#Mor/Female!OC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stonecoldholly · 6 months ago

Text

Worldwalker

Summary - After witnessing a ritual at a pagan festival in her hometown, Sam suddenly finds herself in a world where magic exists and dangers far worse than everyday crime lurk around every corner. Accepting her unfortunate situation is one challenge; trusting these otherworldly beings to help her is another. As she uncovers the truth, she often finds that it leads to more trouble than it’s worth. Sam must navigate this new world, find her way back home, and restart her life.

With each passing day, they get closer to sending her back and while Sam dedicates herself to finding answers, Azriel finds himself drawn to her. Together, they search for the solution, but with the multiple rifts appearing across Prythian, rising tensions between courts, and the threat of a possible invasion looming, they are working on borrowed time.

With the weight of the world on her shoulders, Sam embarks on an adventure that only happens in fairy tales, but even the most exciting fairy tales have to end.

Warnings - None as of right now, this will change.

Word Count - 6,738

A/N - I meant to get this out before Halloween but time got away from me. This is officially my return to writing fanfiction and I am beyond excited. I hope you enjoy the story and feel free to comment, message, and critique as it makes me a better writer. Thank you for taking the time to read this as it means more to me than you will ever know. Please bear with me as I continue to refresh my memory on how everything works and what it is supposed to look like behind the scenes of posting, you'll notice I still have yet to figure out how to page break on here. Without further ado!

Part 2

AO3 Link

“Run boy, run! This world is not made for you. Run boy, run! They’re trying to catch you. Run boy, run! Running is a victory. Run boy, run! Beauty lies behind the hills.” Run boy run – Woodkid

Savannah, Georgia, USA October 2024

Savannah, a relatively small city nestled along the coastline of Georgia, had begun to awaken from the deep slumber taken during the hot summer months. With the ushering in of the cooler weather, more and more tourists returned to their hometowns and left the coastal city in the hands of the residents. When the latter half of the year finally came around, specifically September and October, Savannah seemed to come alive. The entire city shifted into a completely different energy. Gone were the dog days of summer, the half-naked people (both drunk and sober) stumbling along the old cobblestone streets, and the poor, unfortunate souls who dared to brave the original stone steps that connected Bay Street to River Street. In their stead, a welcoming scent of freshly baked goods and rich cinnamon danced on the cool breeze between the buildings, coffee shops overflowed with customers seeking a hot beverage, and the storefronts already pushing Christmas decorations out in hopes of being the first to rake in profits.

The very city seemed to have a heartbeat around this time of year. The Old Towne trolley tours that normally showed tourists the more historical locations downtown turned into hearse rides and ghost hunting tours. The magical and haunting energy of the old city pulsed as the sun went down, the oak trees drooping in Spanish moss reached over every street and park square, and the shadows that climbed along the historic cemetery gates only added a layer of mystery and intrigue.

They say Savannah was built upon graveyards. Everywhere a person steps in the downtown area, they would likely be stepping upon bones of those long since passed, having been relocated from their original resting place due to floods, hurricanes, and other disasters. Legend says that almost every house, business, and square in the city has a ghost story of its own, unique to the former residents who lived there and continuously embellished as the years passed on.

Perhaps that’s what draws people to this city. Savannah was dripping rich in history and had a way of accepting those who were just looking for something more. It had southern charm, incredible food, amazing people from all walks of life, and always something happening to entertain you. That’s not without saying it did not have its ugly parts but the way Savannah just seemed to call out to those who wanted something different in life was unlike anything that could be described, at least not accurately. However, it was the last quarter of the year when the city gave its mightiest call, reaching out to those who had questions in their minds. It caressed that small part of the soul of those who questioned life and who needed to seek out the answers.

Was there more to life than this?

Where is my place in the world?

Am I destined for more?

What was I put here for?

“It’s Savannah during Halloween season! We have to go. Do you know how hard it probably was to convince the churches to allow a pagan festival to happen?” A female voice yelled out excitedly from the front end of the small ‘Mom & Pop’ restaurant.

“They probably had a couple thousand reasons to look the other way, Mel.” Another female voice answered from the back end, her deep red hair coming into view through the serving window. “However, it’s not me that you have to convince, I’m down, it’s your fiancee over there who looks like he’s about five seconds away from completely crashing out.”

Melissa turned her head to take in her fiancee, who indeed was looking a little worse for wear, having the early morning shift for the Savannah Police Department. She sighed and turned back towards the serving window, “Poor guy has had it rough this past week. There’s been a lot of crazy things happening around town lately.”

A hum in acknowledgment met Mel’s ear, along with the appearance of food plates on the landing. “Doesn’t help that you won’t stop jumping his bones every chance you can. Maybe the guy can actually get some decent sleep if you and I go out.” Sam grinned while motioning to the three plates of food she made for dinner for her and her friends.

Mel let out a deep belly laugh, a smile stretching across her beautiful face as she took in the chicken parmesan and garlic knots, “Oh fuck you, Sam, I can’t help it if my man just oozes sex appeal.”

Sam made a gagging noise before disappearing behind the wall. Mel walked over to her fiancee, Josh, and relayed the plans for the evening while setting a plate of food in front of him. For a brief second, relief crossed his expression and Sam, who had just emerged from the kitchen, caught the look and snickered, causing Mel to roll her eyes. Josh cracked a smile, pressing a kiss to Mel’s cheek and brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You two have fun and be safe; I’m going home and relaxing, I only ask that you don’t call me from the jail again.” Josh nodded in thanks for the food to Sam, who nodded back.

Mel whipped around to glare and point at Sam, who threw her hands up in mock innocence, her eyes wide and mouth agape to portray said innocence. “She’s the one who got into the fight, not me!”

“Hey, I was defending you! Ain’t no way I was gonna allow that guy talk to you that way. Ain’t no way.”

“And the firearm charge?”

“It was simply on my person.” Sam defended herself with a halfhearted shrug, grabbing her plate and joining the table. “I’m legal; I have a concealed carry and that charge was dismissed because of my paperwork. You gave me grief enough when you picked me up from the county jail.”

“Anyhow,” Mel interrupted before that particular conversation could go any further, sitting down at the table across from her man. “Maybe tomorrow we can go to the pumpkin patch? I heard there was gonna be hayrides and a corn maze.”

“The big one outside the city limits?” Josh asked while leaning back in his chair, chewing. He pulled out his phone as he did, tapping the screen to find what he was looking for. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of then it has a huge corn maze, it’s a lot of farmland out there.”

“I haven’t been to a pumpkin patch in ages.” Sam sighed, tearing into a garlic knot. “I think the last time I went was when I was like, thirteen? My mom took me the year before she passed.”

Mel grinned and grabbed her hand causing Sam to pull her garlic knot out of the way, thinking Mel was trying to swipe it. “We have to go, relive the good parts of our childhood for like, two hours.”

“As long as I get a candy apple, I’m golden,” Josh said looking down at his phone and waving his hand in dismissal. “Yeah, it was the one I was thinking of. It’s about an hour and a half away, so if we leave tomorrow afternoon at 3ish we’ll get there as the sun goes down. I just have to go to the station and finish some paperwork in the morning.”

“Being mindful of Savannah traffic, we’ll get there at the perfect time!” Mel exclaimed nearly bouncing in her seat. “God, I love fall!”

Sam smiled at her best friend as she watched the excitement spill out of her, Josh succumbing to the pure happiness that Melissa seemed to exude as well. It had been a long time for all of them to look forward to something. Having adult friendships was a delicate act of balancing your personal life and work life and still, somehow, making time for your relationships. In the midst of life’s chaos, going nearly three months and then a year without spending time with those you love sometimes felt like it passed in a blink of an eye. Life has a funny way of either pulling you together or tearing you apart.

Samantha and Melissa had met at a previous job, working in retail brought people together through combined suffering, after all. There was no other way to describe the beautiful friendship that blossomed between the two polar opposites. Melissa was a high-energy, outgoing, and excitable woman who always seemed to breathe new, unfiltered life into any situation she found herself in. She was the person you could count on to lift your spirits up whenever you were feeling down and to offer sound advice in the midst of turmoil. She had this childlike energy to her, a precious and beautiful soul that radiated happiness to those around her. She was the life of any party, loved being around other people, and couldn’t stand to see someone upset thus making it her personal mission to enhance their mood before parting ways. With her golden waves and bright, stunning crystal blue eyes, it was hard not to feel as if you were in the presence of the summer sun personified.

Meanwhile, Sam was her opposite. She was more fiery, headstrong, and opinionated, preferring to “strike first, ask questions later”. While she didn’t mind being around others, she liked the company of herself, having been alone for over half of her life. Her temper sometimes ran a bit too hot, always willing to defend those she cared about even if they were wrong, and took risks that were better left...not taken. She sometimes came off as sarcastic and rude but wasn’t intentionally vicious. With her darker clothes, sleeves of tattoos, and combat boots coupled with her attitude problem, she didn’t have many people rushing up to her to be in her presence. A loyal friend who would go to the ends of the Earth to ensure they knew how much they were worth it. Where Melissa was a summer day, Samantha was a stormy night; two sides of the same coin.

Josh was the perfect match for Melissa. She had met him at a party on the beach four summers ago back when the world was on the verge of going to hell. It was an instant whirlwind, the connection so deep and real that it even took Sam’s breath away. Josh and Melissa fell so hard in love with each other that even God himself wouldn’t be able to pull them apart. Sam could see the difference in her, could see the good it was doing for Melissa, and it warmed her heart to know her best friend was being treated the way she deserved after all the hardship Mel had gone through. Josh worked for the Savannah police as a detective for over six years. Meaning, that he didn’t have a lot of free time but every spare moment he had, he spent with Mel, and Sam by proxy. Josh was level-headed and calm, preferring to get all the information before making a decision. He was sure of himself, knowing his strengths and weaknesses better than the average 30-year-old would. Josh became the equivalent of the brother she never had as Melissa was the sister she was not blessed to grow up with. As Sam’s family was gone, they became the next best thing.

“Well, if we’re gonna go, let’s head out. It’s almost 9 o’clock and I’m missing the Packers game for you.” Sam said, standing up and walking to the drink cooler to grab a Sprite to go.

“Ah, you do love me.” Melissa teased.

“What? Don’t want to see the Eagles make cheese whiz out of your Cheeseheads?” Josh smirked, settling back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Sam raised an eyebrow, turning to face him as she threw two dollars on the table for her soda. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over our four Superbowl rings. How many do y’all have?” She tilted her head to look at him. “Oh, right, ever since y’all finally won one, you think you made it up here with the big boys.”

“Now, y’all please don’t sta-”

“At least we didn’t buy our championships.”

“Bret Favre wasn’t poppin’ percocets on the sidelines for all those years for you to say we bought our championships and Aaron Rodgers didn’t lead the Packers to the Superbowl within the first two years there. Get outta my face.” Sam said, waving him off. “While you’re wondering if we bought our championships, you should figure out why you go through quarterbacks as quickly as you do.”

“We fought hard for that ring, like Kelce said, hungry dogs run faster.”

“So hard in fact, you had nothing left to give and choked when facing the Chiefs.” She shook her head and gave him a mock pout, her voice dropping to a faux whisper. “I’ll be sure to contact the Eagles and confirm if they are available to be your pallbearers...just so they can let you down one last time.”

Josh, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, releasing a stressed breath of air from his lungs, muttering under his breath. “I swear to everything that is holy…”

Sam pointed towards the front of the restaurant while Melissa stood there with her hands on her hips, clearly over this argument. “Would that be ‘in vain’ or is that a form of ‘blasphemy’? There’s a church right there, we can go ask.” She took a sip of her soda before adding, “I don’t know why you’re so defensive, you started it.”

“And that’ll do it!” Josh threw his hands up and started to push the two women toward the door. “Y’all have a good time, don’t drink too much, keep your wits about you, and for the love of Christ, Sam, do not get into any fights. I’ll lock up the restaurant.”

Sam stepped down onto the sidewalk turning to face Josh and Mel following her lead, stumbling a little bit as she chuckled at her love. “I don’t go lookin’ for them, ya know.”

“Yes, but they do seem to seek you out.” Josh cracked a grin in her direction, handing his credit card to his girlfriend who took it and slid it into her wallet. Sam patted her holster on her hip, double-checking that her weapon was secured and silently letting Josh know that they would be okay. “Be safe. I’ll be at the house, bring me back some candy!”

Mel kissed him with a whispered ‘I love you’ before the two women bounded off down the street. Josh’s chanting of ‘Fly, Eagles, Fly!’ could be heard before the door of the restaurant closed behind him. Sam resisted the urge to throw her drink back at him.

______________________________________________

River Street was bustling with tents, vendors, music, food trucks, and performances by the time they made it the few city blocks. The cobblestone street was swarmed with people chatting excitedly about the upcoming holiday while snacking on the never-ending choices of food, desserts, and drinks. Vendors lined up alongside each other, the Savannah River a beautiful, glistening backdrop to the practitioners doing their workings, teachings, and demonstrations for the surrounding groups.

Of course, there were the faux pagan vendors who were there to simply sell Halloween-related objects and decorations. Harry Potter merchandise littered the tables and tents, gemstones both real and fake were scattered in dishes and bowls, and apparel tables had rock bands on their graphic shirts. It was clear which vendors saw this event as a quick get-rich scheme and who saw it as their livelihood. It was the latter that drew Sam and Melissa to events like these.

Magic had always intrigued Sam. Mythology, tarot, and astrology held a special place in her heart and soul as she was introduced to them at a young age by her mother. She remembers walking into her mother's bedroom and seeing a strange-looking mirror propped up on a table with purple candles on either side of it. Her mother had ushered her over, wrapping an arm around her small shoulders and letting her have a look, saying something she couldn’t understand in her ear. Sam would never forget that night as that was the night that allowed her to fall in love with magic and something other.

Perhaps that’s what brought them to the vendor down by the river.

A middle-aged man, who looked as ordinary and unremarkable as any stranger, was talking animatedly with his hands, gesturing back and forth between the crowd, clearly in the middle of his presentation. “The Wild Hunt! In mythology and at its basic explanation, is a chase. These figures would be hunted by the souls of the dead and they would need to escape and get to safety or hide.” The man explained, pointing to paintings and imagery to make his tale easier for the group to follow along. “It’s a well-known folk myth across Northern Europe; a ghostly leader and his group of hunters and hounds fly through the cold night sky and anyone found outdoors at the time would be swept up into the hunting party involuntarily.

“Most often in the tales,” He went on as he pointed to a painting that looked like the Norse god, Odin, and a hunting party behind him as he led the charge through a forest. “The Hunt was not seen – only heard- typically by the barking of Odin’s dogs or the forest growing deathly silent as a warning of their arrival as seeing the Wild Hunt was thought to forebode some catastrophe such as war or plague, or at least, the death of the person who saw it.”

Sam took a closer look at the paintings as the man motioned to a painting depicting what looked like a warrior woman running through woods, a gang of ghostly figures behind her, lunging forward to grab her but not quite being fast enough. The paintings, she could have sworn, seemed to move. “It is said that if the Wild Hunt catches you, you will be taken to the underworld or the fairy kingdoms,” A few teenage boys snickered. “In some instances, some people's spirits could be taken during their sleep if they had witnessed the Hunt.”

“So, you mean to tell me,” One of the teenage boys started, “If I see a ghost, they’re going to grab me and take me to a fairy kingdom?” He scoffed and Sam fought the urge to roll her eyes. Mel just sighed and shook her head. “Will I be a King if they do?”

The man, ever patient, shook his head with a smile. “No, that’s not what I am telling you. Back then, when people had no other sources of information but their legends, stories, and upbringing, they believed in multiple gods, worlds, and creatures both good and bad. If their crops didn’t fare well that year, they sometimes believed they were cursed by a god or a creature from their lands who had sabotaged them. They needed explanations for what they saw, witnessed. Folklore sought to bring understanding to what was unexplainable at the time. Who's to say that it didn’t happen? Who's to say that it doesn’t still happen?”

The boy looked ready to retort, but the stranger carried on without giving him time to form a response. “Just because you do not believe it, does not mean that others do not believe it. Where do you think the stories of the Bible come from? Old wives' tales? Traditions? All these stories, these legends, came from people who believed what they saw and retold them for generations and generations. Yes, the details do change a bit but they all come from some facet of truth.”

The boy snapped his mouth shut and seemed to reflect on what he had said. He was right in a sense and while the boy probably had multiple arguments against it; he didn’t voice them because he knew there was something in the way the man held himself, how he said it, that told him it was true.

“Some mythologies believe the Wild Hunt falls around the same time as our Samhain, or Halloween, others believe it to be around the Winter Solstice, or near Christmas.” He continued on as if the brief disagreement didn’t happen and handed out a little booklet. “You don’t want to be outside when the ghostly procession of the Wild Hunt surges past. You may be sucked into their dark frenzy, with or without your body along for the ride.”

Sam smiled and took one of the booklets, thanking him in response. Mel did the same and started to leaf through the pamphlet detailing more about The Wild Hunt. Sam couldn’t help but look at the paintings again, the winged beings striking against the sky above with what looked like a human army below them, weapons drawn and aiming for the ghostly host. It was incredible to look at, the paintings seemingly coming to life the longer she stared. A shiver ran down her spine and a metallic taste coated her tongue.

“A ritual….over...right there.”

Sam turned around at the voice she heard, catching the couple down the sidewalk who were having a conversation. She nudged Mel, who looked up confused. “Huh?”

“There’s a ritual happening, that couple said it’s happening over there.” Sam nodded her head in the direction the couple had indicated.

Mel furrowed her brows, looking at the couple and then back at her friend. “You heard them from all the way down there? They’re like...30 yards away.”

Sam shrugged, not thinking much of it. “I only heard snippets and filled in the rest with body language.”

Mel shook her head but nevertheless dragged her in the direction she indicated. “You and your weird hearing.”

Whatever it was that Sam had expected to see when getting to the ritual, did not even come close. The second she crossed into the cluster of people, she felt an energy in the air, and the metallic taste got stronger. Her whole body seemed to respond, vibrating in response, warmth settling in her belly and chills breaking out along her skin. One glance at Mel told her that she, too, felt the shift and her body was at a loss as to what to do.

The moon was vaulted in the sky, shining brightly above the Talmadge Bridge; the light pollution blocked a lot of the stars from being visible. A heaviness seemed to settle along the river and the air was getting thicker. The flickering heat of the small fires scattered around in a circle attempted to chase away the goosebumps rising on the surface of her skin. There was an uneasy shifting of the crowd, some dispersing altogether to try and outrun the energy their bodies clearly were not comfortable with. Sam couldn’t blame them, it was intense. It was one of those moments that you knew you were witnessing something real, without a shadow of a doubt. The very air told your bones to sing, to rise, and join in. The flames beckoned you closer, ensnaring your senses and holding you and your attention hostage and Sam was no different.

It was mesmerizing to watch the participants. The way the fire danced in the center of the circle and seemed to reach out towards the torches in their hands. Their steps were effortless, so graceful it almost hurt to watch how they glided around each other, seamlessly weaving in and out from between the other and flowing towards that centerfire. They went around and around, spinning in a fluid dance, almost willing the fire to rise higher and dance with them.

An older woman, dressed in a long, tweed skirt and simple white tunic, spoke in an old language that Sam couldn’t begin to decipher. Her voice was steady and soothing, reciting the ritual's dialogue as if it was secondhand nature to her, and perhaps it was. The smooth tone of her words completely enraptured witnesses who had stopped to watch, a lot of them clutching their chests and staring wide-eyed as if their god would come down and strike them where they stood for just witnessing this act.

But Sam was spellbound, completely at the mercy of these women spinning around the fire and singing in a language that clearly no one else understood. Whatever the words were, it was awakening something buried deep inside Sam’s bones, something long forgotten or hidden. She stepped closer to the ritual, her eyes unblinking as she lost herself. The women in the twirling circles were blurs around her, the older woman’s voice turning into a murmuring the longer she stared, daring another step towards the ritual.

Come. Come. Come.

She would. She would answer the calling that seemed to tug her closer to the dancing, the music, the voice. It held such promise, such hope that Sam felt the urge to barrel forward into the dance. Such a longing ached so furiously in her chest that it caused a sliver of fear to drop into her stomach.

Come. Come. Come.

It was a whisper, a soft plead. It grabbed hold of her gut and tugged her along, closer, closer, closer. She couldn’t resist the call, not even if her life depended on it. It was like her body wasn’t her own anymore; that it was moving on its own accord and every signal sent from her brain was being intercepted by the energy in the air, diverting it to the ether.

Come and find what you are looking for.

She didn’t even realize she had stepped out of the crowd, almost falling into place with the women who had stopped dancing around the fire and had their hands lifted up towards the night sky. The woman was still speaking but if Sam didn’t know any better, she would have sworn the woman was speaking directly to her; that the language she didn’t understand just a minute ago, were words spoken as clear as day.

It’s waiting for you. A blessing from the Mother.

A burst of color exploded behind her eyes and she stumbled back into the crowd, clutching her head as ringing echoed in her ears. The fire in the center of the dancers flared higher and brighter and a collective gasp was released by participants and witnesses alike but Sam was trying to get her vision back, to shake the underwater feeling that seemed to swim in her ears.

Mel rushed forward and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face her in alarm, “Are you okay? What the hell was that? You could have gotten hurt!”

Sam rubbed her eyes to clear the kaleidoscope of colors racing through her sight, “I-I don-”

“You almost walked righ’ into the performance! What’s gotten into you?” Mel asked as the southern accent she tried so hard to mask slipped through. Her eyes narrowed as she took in her friend's bewildered expression. “Are you alrigh’?”

Sam reassured, rubbing her eyes and running a hand through dark burgundy hair, the firelight enhancing the deep purple hues. “Ye-yeah, I’m good. Fine.”

Mel stared at her for a few seconds longer, assessing the lie for what it was but nodded along. “Let’s grab those mini pumpkins we saw and head home. I know damn well Josh doesn’t expect me to carry three fully grown pumpkins back home at nearly midnight.” She said in a huff before stalking off towards the pumpkin vendor’s tent down the river.

Sam had enough time to force a chuckle at her and once she was down the sidewalk, she looked up at the woman who had been speaking during the ritual. Their eyes connected, old and wise blue eyes seemed to convey a message to Sam’s own bright green ones. A knowing gaze that made Sam bristle uncomfortably and rush after her friend toward the vendors still selling their wares.

Three mini pumpkins, a caramel apple, and an overabundance of candy were stashed into the bag that Mel toted down the cobblestone streets. Sam was uncharacteristically quiet, her mind still reeling with the events that took place but Mel was trying her best to distract her, chatting aimlessly about whatever vendor she had gotten the pumpkins from. She could feel the beginnings of a headache creeping along her skull and she longed for a couple Advil and some caffeine to help chase it away.

“Sammi, are you sure you don’t wanna stay the night? You know Josh and I don’t mind.” Mel looked at her again, concern gracing her features and Sam felt her heart tug at the emotion there. “You’re more than welcome to the guest room.”

She nodded, nudging her shoulder against Mel’s with a small smile. “I’m sure. Trust me, all I need is my bed and the upstairs neighbors stomping on the floor to lull me to sleep.”

“Oh, you mean the herd of elephants?” She smiled, a little of that concern easing from her face. “I’m worried about you, Sam, something just didn’t seem right with you today.”

“I wish I knew,” Sam started, turning the corner towards Mel’s apartment. “I’m just as lost as you are.”

The night got a little cooler by the time Sam walked Mel to her door, Josh’s soft snoring wafting out from what Sam knew was the living room. She nodded goodnight, telling her she would text when she woke up and made sure she got inside and locked the door before she began her own trek home.

Sam didn’t live far from Mel, just down three blocks and a turn to the left, where a small (and outrageously overpriced) apartment is what she called home. Living in downtown Savannah, you had nearly everything at your fingertips and it was more of a hindrance to own a car than it was to walk. More likely to have it broken into, stolen, or clipped by a passing car as on-street parking was almost the only option, back alleys the second. No, Sam was fine with walking home no matter the time of day or night, having her own assurance of her protection secured to the waistband of her jeans or strapped to her thigh.

Her mind drifted back to the events of the night and what she felt afterward, her thoughts running near rampant with questions as she sidestepped a break in the cobblestones. She was doing her best to filter the questions and find logical solutions to them, knowing her own limitations of knowledge. While she was staring at the ground just ahead of her, she wasn’t exactly paying a lick of attention.

Did I really witness a ritual, a real ritual? What was it for? Sam definitely believed that what she saw was the real deal and not what movies try so hard to replicate. The air itself had felt different as if it had come to life, not to mention the effects that it had on her body and those around her. She also didn’t know what it was for, having missed any possible explanation by staring at the flames.

The strange colors? She ruled out a brain tumor or aneurysm a while ago. Perhaps it was a migraine, her head did hurt.

Why did I hear a voice? Perhaps it was just her mind filling in the missing information? Provide a reason why for stepping forward and entering the sacred ritual circle? She talked to herself all the time so she knew what that sounded like in her head, but that voice was different.

But why did I enter the circle? Why did I listen to the voice? She felt called to step forward and she did. She answered the call that her body was singing. She had completely lost control over her motor functions.

It doesn’t make sense, something isn’t right. No, she knew something wasn’t right. Why else would she suddenly have what felt like an out-of-body experience?

Something isn’t right. Yes, she already covered that and was aware that something wasn’t right. She wouldn’t pretend that the entire event didn’t scare her, or make her nervous. As of right now, she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin simply by running through what happened. Memories of the ritual flashed through her mind's eye and she suppressed a shudder, the cold sliver of fear settling down in her gut again.

Something is wrong.

Sam stopped walking and looked up from the cobblestones, instantly alert. The street was silent, eerily still, not even a rustle of leaves or a squirrel running along the branches. The breeze stopped and the trees seemed to rear back, pulling themselves away from their natural tilt towards the street. The silence became deafening and Sam turned around to look down the block. Only the lights from the lampposts and shadows met her.

Even though she was alone, something was indeed wrong.

Sam discreetly patted her hip, finding comfort in the heavy weight of metal that consisted of her Ruger. She took a deep breath and continued her journey, never changing her pace as she made her way home. Sam looked at every reflective surface as she passed, trying to get a look behind her while keeping calm. Store fronts, car windows and mirrors, even the shiny gloss layer on the street signs; anything that could aid her in figuring out what was going on as she tried to keep her head.

Clearly, she was either being watched or followed, or both. It made her as uneasy as she had ever been, even with her surefire protection on her. Every intake of breath felt like it was being stolen from her. Her mind wanted to run rampant with anxiety but she willed herself to remain as calm as she could. She needed to stay calm and aware.

It wasn’t until she hit the corner of the square that she felt the immediate urge to run. The intensity of it nearly sent her heart into a wild gallop and her hands started to tremble with the building adrenaline. The sudden feeling lit a fire under her skin, she couldn’t recall making the conscious decision to run but within a split second, she bolted into the square. Dodging trash cans and benches, weaving around trees, and out onto the other side where she took off like a bullet down the cobblestone street.

The intense fear slammed into her body, her legs carrying her as fast as they could and her lungs squeezing every ounce of air out and greedily sucking it back in to fuel her mad dash. She needed a place to hide. She couldn’t go back to her apartment and she wouldn’t go to Mel’s house either. She needed a neutral spot to take cover and wait out this unseen being. She needed to hide.

She heard the footsteps behind her as she ran down the road, skidding to a halt almost a half second too late to swing herself around a lamppost and accelerate herself down the street. The cobblestones made it difficult to run, bits and pieces of stone jutting up or the sand filling in between being nonexistent and creating holes. She did her best to keep her pace, her boot getting caught up twice, in the attempt to lose her pursuer. She was being chased by something she couldn’t see, but she could hear it. She looked down the alleyways and side streets as she passed, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to hide.

She scrambled around a turn onto a side street and darted down the dirt-covered road. She could feel whoever or whatever was chasing her getting closer, almost like a sixth sense. She could feel the change in the air and knew they were almost on her. All they had to do was reach out and grab her, and if they did, she would go down fighting.

“I need a place to hide.” She breathed out, over and over again as she ran.

Her lungs were on fire and her side cramped but she continued to push herself to her limits. She cut across another main road and down into another side street, spinning herself into a turn towards an alley. Her legs kept pushing and burning while carrying her weight. Her arms pumping as fast as they could and her heart beating so wildly it was about to come out of her chest. She didn’t have anywhere to go, she wasn’t losing her tail, and she couldn’t run anymore. Her body was on the brink of giving out.

She didn’t have time to slow herself down or stop when she realized she was reaching a dead end in the alley. It was already too late. She braced her arms out in front of her, intending to take the brutal impact of her speed coming to a halt at the wall, but the surface rippled.

Sam didn’t have time to think about the shimmering boundary before she fell straight through it and into a void of emptiness.

_________________________________________

A ripple shuddered through Prythian. Feyre’s brow furrowed as she looked up from her canvas and Rhysand turned his attention to the windows overlooking Velaris. Azriel walked to the edge of the balcony, taking note of anything out of place along the Sidra, his shadows scattering away from him at his command.

Cassian set down his training sword as another ripple caressed the wards standing strong around the Night Court, scanning the skies; Amren and Nesta emerged from the House of Wind, glancing around as if something was waiting to attack them.

“What was that?” Nesta asked as Cassian stepped closer to the ledge of the balcony. His eyes searched the sky and the rooftops of the buildings below as Nesta came to stand beside him. “Are we under att-”

Another ripple trembled through the wards, and eerie stillness settled around the city. The birds from the cluster of trees down below took flight and headed north towards the mountain range.

“No, I don’t believe we are being attacked,” Rhysand answered as he joined his family outside on the landing, his eyes still overlooking the city. “But something is definitely wrong.”

“Az, anything?” Feyre called out to the Shadowsinger who had started to walk towards them.

Azriel took another look towards the Sidra as a shadow curled around his ear. “Nothing definitive yet, but whatever it is, it’s coming from the south.” He looked to the High Lord, his face settling into a cool mask as he awaited his inevitable orders.

Rhys hummed in agreement, nodding in the southern direction. “Take Cass with you, scout the territory lines to the southeast, Feyre and I will take the southwest section. Mor, send a message to Helion making him aware that we will be crossing into the Day Court. Thesan as well, just in case this takes us further south into Dawn than we anticipate.”

“Should we be alerting them to what we’re doing? Perhaps we should keep it among ourselves.” Mor responded as she rose from the bench.

“If we all felt that, I’m sure we are not the only ones.” Rhys replied, “Besides, it is common courtesy to inform them when crossing into their lands. I doubt Helion would mind, but until we know what we are dealing with, we do it by the book.”

Mor nodded and set off inside the House to write the messages to the High Lords as Azriel and Cassian tapped their center siphons to don their fighting leathers.

“Amren, monitor Velaris. Nesta, guard the House and keep Elain inside until further notice.” Rhys delegated as Feyre also disappeared inside the House. “All of you, stay on your guard, report back here by no later than tomorrow evening. Do not take chances until we know what we are up against.”

With that, he turned on his heel to follow his mate back inside the House. Azriel and Cassian immediately took flight. Cassian threw a wink in Nesta’s direction and disappeared through the clouds with Azriel, their figures fading in the distance as they headed south.

54 notes · View notes

cupidslove1 · 2 years ago

Text

Y/N: Guys I almost choked to death last night

Nesta: You’ll be fine. Next time you just have to stay still and breath through your nose before you take more.

Y/N [confused]: … I was talking about choking on food… What are you talking about…?

Nesta:… huh- I was talking about choking on stuff in general…

Cassian : I’m stuff in general.

532 notes · View notes

onlybeeewrites · 2 months ago

Text

A Dance of Ash and Steel (6/ )

Pairing: Oc!Elara x Eris Vanserra

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Elara and Eris start their search for the missing female before it’s too late.

Warnings: threats of violence, snarky comments

A Dance of Ash and Steel series: Previous

A/N: ugh I love this series. But I’m also currently hyperfixated on The Hunger Games and Fourth Wing so I will come back to this when I can <3

~~~~~~

Eris was already waiting when Elara arrived the following morning. Their agreed time had run out.

She stepped onto the overlook where they had agreed to meet, the early morning mist curling at her feet, tendrils of cool air brushing against her skin. The sky was still painted in the soft blues and purples of dawn, the rising sun just beginning to stain the horizon with hints of gold. The wind whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves in a sound that was both soothing and foreboding, as if the land itself knew something was coming.

Eris stood near the edge, his back straight, posture loose but deceptively controlled—always the same with him. A man who feigned ease but measured every movement, every breath. His long, red hair gleamed in the early light, shifting slightly in the wind, the sharp angles of his face set in an unreadable expression.

He could’ve been carved from the very stone beneath his feet, as unmoving and unyielding as the cliffs themselves.

His gaze flicked to hers as she approached.

“You’re late,” he drawled.

Elara rolled her eyes. “By two minutes.”

“Two minutes that could mean life or death,” he countered smoothly, arms crossing over his chest. His golden eyes flickered, a subtle challenge hidden beneath the amusement in his voice.

She snorted. “Dramatic much?”

Eris only smirked, but there was something sharper behind it, something that told her he was just as eager to get moving as she was.

Without another word, he stepped closer, reaching for her.

She barely resisted the instinct to flinch when his fingers wrapped around her wrist—warm, solid. A tether she still wasn’t used to. Her body tensed involuntarily, a muscle-deep reaction she hadn’t quite shaken, even after all this time. His presence, his touch, the way he invaded her space like he had every right to it—it grated against her instincts.

But she swallowed it down, steeling herself as his other hand settled lightly at her waist.

“Hold on, Birdie,” he murmured.

She bristled at the nickname, her glare sharp enough to cut—but before she could snap at him, the world twisted and collapsed around them.

The wind howled as Eris pulled them through the space between realms, the crushing, disorienting sensation of winnowing settling deep in Elara’s bones. It was a strange, stomach-twisting thing, like being flung through the air and yanked back at the same time. She had done it before, but something about the way he did it—fast, efficient, as if he barely had to think about it—left her feeling even more unsteady than usual.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.

Elara sucked in a breath, steadying herself as her boots hit solid ground. She always hated winnowing. She hated the way the world around her warped and shifted. She hated how disorienting it all was. She much preferred flying. But Eris, being the absolute princess he was. Absolutely refused to travel any other way.

Though she admitted it was faster to travel to the outlining villages of the Court, she didn’t like the way she had to touch him to do it. She hated how he smirked when she gripped his arm, and practically threw it away from her once she could. Hated the way he smirked. Hated it all.

Around them, the dim glow of dawn bathed the quiet village in soft golds and purples. It was a modest place, tucked into the valleys of the Night Court’s lesser-populated territories. The buildings were simple but sturdy, built from dark stone and carved wood. Smoke curled from a few chimneys, the scent of fresh bread and morning fires drifting on the crisp air.

She rolled her shoulders, adjusting to the new location, before giving Eris a sharp look. “Next time, warn me before you drag me through space, Vanserra.”

He only smirked, entirely unaffected. “I figured you could handle it, Birdie.”

She glared at him, but he was already scanning the village, his smirk fading into something more calculating.

They were here for answers. Okay, maybe not answers. But at least a decent place to start.

Elara inhaled deeply, trying to sort through the scents carried on the wind. The one they were looking for—she didn’t know what she would smell like, but she knew what she wanted to find. Magic. Fear. Something that stood out.

Nothing immediately jumped at her.

Eris had already started moving, his steps purposeful as he approached the nearest cluster of buildings. “We’ll start with the inn,” he murmured. “Travelers talk, and coin tends to loosen lips.”

Elara fell into step beside him, instinctively scanning the streets. A few villagers were already out, setting up stalls or preparing for the day, their wary gazes flickering toward them before quickly looking away. Not unusual. Even in a court as vast as Rhysand’s, two well-dressed strangers appearing out of thin air would always draw suspicion.

She leaned in slightly, voice low. “What exactly are we asking? We can’t just go around demanding if anyone’s seen a runaway female with power.”

Eris hummed, his expression giving away nothing. “We’re not looking for her directly. We’re looking for trouble.”

Elara arched a brow. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Trouble finds us wherever we go. You especially, Vanserra,”

A flicker of amusement crossed his features before he elaborated. “If she’s here—or if she’s been here—someone will have noticed. Strange occurrences. Missing people. Unexplained power. Energy. If she’s hiding, she’s either doing it well or she’s making mistakes. Either way, someone will know something. It’ll help give us somewhere else to start.

Elara considered that as they reached the inn’s entrance. A dingy two-story, rickety building. The wooden sign above the entrance swayed slightly in the breeze, the paint worn but still legible: The Crescent Hearth.

Eris pushed the door open without hesitation, the scent of roasted meat and ale greeting them as they stepped inside. The inn wasn’t large, but it was well-kept, a handful of tables scattered across the main room. A few patrons lingered near the bar, while a tired-looking innkeeper wiped down a counter.

Elara caught the way conversations dipped the moment they walked in. They were being watched. Measured. She wouldn’t doubt that word of their arrival would spread fast. They had to work faster.

She leaned against the doorway, letting Eris take the lead as he strode toward the innkeeper, all easy confidence.

Elara didn’t miss the way the older male straightened slightly, as if sensing that this was not a male he wanted to offend. Smart. For once.

Eris offered a practiced, easy smile, his stance relaxed—but not careless. “Quiet night?” he asked, voice smooth, as if they were nothing more than weary travelers making conversation.

The innkeeper’s sharp gaze flicked over him, then to Elara, assessing. “Depends on what you call quiet,” he said gruffly, wiping down the counter.

Eris nodded as if he understood, glancing around the dimly lit tavern. “Place like this must hear all kinds of things,” he mused, voice casual. “Stories, rumors. Some worth ignoring, some worth remembering.” He let the words settle, watching the innkeeper’s reaction. “And sometimes, those stories are worth something to the right ears.”

The innkeeper’s hand stilled on the cloth. Suspicion flickered across his face, but so did interest. After a moment’s hesitation, he exhaled and jerked his head toward a door in the back. “If you want to talk, best do it in there. Too many ears out here.”

Eris didn’t move right away. Instead, he studied the man, as if weighing whether to trust him. Then, with a glance at Elara—a silent signal to stay sharp—he stepped forward.

Elara scanned the room once more, noting every exit, every glance that lingered too long, before following.

The back room of the inn was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a small, flickering lantern mounted on the wall. The scent of old wood and pipe smoke lingered in the air, along with the faintest trace of something metallic—perhaps spilled ale or something less innocent.

The innkeeper shut the door behind them and gestured to a small table in the center of the room. “You want information,” he said gruffly, settling into the chair with a weary sigh. “I might have some.”

Eris didn’t sit. He remained standing, hands clasped behind his back in that effortless way that made him look like he belonged in a throne room rather than some dingy tavern. Elara, on the other hand, slid into the seat across from the innkeeper, her sharp eyes studying his face, watching for any sign of deception, her wings tucked tight behind her.

The old male leaned forward slightly, as if he were about to impart some great secret. “Few nights ago,” he began, voice low, “there was… an incident. Something unnatural.”

Eris arched a brow. “Go on.” He said, his voice bored as ever.

The innkeeper’s fingers drummed against the table. “Couple of my regulars said they saw something—said there was this girl in the village square late at night. Said she wasn’t from around here. Young, traveling alone.” He hesitated, then leaned in a fraction more. “They claimed she was glowing.”

Elara blinked. “Glowing?” She asked. Not in surprise, but almost as if clarifying in pure bored disbelief.

“Aye.” He nodded. “Said she had power spilling off her in waves, and the air around her shimmered like starlight. But by the time anyone tried to get close, she was gone.”

Elara exchanged a look with Eris.

It wasn’t impossible. She’d seen magic manifest in strange ways before. But something about this wasn’t right. It was almost too easy.

Eris tilted his head slightly. “Why didn’t you report this?”

The innkeeper’s lips twisted into something bitter. “Report it? And bring the High Lord’s attention down on my village? We don’t need that kind of trouble. It’s not like he spends much time with the concerns of villages like our own. ‘Sides, the girl disappeared. If she wanted to be found, she would’ve stuck around.”

A reasonable enough excuse. And yet—

Elara frowned, trying to piece it together. It sounded… almost too convenient.

She could feel Eris studying the innkeeper just as closely as she was.

He hummed, his tone light but laced with quiet authority. “And these regulars of yours—would they be willing to speak with us?”

The innkeeper hesitated. A flicker of something passed over his face before he quickly masked it. “No,” he said. “One left town. The other won’t talk to strangers.”

Liar.

Elara’s jaw tightened, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. The innkeeper was hiding something—whether it was out of fear, greed, or simply to throw them off, she wasn’t sure.

Eris exhaled, clearly arriving at the same conclusion. But he didn’t call the male out on it. Not yet. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a few gold coins, setting them on the table with a quiet clink.

“For your trouble,” he said smoothly.

The innkeeper snatched up the coins with practiced efficiency, his fingers closing around them like a starving man clutching his last meal.

Eris only smiled. “If you think of anything else, we’ll be staying in the village for a while.”

The male nodded quickly, his shoulders easing now that the conversation was ending. “Of course.”

Eris turned for the door, and Elara followed. But as she passed the innkeeper, she paused just long enough to murmur, “If you’re lying to us, we will find out.”

The way his throat bobbed as he swallowed told her all she needed to know.

Then she was striding after Eris, stepping back out into the cool morning air.

Elara waited until the door shut behind them before saying, “He’s full of shit.”

Eris crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “You think?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Either he’s covering for someone, or he’s trying to send us in the wrong direction. Or just making a quick coin,”

Eris considered that. “So what now?”

Elara didn’t answer right away as they left the inn and went back outside. She glanced around the village square, eyes scanning the streets, the rooftops, as if something might reveal itself to her. The sun slowly creeping over the hills and tree tops surrounding the outlying village.

Then, finally, Elara said, “Now we find out what he didn’t tell us.” She nodded towards the village center, where the merchants were finishing setting up their stalls for the day. If talk were to happen, this would be the place.

The market was bustling with activity, the sun rising higher in the sky and casting a soft golden glow over the village. Merchants were setting up their stalls, the vibrant colors of fruit and vegetables mixing with the earthy smells of fresh bread and roasted meats. The air was thick with the sounds of bartering and laughter, punctuated by the occasional shout of a merchant calling out the quality of their goods.

Elara and Eris had chosen to split up, both of them scanning the scene for any hint of unusual behavior or whispers that might lead them to something useful. Eris had winnowed out of sight, slipping away into the shadows of the village while Elara meandered through the market, her wings folded against her back and her gaze sharp.

As she moved from stall to stall, she admired the simple wares and exchanged polite pleasantries with the merchants. She asked questions about travel, about the weather, and even about the state of the road to the neighboring villages. She kept it casual, her words light, but her mind was working quickly, analyzing the faces of everyone she spoke to.

“Anything I should avoid around here?” she asked one vendor selling brightly-colored scarves, leaning slightly over the stall as if she were genuinely interested in the goods. “I’m just passing through, but I’d hate to end up in a spot of trouble.”

The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow but smiled warmly. “Ah, well, we’ve had some strange folks wandering through of late, travelers and all that. Nothing dangerous, but I’d keep clear of the forest path that runs along the far end of the village. Strange happenings,”

“Strange happenings?” Elara repeated, pressing for more.

The woman lowered her voice, leaning forward. “Some say it’s the old ruins, something lingering there. But I believe it is just bandits praying on travelers for a coin or anything with a shine. If you’re traveling, I’d steer clear of that area, especially at night.”

Elara nodded, her interest piqued, but she didn’t linger too long. The woman had no more information that was of immediate use. Bandits or raiders weren’t new or helpful. Elara had learned what she needed. She walked away, her eyes scanning the crowd as she moved deeper into the market.

The scent of spice and fresh bread curled through the air, mingling with the sharper tang of burning oil from the lantern stalls. Vendors called out their wares, their voices rising above the hum of conversation and the clatter of hooves on stone. She let herself slip into the rhythm of it, letting the noise and movement settle her mind.

But as she passed the pottery stall again, something about the delicate, cracked vase the woman had been holding caught her attention. It had a beauty to it—fragile yet detailed, the kind of craftsmanship that spoke of years of skill and patience. She turned back toward the stall.

“I don’t suppose you made that vase yourself, did you?” Elara asked, her tone light but curious.

The woman looked up from the work in her hands, her frail eyes blinking as if surprised by the question. “Aye, I did,” she rasped, her hands trembling as she placed the vase down, almost protectively. “Been working clay since I was a girl.”

Elara nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s beautiful. The design, the cracks… it’s like it tells a story,”

The woman’s eyes softened as she looked at the vase, and that’s when Elara felt the air shift. Something in the woman’s gaze had changed—darker, sharper, as if she was no longer seeing the pottery but something deeper.

Elara had seen war. Had been covered in blood, had walked through the aftermath of battles, her ears ringing with the screams of the dying. She had stood before things darker than nightmares and walked away unscathed.

And yet—this old woman, with her shaking hands and hollowed-out eyes, sent something cold trickling down her spine. Sent her wings shifting. Goosebumps rising on her skin.

It wasn’t fear. No, not fear. It was something worse—recognition.

The woman’s eyes were too clear, too knowing, as they flicked over Elara’s face. And though Elara played it cool, her face impassive, something coiled tight in her chest.

“It’s not the pottery you need to worry about, girl.”

Elara kept her breathing steady. Didn’t flinch, didn’t shift, even as the woman’s voice—rasping and dry—curled around her like smoke. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied evenly.

The woman’s fingers clenched around the vase she held, the fine cracks in the clay deepening with the force of it. Her mouth moved, forming words too quickly, too feverishly.

“The skies will darken, and the light will falter. The lost one will return, and when the shadow falls upon you, you will know who you are meant to be. The chains will break, the bond will form—he will be your salvation, and the end of everything.”

Elara’s heart thudded, slow and heavy.

The bond. The chains. The end of everything.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Yet, the world suddenly felt… off-kilter. Like she was standing on the edge of a precipice and the ground beneath her feet was beginning to give way.

Elara stayed perfectly still, her soldier’s instincts keeping her rooted. But the air around her felt thick now, pressing against her lungs, against her ribs.

And then the woman lunged.

Her gnarled fingers locked around Elara’s wrist, pulling her forward with a strength that shouldn’t belong to someone so frail.

Elara’s other hand twitched toward a blade that sat on her waist. But she couldn’t cause a scene. She couldn’t hurt this old female. But something about her instinctively told her she wasn’t just an old female. Not with the way she looked at Elara.

The woman’s fingers were like ice, her grip trembling but unyielding. Her breath fanned against Elara’s skin as she leaned in, her eyes wide and wild, pupils blown out like a starless sky.

“You must know the truth,” she whispered. “It’s already written. The skies are shifting, child. Beware—beware of what’s coming for you. It will change it all. The power. I will save or kill us all,”

A storm churned in the woman’s gaze, something ancient and untethered, and it unnerved Elara in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child, curled beneath a tattered blanket in a war-camp, listening to the wind howl like a dying thing.

Elara should’ve yanked her wrist away. Should’ve shoved the woman back, done something.

But she didn’t.

Because—deep down—she wasn’t sure she wanted to break the grip.

“Mother!”

The shout cracked through the market like a whip.

Elara snapped back to herself, stepping away just as a broad-shouldered male rushed forward. He grabbed the woman’s arm, his grip firm but careful, and gently pulled her away.

The woman’s fingers slid from Elara’s wrist. Cold lingered in their wake.

“I’m so sorry,” the male said quickly, his face flushing with embarrassment. “She’s… not well. She speaks nonsense most days.” His voice softened, lined with frustration, but also with sorrow. “Please, forgive her.”

Elara barely heard him.

The woman was still staring at her, muttering under her breath, though her words had lost their shape, dissolving into nonsense. But her eyes—those dark, haunted eyes—never left Elara’s face.

“It’s alright,” Elara managed, forcing a tight smile, though she wasn’t sure anything was alright.

The son nodded, guiding the old woman away. She went without protest, her head tipping back toward the sky, her whispers trailing behind her like a ghost’s touch.

Elara took a slow breath. Then another.

Her fingers flexed at her sides. Her wings twitched involuntarily.

She should shake it off. Walk away. Forget about it.

But the woman’s words echoed in her skull, sinking their claws in deep.

Eris spotted Elara slowly walking, eyes distant, and sighed dramatically. He pushed his way through the crowd toward her, his steps deliberate and mocking as he finally called out, “Birdie, What’s going on? You look like someone just took your favorite dagger away,”

His head tilted and his eyes narrowing at her when she didn’t seem to responds. With his eyebrows furrowed, he tried again, “Elara?”

She snapped back to attention at the sound of her name. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she forced herself to focus.

“What?” she muttered, her voice a little sharper than she intended. “Did you find anything useful?”

Eris raised a brow, crossing his arms and leaning in slightly, as if inspecting her. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve been standing there like you’re waiting for an inspiration from the broken pot there,” he said, nodding towards the cracked vase the woman had been holding.

Elara’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond to the jabs. Instead, she waved her hand dismissively, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort gnawing at her chest. “I didn’t find anything useful. Some ramblings about raiders, but that’s nothing new. We should move on from this town.”

Eris sighed a bit as he nodded, putting his hands into his front pockets, “So no cryptic clues, no hidden treasures, no obscure prophecies about this female’s inevitable rise to world domination?” His voice dripped with feigned disappointment. “What a letdown. And here I was hoping to get something out of this.”

Elara couldn’t suppress the roll of her eyes. “You know how it is. People love to talk, but it’s all useless chatter. We’ve spent enough time here.”

Eris snorted. “You’re telling me. At this rate, the only thing we’ll be leaving with is a headache from all the nonsense. Lead the way, then, little bird,”

Despite the sarcasm, there was a certain edge to his words—maybe not concern, but something close to it. Elara’s discomfort hadn’t gone unnoticed, even if he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Right behind you,” Elara muttered, setting off toward the edge of town, ready to put the strange encounter behind her. She could feel Eris following, the weight of his gaze on her back, but she refused to acknowledge it. She had enough to deal with than to worry about his snide remarks.

Still, the words of the old woman continued to echo in her mind, wrapping tighter around her thoughts with every step she took. And she couldn’t help but turn it over and over in her mind.

What in the Cauldron’s name did it all mean?

“He will be your salvation, and the end of everything.”

11 notes · View notes

starrysnowdrop · 1 year ago

Text

Lalapril 2024 ✈️ Day 18: Distance

“Never would I have imagined just how far my journey would take me. First it was to the heart of Eorzea, where I scaled the heights of the Crystal Tower, then I climbed up to the very heavens themselves to end the Dragonsong War, crossed the seas to the Far East, and then I went where I thought I never could: across the rift to another shard, then across time to the ancient past, and finally to the edge of the universe itself. What distances I have traveled!” ~ Hali

#lalapril #lalapril 2024 #day 18 distance #mor dhona #churning mists #doman enclave #the crystarium #ultima thule #female lalafell #hali aloke #oc: drops of jupiter

44 notes · View notes

artbythermalcom · 4 months ago

Text

"If It Takes Anything to Win, You Must Be Ready To Lose Everything."

Enjoy!

Also Sorry for going AFK. I've been dealing with different issues and stresses outside of doing art and stuff. But regardless, yeah, I ain't going anywhere.

#artbythermalcom #art #pin up #post modern #2025 #fuck trump #strong female character #oc art #oc #cigarette and tattoos #tattoos #tattoed babe #not ai generated #human made art #fuck elon musk #mors omnibus tyrannis #fuck the tyrants

6 notes · View notes

aghostwrites · 2 years ago

Text

She knows my desire

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Warnings: oral (f! reader receiving), Lesbian, mentions of sex, overstimulation, NSFW, she/her pronouns, smut

Paring: Mor x f! reader (OC charatcer)

Work count: 3k

minors do not engage.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Working at Rita’s restaurant under the rule of Amarantha was a curse. Even though most of Velaris had remained unchanged, the frequency of my favorite customer had dwindled. Morrigan. I miss seeing her alluring eyes, I used to love the way the light would catch them. Her hair was always kept in golden braids.

Until Feyre happened.

The story of Feyre cursebreaker became legendary to those who live in Prythian. Allowing the high lord and his family to once more walk among the people of Velaris, to enjoy the freedom that they were denied under Amarantha.

It is a regular day at Rita’s, High fae gossiping about what happened under the mountain, each story vastly different from the other. I’m serving a particularly loud male his spiced wine, his boasting of watching Feyre is the loudest among the chatter, “- and then she answered Amarantha’s riddle, you should have seen the look on that bitches face as Tamlin ripped her throat”. I slam down the glass in front of him making sure he cuts the conversation short. Other customers are beginning to look uncomfortable at the mention of Amarantha’s name and I don’t want to lose their business due to one drunken fae. Seeing my harsh actions made the male pip down.

I began the usual cleaning for the night before Rita intercepted me “Girl, I need you to quickly serve the high lord and his family, everything is free as a mating present to his new high lady” she said quickly before walking away to calm down a fight between other patrons. I can’t maintain my composure knowing the high family is here. That Morrigan is here. It's been fifty years since I’ve seen her. I quickly walk over to their usual table, noting Cassian, Az, Amern, the woman I assume to be Feyre, the high lord, and Morrigan. She is glowing, her smile contagious. Her hair looks the same, in the golden braid. She’s in a flowing red dress that brings out the glimmer in her eyes. I start to imagine what she's wearing underneath before Amern brings me back to reality. Heat spreads across my cheeks for my shameful thoughts.

“Hello?'' growls Amern, “Are you going to take the drink orders or are you going to oogle Mor all night”.

I’m mortified, I’ve always known Amern to be unpleasant most of the time. I can’t bring myself to look at Morrigan, too afraid to see her reaction to my attraction to her. Cassian lets out a boyish giggle, “Do you hear that Mor? Even females can’t take their eyes off you”. I feel tears start to build in my eyes as I start to walk back towards the kitchen, shoulders slumped. I just want to go home, it's been a long night and now with that embarrassing situation, I don’t think I could last a couple more hours. I hunt down Rita, trying to think of some bullshit excuse to end my night early.

“Hey, Rita?” I sniffle “I think I should go home and call a healer, my nose has been running all day” I finish. Rita gives me a suspicious look

“Fine girl, but be back tomorrow bright and early, give someone else the high families order and go”. I sigh in relief as I pack up my things and head out the door. As I’m about to quietly slip out, I get a light tap on my shoulder and I feel a hand slide something into my pocket. I turn back around to find no one, no one but Morrigan giving me a sly smile at her table before she continues her conversation with Feyre.

⟴

I need to take a walk through the streets of silk and thread. The sight of the shops and all they have to offer always helps me clear my mind during distressing times. I stop by a particular favorite of mine. Aili is the fae who owns this shop and has been a friend of mine for centuries. She is one of the most talented females I know, making dresses for every occasion, she also is a great shoulder to cry on. I hastily grab the handle and yank open the door, thankfully the only fae in the store is Aili. I can’t hold back the choking sobs any longer. My friend quickly rushes over to me, a look of concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”. So I tell her the story of my humiliation. I have a hard time forming sentences between my crying and blowing my nose.

“- I couldn’t even finish my shift, I just left”, I finished. Aili gives me a small smile as she tries to soothe me.

“My dear I know what will make you feel better. A new dress, on the house”.

“No.” I stammer “These dresses are too expensive for me to just take for free.” Aili only gives me a laugh

“Well, it’s a good thing you know the owner”. I spend only thirty minutes or so in the store before I finally find something that catches my eye. A short green dress that has silver stitching that glows like the stars on winter solstice. It has a deep plunge neckline that some would consider provocative and completely sheer on the sides. Aili is right, as usual. I do feel better. I’m admiring myself in the mirror when I remember that I still have a hidden treasure in my pocket. I thank Aili for the dress and head home.

The walk is a short one usually if I take cuts through the streets, but tonight I want to savor the warm summer air. I make it to my small apartment in just a couple of minutes and rummage through my pocket to find my keys. My fingers brush a small note. I hastily open my front door, step inside, drop my shopping bag, and latch the locks before opening the note.

I was oogling you too if you would have looked up you shy girl. Maybe after I’m finished at Rita’s I’ll pay you a visit, only if you want.

-Mor

A pen appeared in my pocket. I don’t know what to write back. I quickly find the nearest hard surface. My hands are too shaky to say anything back. I take a couple of deep breaths and begin my message.

I would love to see you. I'm in the theatre district in the red house with the big oak door.

I’m thinking about changing what I wrote before the note disappeared. I’m nervous that I was too vague about where I live or that maybe I should have shown more excitement to the meeting with the high female fae I’ve had lustful thoughts about for years. A new note appears.

I know that house. I must say, I’m happy Amern said something, I’ve been wanting a private meeting with you for a while.

-Mor

Before I can craft a message back, everything disappears. I can’t help but smile to myself and think of the last line of that message, not believing it to be real. Morrigan didn’t give me a specific time for when she was coming. I began to clean. It's not usual for me to have company over, save for Aili. It’s been centuries since I’ve had a female that I was sexually attracted to in my house. Usually, those females were one-night stands that wanted to come home with me after an extensive night at Rita’s. They never meant anything to me and neither did I to them. This is different, I now have to make sure my house looks fit for the most beautiful woman in the world. I want this meeting to mean something.

After I finish up my cleaning duties, I hurry to my bathing room, showering off the smell of Rita’s restaurant. I struggle with what to do with my hair, usually, when I want to look presentable I put it in a braid. A habit I picked up from Morrigan. I want to impress her. I decide on a half-up in a bun with some strands flowing down my shoulders. I walk back to the door where my shopping bag is and bring out the dress. I had some reservations about getting it at first, I couldn’t think of any place I would ever want to wear it. Now, with Morrigan coming, it was perfect. After putting the dress on, I admire myself in the floor-length mirror. I must admit, I look hot. I do a little twirl in the mirror before I hear a knock on my door that snaps me back to reality. I rush to my door, undo the locks, and yank it open. There she is. Morrigan.

She changed her dress. The female is now wearing a floor-length blue dress that hugs her body, it has slits on the sides exposing her thighs. The silver stitching is similar to mine. The blue dress brings out Morrigan’s beautiful brown eyes. I can’t help but stare at her the way I did at Rita’s hours before. Her hair is still braided, she painted her lips an inviting brown color. Morrigan must have noticed my staring, her cheeks began to flush.

“Hello my dear, you look lovely”, she states as if it's pure fact. Her breath has a subtle hint of liquor. I muster up enough courage before I finally speak.

“Hi, Morrigan”. I hesitantly move away from the door and allow the beautiful fae to walk in. Morrigan gives my home a quick glance before turning back to me.

“Mor, my friends and lovers call me Mor.” I have known this but I don’t want to push boundaries. I smile as I think of saying her name. Mor. Excitement thunders through my heart that I am now allowed to call her that. I don’t know what to do with myself, the awkwardness settles in as Mor and I glance at each other. Finally, she says, “ I was thinking of having some wine if you’re interested? I brought a bottle over from Rhysands collection”. I give a quick nod and head over to the living room. We both sit on the couch, her thighs brushing against mine. I let out a tiny sigh from the contact, low enough to where I don’t think Mor heard. With a wave of Mor’s hand, two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine appear. Mor lets the glasses fall to the table before she begins to pour. First mine, then hers.

“I propose a toast” she purrs as she raises her glass, “to meeting each other at last”. I could only give a nod in response as we both clink our glasses together and drink. The wine is warm going down my throat, with hints of berries and chocolate dancing on my tongue. I drain my glass quickly to cancel out the tension that lies between us, Mor does the same. I guess now would be the best time to talk,

“You know Mor, I’ve always found you to be beautiful”. I wanted to tell her more, how I can’t ever look away from her, how her laugh makes my heart fill with joy. Maybe if I ever get the chance another time, I will. A slight grin spreads across her face.

“I know you have my dear. I’ve always known. I was going to ask you out for drinks before Amarantha decided to play the queen of Prythian”. She lets out a deep sigh before continuing, “I’m sorry I never did, it's been fifty years since my family has come back from under the mountain, I needed a little time before going back to the dating scene. I figured it wouldn’t be fair for either of us.” Happiness soars through my body at her words. She has been wanting this as much as I have. I reach my hand to hers as if to tell her It's ok, I understand. Mor lets out a deep sigh “but I know how I can make it up to you”’ a devilish grin spreads across her face.

She sets down her wine glass and reaches out her hand to my face. Her fingers begin to graze my cheek, working their way to my mouth. A small sigh escapes my breath as she brushes her thumb across my lips. Mor gives me a smirk before pushing her thumb into my mouth “suck”, she demands. I do as she asks, beginning by kissing the tip of her thumb before I part my lips, running my tongue along her slender finger. “Good girl”, moans Mor, I smile at the praise. Mor pulls her thumb out of my mouth and crashes her lips to mine. She tastes divine.

She nips at my lower lip with her teeth, telling me to open my mouth, I obey. A small moan escapes me as our tongues meet. I feel her place her hand on my knee, slowly raking her nails against the soft skin. My head begins to spin as her nails find my thighs, tracing little circles. Mor pulls away from the kiss “So beautiful” she whispers. I involuntarily spread my legs a little more, willing her to go higher. Inviting her to where I want her to be. I arch my back towards her, silently begging her to bring her lips back to mine. Instead, she begins to trail tender kisses on my neck. I let out another sigh. I want this to speed up, I’m impatient. I’ve waited fifty years for Mor and I won’t wait any longer. I push Mor away and unzip my dress, revealing myself to her hungry eyes.

Her gaze seems to drink in every detail of my body. I blush but Mor pulls me back to her, placing me on her lap. My breasts are at eye level. She kisses each nipple before placing one in her mouth, sending shivers through my spine. I let out a faint whimper. I feel her tongue make lazy circles, the warmth of her mouth is enough to drive me crazy. I want her mouth somewhere else. Somewhere lower. Mor pulls away and gives a soft laugh, “You’re making pools of excitement on my dress, shall I take it off?” I can only give her a nod as she lays me down on the couch and stands up. The movement is almost too fast for me to see before she brings herself back. Bare. Mor knows what I want, I can see it in her eyes. She slowly kneels on the floor, before me. “Put your legs over my shoulders, now”. The aggressiveness in Mor’s tone only makes me wetter. I do as she says. She grabs my waist and pulls me closer to her. My pussy inches away from her mouth, where it longed to be.

Mor traces little kisses on my thighs, slowly. I can feel her breath on me, making me want her mouth on me even more. I buck my hips up “Please” I beg.

“Mmmh, my dear” she purrs “I like it when you beg”. I feel a kiss placed on me before her mouth begins its work. I arch my back to give Mor better access as she flicks her tongue across my clit at a steady pace. My breath quickens as she begins to suck on tiny nub sending pleasure coursing through my body. I try to push her away, it feels too good and I’m becoming overstimulated, but she beats me to it. Mor grabs my hands and pins them to my sides, lifting her head from my cunt, “My dear, you will sit here and let me do as I wish. I’ve thought of this moment for too long. Every female I’ve been with for the past fifty years I’ve imagined as you. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long. Now I have you before me, begging for me, displayed for me. You will be a good girl and allow me to do as I want to you, understand? she says. I give her a hurried nod which seems to satisfy her, she brings her mouth back to her meal, stealing my breath away with every lick.

I can feel my high coming, my thighs tighten around Mor’s head which earns a low groan from her sending vibrations throughout my body. I don’t know how much longer I can last, I take a quick glance at Mor, and it sends me over the edge. The sight is sinful, her eyes watching me, her lips wrapped around my clit, the sound of her sucking, it is too much for me. My back arches.

“Mor” I scream, “ I think I’m going to”, I don't finish my sentence before she lets go of my hand and slips two fingers into me. Rubbing the spot that allows me to reach my climax. I cum hard, bucking my hips against Mor’s mouth while her fingers work their magic, chasing my high. Mor lets out a little giggle as she takes her mouth away from me while pulling her fingers out. She slips those fingers into her own mouth, seeming to savor the taste of me.

“I can’t tell what's better” she purrs, “You, or the wine”. I smile at her, I feel happy that she seems pleased with me. I always want her to be pleased with me. “Now my dear, it's my turn”. She says with a grin.

⟴

The aftermath of sex has us both panting. We managed to move our little party back to my bedroom, bathing room, then to my kitchen table. We now lay in each other's arms back on my couch. Both of us grinning ear to ear. I don’t know what is to come of this particular situation but I know in my heart, I will do whatever Mor says, be whoever she wants me to be. I’m deep in my thoughts about the events of tonight and everything that led up to this moment. I meet her eyes again, looking down at her nestled lovingly against my breasts. I want to be with her until the end of time. I want to be the one she thinks of when she is ruling over her court, and I want to be the one she kisses every morning.

“I love you, Mor,” I whisper. She looks up at me and there it is. Like a warm blanket wrapping around me, that smells of nothing else but Mor. The Mating Bond.

#acotar #morrigan #acotar smut #acotar series #sarah j maas #f!reader #oc character #a court of thorns and roses #the night court #smut #acotar ships #female reader #mor acotar

16 notes · View notes

cressidagrey · 6 months ago

Text

It's a Love Story - Chapter 10

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“Azriel is fine,” Gwyn repeated drily, her nose buried in a book.

Her friends got to hear all about Nesta’s worry.

“You don’t know that,” Nesta said with a sigh. “I just…gods, I want to throttle Rhysand,” she seethed. For doing this to Azriel.

To Az. Who had always been kind to her. Who had always been…sweet to her. Who was sweet. Even when his exterior didn’t betray that. Who was kind and thoughtful and gave the best gifts…Who had sat with her when she had waken up from nightmares and had been willing to lay down his life to make sure that her sister would be happy.

He was like a brother to Nesta. He was what she had always imagined an older brother to be like. And she knew that he had been utterly miserable, but hadn’t been able to fix what was wrong for him…and now she got to find out that it was all Rhysand’s fault.

Emerge just sighed. “Get in line,” her friend said drily. “Mor wants to do worse than that to him, I think.”

Nesta held back a snort. She believed it once she saw it and not before.

“He is fine. Quite happy even,” Gwyn repeated, a small grin painting her features.

“How do you know?” Nesta demanded, turning to her red-haired friend who just smiled at her.

“Because I saw him yesterday,” Gwyn said simply.

"You saw him?" Nesta asked, her eyes widening in surprise. "Where? When?" When had Gwyn.

Gwyn just sighed. “Why would a male and a female that love each other very much come to see a Priestess?”

Nesta's eyes widened as she realized what Gwyn was implying.

"You don't mean..." she trailed off, shock and disbelief etched on her face. "They're getting married?" she said weakly.

Gwyn just grinned at her, miming to lock up her mouth and throw away the key. "Let's just say that Azriel couldn't have been more in love if he had tried," she said cryptically, flipping the page of her book with a smirk.

“Who is she?” Nesta demanded. Who was Azriel’s mate? Who was the girl that the mother had picked to be good enough for Az?

“Sweet. Quiet,” Gwynn answered easily. “Thinks Azriel hung the moon and the stars.”

That was what he deserved, wasn’t it?

Azriel deserved happiness after everything he had been through, and if his mate could provide that for him, then that was all that mattered.

"Azriel deserves someone who loves him that much," she said, nodding in agreement. "Does he seem happy too?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"He's as happy as I've ever seen him," Gwyn answered, her expression softening. "He couldn't take his eyes off her the whole time. It was like the rest of the world didn't even exist."

Nesta smiled, feeling a sense of warmth thrumming through at the thought of Azriel being so happy. "I'm glad he's found someone who makes him feel that way," she said softly. "He deserves it."

Gwyn just smiled, her eyes twinkling. "I think they're good for each other," she said simply. "They just...fit together, you know?"

That’s what Nesta wished for for him.

And once she had that confirmation… well, it was much easier to calm Cassian.

Who had been near rabid with… Nesta wasn’t even sure with what. A bad conscience maybe. Anxiety, anger…a whole maelstrom of emotions.

"Talk to me," she said simply, as she sat down on the ground a few feet away from where he was stabbing one of the training dummy. She had half expected him to pin a painting of Rhysand to it, to stab his brother’s proxy. “Stop reducing every training double to kindle,” she said drily.

“Az said three days,” and he wasn’t there this morning,” Cassian snapped.

"Calm down," Nesta said firmly. "Azriel is a grown male, Cassian. He can take care of himself. Maybe something came up."

Like breakfast with his wife after they got married.

"But what if he's hurt or...or worse?" Cassian said, his voice cracking with emotion. "We don't even know where he is or what he's doing."

Nesta sighed, knowing that she couldn't brush off his concerns completely. "Look. He said he would be with his mate," Nesta said drily. "I am sure she'll take care of him. And Gwyn did see him yesterday and said he was fine."

"Why did Gwyn see him?" Cassian demanded immediately.

“Because I had a favour to ask," Azriel's voice came from behind them, drily.

Cassian turned around so quickly that she was quite sure that he got whiplash...and then pounced on Azriel in a bonecrushing hug.

"I am so sorry," she could hear her mate apologise. "I had a talk with Rhys. I imagine you'll get a apology from him as well. It's not enough, it's nowhere near enough, but...maybe it could be a start," Cassian said softly. "I am sorry that you didn't feel like you could come to me when you found your mate."

Even when Azriel had a temper...if it was about his family he was more forgiving than they had any right to, Nesta reflected drily, as she watched him return the hug from Cassian.

"It's not your fault," he waved him off, his voice dry. Cassian disagreed with that assessment, Nesta knew. Cassian thought that he should have said something earlier, done more...

She had never seen him as angry with Rhysand as he had been over the last few days. Actually, Nesta hadn’t thought that she would ever see the day that Cassian broke his High Lord's nose on purpose.

Cassian pulled back slightly from the hug, his expression still earnest. "I mean it, Az," he said. "I should have been there for you. I should have had your back."

"He did break Rhys'nose on your behalf," Nesta said drily.

Azriel's lips twitched into a faint smile. Thank you," he said, amusement in his voice. "That...means more than you know."

Cassian just shrugged, still feeling guilty for not having been there for Azriel when he needed him. "I should have been a better brother to you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I let you down."

Azriel said nothing, but squeezed Cassian’s shoulder.

Nesta couldn’t help but look for a ring on his hand. A simple gold band glinted there on his finger, and she was unable not to smile at it.

“Congratulartions,” she said quietly, nodding to the ring and Azriel looked at her and then the ring…and then he chuckled as she stood up and hugged him too.

“Thank you,” he thanked her graciously.

“You got married?!” Cassian said, sounding shocked, but the warmth in his voice was apparent. “Congrats!”.

"So, tell us all about her," Nesta said seriously.

"Why do you want to know?" Azriel asked, staring at her.

"Because she is your mate. She is your wife. She is important to you," Nesta said simply. "She is important to you, so she is important to us. What's her name?"

"Her name is Sky," he answered softly.

Sky.

Her name was Sky.

Named after what Azriel hadn’t been allowed to feel for over a decade. Sky. Named after what every Illyrian held dearest.

"Sky is...the sweetest person I have ever met. With the bluest eyes. She loves books and her cat," Azriel explained, a soft smile on his face.

Nesta and Cassian exchanged a small smile at the way Azriel's face lit up when he talked about Sky. "She sounds amazing," Nesta said sincerely. "We can’t wait to meet her. Whenever you are ready."

"Do you...Do you want to come to dinner tonight?" Azriel offered.

Nesta hadn't expected that. Had expected Azriel to hold a grudge to keep her away from all of them...but he was giving them a chance.

"Are you sure?" Nesta asked carefully. "We would love to come, but only if you're comfortable with it."

Azriel paused for a moment, "I'm sure," he said simply. "Sky would like it, and I...I would like it too."

Nesta smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest at Azriel's words. "We'll be there," she said warmly, Cassian nodding in agreement.

"Good," Azriel said simply. "I'll tell Sky."

"Thank you, Az," Cassian said softly, his expression earnest. "For giving us a chance."

This didn't stop Nesta's mate from telling her about his more and more ridiculous theories about Azriel's mate during their flight into Velaris and the mountains surrounding it.

Nesta couldn't help but roll his eyes as Cassian suggested her being a mythical being like Amren. "I swear, Cassian, you have the wildest imagination," she said, shaking her head. "Can you focus on flying for one minute without dreaming up these ridiculous scenarios?"

Cassian just shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. "Hey, it's fun to speculate," he said with a playful wink. "Besides, you never know...maybe Az's mate is a mermaid princess or something equally as exciting."

Nesta couldn't help but snort with laughter, even as Cassian landed in front of a charming cabin at a mountain lake. As soon as they landed, Nesta took a moment to take in their surroundings. The cabin was indeed charming, hidden away in a picturesque mountain setting near a serene lake. The peaceful surroundings seemed to perfectly mirror Azriel's quiet and introspective nature. Nesta could understand why he had chosen this spot as his home.

As they made their way towards the front door, Nesta couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves. This was…this was important.

This was the female that Azriel had married, his mate…she was important to him.

Before they had a chance to knock, Azriel opened the door, a slight smile on his face. "Come in," he said warmly.

Nesta's gaze immediately fell to the female at his size. Shorter than average, a body that consisted out of voluptuous curves, with chocolate brown waves falling to her waist. Her hands were clenched together and she was obviously nervous as she stared at Nesta and Cassian with ill-hidden apprehension.

"This...is Sky," Nesta heard Azriel say. Nesta couldn't tear her eyes away. Sky was exactly what she had expected and absolutely nothing like it at the same time.

Nesta's first impression of Sky was that she was undeniably pretty, in a quiet and understated way. But as she looked at the nervous expression on Sky's face, Nesta couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy.

She could only imagine how daunting it must feel for Sky to be meeting Azriel's family for the first time. She gave Sky a warm smile, which she hoped would put the girl at ease. "It's nice to finally meet you, Sky," she said gently. "Az has told us a lot about you."

Sky managed a trembling smile, but the nerves were clear on her face. "It...It's n...nice t...to me...meet y...you t...too," she stuttered, grimacing at her own voice. Azriel's hand on her waist tightened and he fixed both Nesta and Cassian with a look that told them there would be hell to pay if they said a single thing about her stutter.

Nesta just gave him a reassuring smile, as she got the message loud and clear. She wasn't going to make Sky feel even more uncomfortable and insecure than she already seemed to be. Not when it was clear that Azriel cared about her so much.

Cassian didn't even hesitate to pull first Azriel into a hug and then Sky right alongside with him, her small frame utterly dwarfed by Cassian.

“So you are my brother’s mate,” Cassian told her seriously. "We are so happy that we finally get to meet the girl that makes our brother so happy.”

Sky blushed at Cassian's warm words, but some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. "Th...Thank you...," she murmured, her tone a barely audible one. She stepped back into Azriel's embrace and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, his wings coming around to encircle her in a protective embrace.

Even his shadows seemed to love her. The shadows that normally kept away from every other person, only clinging to Azriel…seemed to dote on her, curls themselves through her hair, and along the hem of her dress…

"Shall we go inside?" Azriel asked, gesturing towards the open door behind him. Nesta and Cassian nodded, following the pair into the cozy cabin. The interior of the cabin was just as warm and inviting as the outside, with rustic wooden floors and a large stone fireplace that crackled cheerfully. There were shelves filled with books on every wall and a few comfortable armchairs nestled around a low table.

So many books. Nesta was quite sure that it probably could be considered a private library.

But before she could really take it in, there was a rough meowing.

Nesta glanced down in surprise to see a fat, fluffy brown cat sauntering towards them, meowing loudly. The cat rubbed against Sky's ankles before trying to leap on the arm of the couch...and failing horrible. "Is that your cat?" Nesta asked, an amused smile on his face.

"Y…Yes, Th...That's H...Hector," Sky answered, picking up the cat that now pretended that falling off the couch had been totally his plan all along and instead curled himself happily in Sky's arms. His yellow eyes stared in two different directions and his fur was patchy...but he was somehow quite charming.

Nesta liked him. He had character. And his rough purring was adorable.

"He's adorable," Nesta said honestly, holding out her hand towards him. As Hector sniffed at her, she reached out to gently scratch behind his ears. The cat leaned into her touch contentedly, his purrs growing even louder.

"Sky dotes on him," Azriel said with a hint of pride in his voice. "He was a stray and she took him in. She's been taking care of him ever since."

Nesta looked at Sky, who was smiling at her cat. "That's so sweet," Nesta said. "He's a big boy, isn't he?" she said with some amusement. When Sky held him, Hector seemed to be nearly half her size.

"I...It's a...all the tuna he eats," Sky answered drily.

Nesta chuckled, "Well, he's certainly in good hands with you." She watched as Hector purred contentedly in Sky's arms, clearly very attached to her.

Cassian, meanwhile, was eyeing the cat with a playful grin. "Careful, Az, Hector might try to steal your girl with all his charm," he teased.

Azriel just cocked an eyebrow, "Oh he already did," he drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Nesta couldn't help but laugh at their banter. It felt good to see Azriel being relaxed enough to joke around, even if it was at his own expense.

Even Sky was smiling as Hector let out a loud meow, clearly demanding attention. "Someone's jealous," she said softly, scratching him behind his ears. Hector purred contentedly and burrowed deeper into her arms, clearly happy to be the center of attention.

"Y...You want to hold him?" she offered the cat to Nesta. "I need to check on dinner."

Nesta gamely lifted Hector from Sky's arms, cradling him like a baby. "I'll keep him entertained while you do," she said with a smile. Hector mewled contentedly, his head tilted as he looked at Nesta with one eye.

As Azriel and Cassian made themselves comfortable on the couch, “Are you sure that’s a cat?” Cassian hissed towards Azriel. “And not a stunted mountain lion or something?”

“It’s all the tuna he eats. He had a hard life," Azriel said defensively.

Nesta looked up from where she was still playing with Hector. "I can see that," she said with a nod, gesturing towards Hector's missing eye and patched up fur. "I can tell he was loved from the moment Sky took him in though."

Nesta carried him over to the bookcases, eyes greedily reading the names and words on the spines.

It was a whole galore of romance books in these bookcases, a lot that Nesta had never even heard about, though there were some of her favourites between them...another bookcase held books from every which topic that involved sword fighting and horse riding and blacksmithing and everything in between...lots of cookbooks too...and then there was one bookcase that seemed to be solely filled with every Sellyn Drake novel in existence. Even the ones that were so rare that notneven the house had yet managed to get them for Nesta.

Nesta couldn't help but smirk as she ran her fingers over the spines of the 'Sellyn Drake' books. "Seems like Sky is just as big of a fan as I am," she said with a chuckle.

She turned to see Sky in the open kitchen, busy with a large pan. "You have all of her books," Nesta said admiringly. "I can't believe you have some of the rare ones, I have been trying to get those forever!"

Sky looked up from her cooking, surprised that Nesta seemed impressed by her collection. "Y...Yeah, I...I do like them..." Sky replied, her voice soft and hesitant. She turned back to the stove, clearly feeling self-conscious as she stirred the pot.

Nesta sensed her discomfort and decided to lighten the mood. "You know, I think I should officially crown you as the ultimate Sellyn Drake fan," she said with a playful grin. "No one has a collection like this one. Maybe we can talk about our favorite scenes sometime. I'm dying to discuss the latest novel...Did you read it already? Azriel got it for my birthday," Nesta told her brightly. "It's signed. I have no idea how he even managed that."

"I gave it to him," Sky said, turning towards her.

Sky had gotten it for Az?!

"Where did you get it from? It wasn't even out yet?!" Nesta asked curiously. "Tell me your secrets."

Azriel smirked, "I have my ways," he said with a wink. "But I can't reveal all my secrets. The fun is in keeping a few things a mystery."

Nesta just rolled her eyes, "Always the cryptic one, Az." She then turned back to Sky, "But seriously, where did you get the signed copy from? I'd sell my soul to get my hands on one of those."

"The...The author owed me a favor," Sky said, her voice hesitant.

Nesta's eyes widened, "You mean you know Sellyn Drake in person??!!"

"I...I mean...I...she is...me" Sky stammered, her cheeks turning red as she fumbled with her words.

What?

Azriel chuckled warmly, walking over to Sky and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling Sky close. "What Sky is trying to say, Nesta, is that she is Sellyn Drake," he finished for her.

Nesta just stared for a moment, her mouth hanging open in surprise. "Are you serious?" she asked, still reeling from the revelation.

Sky just gave her a small nod, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Sellyn Drake is… a…actually a p…pen n…name," she said softly. "I couldn't use my real name and still keep my a…anonymity...So Skylar Alden became Sellyn Drake.”

Nesta was still trying to process the news. "So you're telling me that the author of my favorite novels of all time, is standing in front of me, cooking dinner?"

Sky shrugged, "Y...Yes?" There was a hint of uncertainty in her tone, as if she was unsure of what reaction she was going to get from Nesta.

Nesta's face split into a wide grin, "This is the best day ever" she exclaimed. She couldn't believe that she was meeting her favorite author, and it was even better knowing that the author was someone so sweet and unassuming as Sky.

Cassian started laughing, the sound deep and amused. "You have a few tricks up your sleeve, Sky" he chortled amusedly.

Azriel chuckled, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile. "Sky is full of surprises, even to me," he teased.

Sky just swatted at his arm, a soft blush coloring her cheeks

***

Somehow actually admitting that she was Sellyn Drake...that was easy. So easy.

She used to be so afraid to tell people about it. But with Azriel at her side, she felt safer. His love and support made her feel more confident and comfortable in her own skin. She could be herself with him without any judgement.

And why shouldn’t she be proud of her success? She wrote these books! They were her babies!

"Alright, but I need to know what happens next!" Nesta told her, her grey eyes wide and desperate. "You left the book at such a cliffhanger!"

Sky laughed softly, feeling a little less self-conscious now that the cat was out of the bag. She turned back to the stove, stirring the pot once more.

"Maybe I c…can give you a s…spoiler or two," she offered, grinning. "But just this one time. Can't give e…everything away too easily now, can I?"

Nesta leaned in, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Please, please tell me," she begged. "I need to know what happens next!"

"Alright," Sky agreed, amused by Nesta's enthusiasm. "But you have to p…promise not to b…breathe a word of this to my publisher. She would kill me if they knew I was spilling the beans before the book is even published."

Nesta nodded eagerly, making a zipping motion across her lips. "Your secret is safe with me."

"And we lost them," Cassian said drily.

Azriel laughed, "Can't compete with the author herself, Cass. Best to just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Nesta was lovely and Cassian was as loud and boisterous as Azriel had described him to be...and quite frankly, Sky loved Azriel's family. At least the two people that she had met.

"Was tonight...alright?" Azriel asked her softly as he pulled her into his arms that evening.

Sky smiled gently, leaning back into his embrace. She felt relieved that the night had gone well, and that Azriel's family had accepted her with open arms.

"It was...better than alright," she replied softly, feeling a warmth in her heart. She caught his hand in hers, pulling it to her lips, so she could press a kiss to the simple gold band that encircled his ring finger.

Their wedding had been a spur of the moment decision a day ago...but Sky wouldn't have wanted it any other day. It was everything she had ever wanted. Just the two of them.

No need for a big production.

Azriel's eyes softened, and he tightened his arms around her. "I'm glad," he murmured, the emotion in his voice palpable. He kissed the top of her head, holding her close. Neither of them said anything for a while, just holding each other in a comforting silence.

"We have the healer appointment tomorrow," Sky said softly.

Something Azriel had insisted on after their talk about having children. He was worried that the beautiful wings that sprouted from his back would mean a difficult pregnancy for her, an impossible birth…

Azriel just nodded, his face set in a grim expression. "We do," he replied, his voice tight. He was still grappling with his fears about the situation. "But no matter what, we'll face it together," he promised her fiercely.

Madja, that was the healer's name, put these fears to rest however.

"Quite frankly, it's unlikely that the child will be born with wings anyway," she told them after she had listened to Azriel's fears. "It will only be half Illyrian, after all"

"Nyx?" Azriel questioned pointedly. He had mentioned his nephew to her in this context, about him being born with wings which had nearly killed his High Fae mother throughout the birth.

"There were....circumstances around his conception, you know that," Madja said drily. "Skylar is High Fae with a dash of River Nymph. Which quite frankly, could be a point in your favour anyway."

"How so?" Sky asked curiously.

"Your bones are...bendy," Madja told her drily. "Even if the child would inherit Azriel's wings...and would have them at birth...which is unlikely in itself, your pelvis would be able to...expand enough to have the baby pass through the birth canal. However, it is more likely that any child the two of you had would be similar to the other half-illyrian you know," she told Azriel pointedly. "Being able to summon the wings at will, just like Rhysand."

Just like the High Lord?

"Really?" Sky asked, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Azriel also appeared visibly more relaxed. "So there's a chance that our child will be born without wings?"

Madja nodded in confirmation, giving them a slight smile. "Yes, there is," she said reassuringly. "But even if that isn't the case, your Nymph ancestry would make the birth easier for you."

Azriel's hand found Sky's, squeezing it gently. She could feel his relief mirroring her own. It was a weight lifted off their shoulders to know that their baby's birth might not be as difficult as they had feared.

It was calming. Like all the puzzle pieces were slowly putting themselves together.

"Thank you, Madja," Sky said warmly. "For putting our minds at ease."

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #it’s a love story

499 notes · View notes

oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

Text

Emotions of the Soul | knj

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

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

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

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

☆word count: 36.3k

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

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

☆☆☆☆☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could that have been Namjoon?

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

You hated Kim Namjoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sooah could go to hell.

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

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

At least when he was a teen, he could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not remake pieces.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

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

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

“It really is you.”

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

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

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

The nerves on this man…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t remember?”

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

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

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

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

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell had just happened?

*****

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

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

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

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

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

They were the easiest ones, after all.

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

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

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

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

“What do you like so much about painting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had been there after all.

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

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

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” he said.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he say?” she asked.

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

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

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

Gosh.

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

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

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

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

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

He was an artist, too, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you?”

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

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

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Evidently not.”

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

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

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

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

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

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

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

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

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

1K notes · View notes

mika-no-sekai-blog · 6 months ago

Text

Two hearts for one

Azriel X OC

Word count: +9100

Summary: Longing for what everyone around him seems to have, Azriel wanders the night streets of Velaris until a young female bumps into him and changes his life

Warnings: none I think, but let me know if you find something that should be mentioned

@azrielappreciationweek Day 3: Belonging Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Night slowly spread its dark cloak over the city, stars sadly shone in the autumn sky. Lights came to live as most of the shops closed and people were hurrying to get home to their loved ones, tugging their coats closer to protect themselves from biting cold of evening breeze.

As every Friday, Inner Circle had a family dinner followed by a game night. After eating delicious meal, everyone moved to the sitting room, merry cacophony of voices and laughter filled the room. Azriel took his usual place in the alcove near the entrance, half hidden in the shadows, soft small smile on his face.

He loved his family. Watching their smiling faces made him feel at peace and very lonely at the same time. He knew he belonged here, that they all loved him and cared for him, yet something was always missing.

Even now.

He watched Mor gently tuck strand of hair behind Emerie's ear, gleam of affection in her eyes.

Elain sat pressed into Lucien's side, hands hugging her growing belly while he had his arm around her shoulders, keeping her warm undoubtedly. His other hand was caressing her belly and the babe who was already responding to their touches, soft smiles on their faces as they whispered the words of love.

Cassian was vividly discussing his ideas for new training for Valkyries with his mate who sipped wine from the glass, pretending to be bored, but Azriel knew she was listening carefully, committing each word to memory.

Amren was seated on floor in front of the fireplace with crackling fire, small flames slowly licking the logs. Varian sat next to her, leaning closer while he whispered something to her. His eyes never left her face, the enormous amount love, devotion and admiration palpable.

And then there was his brother and High Lord, Rhys. He brought a warm blanket to wrap it around his mate and almost sleeping baby boy in her arms. Nyx babbled sleepily as his father gently placed kiss on his forehead. Rhys chuckled in answer and sat down, pulling Feyre closer to kiss her too. She rested head on his shoulder and together they watched their child, eyes shining with joy.

This room was a perfect picture of warmth, peace and love. Azriel knew that he was part of it, that this was his family he belonged to, yet he felt like uninvited intruder spying on them through thick glass. He was really trying to be happy for them, but more he watched them, more his heart hurt.

Why? Why they liked him? Why was he here? Why he felt so lonely? Why there wasn't anyone who would love him? All he longed for was a person, a single person who would love him dearly. A person he could give his whole heart to, unveil his darkest thoughts without being judged. Was it so impossible for him to be loved and accepted?

His fingers in the pockets twitched, searching for someone to touch and hold onto. Suddenly the air thickened and he felt like he was choking on it. He couldn't take it anymore.

Looking up at the picture of happiness laid in front of him, he made a step to the doors. When nobody noticed it, he made another one. On the threshold he looked back one more time, his heart squeezed in pain. Taking the scarf from hanger he wrapped it around his neck and quietly left.

White clouds rose from his mouth as he walked down the street, hands tucked in pockets. It was quite cold, but he didn't mind it. The place he grew up at, used to be much colder than this city, yet he had never owned a coat. Of course, he could dash to the night sky and be back in his room in no time, but he needed time to think. Maybe if he tired himself, he would immediately fall asleep instead of drowning in loneliness until the dawn. Letting his legs carry him wherever they wanted, he got lost in his thoughts.

The city was silent, most of its residents already retired to the welcoming warmth of their beds - beds they shared with someone dear. Azriel had no idea where he was, not that he cared anyway. More he thought about his situation, more lonely and hurt he felt. His chest felt heavy, every breath was getting harder. Before he could stop it, a quiet sob escaped between his lips, tears stinging his eyes. Tugging the shadows even closer, he looked like a ghost, a dark cloud wandering through empty streets of the sleeping city.

He was about turn the corner when someone came running from the opposite direction and bumped into him. He didn't expect it and the impact made him take a few steps back. The other person yelped and fell down. Quickly, he wiped his eyes and looked at the person.

It was a young female. Dressed in warm looking long coat, she was gaping at him, pale and visibly scared. He immediately dropped on his knees and started to collect things that spilled out from her handbag when she fell down.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice husky. "I didn't pay attention to my surrounding.. Are you okay?"

She just nodded and looked somewhere into the dark behind her, her eyes wide with fear. He followed her gaze and noticed two males lurking in the darkness, waiting. He didn't need more to understand the situation.

He immediately stood up again. Baring his teeth, he spread his wings wide behind him. The blood was boiling in his veins. He didn't even want to imagine what could have happened, if she didn't bump into him. His hand instinctively reached for a dagger he hadn't on him right now. He took step toward those cowards and then reminded himself that the female was still there on the ground. Meanwhile, males pivoted and disappeared in the alley.

Azriel turned back to the female and offered her hand. She gaped at him with the same amount of fear, heaving. Just then he realized that he didn't have gloves, his scars on full display. He hesitated.

"I'm not going to hurt you.." He handed her the handbag that he still clutched in his other hand. She took it from him, shivering like a leaf in cold wind. "Do you.. do you think you can stand up? Aren't you injured?"

"I- I think I'm fine," she finally accepted his hand and he pulled her up. Her voice was shaky, but so gentle and sweet that it pushed tears back into his eyes. As the dim light of street lamp banished shadows from his face, she curiously eyed him. "Are you okay?"

He just chuckled humourlessly. "I'm perfectly fine.." he cleared his throat, looking down at tips of his shoes. "If you don't mind, I'd escort you home. Just in case those two change their mind. It's way too late for females to be outside on their own."

"That's kind of you," she smiled shyly.

They started to walk down the street Azriel came from. Azriel let the female lead the way and walked beside her in silence. Curiosity took better of him and he peeked at her out of the corner of eye.

She was quite beautiful. It wasn't the eyes-striking kind of beauty, but something more softer and subtle that was hard to explain. Her face was ordinary, almost plain without makeup, yet nice as faces of all young females. Big round eyes of colour of summer sky, small nose, full plush-looking lips, cheeks red from the cold wind. Her waist long hair seemed to be dark in dim light of streets. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he felt better in her presence.

She led him to the one of the nice but cheap neighbourhoods. Small houses with even smaller gardens stood one next to each other, the street was clean and somehow cozy though. And dark. At this hour there wasn't a single lit window. People in this part of the city had to work hard to feed their families and pay bills, so naturally they were tired and already asleep. Azriel had hardly ever passed place like this, but he could imagine children laughing and playing on the street during the day while mothers did laundry talking with each other. Maybe they weren't rich, but they definitely had something much better. Something he'd love to have too.

Female stopped in front of the smallest house on the street and nervously brushed her hair back. His eyes roamed over the well maintained house with white curtains before they looked down at her. She craned her neck with determination in her eyes, hardly reaching to his chest.

"I'm so sorry for running into you before.. and also for making you walk all the way to the outskirts of the city. I guess that you had much better plan for tonight.."

"No, don't apologize, please. I was just aimlessly wandering around, so.. I'm glad I could be to your service."

She nervously played with her handbag. "I'd like to thank you for.. you know.." With worry she looked at a certain window of her home. "If it wasn't for you, I might not return home. So.. I want to thank you properly. If you don't mind, I'd like to invite you to dinner."

Azriel's wings rustled and he gaped at her, astonished. "That isn't necessary. I didn't do it to get something back from you."

"Please," she insisted. "I don't have enough to thank you in any other way, but.. I'd be happy if you could come for dinner tomorrow." Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. "It won't be anything amazing nor big, but.. Please. What you did for me tonight, to me it means more than you can imagine."

Azriel hesitantly nodded. "I'll come." He nervously shifted his weight, pulling his scarf a bit higher. "Can I know your name?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry.. I'm Ivy."

"Ivy," he repeated to himself. "I'm Azriel."

"Nice to meet you, Azriel." Her bright smile was so genuine that the corners of his lips lifted into a smile of his own.

"Nice to meet you too," he murmured into the night. "You should go in. I'll wait until you lock the door and then I'll check surroundings. You don't need to worry tonight."

She thanked him again and left him alone on the road. However, before closing the door, her eyes searched for him one more time and she waved him goodbye. Gentle breeze brought her silent 'good night' to his ears. He waited for few minutes until he saw dim light in one of the windows and then he dashed to the sky. He made several rounds above the whole neighbourhood and only when he was sure that there was no danger, he headed to the House of Wind.

He felt strangely weightless as he went through his night routine, all the previous sadness and loneliness long forgotten. Before sleep snatched him away he repeated her name several times. He liked the way the word rolled off the tongue. So light, refreshing and soft as her. The shadows he left behind, returned and whispered to his ear. They assured him that she safely got to the bed, omitting any details. Repeating her name like a prayer one more time, he nestled in his bed and tired, instantly fell asleep.

Azriel smoothly landed on the road in front of the smallest house on the street. Even though it was just last night that he stood on the same spot, it felt like long time ago.

Despite the fact that he went to the bed so late, he woke up at sunrise, nervous and excited at the same time. Training with Cassian helped him to get rid of some excessive energy, but it still wasn't enough. He couldn't focus on work, so he spent most of the day outside, window shopping.

He didn't want to show up empty handed to the dinner Ivy invited him to. He knew little to nothing about her, so it was hard to decide what to bring. At first, he considered buying some good wine, but it could easily turn into embarrassing situation if she was abstinent. Then he spent some time eyeing flowers. He gave up the idea, too, because giving flowers to female felt too intimate for the basically first meeting. After all, she invited him to thank him, not to date him.

He wandered all around the market place, dismissing one idea after another until he found a small shop with vegetable. That's where it hit him and no matter how he approached the idea, it seemed to be the safest option. Basket of fruit as a gift was polite enough, it didn't give the vibes of any expectations and everyone liked the fruit. He picked up the most deliciously looking fruit, then he found a lovely basket. After purchasing everything he could possibly need, he returned to his room and spent several hours rearranging his creation.

Azriel sighed heavily. He was more nervous than before a real date. He held out the basket that he carried so carefully, and straightened the ribbon. Everything seemed to be on its place. He ran hand through his dark hair that got messy during the flight, brushing them back.

Suddenly he noticed the tense silence. He could swear that he saw children playing outside as he flew above the roofs, but the street was empty now. They had to hide away when he landed. He could only imagine what they thought about him. Feeling unsure of what to do, he approached the door and knocked.

The sounds of cutting were replaced by fast steps and the door flew open. Surprised Ivy stood on threshold, pink apron with frills hanging on her hips.

"Oh, hi.." She looked back into the room and sighed in relief. "For a second I thought I lost the track of time," she smiled.

Azriel looked behind her at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. It was hardly four. Cold sweat washed over him. He was so excited that he came way too soon. "I apologize. I didn't mean to-.. I can wait outside-.."

"Nonsense! It's okay," she moved to the side. "Come in."

He had mixed feelings as he stepped in and looked around. The house seemed to be even smaller than from outside, he hardly fit in. He was standing in a narrow corridor with a hanger and a shoes rack, his broad shoulders almost taking all the space between the walls, tips of wing touching ceiling. The door on the right led to a tiny kitchen squeezed together with a dinning room. Another door led to a sitting room and then there was a staircase to the second floor. Used to the airy and large rooms he felt strange in the house where he needed only to reach up to touch the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Ivy noticed his discomfort. "You are probably used to something better.."

"Don't apologize," he smiled, "I like it. It's cozy."

Then he remembered the gift he brought. The heart hammered in his chest as he took it out from behind his back.

"I wasn't sure what you like, so.."

Ivy clasped hands to her cheeks. "Aww, you shouldn't have worried. I invited you to thank you."

"I know. I just wanted to bring you something to thank you for having me today."

"Mommy? Who's that?" A small, tiny voice came somewhere from the sitting room.

Azriel froze on the spot. It didn't even occur to him that Ivy could actually be married and have family. Now he felt really bad for intruding her home.

Ivy looked up at him apologetic. "It's a friend I told you about, honey. Come out to greet him properly."

A golden-brown head peeked from behind the door frame, followed by big, bright eyes of the same colour as her mum's.

"This is my daughter, Adelina. Lina, this is Azriel, friend who helped mommy last night."

Little girl timidly took a step to the corridor.

"Hello," she spoke in small voice and ran back to the room.

"I'm so sorry. She isn't used to the strangers. We don't have guests here often."

Azriel shook his head, still too stunned.

"No, it's fine. I mean.." He cleared his throat, rubbing on the nape of his neck. "Where is her father?"

Ivy inhaled sharply, her voice low. "That male ran away as soon as he learned I'm pregnant."

Dread washed over him. "I-I'm sorry I-.." He wasn't sure what to say anymore. He was making one mistake after another. That's not like him.

Ivy closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to get over the feeling that the memory brought up. "You couldn't know. It's just.. so hard," she said whispering. "That male.. he was one big red flag, but I was too in love and naive to see it before it was late. I'm not sorry though. Having Lina is the best thing that happened to me in my entire life. No matter how hard it is, I'm happy to have her."

She looked up at him, smiling kindly with tears shining in her eyes. "Thank you so much for yesterday. I don't want to even imagine what would happen with her, if I wouldn't make it home. You saved both of us." She gently took his hand and squeezed it as she spoke, not minding his scars at all.

Azriel emptied his lungs with relief. He wasn't sure why he was holding his breath whole the time. "I'm glad I could help you," he murmured, heat settling in his cheeks.

"I-I think I should go finish the dinner if we want to eat on time," Ivy looked over to the kitchen and the spread out ingredients and pots, tucking a strand of long hair behind ear. She seemed to be just as flustered as Azriel. "Do you want to sit down in the sitting room? Lina is shy and quite quiet kid, she won't bother you. You can take rest there until meal is ready."

He just nodded, handing her basket of fruit and headed to the mentioned room. He had to duck to pass through the door, lowering his wings as much as he could. Sighing he straightened up and took a look around. The room was small but clean and bright with a smaller sofa, bookcase, few shelves and some flowers. Through the window with lace curtain he saw backyards between the houses.

One corner of the room was dedicated to a few toys nicely lined up on shelf and in doll house made out of box. When he compared it to the amount of toys little Nyx already owned, he felt sorry he didn't know about the girl before. At that moment he decided that next time he would bring her some nice doll to play with. However, then he awkwardly remembered that there might be no next time and he felt sad.

Small noise in the corner behind the sofa drew his attention. Ever curious shadows peeked there and returned to whisper in his ear. He didn't need them to know that Adelina was hidden there. There wasn't better place to hide at for child of her size anyway. He rubbed nape of his neck, troubled. Little girl was apparently scared of him. No wonder - he was huge, winged male she had never seen before. His appearance was intimidating even for adults at times.

Sending his shadows behind his back, he lowered to his knees. He knew that he didn't need to do this, yet he wanted to get to know little girl.

"Hey, there," he peeked behind the sofa. He imagined he was speaking to Nyx to get over the nervousness. With little babe whom he saw born, his soft side came out naturally. The corners of his mouth lifted in a gentle smile, but girl just watched him with wide eyes, shy and scared.

"I'm Azriel. You are Adelina, right?" She just nodded once. "Nice to meet you, Adelina. Thank you for having me for the dinner today." He was just rambling, not sure what to say. "I brought some fruit. Do you like fruit?" She again only nodded, crushing dirty rag doll in her small hands.

"I'm so glad to hear that," he smiled. "Is that your doll?" Another nod. "She's so lovely. What is her name?"

Confused, little girl looked down at doll and then back up at him. "She doesn't have one," her tiny voice was hardly audible.

"It's pity. You should give her some, otherwise she will be sad."

Little girl thought about it for a while. "Feyre," she said after few minutes of silence.

Azriel blinked in surprise. "That's nice name and it suits her very much. Tell me, where did you hear such name?"

"It's name of my teacher in the painting club. She is very kind and beautiful. Do you know that she is also our High Lady?"

"Oh, I do," Azriel laughed. "She will be very pleased to hear that you like her when I return home."

Adelina gaped at him on awe, her wide open blue eyes shining. "You know her?"

"Yes, she is wife of my brother. We are good friends."

Girl came out from her hiding place and stepped closer. "Really?"

"Really," Azriel seriously nodded.

"So you live with her?"

"Sometimes. I'm mostly staying in my room in the House of Wind, but sometimes I stay overnight at her house."

Girl moved even closer, shyly peeking behind him.

"Are they real?" Her small finger pointed to his wings.

Azriel stretched them out as much as he could without knocking off something and waved with them slightly.

"What do you think?" he winked at her. Girl chuckled in answer.

"And what's that?" One tendril of shadows crawled around his feet, reaching out to her.

"Oh, that's just shadow. You don't need to be scared. It won't hurt you, it's just curious," he smiled shyly, tugging the shadow back behind his back, but it ignored him and peeked out again.

"Is it your friend?"

"It's with me since I was as little as you, taking care of me."

"So it's like Lana," girl rejoiced, poking the shadow with finger. The shadow swirled around her hand flying up to her face. It poked her into chubby cheek and Adelina started to laugh. The rest followed the suit and soon she was surrounded by curious shadows that swirled around her, caressing and tickling her.

Azriel watched it fondly. It took just a few minutes and this little girl had him already wrapped around tiny finger. She was so gorgeous that he wished he could have daughter like her someday. "Who is Lana?"

"She's mommy's friend. Sometimes she stays with me when mommy has to work," girl answered giggling and started to chase shadows around the room.

Azriel sat down on the floor with his back against the sofa and pulled knees to his chest to leave enough space for their game, laughing with them. That's how Ivy found them.

"Dinner is ready," she called into the room, stopping once she saw them having good time. Giggling Adelina ran to her mum, squeezed her legs and then ran to the kitchen.

Azriel stood up, pulling wings to his back. "I apologise. We are probably too loud."

"No, not at all. I've never seen her so happy. It takes her quite long to open up to someone new. You must be really good with children."

"Not really," he shoved hands into the pockets, trying to stop the blush spreading on his face, "but I have a little nephew."

"Come," she smiled shyly. "Everything is ready."

Azriel managed to get through door and squeezed in to the small dinning table that was nicely set and full of deliciously looking meals. The pleasant conversation in trio over the meal gave Azriel peace he hadn't felt for ages. When meal was over, he helped to clean up and even stayed until the night fell.

As time to return home was getting closer, he started to feel sadness weighting his chest as a heavy stone. He wished he could freeze the time and just stay in this tiny house, surrounded by these two girls. But he couldn't. They weren't his family and he had to leave at some point.

No one was forcing him to go, yet at nine he assumed it was time to bid them good night and let them rest. He made several rounds above the street and flew home only once all the lights in their windows turned off. That night he felt even more lonely than ever, dreaming about family he didn't have. Seconds before he finally fell asleep, the empty faces of his wife and child mixed with faces of Ivy and Adelina, their merry voices following him to the realm of dreams.

Several days after the dinner he still thought about those two girls living alone in small house on the outskirts of the city. They didn't make any promise of meeting again, yet he wanted to see them. He wasn't sure what led him to such urge. Maybe it was the warmth he felt in their presence. Or maybe it was the happy face of little girl playing with his shadows. It got to the point when he went to the market to buy some fruit and pastries, stopping at toy shop along the way to choose a lovely doll.

Before he could change his mind, he landed in front of the small house with bags in hands and knocked on the door. The house was completely silent. Out of the corner of the eye he noticed that curtain of the window next to door moved slightly. He took a step back, searching the window. The door opened in less than second, smiling Adelina standing on threshold.

"Azriel, you came," she jumped in the place.

"I missed you," he smiled, relieved to see that she was well. "Is your mommy home?"

Girl just shook her head. "Mommy is at work."

Azriel peeked into the house behind her, concerned. "Is anyone with you? Looking after you?"

"No, I'm alone. Lana couldn't stay today."

Azriel dreaded to hear that answer. Squaring his shoulders, he ushered little girl back inside. Velaris was considerably safe city, but it wasn't completely without crimes. "So return inside, angel. If you want, I can stay with you until mommy returns."

Adelina smiled happily and taking his hand she led him in. Azriel closed the door behind him, locking it and headed to the kitchen. Little girl eyed with interest the bags he brought. Azriel gave her a smile and handed her one of them.

"This one is for you. Open it."

Bags and papers rustled while he took out fruit and pastries and put them on counter where he notice a slice of dry bread on a plate. "Angel, what is this?"

"Lana brought me a dinner when she came to tell me that she can't stay," girl frowned as she was trying to get through the paper on her gift.

Azriel wrinkled his nose and opened the fridge. "How about I make you a proper dinner?" There was so little in the fridge, just some basics.

Girl behind him squealed with joy as she finally opened the box and found her new doll. "Is this for me? Really?"

"It's all yours," he turned to her in time to see that adorable face of hers. She was beaming. For four years old she was too mature most of the time and very cleaver girl. Another child that had to skip a childhood phase because of the hardship of life. Azriel felt sorry for her. Getting new toy, she once again behaved like a child of her age, jumping and running around, admiring new doll and clinging to Azriel's leg. He even earned a sweet kiss on cheek. He let her joy settle before he again drew her attention to him.

"Now tell me, sweet girl, what would you like to eat? I can prepare almost everything, I swear," Azriel held her tiny elbows, gently rubbing her arms with thumbs.

Lina pressed finger to her lips, thinking. "I'd like pasta."

"What pasta?"

"Just pasta," she shrugged.

"And what about a sauce?" Girl gave him questioning look. "Okay, so different way.. Do you like tomato, chicken and spinach?"

Adelina nodded hesitantly. "I think I do."

"Fine, so let's go to the market to buy ingredients. Would you go with me?"

"But mommy told me that I have to stay in and wait until she returns.."

"It's okay, I will explain it to her. We will just buy ingredients we need and immediately return home. It won't take too long. We can fly if you want."

"Yay! Yes, please," girl squealed in excitement. "And will we make pasta for mommy, too?"

"Of course, we will."

The shopping experience went even smoother than Azriel imagined. Little Adelina held his hand whole the time or held on to his pants when he needed both hands. She was curiously looking around and as a child had a lot of questions, but she didn't as much as took a step from him. During her first flight she seemed to be tense, but on way back she was more relaxed and even dared to look down on the streets of city below. When they landed at front door of her home, she looked up at him with pure adoration.

Azriel grinned with male's satisfaction and opened door for her.

"Ladies first."

Lina couldn't look happier than at that moment. She ran inside to play with her new doll while Azriel occupied the kitchen. With help of the shadows that peeked into each cabinet and drawer, he easily navigated in the small space. The simple meal was ready in no time. As a dessert, he prepared apple bunnies from the fruit he brought. Adelina called it the best meal in her life and even asked for one more portion.

Azriel's ego basked in so many praises he earned that evening. He prepared plate for Ivy and cleaned all the mess he made. Then he walked over to the sitting room and played with Adelina until it was time for her to go to the bed. He hoped that Ivy would return by the time, but Adelina told him that she usually had to stay and work until late night. Little girl on her own took shower without any protest and went to bed together with her new doll. She was fast asleep before Azriel tucked the blanket around her.

He was crawling down the narrow space of the stairs when front door opened, Ivy stood frozen with hand on handle. They gaped at each other in a shock for a while.

Ivy came to her senses as the first. "Hey.. What are you doing here?" she asked stunned. She didn't seemed to be angry at slightest, only surprised.

Azriel rubbed on the nape of his neck, awkwardly stepping into the corridor. "I'm sorry for intruding your home again and without invitation. I-I.. I brought some fruit and pastries for you and Adelina this afternoon and found her home alone, so I decided to look after her until you return."

"Oh," Ivy recoiled. "So Lana couldn't today, too. I'm so sorry for bothering you. You certainly had something more important to do-"

She started to apologize, but Azriel cut her off. "It's fine. I gladly stayed with her. She's very good kid and we had a lot of fun.. By the way, I hope you won't be angry, but I took her to the market and.. we flew. I swear I was flying slowly and not too high. She was safe whole the time."

Ivy chuckled. "I believe you. Thank you so much."

Azriel noticed big bag with groceries in her hand. "Let me help you. You must be tired. I have used your kitchen and prepared something to eat. We left a portion for you too, if you'd like."

"It's so kind of you. I don't know how to repay you for that." She looked really tired, hardly standing on her feet, so Azriel navigated her to the table and served her the meal he made.

"You don't have to. Take it as a repay for the delicious meal you prepared the last time."

She smiled sadly and picked up one of the apple bunnies. "This is cute."

While she ate, Azriel summarized events of whole afternoon for her. She didn't say much, just smiled sadly. Azriel was cleaning the plates when his shadows tapped on his shoulder. He stopped the water as quiet sobs reached his ears. He swiftly wiped his hands and returned to Ivy. She sat there with face in her hands, crying.

"I'm so sorry for everything, Azriel.. I just met you and you already did so much for us.. I don't know how to repay you for your kindness.." she sobbed, her shoulders trembling.

"As I said before, you don't have to," he assured her, rubbing on her back. "I'd gladly help you more, if you don't mind. Anytime, you have to leave Adelina alone, I can look after her. It's no problem for me. Really."

Before he left that night, they came to a silent agreement. It was quite challenge to persuade Ivy to not feel bad for it, but he was glad he did. He felt at peace to be able to check on them from time to time.

What had started just as a visit once or twice a week, soon turned into every second day and before the Solstice came, Azriel began to visit them daily. He couldn't go a day without them, not only helping to look after Adelina, but also taking them out, doing small repairs at house or just staying with them in, enjoying a peaceful moments. More time he spent with those two lovely girls, more he liked them and soon enough he wished they were his. He fell in love with both of them and his feelings grew with every minute in their presence. However, Ivy seemed to see him only as a friend, so he kept quiet about his feelings, not wanting to break the fragile relationship they built together.

The day before the Solstice he surprised them by decorating their house while they slept. He even brought in a tree that took a good quarter of their sitting room. He tried to convince himself that the joy and tears in their eyes when they saw it, were enough, that it was all he needed to be completely happy. His heart hurt at the thought that this was all he could steal for himself. No matter how he tried, it never could be enough.

As every year, he was invited to the River House to spent holidays with his family. He wanted to celebrate with them as usual, but on the other hand, he wanted to spend the holidays with Ivy and Adelina, too. He even bought them presents a month in advance - that's how much he was looking forward the holidays in their small house. He felt torn. He considered the idea to invite the two of them to the River House, so they could be together. There was only one problem - he didn't want his family to find out about them yet. They were his most guarded and the most treasured secret that he wanted to keep for only himself just a bit longer. But he couldn't decline invitation from his family either without telling them truth.

And so he ended up at the full table of decorated River House. All couples and families sat together, laughing and having a great time, while he felt left out. Of course they were talking with him, asking about his whereabouts in last couple of months, yet he didn't really felt like a part of this chaos. He was missing something. He missed his girls, Ivy and Adelina.

Whole the time he thought only about them - what they were doing, how they were celebrating, what meals Ivy prepared for the dinner. He wished the family dinner and presents exchange was already over, so he could run to give them his presents and to spend with them at least hour or two before it would be time to go to the bed.

The only thing that kept him sitting and smiling at everyone was wine. After the first bottle that he managed to drink while the appetizer was served, he stopped counting. When his family stood up as one man to move to the tree and presents, his cheeks were already burning, his vision was blurry. Cassian noticed his drunken state and chuckling he came to help him.

"What's going on? You usually don't drink so much," he was picking on him.

"You wouldn't understand that," Azriel hiccuped.

"Maybe if you explained it to me, I would understand. Have you found some nice female you are keeping secret from us? Hm?"

Azriel stopped and narrowed eyes on him. He tried to guess him, but then gave up and waved his hand over him. Cassian didn't know anything, he was just trying his luck.

"As mysterious as usual, brother," Cassian laughed and helped him to sit into the armchair by the fire.

The following events merged together. Azriel only registered a few thanks when his family opened his gifts and someone pushed in small box into his hands. The fire crackled in the hearth, sending waves of soothing warmth into the room, all the voices created a pleasant cacophony in his ears.

Azriel's eyelids grew unbearably heavy until he couldn't take it anymore and he needed to close his eyes for a moment. Next time he opened them, clocks in the house were striking eleven. Everyone already went to the bed, the house was silent.

Azriel was still quite drunken as he scrambled to his feet, the pain throbbed in his temples. He didn't mean to fall asleep, he still had presents for the girls to deliver. He stumbled to the front doors, knocking off some vase with flowers on his way. The shadows were trying to tell him something, but he just waved them away, tired.

The cold air bit his face as he dashed to the sky, dangerously swaying from side to side in the air. It was a miracle that he managed to get to Ivy's house without any serious accident. Stumbling to the front door he needed three tries to actually get to them and knock. All the windows were already dark, inside was completely silent. Unhappy that he didn't make it in time, Azriel collapsed on the threshold with shoulder pressed against the cold wood. A puff of steam left his mouth as he sobbed. The most important time of the year and he missed it out.

Suddenly the door opened and he almost fell inside. Ivy stood there in a nightgown, her scared expression replaced by relieve when she saw him.

"You scared me. I heard knock and then some strange sounds and-" she noticed his state as he struggled to get on his feet, traces of tears half frozen on his face. "Oh, Mother! Azriel, are you okay?" She hurried to help him, steadying his swaying form.

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "I wanted to be here for Solstice. I have even presents." He reached into a pocket between the worlds to take them out while slurring in between hiccups.

Ivy helped him get to the sitting room and sit on the sofa. She gently took wrapped boxes from him and placed them under the tree.

"You are freezing cold. I'll make you tea." She caressed him, making sure he would be fine while she would make him cup of tea to warm him up.

Azriel's heavy hand landed on her arm, his long fingers locked around her wrist, pulling her closer. With half-lidded, glossy eyes he looked up at her, dreamy smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"You are so beautiful and kind and perfect," he slurred in a deep voice, every second word followed by hiccups. "And I love you so much.. Really love you.. Both of you.. You are my everything.. I don't want to live without you two.."

Ivy blinked in surprise, her bottom lip trembling as her blue eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Azriel," she caressed his cold cheek, blushing. "I feel the same way for some time now. I didn't even dare to dream that someone like you could-.. But I-..I love you, too.."

Her voice was so quiet that he wasn't sure he really heard it. He convinced himself that it was just some drunken hallucination and sobbed. "I don't want to destroy our relationship.. I need you.."

"You aren't destroying anything. Quite otherwise."

"I love you," she said more clearly when he gave her a questioning look. In his current state he was kind of cute and definitely more opened than usual.

The sweetest smile spread on his face as her words reached him and he pulled her even closer. His body warmed up within seconds, the usual heat radiating from him. Heart in his chest picked up on speed.

"Angel," he murmured, cupping her face. "I want to kiss you, but I'm too drunken."

"So maybe you could do so in the morning after sleeping it out. What do you think?" she chuckled shyly.

He nodded, scrambling to his feet. Swaying and trying to find balance, he headed to the front door. However, Ivy stopped him, pulling on the back of his sweater.

"I'd prefer you to stay here tonight. I can't possibly let you go out in this state. You could get hurt or freeze to death somewhere."

He looked down at her, blinking to focus and then drew hand down his face when it failed. "I-.. Fine.."

He let Ivy lead him up the stairs. He had a hard time to get to the second floor sober, so in drunken state it was even harder, but with great help of small female and his shadows he finally climbed the last step. Ivy ushered him to her bedroom where he collapsed face down on the bed as long as wide. She carefully tucked him in the blankets.

"I'll stay down on the sofa, so you get good rest, okay?"

He hummed, long sigh of relief leaving him, his eyes already closed. The soft sheets smelled like her, like a meadow of wild flowers and a summer sun, luring him into a deep slumber. He couldn't resist it.

"I'll get you a bigger bed," he murmured seconds before falling asleep.

Ivy smiled gently as she brushed dark strands from his face. "Good night."

She took one warm blanket, checked on her daughter who miraculously slept through all the fuss, and returned to the sitting room. Settling on the sofa she felt something cold swirl around her, gently touching her and tucking blanket around her. Azriel's shadows followed her to make sure she had as much comfort as possible.

"Thank you," she whispered into the dark and fell asleep with smile on lips.

At the dawn Ivy woke up, hearing small noise from the second floor. Sighing she rolled to the her side. Her gaze fell to the nicely wrapped boxes under the tree and she smiled. So after all it wasn't a dream. Azriel really came.

Whole house smelled of pine, small decorations shone in the first rays of winter sun. Now, when Azriel was there too, everything felt festive. Last evening, with Lina they waited for him. He didn't promise to come, yet they expected him to appear at least for few minutes. They both knew very well that he had family to spend this time of year with. Nevertheless, they hoped.

They waited with dinner and opening of presents until last moment, but when it was eight and there was no sign of him, Ivy put food on the plates and they ate alone. Adelina was sad whole the time. Not even new clothes for the Azriel's doll made her smile. Gazing at the gift they prepared for him, they waited until ten in silence. Then Ivy shoved the present into the drawer and they went to the bed. Ivy read a story to her daughter and when girl fell asleep, she retired to her bedroom, but for a world she couldn't fall asleep. She was tossing, worried that maybe something happened to him and he couldn't come.

How surprised she was when all scared she went to search for the source of strange noises and found drunken and crying Azriel curled up at her door. He didn't forget nor ignored them after all. And when he confessed.. Even in his drunken state it was the sweetest thing ever. She couldn't be more happier than at that moment.

Smiling, she got up and walked over to the bookcase. She took out the present for Azriel from the drawer and careful placed it under the tree next to the ones from him. It looked so tiny compared to his gifts that she felt ashamed. She sat there thinking about all kinds of things when the realisation hit her.

Adelina had a habit of climbing into her bed in the morning. Fearing what her daughter could feel finding Azriel sleeping in the bed instead of her mum in her half-asleep state, Ivy rushed up the stairs. The door of Lina's room were opened, the little girl nowhere to be found. Ivy swore under her breath and tiptoed to the door of her bedroom. She silently pushed them open and froze on the spot.

Azriel was lying on his side, softly snoring, curled around the small form of her daughter. The little girl was pressed against his chest with head rested on his biceps. His other arm and one wing were wrapped around her, keeping her warm and protecting her from the fall from bed. They both were fast asleep, smiling softly.

Ivy couldn't believe her eyes. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen, her chest swelled with warmth and love. Wiping tears, she quietly backed from the room and closed the door. Changing from her nightgown, she set off to the bakery to buy freshly baked bread for the breakfast, dark tendrils of shadows at her heels. The little things followed her since the last evening and she couldn't help but smile at them.

Azriel woke up, his head throbbing. He reached to his temples, realizing where he was and that little Adelina slept next to him. The pain immediately forgotten, he smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. The little girl sighed contentedly but her eyes remained closed.

He vaguely remembered how half-asleep she tugged on his arm to let her into the bed. When he made a space for her, she climbed up without a word and wrapping her small arms around his bigger one, she fell again asleep.

Carefully untangling from the blankets he got up and headed to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and looked in the mirror. He looked as shitty as he felt. He shouldn't have drunk so much wine. Realising what he said in a drunken state, he headed down to look for Ivy. He didn't mean to take back any of the things he said because he meant them, but he needed to apologise for scaring her so late at the night and bothering her.

He squeezed down the narrow staircase at the same moment as front door opened.

"Good morning," Ivy greeted him merrily with steaming paper bag in hands. When she closed the door, the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. She didn't seem to be angry at all. She gave him a shy smile and hurried to the kitchen. Azriel followed her, getting few pokes from his shadows that returned together with her. He had such hungover that he didn't even notice they were missing.

"I know," he whispered to them quietly.

"Good morning," he rasped, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

Ivy shivered at the sound, masking it by taking down her cloak and cap. "It's so cold outside," she shyly hurried out from the kitchen to hang them.

Azriel waited until she returned, thinking where to start.

"Ivy?" he said hesitantly. She turned to him, giving him all her attention. "I want to apologise for causing you troubles last night. I shouldn't have come in such state. I'm really sorry."

"No, it's fine," she smiled, uncertain.

Azriel was so nervous. His feelings were never accepted for some reason. It was hard to believe that in this case it could be any different, but he couldn't loose them. Looking down at his feet, he continued.

"Also.. I'd like to assure you that I remember everything I said and that I meant every single word. It wasn't just some drunken bullshit. I really.. love you and your daughter. I'm serious. Even if you don't feel the same way, I'd like to.. stay close to you both.. I won't bother you with my feelings anymore, just-.. Allow me to be your friend, please.."

"..silly.."

"Excuse me?" Azriel's gaze shot up.

Ivy stood in front of him, hiding smile in her palm while tears trailed down her cheeks. "If you remember everything you told me last night, then you have to also remember what I told you."

Azriel fished in his memory. He clearly remembered his words, however, everything else was blurred.

"To be honest, I'm not sure what of that was real and what was a dream," he admitted at last.

"Silly.. I told you that I love you. Don't you remember?"

Azriel's eyes widened. He thought that he imagined it all, that his drunken brain played tricks on him. He bridged the distance between them with one long step, sweeping her into his arms. Nuzzling to her hair, he inhaled deeply. Not even the smell of winter could cover her calming scent.

"I do.. I remember, but I thought that it was a dream," he murmured, squeezing her tightly. Her trembling hands fisted his sweater, holding him close.

They stayed like that for a while, then Azriel pulled away slightly. His hazel eyes searched hers. "Is the thing about the kiss true too?"

She nodded without hesitation and he didn't need more. Their lips hardly touched when light steps sounded on the stairs. They immediately jumped from each other and moved to the counter, pretending they were in the middle of preparing the breakfast. They both were fiercely blushing.

"Azriel!" Adelina squealed when she saw him. "You are here!"

She apparently didn't have any recollection of climbing to his bed earlier. Azriel smiled at her and picking her up, squeezed her in tight embrace.

"Good morning, sunshine. Of course I came. I'm sorry I didn't make it last night."

Little girl held him just as firmly. "I missed you."

"Okay, little lady," Ivy interrupted them, emotions swirling in her eyes. "Let's change and wash first. You can't eat like this."

Leading her to the door, Ivy turned and smiled sheepishly at Azriel, her cheeks still bright red. They almost got caught. Azriel could hardly believe this all. His heart hammered in his chest, all the emotions were overwhelming. He needed to busy his hands while his head was processing it all.

Before girls returned, he set the table, cut bread and prepared everything they could possibly need, not forgetting even hot cocoa. Adelina squealed happily as soon as she saw full table and ran to her seat. Azriel pulled out chair for Ivy, gently touching her as he squeezed in, too. They talked about plans for the day while eating when little girl surprised them both.

"Papa, could I get more cocoa?" She pleaded, her big blue eyes on Azriel.

His hand with bread froze on a halfway to his mouth, his breath hitched. His heart squeezed in the sweetest pain, stopping for a second, tears stinging his eyes.

"What..?" Even his voice was strangely hoarse.

Lina's eyes hesitantly skipped between two adults in front of her. "I'd like more cocoa," she repeated in small voice.

Azriel looked at Ivy, silently asking for permission and she nodded encouragingly. Wetting his dry lips, he cleared his throat.

"Sure, you can get more cocoa, but.. How did you call me?" He asked her softly, his voice slightly shaking.

He had to shove his hands under the table to hide the tremor, wiping the sweat into his pants. He hung his gaze on her small mouth, hoping she would repeat the word, dreading the impact it would have on his life. Because if she said it again, there would be no way back. He would selfishly claim this family as his own and he wouldn't let them go, cherishing them until he breathed out for the last time.

"Papa," she said in a small voice.

Azriel groaned, tears rolling down his cheeks. It was the most beautiful word he had ever heard in his long life. Clasping hands over his face he sobbed. His heart was about to explode with the happiness. After years of longing, he finally found family of his own. Finally he had someone to give his whole heart to, but instead of one, he got two hearts back. His shoulders trembled as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"Did I say something bad?" Adelina turned to her mother who cried too.

"No, sweetheart, you did nothing wrong. You just made us very happy," she explained softly and took her mug to refill it.

Adelina slipped down from her chair and stepped to Azriel.

"Pain, pain, go away," she chanted, diligently rubbing his shoulder. He swept her into his arms and sitting her on his lap, he hugged her.

"Thank you, angel," he kissed the crown of her head and nuzzled to her doll-like long hair.

Ivy joined them shortly and put the mug on the table. Azriel pulled her down to his lap and kissed her. There was no better feeling than holding both of his girls, his most precious treasures, in his arms, safely wrapped by his wings. Now they were his to care for and to protect and he swore to Gods that he would make sure they had the best life he could offer them.

260 notes · View notes