then the third year P.E. majors gotta buy a feast for the music majors. If those guys lose, they buy for Taehyun and his friends.”

“Isn’t that a bit unfair?” You furrow your brows, but the person merely shrugs.

“Well, it seems not,” they say, clapping when Kang Taehyun scores another point against the three fumbling music majors. “That’s 5 to 1 for Taehyun,”

You glance at a group of more familiar faces standing back and merely laughing at their friends’ misery rather than helping them out. Rolling your eyes, you step onto the small court. With your luck, one of the music majors throws the ball in your direction rather than his teammates, and you catch it with ease, tilting your head to the side.

“You guys made a bet and can’t even play this game properly?” you ask with a raised brow. Then you turn toward the crowd, your gaze firm on who you want to play with. “Heeseung, stop laughing your ass off and get here. And you too, Nicholas!” you call the two guys you’ve known for years. They’re what you would call your occasional friends — and also the people that used to play competitive basketball in high school.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? This is between us and the—”

“Music majors, right? Well, we’re also music majors,” you say confidently, staring down the guys trying to stop you. “How about we do a fair game of 3 to 3 with a change of players and same stakes, since you guys believe in your basketball skills so much?” 

Kang Taehyun, the one who’s been playing the whole time walks up to you with big enough eyes to fell a tree out of sheer cuteness, though it does not fit the way his lips form a determined smirk.

“I’d get just changing players, but also trying to make this fair puts you at another disadvantage,” says one of Kang Taehyun’s friends because it doesn’t seem that he’s the overly talkative type.

The corner of your lips rises in a challenging smirk. “Might be.” 

But Heeseung and Nicholas are already standing by your side, matching the height of the P.E. majors. “You sure about this, Y/N?” Heeseung asks.

“Do you want to have at least a sliver of a chance at free food?”

“Fair argument.”

In short: you lost. However, the difference in score was not as embarrassing as the original trio going against just one.

“Not bad,” Kang Taehyun speaks up for the first time since you saw him. His voice is slightly deeper and much quieter than you would expect it to be. “Almost had us in the end.”

“We haven’t played in a few years.” Nicholas shakes his head at the compliment, throwing his arm around your shoulder. “A little heads up next time would be appreciated.”

“I’m a spontaneous person.” You shrug, though in reality, you don’t know why you did this. You aren’t the kind of person to try and outshine someone — let alone go against the P.E. majors out of the blue. Yet your eyes always end up at one place: on Kang Taehyun.

The man seems both absolutely oblivious to the outside world and acutely aware of everything that happens around him. Like he wants people to disregard him, but knows to keep distance regardless. What might act as a repellent to others, is like a magnet to you.

“Well, if you guys are ever bored, we’re always looking for more people to play with us,” one of the older guys says, Fuma, you heard him be called at one point. He puts his hands on Taehyun’s shoulders as if to massage him and grins.

“Don’t you have a whole faculty just for that?” Heeseung questions, amused.

“They suck.” Concise, straight to the point — that is Kang Taehyun. He doesn’t speak unless necessary, and he never says anything he doesn’t mean. To other people, it might seem like he’s cold, aloof, and doesn’t care about anything or anyone but himself, but getting to know him and slowly peeling off layers of armor that was never truly there is a reward in itself.

“So, just a question, but we’re not the ones buying food, right? It’s still them?” Heeseung points toward the original trio that made a bet with zero skills to back it up. 

“Nah, forget it. We appreciate a good game,” says the tallest of the three P.E. guys, you heard Fuma call him Kei during the game. He high-fives Heeseung with a grin.

“I wouldn’t mind buying you a coffee, though.” Taehyun’s voice nearly startles you, especially because he’s speaking to you. Staring at you. With a hint of expectancy in his big brown eyes.

“Hm?” Your brain stutters. Heeseung and Nicholas laugh at you, nudging your arms from each side as if you were kids in middle school, watching somebody confess their feelings.

“You’re entitled to say no, but I just thought I’d give it a shot.” Taehyun’s voice is nonchalant, but the way his lips twitch and his expression slightly changes with the anxiety of possibly being rejected, you can tell it would hurt his pride.

“You might need to raincheck, because vocal training starts in ten.” Heeseung, as helpful as ever, destroys the moment by checking the time on his phone. “Aaand we’re on the wrong side of the campus because we just spent our break playing basketball instead.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, I’d love to get coffee sometime, but it’ll have to wait. So sorry.” You barely manage to get out your apology before Heeseung has you by the wrist and is dragging you along in his sprint, so you can make it to vocal training in time.

“Dude! You never do this kind of thing?” Kei hits Taehyun’s arm with an amazed smirk, staring at him with wide eyes.

Taehyun hides his hands in the pockets of his jeans, shrugging. “I just like people who aren’t afraid to stand up for themselves.”

“I don’t even remember their name,” Fuma notes, running a hand through his head. “But they played well.”

“It’s Y/N,” Taehyun says, liking the way the name sounds on his lips.

You could sense Yeonjun’s staring from a mile away. Except he’s not even six feet away. He’s sitting right next to you, disrupting your work flow as you try to write down every single piece of information that leaves Professor Lee’s mouth. 

It’s almost impossible to breathe with his annoyingly handsome face glued to your side, a smile gracing his lips as he doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that his attention is purely on you. It’s to a point where it irritates you more than it flusters you, because how can he just not pay attention to what Professor Lee says when his class is generally the hardest to get into in the whole faculty?

“Do you want to fail this class so badly?” you ask under your breath, most of your attention still on the front because you could not bear looking at Yeonjun.

The warm sound of his chuckle sends shivers down your spine and sets butterflies off in your stomach. It’s quite maddening because there is no way in hell that someone like Choi Yeonjun would actually like you.

Yet he never misses the chance to include you in anything group related, nor does he ever stop inviting you to hang outs and campus events that you would normally miss out on to work on your many unfinished projects. When you keep declining his offers, he doesn’t even seem to be any less determined if not more motivated. But you’ve seen the way people generally gravitate toward Yeonjun, so you can never fully understand — why would it be you?

“You’re so cute when you worry about me,” he remarks, eyes never leaving your face. “But Changbin’s actually voice-recording all classes, so I have no need to listen when I have you right next to me.”

“Flirting is a really bad habit for you.” Shaking your head, you dare to glance at Yeonjun from the corner of your eye. He grins at you as if he won at life. But the small voice in your head still doubts — if your ex-boyfriend had secretly been an asshole, what if Yeonjun’s intentions were even worse? What if this is simply an elaborate joke between him and his friends? Just another plot to break your heart.

You could not give in.

Not again.

“I don’t flirt,” he replies, a pout forming on his lips.

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Yeonjun follows you even after class, almost like a stray cat who got attached to the first person it came across. “You don’t trust me,” he says eventually, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans while you’re trying to pick out an appropriate lunch in the campus cafeteria.

Eyes follow him wherever he goes, because if there is anything Choi Yeonjun does, it’s drawing attention to himself without even trying. It isn’t something you can fault him for, but it makes you even more suspicious. 

For one, he doesn’t let you pay for lunch. Two, he’s friendly with everyone who dares to greet him. And three, Choi Yeonjun isn’t the only good-looking man in the world. 

Your phone lights up with a notification. A message from KARA lunatic popping up. 

[12:54] KARA lunatic: Next time you forget something at my place, make sure it’s valuable, so I can sell it later. [2 attached photos]

The photos include a scrunchie you’ve been trying to find the whole day, and a photo of Soobin wearing it around his wrist to remember that he should return it. 

Between the two of you, a tacit agreement of sorts formed last week. Sometimes, when either of your roommates decide to have visitors over, you simply remove yourself from the situation by going over to Soobin’s place, which is practically three steps away. And Soobin lets you stay, as long as you don’t disrupt his personal space.

And then another message finds its way to your phone from a contact named friendless guy.

[12:55] friendless guy: professor min approved the changes we made for the spring festival theme! yayyyy [1 photo attached]

Huening Kai doesn’t fail to send a selfie of himself doing thumbs up. 

You smile to yourself, reading the messages. It makes Yeonjun straighten in his seat across from you, elbows leaning on the table as he narrows his eyes at you.

“Am I that bad?” he questions, sporting that damned adorable pout. “I’m really sorry if I did anything to offend you, Y/N, I’m just—”

“You did nothing to offend me, Yeonjun.” You shake your head, setting your phone down. Staring him in the eyes, you don’t believe they belong to those of a liar. But he is right; you cannot trust him. Not yet. “But you’re so— you. And I’m… me.”

“Stunning?”

You laugh in his face. Not at him, obviously, but at his words. He is calling you stunning? When your ex-boyfriend said you were out of his league? It just feels like one strange, elaborate joke from fate itself. 

“This campus is full of people that already adore you, Yeonjun. So why—”

“Because,” Yeonjun says, a smile forming on his lips. He never breaks eye contact with you, gazing at you as if you hung the stars in the sky. 

“Because?”

“Because.”

Despite your skepticism, Yeonjun doesn’t waver. Instead, he seems to appreciate that you don’t instantly jump at his feet, ready to do whatever he asks of you. It makes you all the more real to him — a genuine person. (And he likes you so much more for it.)

“What would you say to a casual hang out then? As friends, let’s say. You, me, and some of my other friends.”

“When? I have work to do, Yeonjun…”

“Not now, obviously. But I’d let you know.” And he attempts to wink at you, but both of his eyes close instead, and you can’t help but giggle at the action. It’s adorable, and entirely uncharacteristic of his otherwise perfect, flirty image. 

“Okay,” you sigh. “I can do that.”

“Really?” Yeonjun barely contains his excitement, attracting the attention of a few students. Their sour expressions turn into ones of pure awe when they realize it’s Choi Yeonjun they were about to scold, though. 

“Really.”

“You won’t regret it!”

Working in a pair is strangely comforting. You smile to yourself as you listen to the faint buzzing of speakers and Huening Kai’s scribbling against the paper. He writes down notes as they come to him, while you work on a mix of sounds to get a melody that’s been stuck on your mind the whole day out of your head. 

The two of you have gotten comfortable around each other quickly. In the same way you find solace in Soobin’s presence and apartment on nights when you need it, Kai is your sanctuary during the day when there is nothing much to do on campus. 

“What would you think if I said I want to start a band?” Kai asks rhetorically, humming to himself. The sound of a pencil scratching against paper stops as Kai turns to look at you. “I saw this poster, you know, that said the school will hold a competition during the spring festival.”

“So you want to start a band to join this competition?”

“The prize money is really good,” Kai says, nodding. “And we get free coffee in the campus café for the rest of the year.”

Your eyes widen. “I can… see the appeal.”

“Would you join?”

“Your band?”

Kai nods. 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just didn’t want to assume.” Kai shrugs a smile forming on his lips. “But if I’m on the drums and you’re on the bass, we might still need a good deal of people.”

“Just guitar and piano probably,” you say without much worry. “Those are the most common among music majors anyway… and I kinda have ideas.”

“You do?”

“Well, for guitar, I’d try asking Park Jongseong. He’s really good. Or Choi Taeyang. Maybe both. And piano… I guess, Kim Jungsu?”

“You know a lot of people in our major,” Kai remarks, turning in his place to look at you. 

“I participate in way too many events, I guess.” You bite the inside of your cheek, eyeing Kai from the corner of your eye. “But you don’t, since I didn’t know about you…”

Kai chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “I prefer avoiding public events. And when I do, I only keep to my friends or myself.”

“Fair enough,” you say, grinning. “I hope you’re ready to let the world know that Huening Kai exists, though. Because you’re not gonna be left alone after that.”

“I’ll just use you as my shield.” 

“Damn. Can’t wait.”

Kai laughs softly, and you relish the sound, subconsciously recording it to tuck away in a corner of your mind for later. 

The restaurant near campus buzzes with life as people file in and out for a quick lunch between classes.

You are not an exception to the rule, entering with an excited grin on your face. 

“Y/N!” The sound of your name makes your head turn, and a squeal leaves your lips at the sight of your friends, Emma and Chloe. You haven’t seen them in ages, although you attend the same university. But being in different faculties complicates your ability to meet up. 

“It’s been so long!” you exclaim as you practically run to them. 

They envelop you in a tight hug, smiles plastered on their faces. 

“Too long.” Chloe frowns. “I was starting to forget what you look like.” She dramatically places a hand over her forehead before her eyes set on you, scanning every part of you like a hawk. 

“We’ll take lots of pictures later,” Emma says, giggling. “But you’re doing okay, right? I heard you’re working on the spring festival’s soundtrack.”

“Yeah! It’s actually going really well. Main theme being love and all, it’s pretty easy to satisfy the masses.”

“Anything light and upbeat would probably do.”

“Exactly. The expectations are so low that it’s easy to exceed them.” You smirk, proud of the tiny reference that you haven’t given up since your childhood. “But anyways, can we get something to eat first? I’m starving.”

“You’re reading my mind.”

The three of you spend an hour catching up and eating your lunch. Chloe rants about linguistics classes, while Emma shares information about her upcoming performance at the local theater. 

“By the way, do you guys know Choi Yeonjun?” Emma asks with a slightly raised brow, leaning her elbows on the table, because she is about to share vital gossip. 

“Duhh,” Chloe responds, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows Choi Yeonjun. Dude’s campus famous.”

You don’t say anything. All you can do is purse your lips in thought and nod solemnly. Knowing Choi Yeonjun is certainly one way to put it. Thinking about it, you probably have a few unread messages from him on your phone right now. 

“Well, someone found out who one of his exes is!” Emma exclaims, pulling out her phone to search something up. “Look. That’s literally him and the Karina, cozying up together on campus.”

“Damn. How old is that photo?” Chloe questions, and Emma shrugs in response. 

“Like two years back maybe. They were campus sweethearts in their first year. Before she, you know, dropped out and became famous and all that stuff.”

“Why’s that important anyway?” You don’t want to sound jealous, because you’re not— you shouldn’t be. You have zero reasons to be jealous over a past relationship from a guy who doesn’t have to be anything more but your friend. 

“Karina’s coming back to our faculty. Dance major, obviously. To finish her studies.”

“Wait. You’re telling me Karina is going to be breathing the same air as me? Walking the same paths as me? Living around the same campus as me?” Chloe freaks out, while you lef out a breathy, amused laugh. “And she’s Choi Yeonjun’s ex. That is insane news.”

“For you, maybe.” You shake your head, feigning ignorance rather than acknowledging the fact that once Karina is back on campus, Yeonjun’s attention will probably divert back to her. 

And the idea of it totally doesn’t upset you.

Chloe and Emma both look at you with raised brows, eyes piercing through you as they try to read your body language and grasp at all the words that are left unsaid. 

“How do you know Choi Yeonjun?” Emma asks after a minute of awkward silence, finally coming to her own conclusion. 

“He attends Professor Lee’s classes,” you don’t lie. “We have a few group projects together.”

“And you haven’t said a thing?” Chloe sounds appalled, expression bemused. 

“It’s not that important.” You try to brush it off, but the girls are already on you, grabbing your phone off the table. 

Not only does it show a long thread of messages from Yeonjun, however, it also contains Beomgyu’s rant about baroque music, Soobin’s invitation to have fried chicken near your apartments, and Kai’s list of things the two of you have to work on before the spring festival. 

Their mouths drop to the ground in disbelief as they look through them, eyes glued to the profile pictures of each boy.

“Holy shit.”

“There’s no way.”

“Our child is actually growing up.” Chloe feigns a tear, glancing at you. “I was scared you were letting your ex ruin every possible relationship you could have in the future.”

“Those are my friends,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Not when they’re this hot.” Emma shakes her head. Knowing your passcode and having full access to your phone, she opens Soobin’s contact first, his picture taking over the whole display.

“Oh, this is insane.” Chloe and Emma join their heads together as they scroll through your private messages, but you let them. Perhaps you should’ve updated them at least a tiny bit about what’s been going on in your life. 

Someone clears their throat near you. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” The voice makes your eyes widen, head snapping in the direction of Kang Taehyun. You were beginning to think you might never see him again.

Chloe and Emma ignore him, too absorbed in your phone to pay attention. You leave them be, and smile at Taehyun instead, shaking your head. 

“Not at all. I—”

“You never got the chance to give me your number,” Taehyun says, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “And my offer for the coffee still stands.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He nods, the corner of his lips lifting in a smile. You watch him take his phone out, offering it to you, so you can put your number in.

When you give his phone back, you watch him type in a name for you, and you’re certain it was not your name he wrote in there. “I will text you to figure out when we both have time, then.”

“Okay.” You nod, and Taehyun grins. Departing before your two friends can even notice that he was ever there.

Or, before he texts your phone number, reverting their attention back to you. 

“Who is this guy asking you to save his number?” They question, opening up Taehyun’s profile. “He’s—”

“Good-looking?” you ask, well aware of the fact. Obviously, you’re not blind, so you know that each of the boys you have come across these past few weeks are incredibly attractive. But…

There is a line you shouldn’t cross with either of them.  

Yeonjun scheduled the hangout with his friends for Friday. Which you were not opposed to. You didn’t have any plans, and all you really cared about these past few days was the song you and Kai have been trying to finish for the spring festival, so he can focus on starting his band.

“I think if we layer our voices a bit more, it will come out great,” you point out, playing through the current demo. 

“Okay. We can do that.”

Kai leans over your shoulder to stare at the screen of your laptop, his breath tingling the back of your neck. You do your best to ignore the way your heart speeds up in his vicinity, and the way he places his arm on the desk, caging you in from one side. 

“I think we should also remove some of the riffs. It makes the song sound too heavy for something spring-themed,” he adds, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. “It’s about love that blooms slowly over time, not a fast-paced summer fling.”

Humming, you nod. “I guess you’re right.”

“I think we could finish this by Friday, and then we can start working on recruiting band members.”

“That sounds great, but I’m only free until four on Friday.”

“Me too, actually. To support a friend. Apparently, I gotta meet and I quote: the love of his life. Said he needs it to be casual or something.”

“Probably doesn’t want to come off too strong on the love of his life.” You imitate Kai’s voice as you say the last part, and the boy chuckles, nodding. 

“I’ll be honest, though, I’ve never seen him be this excited about a person. Not since his last breakup, at least,” Kai shares, smiling to himself. There is a glint of happiness for his friend in his eye as he looks at you.

Forgetting how close he is to you, you make the mistake of turning your head in his direction, meeting his gaze from barely a few centimeters. His eyes briefly flicker to your lips, but it happens in a matter of seconds that make you wonder if you haven’t made it up.

“What about you?” you ask, your attention back on the screen of your laptop.

“What do you mean?” Kai tilts his head, brows furrowed.

“Don’t you have any exes you’re trying to get over?” you question a bit too eagerly, but Kai doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he chuckles dismissively and shakes his head.

“God, no,” he replies. “I’ve never dated anyone before. And I think it’s for the better.”

“Really? You never liked someone?” You fight the urge to look Kai in the eye because he has yet to move back, and you cannot handle staring down at him from such a close distance again.

“I mean… it’s not that I didn’t want to. I guess it just never felt right, you know?” Kai shrugs, finally stepping back from you, giving you the space to properly breathe. “I’ve had people confess to me before, but I’m not exactly someone who’d go for it just because someone showed interest. I can’t do it if my heart isn’t in it.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you keep quiet. He isn’t wrong. You completely understand his point because that is exactly what you think as well. Though it doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t have this mindset before, and swore off dating because of it, too. Why are you still getting affected by something an asshole had done ages ago?

You should’ve been able to move on by now. But it’s so hard to trust people.

“Are you okay?” Kai asks after a minute of silence.

“What?” You blink. “Oh, yes, I’m fine. I was just… thinking, I guess. Sorry.”

“Thinking about what?” Kai laughs softly, an unidentifiable emotion flashing in his eyes.

“Just… that you’re not wrong.” You press your lips together, running a hand through your hair. “Dating someone you don’t actually like is not a good idea.” You should never have given in to your ex-boyfriend just because he was persistently chasing you.

“So I’m guessing you are dealing with an ex,” Kai says, his tone reassuring. “That bad, huh?”

“If pretending to like me for months just to get to fuck me is bad then yes, you could say that.”

“What.” Kai’s eyes widened, disgusted shock contorting his features. “Did—”

“No, actually. That’s the funny part, I guess,” you reply, a self-deprecating laugh escaping your lips. “I shouldn’t be so hung up on a guy I wasn’t even that interested in, right? Like, I was just entertaining him because he said he liked me.”

“Man, that’s insane.” Kai sighs in disbelief, running a hand through his hair before you feel both his hands on your shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. “That can totally mess with your trust.”

A smile forms on your lips. The way Kai understands spreads warmth through your chest, and you lean back, more into his touch — into him. 

“If I’d known you earlier, I would totally teach that guy a lesson,” he says under his breath, and you giggle quietly, your hand reaching up to rest on the top of his on one of your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say softly. “But I may have roughed him up a bit myself when I found out…” you admit, averting your gaze to the ground. 

“Good!” Kai exclaims, another low chuckle leaving his lips. “Wait… you’re the ex who broke some music major’s ribs!” The realization comes to him slowly, eyes crinkling with sheer amusement at the thought. “I always knew there was a story behind it.”

“Yeah…” You nod, biting your lip. “That is me, I guess. The crazy ex. Yay.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Kai says, his hands still a heavy weight on your shoulders. “I never thought you were crazy since I first heard about it, anyway. And now I think you just had a reasonable reaction to finding out that someone you chose to trust betrayed it…”

[14:24] KARA lunatic: MAN [14:24] KARA lunatic: this is so messed up [14:24] you: what is? [14:25] KARA lunatic: t1’s playing against g2 today and i can’t watch [14:25] KARA lunatic: this is HELLL [14:25] KARA lunatic: what sins am i being punished for [14:26] you: why can’t you watch? [14:28] KARA lunatic: i’m being forced into society tonight [14:28] KARA lunatic: pray for me [14:30] you: you’re so dramatic

The finished song sounds better than you expected. It’s calm, yet energetic, capturing the beginning of a slow, yet powerful love story. In a way, it is exactly the type of song you would associate with Kai, so it only makes sense that he was the one helping you make it.

“What time is it?” he asks when you finally click the send button, sharing the song file with your professor.

Checking the clock, it seems to be about time to start packing up for your meet with Yeonjun. “We’ll have to go, I think,” you say, pursing your lips.

“I thought so. Where are you heading? Maybe I can walk you before I have to make an appearance with my friends,” Kai suggests, crossing the music room to grab his denim jacket.

“The Chinese restaurant near campus. Not that far away, so I’ll be fine.” You wave your hand dismissively, but Kai stops mid-putting-on his jacket, tilting his head to the side.

“I’m actually also heading there, though.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Kai smiles, shrugging on the jacket. “So I get to walk you regardless.”

“I suppose that’s how fate wants it.” You chuckle, throwing your laptop inside your shoulder bag.

“Is your friend the punctual kind?” you ask in front of the restaurant.

Kai shrugs in response. “Not usually. But I think he might be for this one.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he’s not entirely sure if he likes the idea of you meeting up with another guy — someone he doesn’t know. But at least he’ll be in the same restaurant.

“Alright then.” 

Nodding, you walk inside the restaurant together. Choi Yeonjun sits inside a booth with two other guys, their backs facing you. Spotting him inside the packed restaurant is far too easy, and you hate the way your heart skips a beat when you see him laugh at something his friend has said.

“Oh, I see my friend,” Kai says, just as Yeonjun stands up because he noticed you. “Yeon–”

“Y/N!” Yeonjun exclaims giddily, waving you over. Though his excitement quickly turns into confusion once he notices Kai standing next to you, his brows furrowing.

You glance at Kai. “Don’t tell me—”

“Yeonjun is the guy you’re meeting?”

“Yeonjun is the guy who said I’m the love of his life?”

Kai faces you, nodding slowly. But when you look back at Yeonjun, it only gets worse. His two friends have stood up, too, and when they turn, you recognize both of them, too.

Choi Beomgyu.

Kang Taehyun.

And then someone rushes inside the restaurant, nearly body-slamming into you because he’s busy staring at his phone.

“Soobin?” Your lips part as you gape at the tall guy.

“Y/N?” He looks at you. Then his eyes fly over to the boy standing next to you. “Kai?”

“You know each other?” Both boys question with their eyes wide while they stare between you and the other.

“Holy shit,” you murmur. 

tags: @moonpri @addictedtohobi @dainsleif-when-playable @cloverwalker @ttaesoob @ivvees-blog @semi-wife @starrias @yunjica @lun4mizuka

feel free to ask to be tagged!

[softtdaisy]

hey!

for ur 2k celebration would you be cool to write a reid and fem reader fic to love looks pretty on you by nessa barrett? thank you 🦋

summary. you love taking pictures of Spencer, it's not your fault love looks pretty on him

words count. 1 558

song. love looks pretty on you by nessa barrett

a/n. this might be one of the cutest thing I have ever written I love it so much I want to take pictures of Spencer all the time now, thank you for your request!! 🫶

2K CELEBRATION MASTERLIST

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Spencer heard the click of your Polaroid before seeing it.

In his defense, he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet.

“Was it necessary?” His voice was raspy, still not fully ready and awake for the day. He had no idea what time it could be. To be fair, Spencer didn’t know when you went to sleep either. 

The whole night was perfectly memorized in his brain. The gorgeous pastel dress you wore and the way you wore your hair. The smile you gave to the waitress was smaller than the bigger one you had for him. The jokes you laughed at, the one that made you choke on your drink. The way you took his hand the moment you got up from your table and didn’t drop it until you were back at this place. Only for putting it somewhere else on his body.

Spencer remembered he was the one to initiate the kiss in the elevator, but you were the one who unbuttoned his shirt first. His hand slid underneath your thigh to carry you, and your hand slid over his chest to the little hair near his belly button.

Spencer could revisit every intimate moment from the night. When you got on your knees in front of him in the living room. When he couldn’t resist any longer, he sat on the table, getting on his knees too. When he got into you, on the rug, eagerly. In the shower, playfully. In bed, sweetly. Before you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

He could remember all that. But not the hour you went to sleep. Probably because he wished the night never ended.

“If I could,” you started to answer while climbing back on the bed. Spencer barely opened his eyes, his arm falling on his forehead to hide the sun. But he watched as you moved closer to him, your knees on each part of his body still lying underneath the sheet. “I would picture every second of my life with you.”

Spencer didn’t try to fight the heat growing on his cheeks. After years together, he understood that his body would still react the same to your compliments and your lovely words. Blushing terribly and feeling shy even when you will be married.

“Well, you already do that, that,”Spencer replied. His hand reached your back to keep you in place on his lap. Especially because both your hands were your Polaroid, again, taking a picture of your boyfriend's face. “And I’m not a good muse; you would get tired of picturing my face someday.” 

This was one of your favorite looks on Spencer. The morning, with his eyes not entirely open, the pillow marks on his cheeks that were still pink from your comment, and his lazy smile. The sun playing on his face was making him look too precious. He was perfect.

“Wrong answer, Dr. Reid,” you finally replied after the click. You shook the picture to make it appear all while bending to kiss his lips. “I could never get tired of your beautiful face.” 

In any other case, Spencer wouldn’t have trusted the person saying that. He wasn’t as insecure as he used to be but still didn’t see himself as a seducing man. But maybe the “pretty boy” nickname started to sound right in his ear. 

But you. He had no other choice than to trust you.

You took a picture with Spencer on your first date. A silly selfie in the taxi back home that had terrible lighting. But you made Spencer laugh so hard trying to take these pictures and making stupid remarks that his smile on it was making it for the dark outside. You had printed it and put it in your fridge. And when you moved in, Spencer, the picture stayed, and he got to see it every morning. 

Throughout your whole relationship, you always made sure to take pictures all the time. Occasionally, Spencer didn’t even understand what you saw in them. He wasn’t sure of the purpose of a picture of you and him lying on the couch in your Sunday clothes or one of your two water bottles after training.

You always said the same thing when he asked. “Love looks pretty on you, baby.” He didn’t always understand it. But he accepted it.

For someone outside, you probably looked like some crazy girl, some wannabe influencer maybe, or a very nostalgic person that needed to picture everything—that last one you might be. But Spencer knew that this was a passion, something you didn’t share with many people but that you cherished. A lot.

And for your happiness, Spencer could accept everything.

“What’s your plan for today?” Spencer asked, against your lips. It was his day off, and all he wanted was to spend the next hours with you. He knew your pretty brain always had many, many ideas that always surprised him. You could wake up one day and choose to go to another city just for the coffee you saw on social media. And when he could, he would follow you. Just for the pleasure of seeing a smile growing on your face.

“Actually,” you started to reply, your fingers tracing an invisible line along his chest. “There is something I want to show you.” 

Spencer frowned, not sure what you meant. But your little shy smile spoke for itself. “Today?”

“You’ll see.”

For the next few hours, Spencer kept wondering whether he was right or not. 

You’ve been working on a secret project for months now. Actually, he learned about it months ago, but you refused to say since when you’ve been doing it. The few questions Spencer asked were not answered; you didn't want him to guess it. The joy of having a genius boyfriend. So he let you keep your little secret, knowing that when the time would come, you would tell him.

And following you, hands in hands, in the street close to your old apartment, the same feeling he had when a case was coming close to the end started to grow in his stomach. The excitement of knowing the truth, the relief of having all the information. Plus, this time, the pleasure of being trusted by the woman he loved. 

You entered the building together. You walked through a long corridor, meeting many closed doors until you stopped in front of you. And stood in front of Spencer, a hand on his chest.

“First of all, I want you to know I love you, and if I kept this a secret, it was because I wanted this to be perfect before showing you. But I’m almost done; I just have to do some modifications, but it’s over. It’s done. And… oh my god, please enter this room alone; I’m too scared to see your reaction.”

You opened the door with one hand and tried to push Spencer with the other. Except he was taller and stronger than you were and didn’t move a little. 

Instead, he put his free hand on your cheek and leaned to kiss you. “It will be perfect,” he whispered. Art was very personal, and there was a chance that you didn’t love the same thing. You actually already discussed your different vision during your museum date. But he couldn’t not love something that came from your heart.

“Please,” you begged with a pout. One that he couldn’t resist. Spencer kissed it before walking in the room by himself.

And one thing was certain: he clearly didn’t expect to see what was in front of him.

Pictures. Many pictures. So many he didn’t even know you took.

But all pictures of him or you two together.

All over the wall.

Creating its own picture. A picture of Spencer. 

In front of him was a vision of himself built on your love moments. 

When he walked closer, he recognized some pictures. Him with a Snoopy mug hiding most of his face but his smiling eyes and his crazy hair. One of you two kissing in front of a sunrise, the other in front of a sunset. You two, in different cities. Selfies, many selfies. 

And there were some you took in secret. Him making dinner, his back while playing piano, his hands playing chess, him too lost in his book in the park, in your bed—and one with the book hiding his face because he fell asleep.

It wasn’t until he finished looking at all the pictures that he saw the inscription below. The name of your work.

“Love looks pretty on you.”

“You love it?” You only passed your head through the door like you were ready to run away in case he didn’t love it. 

Spencer didn’t turn around. But you heard him. “That’s the most beautiful thing I have seen.”

He still didn’t turn around. But you walked to him. Your arms circled his waist, and you put a little kiss in the middle of his shoulder blade. “Told you you had a pretty face, baby.” You smiled, feeling his hands on yours.

“I just have one thing to say.” 

This time, he turned his face to look at you. His arms moved so he could put it around his shoulder and hold you properly. “Us,” he said. 

You frowned. So he added. 

“Love looks pretty on us.” 

[nevarrhoe]

mea culpa (m.m) - 5

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut !! p in v, she/her pronouns used for reader

series master list

any minors caught interacting will be blocked and reported

It didn’t take long to get used to life without Matthew Murdock.

He’d been important to you and then he wasn’t. People came and went all the time - you had ex-boyfriends and ex-best friends and a multitude of relationships that had been significant until they weren’t. You wouldn’t go as far as calling Matt your boyfriend but that didn’t erase the fact there had been a connection. That was what you missed most: having somebody who got you the way he did. And it was funny, because the string of insults he’d thrown your way during your last conversation proved him to be everything but someone who understood you. It had been a weak moment for you both and maybe if there had been more at stake - if you’d been the same age, or things were more serious, or your lives more intertwined then you could have moved on from it. That was just it though: it was just a fling. And it had to end eventually. 

Two weeks later, you’d fallen back into your natural routine of shopping and drinking and enjoying a privileged existence. Now, however, you were spending more time at the office: not necessarily helping your father, but just running errands and doing paperwork. You told yourself over and over that it wasn’t anything to do with what Matt had said. Say it a few more times and maybe you’d start to believe it. 

“So Harrison is single again,” your best friend’s voice filled the void of your father’s office. She was sat on the edge of your desk, filing her nails whilst you did your paperwork. “His ex-girlfriend cheated on him so he’s selling his place in London and moving back here. I can give him your number if you want.”

You tried not to visibility flinch at the mere thought. Even though your affair with Matt had proved to be anything but successful, the idea of ever going back to a guy your own age was a little too much. What was the point? They were all immature, trust fund babies who couldn’t fuck properly and definitely wouldn’t treat you right. And you weren’t looking for commitment - not at that point in your life. You just needed someone who could make you laugh and make you orgasm. That had seemed impossible to find. At least until Matt.

“Mmm,” you hummed. “No, I’m good. Harrison and I never really got on that well.”

“Oh, come on!” she groaned. “He’s hurting right now so you know he’ll probably put out-”

“- I’m not interested!” you cut her off. “I’m just not really looking for anything right now. I wanna focus on work.”

“Doing paperwork for free at your dad’s office doesn’t count as work,” she huffed. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you muttered. “I have an appointment now anyways, so if you could make yourself scarce I would really appreciate it.”

“Fiiiine,” she grumbled. “Are you coming to cocktails tonight at the Rainbow Room?”

“I’ll see.”

She stood up and sauntered out of the room - just in time, actually, because your 4PM appointment was waiting right outside. You tried not to visibly react to seeing Matt; somehow, you’d avoided crossing paths with him around the courthouse thus far. It was bound to happen eventually but you felt a lot worse about it than you initially thought. 

“Mr Murdock,” you greeted him, holding your professionalism until the door was closed and your friend was out of earshot. When she was, you faltered slightly. He had a strong presence after all. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Matt took a deep breath, putting aside his cane. 

“Look, Matthew, I can reschedule this appointment when my father’s back in town, or when his assistant can take it instead-”

“- I scheduled it for today on purpose, actually,” he admitted. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You scowled. “And did you consider that maybe I don’t want to talk to you?”

“Yeah, that was definitely a possibility I thought about,” he said. “But you are talking to me, so that gives me hope.”

You paused for a second - Matt did have a point. If you truly hated him, you probably would have ignored him from the get-go. You were furious with the man, without a doubt, but some part of you still held onto the way he’d made you feel before the fuck up. He’d said all those things in the heat of the moment, but you couldn’t shake the fact he still said them. 

“I’m getting on with my life,” you said. “I’m over it. You should do the same.”

“I tried,” Matt replied. “I already regretted the things I said-”

“- why?” you cut him off. “You had a point, Matt. I’m a spoilt little rich girl and you’re a working class lawyer. We’ll never see eye to eye or understand each other. No amount of good fucking will change that.”

He hesitated for a second. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Oh?”

“You were right about the Thompson case, though,” he admitted. “The defendant changed his plea last week.”

“Right,” you murmured. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too,” he shrugged. “I’m more sorry about the things I said, though. I take my job very seriously and there are times where it gets in the way of other important things - more important things.”

“I’m a girl you slept with a few times. I wouldn’t hold myself in that high regard.”

He gave you a small smile. “You should - I’m not here to declare my love for you or ask for your hand in marriage but I didn’t realise til you weren’t in my life that you meant more to me than a silly argument.”

“I do?’

“You do,” Matt replied. “All those things I said…none of them matter. I might be right, I might not be, but even if you’re the most spoiled, aloof rich girl in this city, you’re the girl I’d choose over any other.”

You stood up and crossed over to where Matt was stood - he reached out for you as you met halfway, large hands taking your waist as you crashed your lips against his. You’d missed his palms; they were calloused and rough and rugged but fuck, they held you so well. Same for his lips. He bit them when he was anxious so they were always a little indurated but they felt right against yours. 

After that little speech of his, things felt a little more…intense. It had just been a fling before but now it felt like something more.

“You sure do how to sweet talk a girl into forgiving you, huh?” you murmured against him. 

“I really don’t,” Matt replied, and you felt his chest shake slightly as he chuckled. “I practiced that speech like fifty times on the way over here.”

“It worked,” you smiled. Taking a step back, you locked the office door and then tangled your hands with Matt’s, leading him over to the sofa on the other side of the room. “But I think we should talk things through a little bit.”

Matt took a seat opposite you. “Yeah, of course.”

“We need to set boundaries,” you explained. “We’re very different people and I just…I need to know that we can deal with those differences if they come up again, you know? We can’t argue it out every time and now that we’ve established this is a little more than a one night stand-”

“- you don’t have to decide what it is yet,” he cut you off. “I know things are different for you - you’re younger and your entire life is different from mine. When you do know, you just say, okay?”

You smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Of course, I appreciate that.”

“And I know that we’re different,” Matt said. “I like that about us. If it does come up again, we’ll dealt with it. Not like the first time we dealt with it, but we will.”

He pulled you into another kiss; this one was a little deeper, a little more passionate. There was no guesses on where it was leading, and you had to quickly remind yourself that you were still in your father’s office. Not that you hadn’t fantasised about this multiple times. You weren’t opposed to it - not by any means - but you worried Matt might have his reservations about getting off in such a public place.

You almost said something, but when he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you onto his lap, any worries quickly dissipated. Previously, neither of you had worked this fast. There was normally build up - a bit of teasing and fliritng, even if you both knew where it was going to go - but after two of nothing, neither of you cared much for foreplay (in both a literal and metaphorical sense). 

Matt pushed you back onto the sofa so you were laying flat, attaching his lips to your neck. You almost let out a moan, until he clamped a large hand over your mouth. Thinking ahead, as always. He didn’t waste any more time in taking off your blouse and skirt. He was a little more careful than usual, being aware that you’d have to put them back on after.  That didn’t stop him throwing them across the room. There was a little more fumbling and finally his shirt came off too. 

“Matt,” you murmured. “Those marks on your chest-”

“- they’re nothing,” he growled. 

“Matt.”

The lawyer huffed - he wasn’t about to get cockblocked after two weeks of not seeing you. 

“I fell,” Matt muttered. “I was drunk and I fell. Will you take that story?”

“I will take it simply for the sake of the fact your boner is pressing against my thigh,” you replied. “But I’ll have questions later-”

“- works with me.”

He went back to work, lips on your neck, then collarbone, and chest, and then your neck again. The marks he’d left on you after your last fuck had faded and he was determined to leave more. He was still careful though, making sure they were in places no-one else would see. If you went into this meeting with no visible hickeys, you’d have to leave without them. Y’know, for continuity. 

You moved your hands down, fiddling with the buckle on his belt until it came loose and you were able to reach a hand down and brush it over his dick. He shivered when you did: even though he had the feeling of you memorised - your hands, your mouth, everything - it was still something he had craved over the last few weeks. 

Matt grabbed you again, and you let out a squeak as he flipped you over. He was underneath now - you still in control no doubt, with one hand on your throat and the other on your ass - with you on top. That had become one of his favourite positions. It gave him easy access to everything. 

Placing both his hands on your ass cheeks, he pulled you forward and slipped inside you. It took you a minute to revel on the feeling: after all, this time an hour ago, you weren’t sure you would ever feel this good again. And some petty part of you still wanted to punish Matt, so you held out on moving for as long as you could. It was easy enough until he grabbed you by the throat again, pulling you towards him so that your foreheads were pushed together.

“Ride,” he demanded. 

You did as he said, moving your hips back and forth. Your groans were simultaneously, but both surpressed given the…envrionment. Normally, you were noisy as fuck and Matt would encourage it. At the moment, you couldn’t work out if him squeezing your throat every time you let out a groan was praise or punishment. Either was fine. 

Matt’s free hand moved about, sometimes on your ass, sometimes on your tits, and ever so often lingering on your clit. If he’d had more time, he would have teased you more but given the noise and time constraint, he kept it simple. That was funny to you, because his idea of simple was still a thousand times more mindblowing than any other man you’d ever been with.

He hit the right spot over and over and it wasn’t long until you could feel something building up in the pit of your stomach. That might have been a new record. You could barely think straight as you rode him, hands leaving bright red scratches up and down his toned arms. It was only egging him on.

Even when your high hit you, completely disabling your ability to think and ripping through your frontal lobe like a bucket of cold fucking water, Matt kept going. He wasn’t far off, and the load moan you let out when you came brought him even closer. 

“You need to be quiet,” he teased, hand squeezing your throat as you let out another groan. 

Matt followed not long after you. Rather than covering his mouth, he buried his head in your shoulder, teeth pinching at your bare skin as he let out a low grunt. You tangled a hand in his hair, arm wrapping around his neck to bring him up into a kiss. 

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. “Is it safe to say that we’re all good?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “You’re forgiven.”

[amuelia]

How do you think Roose is going to go out in Winds, will he be killed by Ramsay like in the show (in a very different style, obviously) or is it something a bit unexpected?

Not fond of it being similar to the show version because it implies he's not gonna get a lot of screentime in tWoW; it's also kind of a cheap way to give him "karma" for killing robb by just reversing the roles and having roose be at the receiving end of a murderous betrayal. Note also that Theon is absent from this storyline now (since he escaped), and i'd assume Roose as an important tertiary character would have at least one more big chapter in tWoW, so he probably escapes the Winterfell situation alive at the very least until another PoV crosses his path (Asha?).

If Stannis takes Winterfell, i'd assume Roose would be a prisoner for the moment, maybe saved for a Stark to judge over as a show of goodwill; and whatever "northern conspiracy" payoff there is would probably mean that the northmen distance themselves from him as much as possible and make him the fall guy for the entire red wedding + fallout events (which are mostly his fault anyways). Barbrey as a character likely has been added to the story in aDwD to give a bit of diversity to the northern politics, as someone who is not a stark loyalist and has some closer feelings towards roose but also isnt guilty of the red wedding. I think her role might be that she is a bit of a thorn in the otherwise likely clean consensus on what to do with the Bolton problem and she might argue somewhat in Roose' favour politically (maybe arguing against him being executed or otherwise buying him some time).

And the best sword is the one that cuts both ways, he might tell you. Take the Battle of Green Fork. Had his night march taken Lord Tywin unawares and won the battle, he would have smashed the Lannisters and become the hero of the hour. While if it failed... well, you see what happened. The only way he could lose there would be if were captured or slain himself, and he did his best to minimize the chances of that. - GRRM, SSM Feb 3 2001

Roose' storyline so far has been about how he tries to maximize his profits, while also keeping out of harms way and not getting caught. He acts in ways that are morally reprehensive as long as the result is favourable to him and he can get away with it scot free. Yet come aDwD, we start to see that it is getting harder and harder for him to keep this up:

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

Ned Stark tried his best to act like a decent person and showed a spine acting openly as such, and after a lifetime of integrity his legacy lives on in his children and people are willing to go to war in his memory. Roose is his foil; he acts morally badly, and spinelessly so as he tries to avoid consequences - so likely as an inversion to Ned his house will go to ruin and the consequences of his actions catch up to him as his modus operandi made him liked by few. So i'd personally find it interesting if he has a fair trial and gets judged the way he deserves, with no way for him to weasel himself out of it again.

My dream tWoW direction would be that he then gets sent to the wall (which also was Ned's initial sentence, another foil moment) and becomes the epilogue PoV and faces an Other - it would be a cool way to hand off the torch from the last big human villain of the wot5k storyline to the center antagonistic force of the war for the dawn storyline (it would also complete the set of Red Wedding architects being epilogue PoVs as the first epilogue in aSoS was a Frey, and the second in aDwD a Lannister). It would also really showcase how inhuman and alien the Others are by taking the coldest and "least humane" human character that everyone jokes is a vampire, and showing that in contrast to them he still is one of us by giving us a view inside his brain and his very human reaction to them.

The real enemy is the cold.  - Prologue, aGoT

Reek wondered if Roose Bolton ever cried. If so, do the tears feel cold upon his cheeks? - Reek III, aDwD

He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks. - Bran III, aGoT

[munsonsmixtapes]

so so proud of you and all of your work is amazing!! i’d love to request something for your celebration <3

🦇😘#13 please!!! (pls feed us with some smut and angst 😝😝😝😝)

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (f receiving) body worship, angst, hurt/comfort

Your living room is increasingly getting smaller as your fight with Eddie gets more intense. You've never yelled at each other like this and now you're concerned that maybe this is the beginning of the end of your arrangement.

"It was just a little fight," you scoff but Eddie doesn't seem to think the same with the way he's looking at you. He looks so angry that you can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears.

"A little fight, y/n? You kicked me out!" He's screaming now and you're getting smaller as he towers over you. He's trying to show you just how much you hurt him. Yo try to get you to listen to him because he knows you'd much rather not have this conversation because you hate being vulnerable.

That's why this whole thing works. You both get what you want every time and there's no strings attached. But that's the problem here. He was supposed to fall for you and he did.

"You were trying to cuddle and that's not part of our agreement." You'll never tell him how badly you wanted to because that's not who you are. You're not a girlfriend, you're the type of girl men just like the sleep with, nothing more. And that's the way you like it.

Being in a relationship means letting people in and letting them see parts of you that no one else has. The parts that aren't perfect. And you're afraid that they won't be able see past how imperfect you are. Eddie's become the only person who's gotten close to you have to cut him loose.

Because if you let him in, then there's only a matter of time before he leaves and you like him too much to let that happen. So if you're the one who initiates it because of something he did, then it's not your fault, it's his.

"And then you just blew up, yelling at me like I did something so horrible!" Eddie knows why you're shutting him out, but he wants you to admit it, to hear the very words come from your mouth.

He steps closer to you, taking your face in his hands and he's so close now that he can see the tears streaming down your face.

"Why can't you just let yourself want this?" He whispers and those seem to be the magic words to make you cry even harder. He 's wiping away the tears as they come, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Because," you whisper back. "If I let you in, then you'll just leave. And I love you too much to let that happen." Mission accomplished.

Eddie can't help but grin at your confession, having never felt this happy in his life. He knew he wasn't just imagining it and now he has your words as proof.

"You love me?" He asks as he pulls back, his eyes lighting up.

"Well-" you try to backtrack, afraid that you've said too much, but considering how happy he looks, you're realizing that you didn't actually make a mistake.

"You love me!" He exclaims with a laugh. "I knew it!"

"You knew?" Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. You hadn't realized that you had been that obvious.

"Sweetheart, you weren't exactly good at hiding it. But it's okay because I love you too."

"You love me." You're beaming now, glowing and Eddie doesn't know how you could get any prettier.

"I love you," he nods. "Every single part, the good and the bad." His arms are wrapped around your waist while yours wrap around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

He smiles against your lips as his arms wrap tighter around your waist, lifting you up so that your feet are hovering over the floor. Your legs wrap around his waist as his tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you let him in as he backs up to the couch, collapsing onto it as you begin unbuttoning his shirt, but he stops you.

"Nope," he mumbles against your lips as he rests his hands gently on top of yours. "Tonight is about you, doll, and how I'm going to worship every inch of your body until you know just how much I love you."

You blink and you're lying flat against the couch cushions, Eddie now hovering over you with that hungry look in his eyes that you've grown so familiar with.

"But-"

"Nope, you're not going to feel bad because this is just as much for me as it is for you." He lowers himself down onto you and presses his lips to yours. It's so gentle in comparison the other kisses you've shared and you're eating it up, loving seeing this soft side of him.

He's kissing his way down your neck, whispering the most kind words to you about how much he loves your body. He hasn't been this soft and gentle since the very beginning of your arrangement and you have to admit that you love seeing this side of him.

"Your skin is so soft," he murmurs against your chest. "And you," he cuts him off to take a whiff. "smell so good, baby. What is that?"

"You know what it is," you laugh and it's music to Eddie's ears.

"Oh right," he chuckles as he kisses his way down to your tits, pressing a kiss to each one before speaking again. "You know how much I love these," he says as he gives them a squeeze which causes you to gasp. "But they aren't the focus tonight."

Eddie continues to kiss down your torso, pulling down your sweatpants as he does so.

"God, you're perfect," he whispers as he finally gets to the spot right above the waistband of your panties. As he gaze drops lower, he can't help but the notice the dark, wet patch right where you're cunt it. "Already wet, hm? Well, it's a good thing that I'm going to take care of you, isn't it?"

He pulls off your panties then kisses his way up your leg, murmuring what you're sure are compliments into your skin but you can't hear him. He does the same with your other leg then reaches up and grabs hold of your wrist, slipping the scrunchie from it.

"Can I use this?" He asks, his voice so sweet that can't possible say no.

"Sure," you nod and watch him tie his hair back before hooking your legs over his shoulders, not even giving you a chance to prepare yourself before diving straight in.

There's no warm up, it's nothing but teeth and tongue as he bites down, causing you to moan loudly. Your hands grab onto whatever hair you can reach, giving it a tug as your thighs press against his head, your heels digging into his back as your toes curl in pleasure.

He's eating your cunt like it's a man starved and you already feel dizzy, just knowing that this is different from any other time that he's done it. All the others were sloppy and lazy and exactly what you needed, but here, there's intention, there's purpose. And at this rate, you're not sure how long you're going to last.

He pushes his tongue inside and that's when you know you're done for. It's fucking you so hard that you didn't even know he could that with just his tongue. His hands are sliding underneath your ass, squeezing it as hard as he can as he works his magic, making you moan over and over as your climax builds.

You finally reach your orgasm and as it's coursing through you, his names falling from your lips, you just know that this is the best one yet. And even as you're finishing, Eddie's still going to town, slowly removing his tongue only to let it lazily glide along your cunt to lick up every last bit before pulling away just enough to where you can hear him speak.

"Tastes so good," he tells you. "Any man who has ever claimed that a food is their favorite thing to eat has clearly never had their head between your thighs." He then goes back in for more and you stay like that for the rest of the night where Eddie makes you feel the best you ever had as he eats you out for hours on end, showing you just how he loves you and that he will continue to do so for the rest of his life.

[kingminie]

until forever falls apart | 01.

pairing: kim taehyung, reader 

genre: angst, exes au. 

warnings: emotional cheating, infidelity, swearing, detailed smut, chain smoking as a coping mechanism.

word count: 11.8k

description: you’ve never been much of a believer in the phrase ‘first love never dies’ but it seems as if the universe badly wants to prove it to you — and you’re absolutely and royally damned the moment you find out that the phrase holds truth. 

or alternatively, you come as a stand-in photographer for your cousin’s prenup shoot and you find out that it’s your secret ex who’s about to get married, and kim taehyung really doesn’t make it any less easy for you. 

01 | ongoing.

Love has always been easy for you — both falling into or getting out of it, but more of the latter, really. 

However, there are things about this so-called ‘love’ that you don’t quite get — will probably never get — and it leaves you in a sticky position when friends come to ask advice that roots from such a concept.

It always ends in a snotty mess and a sigh of I don’t know why I came to you for this at the end anyway. It makes you feel like shit; a clueless, ignorant, wondering piece of shit because how is it that everyone seems to have been looking at love and defining it from a single different lens with a unified perspective, and you’re stuck at seeing it from the other endpoint.

It isn’t your fault you don’t assimilate hurt with loving, is it? It isn’t your fault that you don’t expect to clean up a colossal mess every time love comes to its end. And it most certainly isn’t your fault that when love ends, you let it go. It ended, and that’s that. For you, anyway. So, why exactly, do people fault you for having such a reaction at the conclusion of a relationship?

Why does it seem to be a taboo and something that’s unheard of when a month after a relationship ends, you find yourself not grieving over a love that’s lost? When and why does it seem to have become the standard to mope and pine and cry as if acceptance and moving on is an outlawed concept right after a relationship ends?

That’s because you’re a heartless, unfeeling bastard, that’s why, as your best friend, Jungkook, so likes to put it every single time. And maybe, it is the defeat and the eventual acceptance that people will never see things in your perspective that you just roll your eyes and move on with your day. 

Love, for you, is something that ends when it ends. A wound that closes, heals. It leaves a scar, sure. You remember the hurt, yes. But the initial peak of pain wouldn’t be there again if it healed, would it.

With all that, you’ve become unsure — of what to do, of what to say, of how to act — when people lament over a lost love. Which, at this very moment, is what exactly your sister is doing. 

All tears, snot, and hiccups under your blankets. 

Sobs wrack her body in an uncontrollable shake, a vibrating mess under the sheets as you’re left to wonder what the fuck to do with your hands. But you never get the answer because she wails, head lifting from the blankets, “How could he do that to me? Six years, six years! Six years he threw away for what, a year of meaningless sex with his assistant?” 

You don’t really think it’s meaningless when dear, dear respectable Hyunwoo decides to break off the engagement, but you keep your mouth shut and continue to awkwardly pat your sister’s back. 

Your hand stills just an inch away from her back when she looks at you, wet eyes and mouth set in a downward curve, and whispers, “What should I do now?” She sniffles and you flinch. Because her goddamn snot is staining your bed but fuck, okay, you can’t think about that now, “I love him.”

You hesitate, weighing the words you’re about to speak in your head and thinking about the consequences before settling for a question, “You–you’re not thinking about giving him another shot if he asks for it, are you?” 

At this, your sister remains silent and you sigh because yes, yes she will give him a chance in one heartbeat if the bastard do so much as give her a fucking petal and a printed ‘I’m sorry’ hallmark note.

“You don’t get it.” 

Ah, there it is. 

Of course, it’s always going to come down to you not getting it. 

Maybe your sister sees it, the anger bubbling in your gaze as you glare at her, because she scrambles to sit down with her legs underneath her, knees parallel each other as she kneels on the bed facing you.

And it would have been funny, seeing your older sister like this, but the searing exasperation breaks through and you let it, mouth opening, “No, you don’t get it. See, this is not just a matter of moving the fuck on. He fucked you over, Hana, so much that there’s no amount of apology or groveling he can do to fix that. He fucked his assistant when he’s due to walk down the aisle in a year with you and if that doesn’t spell out how much respect he has for you, for our family, and you still choose to remain blind despite that, then you came to the wrong person because I won’t coddle you.” 

“I care about you,” your voice softens and you see her shoulders slump, “This is not just about my once-it-ends-then-it-ends view on relationships. Hyunwoo did an unthinkable, unforgivable thing and there’s no going back from that. I’m not letting you walk back to the person who lacks respect for a relationship, much less for you. Do you get where I’m coming from?” 

Hana nods meekly, head hanging low before you hear her sniffle once more. It hurts to see her like this and you want nothing more but to pummel the son of a bitch who did this to her, “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head and you let out a breath, all air knocked out from your lungs when she slumps forward, arms snaking around your shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, the phrase of ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ a litany on her tongue.  You squeak as her legs slither their way around you in a tight grip and she lets out a weak laugh that sounded much more like a wheeze before you push her off, feeling a wet blot on your shoulder. 

“I want to be you for a day. Not like you,” she mutters as she gets comfortable on the pillows, your pillows, “But be you entirely. I want this pain to vanish in a week and just forget about him.” 

She pauses, “Maybe after I key his car.” 

The pain doesn’t vanish, you think and tell her. “I just learned how to deal with it, Hana. And it isn’t overnight that I do it. And you will get over it too. Heal from it. Someday, one day.” 

The silence that follows is comforting, and you think she must’ve fallen asleep, just as most do after a good cry. But she hasn’t, you realize, when she rolls over once more and speaks in a quiet voice, “The way you are right now,” she pauses, only continuing when you give her a nod, “is it because of him?”

There are only a handful of people that could fit about who she means, you know that, but you refuse to speak of any of them and opt to ask her a question instead, “Which way that I am exactly are you referring to?” 

“The closed-off you,” Hana replies, a soft tilt to her words, “I had a theory, you know, that you moved on so fast from the relationships you had after because you were never really invested in the people after him. That he broke you, enough for you to place that, whatever you have around your heart that doesn’t allow people to hurt you. You love other people, but you never really allow them to love you as much because of it which makes detachment and parting easier when it ends.” 

You don’t really mean to, but the words Hana speaks are like a vacuum, drawing you into a place you’ve managed to tuck away in the very back of your mind. Memories rush in and you drown in it — of honey blond hair, rectangle smiles, and skin that smelled of oakmoss and jasmine. 

“Am I right?” 

You let out a laugh as you nudge a pillow towards your sister, “You and your unending theories. No, Hana. It’s not because of anyone in particular. This is just how I am, how I think. It’s just unfortunate that it's only the minority that shares the same sentiments as I do.” 

Hana looks as if she’d try to refute before deciding against it, groaning when her phone rings and you raise an eyebrow because who in hell would be calling her at midnight. She shakes her head, twisting the phone around so you can see who’s calling and you see the word Studio and you shrug before she takes the call, only hearing snippets of the conversation and it seems as if it's about work. 

Hana owns a photography studio — a hobby turned business venture with her friends. Your parents were against it initially, deeming it a ‘not suitable’ business for Hana, but your older sister is a head-strong bull and proceeded with her plans without a single support from your parents and of course, because she’s Hana Park, she can make anything succeed if she puts her mind to it. 

“—yeah, you goof, I’ll be right there, don’t worry. Why are you so stressed about this anyway, is this your secret wedding or something?” You lie closer to your sister and she mouths ‘Jimin’ before returning to picking her nails, “I get it, okay. Stop freaking out, I promise to be there tomorrow. M’kay, bye.” 

She heaves a dragged-out, exaggerated sigh just as she tosses her phone on the bed where it bounced, “You know, I’d assume it’s our dear brother’s prenuptial photoshoot tomorrow with the way he’s freaking out over the details. I’d actually think that if I didn’t know of him and his single ass and his emotional attachment to his bachelor title.” 

“It’s Sunday tomorrow, and you’re booked because of that phone call,” You list, “So I can only assume Jimin knows one of them and used his connections to book your exclusive ass into working on a Sunday.” 

Hana laughs, “You’re not wrong. Soyeon made the reservation for November, which is like, a month from now. Jimin moved it for tomorrow in such a rush last week for reasons I don’t know why.” 

“Soyeon?” You gasp, eyes going wide, “You’re not talking about Yang Soyeon, are you? Oh my god, how did I not know about this?”

Your sister snorts, ungraceful and loud, “Who would have expected for the youngest cousin in the family to be the first one to be wed, huh? Date’s set for April next year and I don’t even know who she’s marrying,” But she pauses and a frown mars her features, “I would’ve been the first one to walk the aisle and yet, here I am.” 

Wait. 

“Hana,” you start, “aren’t you meeting Hyunwoo’s parents tomorrow for brunch? To formally call off the wedding? Isn’t that what you came here for tonight, because you were having second thoughts of actually calling it off tomorrow?”

You see the realization dawn upon her, her eyes widening in recognition of the planned confrontation, her mouth dropping to a comical shape of the letter ‘o’ before she sits up so fast you actually ask if her back’s okay and you hear the frantic hits of her nails against the glass of her phone, the worry leaking thickly in her voice as she speaks to multiple people, all of which ending in a frustrated sigh and groan from your older sister. 

“Fuck!” she screams as she disconnects from a call once more, “I can’t find anyone to replace me, everyone’s either booked already or have plans for tomorrow. Fuck, shit, I’m screwed. Jimin’s going to kill me. No photographer’s available tomorrow, what am I going to do now, I—you.”

You still, nailed in place by her stare, “Fuck are you looking at me for?” 

It’s in this moment you feel the doom coming down on you from all the corners of the universe when Hana smiles, actually feeling it that you shiver. She picks up the phone, calls Jimin, asks if 10 o’clock is okay for everyone to gather tomorrow, kisses your cheek good night. 

Kiss of fucking death, you feel like. 

You’re never a morning person — nor do you have plans to become one — and you aren’t used to being awakened by a goddamn wet, slimy tongue licking your face all over. 

Hana’s laugh echoes around your room, followed by hushed good job from her and a shrill bark from her dog (you really did not know how Orion arrived here when the dog wasn’t even here last night), and you are never one to have thoughts of murder so early in the morning but your family has really been testing your limits. But then you remember that you willingly handed over to Hana the passcode to your apartment, something for emergencies and shit like that, but of course, she took it as an invitation to come and go as she pleases. 

Fortunately, she cleans up after Orion’s mess, thank god. 

Rolling over, you prepare to squint as protection against the glare of the sun since Hana had already pulled back the curtains, but you sit up at the lack of the sun’s intrusion into your eyes and see that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. The city that you can see through the glass window is quiet, still in deep sleep. As you should be just before Hana woke you up. 

“Dad’s going to have a fit when I tell him what you’re blackmailing me to do,” you groan, falling back on your pillow, “I’m running his business and here you are making me take photos of people Dad hates, well, by extension.”

Hana does nothing but flash you a grin, “You’re the only one I can trust to be on par with my skills, honey. Besides, I already have Dad booked in the freaking out area ‘cause you know, I’m a bachelorette now.”

You roll your eyes and you move off your bed, making it neat and tidy to which Hana scoffs before grabbing the mug of cold coffee right from her hands and chugging it all down. Looks like you’ll need more than a cup with what you’re going to be faced with today. 

“Is Jimin coming? My car’s in the mechanic, I’m getting it tomorrow.”

Hana nods before telling you just how far Jimin is from your apartment, “About Jimin, actually.” Your sister trails off and you feel an oncoming headache because of course, there’s more. 

“I didn't exactly tell him I can’t make it today so I’m trusting you to, um, calm him down when he freaks? He’s only weak to your charms and absolutely immune to mine.” 

Turns out a little while after that, Jimin’s absolutely immune to the both of you. Especially you.

“No, what the fuck. What—no.” 

Jimin stands frozen, fingers gripping the edges of the kitchen island. His eyes are wide, mouth open in disbelief as he listens to Hana’s explanations of why she can’t go today, her eyes flashing as if to call you for help but you only shrug because there’s really nothing you can do to help her out of this. She made her own bed, might as well let her lie in it. 

It irks you quite a bit though when Jimin starts to become unreasonable despite Hana’s crystal clear explanation as to why she’s unavailable today, and on a typical day, you know Jimin would understand, and would easily let it go because obviously, Hana’s life matters take precedence over a photoshoot that can be scheduled on a different day. Jimin today, however, is extra adamant on not having you take over the shoot and it might have very, just very slightly struck the wrong nerve in you.

“You know, Jimin, if this is a matter of your trust in my abilities, I’d gladly back out of this. I’m doing this as a favor to Hana, I’m not here to help you,” you quip, tight and low as you regard the both of them, “So, if you refuse to accept my help, then call your friend to find another photographer, better yet schedule another one with Hana.”

Hana starts to protest but Jimin shakes his head, turns to you with soft eyes and a pouting set of lips, “I’m sorry, that came off wrong. Really wrong. I swear I wasn’t trying to undermine your abilities, nor am I saying that there is anything to undermine because you’re good as shit at this, maybe even better than Hana, it’s just that—”

He cuts off his ramble mid-sentence as if to catch himself — to keep from spilling whatever his reservation about you being the stand-in for Hana, which you don’t really know what. 

Three things about Jimin are these: he rambles when he’s extremely nervous, fidgets with his thumbs when he’s scared, and refuses to make any eye contact if he believes he’s done something wrong. It’s always one of the three when it comes to him and never altogether. And yet, he stands in front of you, doing all three simultaneously and your heart plummets to the marble flooring beneath you because what is he so scared of, really, to be like this in front of you. 

“Look, if you don’t want me to do this, that’s okay,” You start to speak and Jimin turns to you and opens his mouth to speak when you shake your head. You aren’t finished speaking, “That is, if you have an alternative, if Soyeon agrees to reschedule, I’m sure Hana can fit them right in some other time—” You give a pointed look at your sister who rolls her eyes but nods, “—but if they don’t, you have no choice, Jimin. Unless you want to take the photos yourself.”

Jimin lets out a breath, agrees, and proceeds to call whoever he needs to and converses in a low tone that isn’t discernible to you, but Hana can hear and your eyebrows furrow in concern when her head turns so fast towards Jimin’s direction, panic clear-cut in her eyes as she picks up on whatever it is that Jimin is saying. She curses under her breath, turns ghostly pale before she pulls Jimin into one of the guest rooms, leaving you to your thoughts and your second cup of coffee. 

“You kept this?”

It’s a good three minutes after that Jimin’s voice pulls you out of your trance — your attention previously held by the large black ant that is now on top of an apple. You turn and your breath hitches at the rough sketch of the overly-familiar Pomeranian in his right hand. You shrug, “Jungkook must have left it there when he came over.” 

At this, Jimin raises his eyebrows. Stares at the picture a little bit too long before putting it back in place, under Jungkook’s purple-pink painting of a sunset, to the right of Jimin’s present two years before. He then looks at you, really looks at you, that you become unnerved enough to look away and pretend to busy yourself with some imaginary dust on the counter. 

You know. You know how the framed sketch is too clean, too in place, and too taken care of to be something that your best friend accidentally left behind. And you know Jimin knows this too with the way his eyes turn to you and you fear. Fear that pity would be reflected in them and so you stand abruptly, deaf to the frantic calls of Hana and you head straight to the building basement and settle comfortably on the passenger seat of Jimin’s car. 

You ran because you’re a coward — afraid to face questions you know you have no answers to.

Jimin enters not a minute later, silent and mum, but the silent looks your sibling keeps giving you is not something you miss no matter how discreet he tries to be about it. You brush it off though, citing the tense atmosphere to be the reason he’s doing so. 

But little do you know that this is the first of the many mistakes you will be making — the tiniest among all others.

The theme is simple. Glamour, editorial-esque Vogue-spread motif. Fit for the rich. Something that exudes elegance and opulence. Classy, simple, and elegant. You nod as you skim through the print-out Hana rushes to get to you through one of her employees, one hand busy writing ideas and suggestions. 

It warms your heart that despite all the things Hana has to face today, she hasn’t failed to make everything easier for you, as she always does. And everything’s in accordance, just as they should be. That is, except for one, someone. Jimin really cannot stop himself from shaking and you actually fear the poor boy is turning into a leaf, dancing in the wind, with how he physically cannot stop himself from moving. 

You’ve had enough of it — his nervous fidgeting, the frantic scan of his eyes among the crowd, the unending bounce of his knees — so you move to approach him, just in time to pluck out the cigarette he’s about to light in his hand and he jumps, “Minie, you’re making me nervous here. I’ve seen you nervous but it’s never been this bad.” 

Jimin looks at you and your chest constricts at the face he’s making. A beat, two beats before he lets out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

You think of the exchange back at your apartment, the one where it came off as if he had no faith in you as Hana’s substitute and you let out a small laugh. You know Jimin would never think that. Flicking his chin, you shake your head, “It was me who took your words the wrong way, Min. You don’t need to apologize.”

He looks as if he wants to say more but a car pulls up, red and ostentatious with the way the roof is folded down, and you grin as you see your cousin, a matching upward curve to her lips. 

It isn’t new, really, when you catch sight of her hair — beautiful shades of cotton candy pink and pastel blue glinting under the sun. 

Beautiful, daring Soyeon, the darling of the Yangs. 

You nearly meet your end, though, that day if it isn’t for Jimin cursing and pulling you back when Soyeon isn’t able to stop her car at the designated yellow parking line and she too squeaks a wheeze when she steps on the brakes. The car comes to a stop, and you see her breath does too, before she throws her head back and laughs. 

“You’re fucking crazy.”

She sticks out her tongue before she jumps over the door, her flimsy taupe pants billowing after her. You only manage to let out a yelp of protest before she has you and Jimin in a bone-crushing hug and you feel your chest rasp to get some air in when she squeezes once more before finally letting go. 

“This is a two-people marriage we’re having today, right? You’re not marrying yourself here?” You ask and laugh as she rolls her eyes. It’s definitely her thing and it wouldn’t be a surprise if she did. “I didn’t even know you were in a relationship and now you’re getting married?”

She shrugs, a wide smile still on her lips, “It just happened,” Her eyebrows furrow when she looks over at Jimin who’s uncharacteristically silent and nudges him, “I still won’t forgive you. I know my groom’s your best friend but it doesn’t really give you a free-pass to have him here at six in the morning to get you coffee. Who does that?”

You don’t really hear what Jimin has to say to her because you’re bidding your goodbye to them both when one of Hana’s assistants — the one she had assigned to brief you over all the details of today’s shoot — pulls you from the conversation, apology written all over her face at the thought of interrupting you but as soon as she open her mouth to speak, you dismiss it with an its okay and you signal for her to go ahead. 

“This is the final list of the concepts Hana had brainstormed which one of the client is yet to choose from,” she hands you a thin stack of paper, a portfolio sandwiched between two clear binding covers, “The bride has already chosen the concepts she wants that are to be included for today’s shoot, so, all that's left is to hand the checklist to the groom for the shoot next week.”

Nodding, you skim through the portfolio and shit, it’s definitely good. 

You’re whisked away towards the building, directed towards the seventh floor of the rented building in which you’re told Soyeon’s groom is, handpicking his outfits for the day. 

You give the door a knock, hearing a bustle of people talking on the other side of the door, and when no one answers, you push the door open. You’re immediately greeted by a flurry of people walking back and forth, all of them either with stacks of paper in their arms or Brioni and Gucci suits in tow. 

It’s a mess, a downright mess you want to run from because you haven’t ingested enough coffee to face this. 

Which is exactly why you nearly cry when someone steps in front of you, a neat smile in place and a large cup of iced coffee in one hand, a hand extending towards you, “You look like you need this.” 

He tilts his head once, gesturing inside the room, “I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi. Jimin texted me earlier that his other sister is standing in for Hana and I assume that’s you.” 

Something feels vaguely familiar about Min Yoongi and you list it off as a passing name Jimin had mentioned in the stories he had told you. 

“There’s a meeting room on the very far left, grumpy groom’s there,” Yoongi smiles, “Nice meeting you, um—”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N), nice to meet you too, Yoongi.”

You think as you walk that there’s no point in going over next week’s concept today since Hana can already make it by the next photoshoot and she would’ve understand better the dynamics of it all if they talk then, but okay, since you’re already here, might as well help all the way. 

Through the frosted glass of the meeting room, you see a silhouette, tall and broad. You have never been a people-person and meeting new ones really isn’t your strong point so you take three deep breaths, hand tightening on the cup of coffee Yoongi handed you, before pushing the glass door open. 

“Hi, I’m sorry I ran a bit late. It’s—” 

And you stop. 

You stop because you suddenly can’t feel the cold cup slipping from your grip. You stop because you feel the liquid pool at the very bottom of your shoes, sticky and wet and messy. You stop because you can’t breathe. You stop because your heart fucking stops too at the sight of Kim Taehyung. 

Beautiful, dazzling Kim Taehyung. 

First boyfriend, first love, now ex-lover, Kim Taehyung. 

Soyeon’s groom and soon-to-be husband, Kim Taehyung.

“Everything okay here?” Yoongi. You hear his footsteps behind you before you see him and you can’t be thankful enough at the interference that’s very much needed. 

But you allow yourself to be pathetic, just as you always are around Kim Taehyung. And because you can’t help it, frankly, when your eyes meet his and all sense that is good and common jumps out the window behind him. Because he looks fucking beautiful — him and his honey hair that’s now framing his face, a little bit longer, lighter. Because the room reeks of him, jasmine, vanilla, and oakmoss and it consumes you. The part of you that, despite it all, still longs for the Kim Taehyung from four years past.

On a good day and you meet him once more, you think you would have laughed. A fake smile and a head held high would’ve done it in front of him. But all it takes is one look now. One look, at the time when all your defenses are down, for the self-imposed chain that blocks it all to break and give, a domino effect in your mind as it all comes back; the whirlwind of feelings and emotions that the calamity of him brings forth. 

You nod, feeling the light touch of Yoongi’s fingers around your arm, and you anchor yourself with it. Pull yourself from drowning in him once more. “Yeah, sorry,” You breathe, “It slipped. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll have someone take care of it, don’t worry,” Yoongi waves you off when you bend down to start cleaning up your mess, nods toward Taehyung, “Go on, he gets grumpy if he’s left to wait.” 

Oh, you know. 

So, you do. 

You drag your legs to where Taehyung stands, feeling like you’re hauling wet logs for limbs. It’s silent, save for the sound of Yoongi’s shoes against the floor as he kicks at the fallen blocks of ice, and maybe, he takes the silence for Taehyung’s bout of pettiness because he hisses a quiet behave before he walks out. The silence becomes even more suffocating when now it’s just you and Taehyung. 

“So—”

“I—”

You shut your mouth when he speaks at the same time as you. 

You decide, though, to continue because you’re here for one thing and that one thing entails that you have something to say to him. But he doesn’t, he shouldn’t. 

“So, let’s talk about concepts. I’ve been told that Soyeon has already chosen the ones for today — for both your individual and couple shots, and you get to choose the ones for the shoot with Hana next week. Here,” you slide the portfolio across the table, taking a seat across his own without waiting for him, “Hana already made an outline for everything so, this, is basically a checklist you just have to choose from and—”

“How are you?” 

“—I’m just going to wait until you’re done filling them out so I can bring them back and start with—”

“(Y/N).” You finally look at him then and you look away the second you do because you’re trying so hard to keep yourself whole and you feel like one second more in his gaze and you’ll fall apart, “I’m sorry.” 

And you try. God, you try so hard to repress the tiny, evil voice that pushes you to throw reason out the window. But it comes out anyway, and there’s no stopping what flows out of your mouth after, “Why,” you laugh, “Sorry because you wouldn't have chosen Hana's studio if you knew I was the one to take your photos? Or sorry because you had my brother acting like a train wreck just to keep this from me? Don’t worry I won’t be here next week.” 

His face pinches, tongue rolling out to wet his lips, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then don’t apologize to me—” you grit, fists clenched and heart thundering, “—as if you assumed that seeing you has put me in a position that hurt me. Because it really doesn’t. Not anymore, Taehyung. So if you have anything to apologize for—” 

You cut yourself off because no, no he has nothing to apologize for. He doesn’t have to say sorry. One person deciding to walk out of a relationship doesn’t warrant an apology from them. An explanation, sure, but you don’t really need it from him. He made it clear enough all those years ago just before he slammed the door of your apartment shut that he just didn’t love you enough — not anymore then. 

It’s been four years. It’s been four long years and you should be over him — and you are, you’re certain that you are. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt because it does, fuck, it still hurts so much and you don’t know why. 

“—apologize to Jimin because I just know he feels like shit for lying to me because of you.” 

You commit your second mistake that same day in the middle of shooting Taehyung’s individual photos. Soyeon had gone for a nature theme this time and so you find yourself in the middle of the forest with a near-naked Taehyung in tow and thank heavens it rains because one more glimpse through the viewfinder at his well-oiled torso and you might have combust and run away from the photoshoot, Hana’s reputation be damned. 

Jimin seems to be attached to you now, becoming a human magnet not long after he had apologized so much he knelt, snuggling to your side every chance he gets that it’s suffocating you because he’s overcompensating but you don’t really have the heart to call him out. Not when he looks like a puppy whose tail got accidentally stepped on when you get around to even do so much as try. 

So, you let him become your shadow for the time being, finally letting out a huge breath of relief when lunch time comes around and everybody takes a break and you slip past him to the very back of the dilapidated cabin you stumbled upon just before the last shoot ended, not too deep into the forest that faces the river. 

Finally, you think, as you savor the peace, even though momentary. You’re glad to be away from the commotion and it makes you realize once more why you choose to be cooped up in an office. It’s because you really can’t handle this many people and it physically and emotionally drains you that you can’t think.

You pause when you reach into your pockets, the gritty warning from Hana and Jimin an alarm ricocheting in your mind how it’s an unhealthy habit and it’s going to fucking ruin you someday. But the short-lived guilt is replaced by justifications of how it’ll be a free-pass and your siblings can fuck off because they’re the reason you’re here in the first place. 

Besides, burning through one stick won’t hurt them if they don't know. 

So you let your fingers feel for the familiar leather case, pull the only stick inside and you’re so, so close to reaching your sweet release from this damned mental pressure when you realize you left your lighter at home. Letting out a curse, you clamp your mouth around the unlit cigarette, letting it hang and opting to indulge in its semi-sweet smell that goes so well with the rain. 

“Want a light?”

You still, the cigarette falling from your lips at the sudden fright. Down, down, and down until it’s washed away by the rain. What a waste, you lament. Sighing, you turn and see Taehyung who’s sporting a sheepish smile, the same familiar white in between his own mouth, lit unlike yours, “I’d accept, but there’s really nothing that needs lighting anymore.”

He has a shirt on now, you notice, flimsy and buttoned up halfway. His hair is tousled messily, now free from the rigid form it previously had, and you give him your back when you feel the urge to fix the fraction of hair that has fallen forward. You hear him take a drag and you smell before you see the tendrils of gray smoke when he releases and god, the small whiff, even in the tiniest fume, has your shoulder relaxing. 

“I’d offer one but I don’t have any spare with me,” you hear him say before you feel him move, “I’ll get the fallen one for you, if you want.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you see him lean against the other column, the change in position means that he’s now closer, closer than he’s ever been since the day you last saw him, years ago. And he’s close enough that the thin material of his shirt brushes against your hoodie when the wind moves. And you want to move too, only if it isn’t for the fact that one move and you’ll either fall into the river or be skewered by the worn down wood and you don’t really feel like dying today. 

Ironic, how you went for a smoke break to relieve the stress of the day, only to have it doubled. 

Now, this is where you make the second mistake. 

Because you really don’t mean to stare at Taehyung. You don’t mean to let your stare at his mouth linger a second too long that he sees.  It’s just unfortunate that the cigarette is in his mouth, and you stay fixated on the damn cigarette that you fail to see him catch your gaze and hold it. 

It’s unfortunate that you don’t take a step back when he takes one step forward. 

It’s unfortunate that you become pliant when his cold fingers softly grip your chin, coaxing your mouth to open and welcome the smoke that he blows from his own mouth, hot and intoxicating and tinged with the memories of all the nights past that he’s done this. 

It’s unfortunate that you take a long drag when he places the soft end of the cigarette from his mouth to yours, unhesitating and eager. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, gentle as he pulls the stick, planting it back to the hold of his mouth. You see a slight upward curve at the corners of it. 

This is bad. Wrong and unacceptable and absolutely inappropriate, you know. But you can’t help but accept when he offers one more drag, an offer of release. This time you pluck it out from his fingers, feel the warmth of him around the smoke, and inhale. 

It’s only when the embers die out that you feel it, the heavy feeling coming back tenfold as you realize the gravity of what you just did. Not for anyone else, but for you. The toll this will have on you when you go home and have all the time in the world to think about your stupidity. So before you get sucked into the void of self-destruction, you excuse yourself, not caring about the delicate drops of rain that fall but not before you turn back and shout your thanks. 

“Okay, you shared a smoke, so what,” you mutter to yourself as you dry yourself off. You’re two people who share a history, a history that’s now dead and gone. A flame that was once bright but has now burned out, never to be rekindled again. 

You enter the building with thoughts of rationalization that tries to justify what you’ve done as something harmless, clouding your mind enough that you don’t see Jimin barrel towards you with a smile on his face, only to be replaced with disgust when he breathes and chokes at the ghost of smoke that clings to your clothes. 

He rummages through a nearby luggage and returns with a bottle of perfume, “If you want your head still attached to your shoulders by tonight, you’d know better and douse yourself in that shit because Hana’s here to take over and you only have two minutes to shove Listerine down your throat before she finds you.” 

In the haste of trying to avert your sister’s wrath, you damn near shower the entire contents of the bottle, only to realize that night when you come home that despite the endless showers you take, you still smell like him. Because of all people, Jimin just had to take from Taehyung’s things and now you’re doused with him all over again. 

It’s later that night that you’ll fall asleep to the smell of jasmine and vanilla despite years of trying so hard to rid your apartment of any scents. 

Of any trace of Kim Taehyung.

The third and fourth mistake, you make five days later. A Friday that you’re miraculously off work early. Well, technically, you can get off whenever you want but as the faithful, loving, and overworking youngest child that you are, you’ve assimilated longer hours at your father’s company to productivity and so you’ve never really found reason to clock off early when you can do so much more if you stay a bit later than most.

Besides, the company won’t run by itself, so there’s that. 

Now, though, you wonder why you thought like that because as you walk down the street, everything looks divine. The setting sun settles on the horizon, sandwiched between two skyscrapers, bleeding purple and orange and pink and it’s breathtaking. Painfully so. For the first time, you indulge yourself in the sounds of the busy city and for a change, it’s peaceful despite the loudness. You can’t remember the last time you took a stroll like this, having been so immersed in work. The last time you walked down the street the like had been years ago, with—

The breath you take is sharp and sudden that it has you bent over on the sidewalk, coughing and wheezing your lungs out that people start to look. You flash a smile, sending a quick thanks to your sister’s ex-lover for choosing to establish the studio within a five-minute walk from the company building, and nearly combusting on the spot when you pull their glass door that clearly says push right after you nearly heave your lungs out from climbing 10 sets of stairs because the elevator isn’t working, coincidentally.  

“Hey,” you greet the people on the lounge before specifically turning to Younha — the one who had walked you through everything on the previous shoot, “Is Hana here? I have the initial photos ready if she wants to see. Played around and edited most of them.”

Younha looks sheepish as she raises her hand to her nape where she nervously scratches, “About that,” she grimaces, “Hana phoned earlier that she’s running a bit late tonight so she told me to look over the photos and pick the final ones with the client, but I don’t trust myself enough to do that just yet, so would it be okay if we go through it together?” 

You assure her it’s okay. And really, it is, because you’ve finished work anyway and it’s a Saturday tomorrow. You can afford to be late an hour or so. You watch her plug the USB on one of the computers lined up against the wall, see her gasp when she pulls up the photos. 

“Oh my god, these are beautiful. You’re telling me you shot each of these by yourself, edited them all on your own, all in less than a week,” Younha turns to you, eyes wide, “Can’t you come and work with us?”

You laugh, genuine and loud, “The raw files were already beautiful untouched. Just touched up some lighting here and there.”

“Yeah, and who took those raw shots, hm? Who coordinated every single thing that resulted in those shots looking like that? You, that’s who,” Younha seems to realize who she’s talking to and she blushes before muttering something else you can’t hear, “Also, about Hana—” 

Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

“—so she told me earlier if I can pick out the final photos with the client, right? And since you’re here,” Younha trails off and you still there is no way, no way that you’re going to sit hours dissecting each photo with Soyeon, worse if it’s Taehyung. You have your pride and you’ll cling to that even if it’s the last thing you do in this world.

No way in hell. “Hana’s on her way here, right? I think she can make it.”

Younha nods, a low hum before she answers, “She can. In two hours. Maybe. Not sure. Our client, however—” She tilts her head to the right. Towards the direction of Hana’s office. “—is here.”

It’s a sigh of defeat you let out. Walking away from here means you admit you’re a coward, walking in Hana’s office will mean you’re weak. See, it’s always a lose-lose thing for you everytime a certain Kim is involved. The very, and only, Kim who seems to be haunting every part of your daily life the past five days. Or in this current case, a future Kim but a Kim nonetheless. 

Younha smiles, the sly fox, when you place your bag back down on the table, “If I’m going to stay here for the night, might as well ask for coffee. Lots and lots of it.”

You only barely get the full sentence out but Younha is already on her heels with a mock salute.

You push the door to Hana’s office, making sure (twice) not to pull this time, and your eyes land on Kim Taehyung whose eyebrows rise in surprise upon seeing you. If he thinks you’re meaning to keep on meeting him like this, well, he’s wrong. The universe likes to spring surprises down your path of life and it just so happens that for now, Kim Taehyung might be its play thing — to torment you with, most probably. 

He sits on the couch that rests against the white wall, beside the windows that occupy the whole one side of the room that overlooks the city. Hana’s office is more like her office and a miniature studio, exclusive for her and whoever she decides to let in here, separate from the lounge and the main studio. It’s an industrial loft, made modern and more suited to her taste and it’s just so goddamn bright in here, you realize.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you mutter as the door clicks shut behind you. 

You head straight to Hana’s computer, turning it on and plugging the USB before you plop down on the office chair. “I had the photos with me and I dropped by to leave it for Hana but she apparently has things to attend to for the next two hours and you’re here already so, yeah.”

Taehyung only nods, silent and awkward when he stands. 

You sigh, “Grab a chair and come here, I guess. We have, like, a thousand photos to sift through. See if you’d like any changes done to them. The earlier we finish, the better.”

Three hours pass after that and you’re left with no Hana in sight, 325 file numbers listed down, a faint headache and tired eyes, a hungry stomach, and three accidental brushes of Taehyung’s hair on your cheek because what before is a ruler-long distance between the two of you has been reduced to mere centimeters, and Jesus Christ, you don’t know who moved between the two of you that it has come to such. You’re firm to say it isn’t you because your ass remains frozen, stiff as a board everytime Taehyung does so much as inhale. 

“Can you—” Taehyung clears his throat, pointing to the keyboard, “—move to the next one, please.”

You mutter an apology, pressing the right arrow and you see the photo move. Frankly, you aren’t paying attention. Not to anything, least of all the photos. It’ll be like knocking consciously on Hell’s door if you do pay attention. 

Because you can take being around Taehyung, you can easily detach yourself from reality when you are — and not feel anything, to look at him alone and think of him as an ex-friend, an ex-lover without the rest of the titles attached. But to look at the photos, the pictures you took, there’s no detaching from that reality. The reality that the man you had feelings for — might still have feelings for, but you push that thought back — is getting married, of all things. 

And you list this off as feeling weird, an ex marrying a cousin. You aren’t jealous, god, no. It’s just that — weird. Well, you think. 

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Taehyung breathes and you still, unmoving as the statue on the corner of the room, “I’m going to order Chinese. I’m not going to last the rest of these photos if I don’t eat. Anything you want?” 

He might as well have slammed the mouse he’s holding with the way he casually lets it fall off from his hand to the table, leaning back on his chair and oh god, his head is leaning on the back of your chair. One move of your shoulder and the back of it will touch the side of his head. He has his phone over his head, elbows hanging in the air as he opens his phone with a click. He hums as he scrolls and this is so, so painfully domestic that you struggle to breathe. 

It’s been push and pull the whole night. He asks, you answer, and never the other way. 

Fifteen minutes that you’re plunged in deafening silence and you punch the air in your mind when Younha knocks, take-away bags at hand and a smile on her face. 

Taehyung hands you your food, places the utensils in neat order, pokes the straw through your bubble tea and gently places it in front of you and you stare. You stare because never in your life did you ever think you and Taehyung would ever be in this situation. Toeing around each other, walking on eggshells. 

There had been a time that silence wasn’t an option — it’s either you filled the quiet or he did; mouths off about Pokemon and stickers and dogs he met on a certain day, or silence filled with wordless communication through flesh and skin and heavy breaths. 

Never this — a fragile silence that no words could ever fill. But of course, Taehyung knows how to break that. Break you when he speaks, “I think we’ll have this one framed for the reception.”

You blink at the photo on the monitor, big and taunting. In it, Taehyung smiles, a wide rectangle stretch of his mouth as his chin rests on top of Soyeon’s head, the latter leaning her weight on Taehyung. It’s evident, palpable even, the happiness that’s shared between them. A running joke between the two of them captured on a permanent photograph only they can understand. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a smile, or an attempt at it, stretching your lips, “it’s beautiful. Definitely worthy for the reception. You can hang it in your home after.”

It’s an instinct – you’d like to believe so – when you feel Taehyung move beside you and you mindlessly mirror him, freezing the moment you take in the miniscule space that’s left as you both huddle to look at the monitor. A good couple inches you can count on one hand. And you refuse to move away because no, this is not at all affecting you. And it’s Taehyung, you justify, who’s currently invading your space. 

The third mistake is when you try to steal a glance at the corner of your eye because you think he’s engrossed with the picture. 

But then you see that he isn’t. Not when his stare locks with yours the moment your eyes move.  Had been on you all this time. 

The fourth is when he moves and you don’t. 

Not when his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe whatever it is he sees there. 

Not when he flashes you a smile – something so fond and warm and tender that renders you mute. 

Not when he succumbs to sleep an hour later, head lolling on your shoulder.

But the entire world moves when he stirs and the overhead lights hit something golden. It crumbles and caves beneath your feet when a locket falls out of the top of his loosely buttoned shirt. An identical locket to the one that now sits heavy on your chest – once heavy with the broken promises, but now empty of the love that first came with it.

You see his forehead wrinkle as he slowly wakes and you feel the start of the burn that first settles on your chest before it moves and starts from the corners of your eyes. You train your eyes on the monitor, fingers clicking away on the mouse and the keyboard faster than ever.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say. His head stays on your shoulder as he speaks. “What time is it?” 

“Quarter before ten—”

“I missed you,” he breathes and you hear him let out a soft laugh before he whispers, “I always miss you.”

It feels as if all the air in your lungs has been knocked out and you turn to speak when you see that he’s fallen back asleep. And god, you wanted to shout at him, let out the years of pent up frustration and grudge you’ve had all these past years and ask all the unanswered whys and hows. But looking at him now, after so, so long, you realize you do too. 

A tear drops and a multitude of realizations follow. 

You missed him. You missed him. You miss him. 

And fuck, you’re still in love with him, you realize. So much and enough to make you not think of the consequences of the realization that you do.

Not when his fiancée finally comes and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

Not when a wedding invitation lands itself on the desk towards you.

And especially not when the ghost of him lingers when they’re gone and you find yourself praying for it to stay just a little bit longer.

You did not plan for your Friday night to be like this at all. 

The initial – and final – plan was this: show up to the club your sister wanted you to show up to, make it look like you’re genuinely happy to be there, flee the moment midnight hits when your sister and her friends are too drunk to realize you aren’t there anymore, and sleep away in the solace your tranquil and quiet apartment offers. 

The night and plan had been going well, much to your delight. 

Just until the fleeing part, that is. Because the moment you press the unlock button to your car half past one in the morning, you see a very drunk Kim Taehyung eagle spread on the hood of your car, with only a rumpled halfway-buttoned shirt that’s tucked into his pants, one of his shoes already on the roof of the Mercedes. 

And so instead of proceeding to the sleeping part of your plan, here you are now, struggling under the weight of Taehyung as you try to push in all his limbs in the passenger seat because he refuses to go away. Why, of all people, must you be the one to find him like this? Other people would’ve paid no mind leaving him on the pavement but of course, the universe had to make sure it just had to be you because old, cruel fate had it out for you and your demise.

Two weeks spent in isolation from the rest of the world in an attempt to justify and get over the realization you had of still being in love with an ex and the world just dumps him in the hood of your car of all cars. 

“Kim Taehyung, I am not above violence, I will fucking knock you out if I have to if you step your foot out and kick me once more, for the love of god,” you heave, “Are you with Jimin?”

At this, he grins and nods, eyes half-closed, “Jimin went home. I think. Or wait, maybe he’s passed out in Yoongi’s tub. I think. I don’t know, do you think he’s still here? Wait, do you know Jimin? How do you know Jimin?” 

You sigh, “Give me your phone. I’ll get Soyeon to pick your ass up.”

Taehyung lets out a loud gasp, proceeds to choke on air before he looks up at you, “How do you know my girlfriend?” 

You pause for a second before rolling your eyes, “Phone.”

“It’s in my left pocket, can you get it for me? I’m so tired,” he whines, wincing as his head lands on the head rest. You reach over to pull his phone out, only to retrieve a pack of cigarettes but no phone. You freeze when his hand grips your wrist that’s still in his pocket, feeling your heartbeat in your ears when he leans forward, so close that you feel his breath on your cheek, “Butt pocket, sorry.” 

You take a deep breath as he continues to look at you with a grin. You move closer, angling your head away because you would be fucking cheek-to-cheek if you don’t and you pause just before you touch his back pocket, “No, you know what, you can get it yourself. Either that or I leave you out here on the streets.” 

Taehyung pouts but he moves his arm behind him nonetheless, proceeds to feel his other pocket when he finds the first one empty.

“My phone’s gone,” he huffs, “Oh! It’s in Minnie’s car!”

You let out a loud groan, rounding the car to open the driver’s side to look for your bag so you could use your phone and you let out another sound of frustration, louder this time, when you remember the picture of a beige bag being left underneath your couch’s pillow. You look over at Taehyung, a war in your head as to what to do with him, before you finally settle on the choice that you never, ever think you would’ve made. 

“Fine,” you grit as you turn the engine on, “I’m going to drop you off your house but I’m not gonna be held accountable for the reasons you’re going to have to explain to your girlfriend if she greets your drunk ass as to why the fuck her cousin’s dropping her fiance off, alright? Now, are you still staying in the same apartment ‘cause I’m going to drop you–”

Taehyung snores, body folding in on himself as he slightly shivers. You sigh, dropping your forehead on the steering wheel, enough to hurt and make the horn whine, “This is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey, Taehyung,” you shake him, poking his shoulders the way you know he hates, “Wake up and tell me your address, asshole. I’m not driving to the other side of the city only to find out you changed address. Hey.” 

He makes the tiniest wave of his arm before he goes back to sleep. 

You glance at the clock that says it’s now nearing three in the morning and you run your hands over your face because fuck this. 

Now, you head to your apartment with the plan of just dumping Taehyung in the foyer and letting him sleep there until he has his mind back in the morning – you figure he’d probably run off the minute he wakes up. 

“Hey, wake up.” You nudge him when you arrive and you sigh once more as he merely stirs, opening his side of the door before attempting to move out of the car only to heave when the seatbelt he still has on pulls him back.

With a grimace, you round to his side and lug one of his arms around your shoulders and basically carry all of his weight towards the elevator. You give a tight smile to the staff at the reception as you pass by, dismissing the offer of help. You nearly drop to your knees as soon as the elevator doors close, exhaustion flooding you all of a sudden. 

As soon as the door opens to the penthouse, you remove your hold on Taehyung and he slumps against the wall. You let out a breath before pushing him to one of the guest rooms where he immediately plops down on the bed after knocking his shoes off.  A small smile plants itself on your face and you reach over to pull the covers over him. 

Kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, you brush off the loose hairs that cover his face and you whisper, “You’re making it so hard for me.”

Deciding that you’ve helped him enough, you head to your room to change and shower – a long bout of internal battle against yourself as you try to wash off all that happened. 

It is an hour later when you’re already in your bed, tossing and turning that you find yourself a long way from sleep, and so you push the covers off of you to head towards the kitchen to find something to drink. The sun is starting to rise, you see, as you stare at the large windows, uneasy at the thought that Taehyung is there. Here. 

And you know you shouldn’t care anymore. You’ve done enough and beyond to help him, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t matter, really, because here you are, pushing the guest room open to check on him, a bottle of water in hand. He remains as he was the second he got here and you sigh as you pull one of Jungkook’s shirt and sweatpants from the cabinet, a spare he leaves in the case he unintentionally sleeps over, and you walk towards Taehyung before slowly shaking him awake. 

“Hey,” you speak softly as his eyes crack open, mind still swimming in alcohol, “you should change into this. Your clothes must be uncomfortable to sleep in. Here’s some water too.” 

His eyes open a little bit wider, voice hoarse when he speaks, “(Y/N)?” 

You swallow, “Yeah, it’s me.” 

“I can’t remember most of tonight, how did I—”

You smile, “And you probably won’t remember all of this when you sleep once more. Just change and drink this, Taehyung.”

A part of why you’re doing all the things you’re doing is the fact that you know he will forget this. 

He sits up, swaying as he does so, twisting the water open. You greet him good night, and just as you turn to head back to sleep, his hand dart out to grip your wrist – as tight as the grip that has your heart beating so loud in your chest as he does, “I’m sorry.” 

Without turning around, you answer, “You don’t have to be. I would’ve done the same for anyone else.” 

“No, you wouldn’t have.” 

Pressing your tongue against your cheek, you rip your arm away from his hold, now turning around to face him. He slowly stands, eyes trained on you. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, “I’m not saying sorry just because of tonight,” he speaks quietly, “This is an apology that’s long overdue. An apology I never had the courage to give you. An apology that I owe you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being the coward that walked away without an explanation. For not being the person I promised you I would be.”

“I told you,” you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t owe me an apology, Taehyung. It’s over and done with. Apologizing to me would mean that there’s still loose ends between us, and I’m telling you that there’s none. You may have burnt those ends the moment you walked away and I have burned mine in the years that followed. You don’t owe me anything.”

He’s closer now, so close that you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and his perfume. “Then why are you still wearing this?” 

You feel all the walls come down, then, when his fingers trace the golden chain of the locket. The once emblem of young and promised love, of an oath, of Kim Taehyung. The necklace that never was once removed from you since then. 

You chuckle, bitter and harsh, “You’re still wearing it too, Kim.”

You flinch as you feel the pad of his thumb wipe away at the trail of tears that has somehow escaped, “Leaving you was the only choice I had then. It killed me to walk right out of that fucking door but it was the only choice. For you, for me, for us. Even if it meant me becoming the asshole, it was the only choice.” 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, you left me. And in my vocabulary and everyone else’s, leaving the person you claim to love without a single explanation is a shit move,” you nearly damn snarled, “I could’ve accepted you telling me you didn’t love me anymore but you fucking walked out without a single word. Well, I guess it worked out great for you, huh? You’re getting married now.” 

“I did l—”

“Don’t fucking dare say it,” you sob, feeling all the energy draining out of you in a second, “You’re four years too late, Taehyung.”

The chains that hold all the hurt and grievance of the past four years had been unlocked and with the thought of Taehyung not being able to remember this tomorrow, you let it all out. 

“I lied,” you whisper, lips and chest shaking as you breathe, “It hurts me seeing you now. So fucking much. Because you never wanted to get married. I remember when we were together you said that we could live without the titles, the labels, and the technicalities of it all, because you’d love me the same. So yes, it hurts. I can’t deny that it does when the things you didn’t want with me, things I wanted to have with you, you learned to want with someone else. Shit like this hurts because even if I was okay without all the titles, I thought then that spending a lifetime with you wouldn’t be so bad. But you made it seem like you never wanted marriage, not with anyone ever and so I accepted it, content even with just being with you.���

“But then you show up like this,” you say so quietly you don’t know if he can hear it, “You can’t expect it not to hurt, Tae, because it does. So, so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung lightly rests his forehead on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer me this one question,” you look up at him, “Please.” 

You feel him nod, “Anything.”

You feel it again, the suffocating claws that grips around your chest, the pain of unanswered questions and doubts, “Was my love not enough for you?”

You feel it before you hear it, when he nods against your head, hands coming up to hold your cheeks, “No, no, god, no. It was more than enough. It was so much more than enough that you became someone who didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t reciprocate the amount of love you were giving me. I’m sorry.”

“I miss you, Tae.” You whisper, and you can barely see him through the tears, “And it’s so, so wrong and I shouldn’t be doing this but fuck, I do. Four years and I still miss you and now you’re here, back in my life, and yet you’re still the farthest you’ve ever been from me.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he is – so far away from you and will never be close enough anymore – that you think maybe this is the long-awaited end. The closure you’ve once longed for but never had. Maybe there really was no reason for him leaving you beyond the fact that he didn’t love you anymore – and maybe that was enough reason. You just didn’t want to accept that fact. Maybe it’s time that you do. 

After Taehyung, you’ve become someone who believed that love is something that’s easy to let go, when in fact, all this time, it is the love you had for Taehyung you’ve never let go of. And maybe, it was never love for the people that came after him and so it became easy for you once it’s over, once it ended. Because what has started that really counted has never reached its end, for you anyway. Because it will never be the same. 

Because they weren’t Kim Taehyung. 

“Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it,” he smiles a small smile as he wipes a tear away. 

“Then stop making me cry, asshole,” you softly retort, hands coming up to wrap around his own to pull them away from your face. You can’t think straight when he has his hands on you, “I’m not asking for you to love me again, not anymore. Maybe we could be friends?”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, you know. And you really don’t think you can be just friends with Taehyung. But you’re weak for Kim Taehyung and you’re still so fucking in love him that you’d settle for whatever there can be between the two of you. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

“Can we, really?” He laughs softly, a sad smile appearing, “I’m about to do something very stupid, for the very last time, so please, stop me if you don’t want to because I don’t think I can stop myself.”

He leans forward as the inches between you decrease down to a zero, his lips pressing against your cheek, your forehead, your eyelid, and to the corner of your mouth before he pulls away. “No, you had something to drink too, I’m drunk, you’re drunk. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, ” Taehyung breathes against your cheek, eyes shut tight. 

“I’m not.” 

Whether that’s an answer that refutes your state of intoxication or a statement that debunks Taehyung’s apology, you don’t know. Because the next moment finds you pulling him forward, arms snaking around his shoulders as you kiss him. Soft and unhurried and sad – a declaration of what had remained unsaid for the past years. 

The last time, you swear, and from tomorrow then on, you’re going to be friends. This night will be void – forgotten and discarded. Taehyung is going to continue with his life and you with yours. 

It’s so easy to become so lost in Taehyung that you forget the rest of the world. 

That you don’t hear the sound of the door opening. 

Or the second set of drunk footsteps that follows the first one.

“What in the fuck is going on here?”

[arisveah]

thought about life series scott, and how infuriating yet so relatable his character can be (especially in relation to double life), and ended up using his and pearls relationship as a metaphor for chronic pain, which not even i know how happened. anyway its below the cut if you want 6 paragraphs of character study :)

life series scott is honestly such an intriguing and infuriating character. he is honorable, but in the same way he is petty and bitter. he pushes aside his wants and values for the better, more agreeable thing so much that he often ends up pushing the burden of emotional health onto his allies, and makes their choices for them. he's so parentified older sibling that becomes over controlling and emotionally repressed coded, yk?

in his never-ending attempts to do good, he saves the short term pain and leaves longer lasting scars and aftershocks. and scott does this a lot with his characters- think season 1 empires scott and his comparison to elsa. when something bad happens, he scrambles to take it on himself and inevitably creates rifts between himself and others in his plight to be a "hero". hes not evil, or even self centered- he cares so deeply about keeping his friends safe that he smothers them with jagged shards of glass, and when it hurts them he tries to deflect the blame. every person he sees is another he feels responsible for.

as a double life pearl apologist, it was kinda hard for me to see scott in a positive light. but if you think about it, all his decisions make sense for his character. in the last life finale, scotts final move is to kill ren as revenge for him killing pearl. they had been close the whole season, and scott lived to the end BECAUSE pearl was there for him to fall back on. for the first time on screen, scott relied on someone else- and then he saw her die and leave him alone. in the next season, its revealed that he will be tied to someone else again, and they'll need to share EVERYTHING if they want to win. and in this position, scott is most comfortable being the breadwinner. but it starts to seem like his soulmate doesn't need him, and he starts to panic, because the death of pearl (the last person who didnt need him) hit him hard and she might’ve lived if she wasnt giving him lives. he worries he will be a leech in their partnership, but he cant quite bring himself to terms with that. so when pearl and martyn step back into the overworld and take initiative on finding the soulmates at last, scott worries. he's never alone, never been alone, so he subconsciously goes to the closest source of non-painful comfort he can: cleo, his long(er)-dead ally from a previous life. he starts making allies, because scott is nothing if not diplomatic. and then he finds out that he is tied to pearl by life and death, again. that every time he dies, she will also lose a life, again. its a scathing reminder of the previous season, so scott pulls away. he cant do that to her, not again, and maybe if he pulls back she won't pity him when he fails to protect her. hell, maybe he wont even need to protect her.

but then pearl starts getting upset. and scott feels like he owes her, deep down, but he also feels like he's paying his debt and she just keeps hurting them, and he can't handle the blame from both sides anymore. he gets bitter, and decides that pearls death mustve been her own fault, that she's too emotional and that will get them BOTH killed- and he thinks of cleo and how much they need an ally and he cant just leave her- he needs to control the situation.

this whole post was inspired by the interaction during pearls video where hes digging at her tendency to hold grudges, and has her make the team diamond swords. it felt awful to watch, and kinda instilled a dread in me about how they are going to interact for the rest of the season. but i'm going to make a crazy analogy here so buckle up. as someone with chronic pain and joint issues in the american health/school system, the best metaphor i can come up with is when you go to a trusted adult for advisory, health interventions, or pain meds, but the system doesn't allow for them to help you. and its not their fault, but it starts to feel less and less like you should be saying thank you for trying and more like they just dont care. and you start to get bitter, and you start to pretend that you dont even care if they can or cant help you anymore, but you do. scott and pearls relationship feels a lot like putting your trust in someone for the first time, but they fall through by external means, and when they show back up you feel bitter and unwilling to let your walls back down. your fine, you can and have handled it alone your whole life. but everyone keeps offering to take responsibility and it just makes you sick that it took so long and now you dont even want their help.

basically, what im saying is pearl and scott could be besties again if they just talked over what they feel they owe eachother. but ALSO what im saying is yeah, life series scott kinda sucks- but he sucks because he tries so to be honorable that it circles back around to unfair and prejudiced. he just needs a bit of therapy and some anti anxiety meds <3 this somehow became a whole thing about disability and child neglect but like whatever

[galaxy-fleur]

Revisited RER recently, and I genuinely love Chris' and Rebecca's relationship so much... Gonna ramble about them for a bit here.

Despite also being totally out of his depths here, Chris is incredibly tactile and comforting with her. He has always cared for those around him, but I can't help but think that he does his best to be calm and reassuring around Becca because she's the youngest and the least experienced of them all. And yet she's stuck in this nightmare, too. The way he puts a hand on her shoulder and encourages her attempts at healing Richard with a simple but meaningful: 'Richard needs you now.'

Those words are merely an acknowledgement of her skills, no iron pressure behind them. I like to think that he expresses his belief in her here, hopefully to help her feel less scared and anxious. It's the least he can do, really. And sometimes all you need is someone to just show that they believe in you so you can keep going with no shaky hands. It also reflects on his trust in reliance on her in future installments, too. I think it's kinda sweet how Chris believed in her and encouraged her from the moment she was this fresh recruit, stuck in an unforseen situation. No wonder they are so close and soft with each other in Vendetta.

Him immediately blaming himself for Richard's death, obviously having no idea how to process it quite yet, and then Rebecca being just as lost on how to answer, because what can you even say in this situation? It really rings home how they are both so out of their element here. They are not seasoned operatives we are used to seeing, they are just two people who are forced to deal with something they've never encountered before and try to process all the loss they are hopeless to stop.

I think it's incredibly telling that Rebecca's initial response is to focus on what she should do next, whereas Chris's is to blame himself. Both are obviously shaken by Richard's death: Chris because he couldn't do anything stop it, and Rebecca because all her efforts on healing him were in vain. But they express it differently in the moment. It's also painful how Chris can't even look at her, until he switches into 'It's my fault' line of thinking. Poor guy has been shouldering this kinds of losses since day 1. I do think it also falls in line with how they respond to loss in future installments, too. Very neat to think about.

And then Rebecca just breaking down in tears after that short attempt at laughing it off, and Chris just putting a hesitant gentle hand on her shoulder as he lets her cry it out with no words being said. While it made super sad, it's also a nice contrast to them not looking at each other in previous instance vs standing face to face this time around.

Funnily enough, I don't think he's being aloof or insensitive here, as I've seen some say—quite the contrary. As I said above, what could you even possibly say in this kind of circumstance that wouldn't be, at most, a flat-out lie? But what he can do is just be there for her. Which is what he does. And that: 'be strong, Rebecca' is simple but genuine nonetheless. They must remain strong, at least until they are safe and out of there. Still, he doesn't try to stop her from crying, he only says this once she quiets down. It's really touching of him, honestly. He lets her express her distress and then encourages her when she's done.

And this lil' pat on her shoulders and 'Just stay with me, kid' is so cute! Not to mention the thumbs up afterwards :3

It's a sort of small but comforting gesture that probably goes a long way to someone in Rebecca's position. I can't help but think if that's Chris' big brother instincts at work, which is ever cuter to think about. He's a great superior to be around.

Also, it's kinda neat how the way he touches her shoulder changes throughout the game. First soft, gentle touches, and then more assured and encouraging pats by the end there. Both are good, but I still love that tiny detail.

As a bonus, the fact that Chris is the only one awake between the three of them during the helicopter ride also strikes me as kind of interesting. Both Jill and Rebecca are resting and allowing themselves to doze off, but he just stays staring off in silence, obviously having a lot on his mind. Whether he stays up to watch over the two or because he can't bring himself to relax, it's sort of a cool detail.

[smileposting]

previous anon, thank u for not brushing it off as bait since it was a genuine question. the "cartoony" aspect of it is what threw me off, since i couldn't tell if the message was supposed to be "be cautious of what leads to fascism/misinformation is a dangerous tool" and raking fascism seriously vs "friendship and communication are incredibly important" since imo those are two very different themes to tackle with the same character. i very much appreciate u taking the time to answer the question, ur explanation makes a lot of sense and i hope my question hadnt been too jarring

(context)

it's no trouble at all! thank you for giving me an excuse to prove that i actually did pay attention to this game outside of thesclack yaoi and BBWs lol

as for your primary concern - i'd argue that it could very easily be both, but of course it's a VERY delicate balancing act lol. i don't fault anyone who was thrown off by it. part of the reason it works for me is that inspekta feels very much like - not the Originator of all fascist/fascist-adjacent rhetoric within the world of great god grove (earth itself included) but the latest and biggest sucker to fall for it. he came from what's implied to be pretty fucking rough conditions and he never really unpacked any of the effects that might have had on him or whether his eventual success really Justified those initial conditions. and that's before he ascended to godhood in a culture that seems to treat godhood and humanity as mutually exclusive despite tons of evidence to the contrary*. so when his work pays off and he becomes one of said culture's Primary Mythological Figures, his reaction to the grove being a generally pleasant and compassionate place free of many (but not all) of the world's societal ills - one that came to be that way over centuries of hard work, as implied by bauhauzzo - is not "wow, a better world is possible! i should help see this through to the very end" but "oh wow, these guys are soft, huh? good thing i came into the picture when i did! i know what it's like to actually work to achieve something :)"

...that's how it reads to me, anyway. i apologies if this response is a little too speculation-heavy to really explain things.

*the contrary being that while a god is no longer Physically human, they are still very much Mentally human. i imagine this aspect of Grove Culture changes to accommodate this reality postcanon along with Many Other Things, but i digress.

[freakyfrye]

ᝰ. 𝔶𝔬𝔲’𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔩𝔶

“I wanna live inside your skin—w-what?”

requested: loona x gn! reader. in which, loona has a partner that can’t get enough of her touch

type: headcanon

content: fluff, angsty loona, outta pocket remarks, raw unedited and proof read, vulnerability

note: im trying this new quote thing, think its cute. anyways, i tried—swear, but im not the overly touchy type so forgive meee. reader kinda creepy but I feel like she might like the nerdy, emo type 🤷‍♀️

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི You’re annoying.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི So embarrassingly and shamelessly annoying that, somehow, your worst than her adoptive father. More times than she can count she’s burning up with an embarrassed blush by your actions or blowing a fuse that she later regrets.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི It’s not really her fault—entirely—she was molded into the person she is by her rough upbringing. Soft, sweet cuteness and raw emotions like love wasn’t something she was used to. Never in her life did she think she would be. Hell, she never thought she would find someone willing to give her that, to look at her that way.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Then you fell into her lap one day. Not her usual emotionally unavailable type. Someone who actually likes who she is, even after her showing you her mood swings and high level of nonchalance. You stayed, and continue to loyally as you wait for her to break down her Fort Knox guarded heart.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི The day it broke was one of the happiest days of your life, second to meeting her. It was basic, but wholesome if it was coming from loona: you were both watching tv when she fell asleep, head rolling to fall on your shoulder, which she never does, but it just goes to show how she’s grown to be vulnerable in your presence.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི You’re fucking vibrating while trying not to wake her, testing the waters and wrap your arms snuggly around her, pulling her closer and softly play footie with hers. Maybe this doesn’t sound like much to others, but they don’t understand that the only skinship you’ve had with loona since the beginning of dating was hand holding.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Call it selfish, or desperate—you didn’t give a flying monkey’s ass but she just opened up a whole can of warms. But being openly touchy with loona was not for the weak. Blitzø is still adjusting to someone else important in her life. He’s very salty that she accepts your hugs less…aggressively.

“If you were a worm, I’d still love you but I’d probably kill you—accidentally, because I would never wanna leave you alone or let you go! Ever!”

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Surprisingly she likes petting, but it gets outta hand when you pet her randomly—around others and not in the confinement of your rooms. She’s blushing furiously and you’re explaining she’s just soft to touch. Your comfort sense. BUT SHE’S NOT SOFT. Stop saying embarrassing things, she has a rep to uphold. Okay, she’s not!

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི She no longer rides shotgun in the imp van when you tag along. She’s in the back with you—by the window, of course—gazing out at the scenery all movie like. One ear bud in hers, the other in yours and she has a hand softly in yours. And it so sweet coming from her, it has you all mushy inside that your scooting impossibly closer to the point you shift her onto your lap, ignoring the glares blitzø sends through the rearview mirror.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Sometimes you’d purposely rile her up, angry or horny didn’t matter, all so she can back you up into a wall with a finger pointingly jabbing into your chest. To anyone else, she might look scary because no one would want to be on the other end of a hell hound; you were hopelessly in love with this one, you’re delusional in thinking she would never hurt you and take the risk.

“I wanna carve our initials—like they do in movies—but instead of trees, my body because I’m yours.”

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི The first time you cuddled, she was the first one tapping out. It was so fucking hot, her fur and your body heat on top of hers. But you being how you were, refused to let her leave your company, even when you were sweating down your temple and your shirt’s sticking to your skin. If this relationship was going to continue, she better get used to it cause you weren’t letting her go.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི If you go on missions and this one was particularly dangerous, her hands are on you the second your back within her reach. She’s desperately searching your body for any serious injuries, all while tears gather on her lashes and fighting back her hands from trembling. Will deny she’s crying while burying her face in your neck, calling you names and sweet nothings in the same sentence. You just turn into a puddle in her arms as she makes a fuss over you—no one’s ever done this before—you could get used to it.

“If I were to die today, I’ll be the ghost that whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Even in death you can’t get rid of me.”

[chiefdirector]

Wounded | Angela Lopez | The Rookie

Despite it going against at least fifty rules, Angela couldn’t help herself. Sure it wasn’t illegal or anything but it just felt wrong. Grey had gone one hundred and one times about fraternising with people within the department, let alone with people within the precinct but she couldn't help herself. God, she really wished she had listened.

Of course, deep down she knew that it wasn’t her fault but that knowledge didn't stop the guilt from rising up every chance it got, haunting her like a ghost. Although she knew that wasn’t the only thing haunting her, the image of her wife, laid right in front of her so still that Angela almost thought that she was asleep, or she would have if she wasn’t drenched in her own blood.

The bullet wound embedded in Detective (Y/N) (L/N)’s side plagued Angela’s thoughts, both waking and asleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw it. Every moment of silence all she could hear was her wife’s cries of agony, begging for someone to make it stop. Every peaceful moment Lopez had was burdened by the memory that she was powerless to help (Y/N) in the moment she needed her most.

She had fundamentally failed her. 

The universe had chosen them to come together.

(Y/N) had moved to the Mid-Wilshire precinct from Hollywood when her patrol partner had passed away in the line of duty. She was up for promotion, the detectives in her department had given her the tap pretty early into her career. The move made sense, she would get a fresh start, rebuild the confidence she had lost whilst not being tied down as the officer who shouldn’t have survived.

If only she had known that title would come back and follow her with a vengeance.

Their relationship blossomed quickly after they had met. Initially they had sworn themselves to secrecy, knowing how much grief they could have been subjected to but it didn’t take long for their colleagues to learn about their relationship. Grey, after a lot of convincing (and some begging on (Y/N)’ end)  had signed them both off to work in the same station, as long as Lopez never came directly under (Y/N)’ command. Romantic relationships had a lot more protections than most others, especially in police work. 

Lopez and (L/N) tended to move in sync, knowing what the other needs without even asking. When one moves, so does the other, like magnets. The benefits of having a pair like them was exceptional, until one would fall. So Lopez and (L/N) were split up, rarely working together unless it was the last option available. The liability of having one of them injured whilst the other was near was far too high. It wasn't worth the risk.

Angela thought the rules were a load of shit. 

It was only when Angela saw (Y/N) lying there, bleeding out, did she truly realise why the rules were the way they were, why they were so strict, and why she shouldn't have been on that operation that day.

It was her ignorance that had caused Jule to turn around and move towards her, trying to protect Angela from harm, subsequently fating herself to the suffering intended for Lopez. 

—----

The hospital was cold.

The sterile white walls pressed into Angela as she sat in the waiting room, Bradford and Grey by her side as they waited for any news on (Y/N)’ condition. The hustle and bustle of doctors, nurses, and patients alike barely registered in Lopez’s mind as she sat in the far to firm chair, staring at the floor. She had counted the floor tiles in the room six times before she registered that Tim had stepped out to get the three of them coffee.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, watching the world go by. It simultaneously felt like seconds and decades. She watched as families joined in her waiting and then left again. She listened to their cries of joy and the wails of anguish. All of the chatter and noise eventually fell into a quiet hum in the back of her mind as she counted the tiles on the floor once more.

It was the gentle tap of Sargent Grey that brought her crashing back to reality again. She snapped her head up at him, before searching around the room to see another surgeon standing at the doorway, a char in hand and a solemn look adorning his face.

“Family of (Y/N) (L/N)?” The surgeon called out again. Angela shot up from her seat at an almost inhuman speed. She swallowed down her nervousness as she approached him, now was not the time to be afraid, not when she could lose anything. She could be afraid in private.

“Yes,” she croaked out, wincing at how hoarse her voice sounded. Quickly, she coughed to clear her throat, “that’s me.”

“There were some complications during surgery. Ms. (L/N) had some severe internal bleeding that was not caught until later in the process and by that time it-”

The surgeon's voice droned out of Angela’s mind, becoming another noise in the background as she tried to process the words. She was no doctor but she knew that internal bleeding was never good. And with all the blood she had lost even before she had gotten to the hospital.

Every single possibility rushed through her mind as she fruitlessly tried to stabilise her breathing. This couldn’t be happening, not now. Not to her. The guilt sprung forth in her mind tenfold, Angela knew it should be her in that position, not her (Y/N). Anyone but her (Y/N). 

“Ms. Lopez. Do you understand what I am saying?”

For the second time in five minutes, Angela snapped back into reality, this time she was hyper focussed on the surgeon in front of her.

“What?” she said, her voice still meek.

“Ms. (L/N) is currently in recovery in the ICU.” The surgeon looked down at the officer, seemingly annoyed by her lack of presence when he spoke the first time, “she is ot conscious and due to the numerous complications, we do not have an estimate as to when she will wake up; if she will even wake up.”

“But she’s alive?”

“Yes, you can go up and see her shortly. The nurses are just cleaning her up from the surgery.”

Angela let out a breath she didn't know that she was holding at the doctor's words. She was alive. (Y/N) had made it through the surgery and she was alive. Angela could keep hoping and praying for her recovery because there was a chance that she could recover. There was a chance that she would wake up, that she would heal, that she would go home. There was a chance that she would live.

(Y/N) survived and now she had a chance, and Anegla knew that was enough.

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